»«*•( 


- 


BY  THE   AUTHOR  OP 

"  SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS." 


All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  the  men  and  women  merely  players. 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances, 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 

SHAKSPEAB.K 


Triumph,  my  Britain !  thou  hast  one  to  show 
To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  own. 

Joasow 


NEW  YORK: 

STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND, 

1853. 


PR 


AKD  OF  THE  OTHER  ILLUSTRIOUS  SPIRITS  OP 
THE  GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ENGLAND. 

THESE  VOLUMES, 

WITH    TRUE    HUMBLENESS, 

AND   ENTIRE   DEVOTEDNESS   TO  THE   SUB'eCT, 
ARE    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED, 

BY 
THEIR  FELLOW-WORSHIPPER 

ATO   VERY  OBEDIENT  SERVANT, 

THE  AUTHOR, 


PREFACE, 

ADDRESSED   BY    THE   AUTHOR,     WITH   A    SUITABLE    PROPER    RESPECT   IN    HIM,   TO 
HIS    SINGULAR   GOOD    FRIEND, 

•• 

THE   COURTEOUS  READER. 


METHINKS  an  apology  is  necessary  for  adventuring  on  a  subject  of  the  ex- 
treme difficulty  essayed  in  these  volumes;  but  the  cause  of  my  entering  on  so 
notable  ambitious  a  task,  will  perhaps  hold  me  excused  in  some  measure  ;  for 
this  was  it :  I  had  noted  with  exceeding  sorrowfulness,  and  a  becoming  indigna- 
tion, divers  small  biographers,  muddle-headed  commentators,  and  insolent  cy- 
clopaedia scribblers,  with  as  scarce  a  commodity  of  truth  as  of  wit,  garnishing 
their  silly  conceits  of  the  noblest  heart  and  brain  that  ever  Jabored  for  universal 
humanity,  with  a  prodigal  store  of  all  manner  of  despicable  vileness,  and  wretched 
impudent  folly ;  and  having  had  much  deep  study,  and  moreover,  being  pos- 
sessed of  a  very  boundless  love  of  the  subject,  I  thought  I  would  strive,  as  far 
as  lay  within  the  compass  of  my  humble  ability,  to  put  to  shame  these  pitiful 
traducers,  and  set  up  before  the  world  a  statue  of  this  High  Priest  of  Nature,  as 
he  ought  to  be  entitled,  as  like  as  might  be  unto  the  wondrous  admirablenes  of 
his  natural  gifts. 

I  doubt  hugely  there  has  ever  been  a  writer  of  so  catholic  a  reputation  as  this 
so  slandered  character  ;  for,  as  I  firmly  believe,  it  is  scarce  possible  to  point  out 
any  one  part  of  the  huge  globe,  where  some  faint  whisper  of  him  hath  not  penetra- 
ted. On  thedesertest  rock,  in  the  savagest  country,  in  all  extremes  of  climate, 
and  among  the  goodliest  and  gloomiest  features  of  land  and  sea,  somewhat  of 
the  countless  great  heaps  of  comfort  he  hath  left  us,  hath  had  its  exquisite  sweet 
influence.  In  what  remote  wilderness  hath  the  missionary  set  up  his  dwelling, 
which  knoweth  not  in  his  lighter  hours,  the  cheerful  piety  of  his  matchless 
preaching  1  Over  which  inhospitable  towering  mountain  doth  the  traveller  seek 
a  path,  lhat  hath  not  heard,  to  beguile  the  way  of  its  weariness,  the  welcome 
remembrance  of  his  infinite  wit  ?  And  over  what  far  distant  ocean  hath  the 
sea-boy  strained  his  gaze,  that  never  caught  from  such  lofty  gallery  snatches  of 
the  inimitable  music  of  his  everlasting  tuneful  verse  ?  There  are  no  such  places. 
He  hath  adventured  wide  and  far  ;  and  his  stream  of  purest  English  hath  flowed 
from  the  gentle  Avon  through  every  monstrous  sea  that  dasheth  its  violent, 
fierce  billows  against  the  walls  of  the  globe  ;  and  it  is  drunk  with  a  like  delicate 
rare  freshness  as  its  humble  source,  on  the  banks  of  the  gigantic  Miss  issipi,  the 
mighty  Ganges,  and  on  those  of  their  in  good  time,  as  glorious  rival,  the  Darling. 

Amongst  the  living,  there  existeth  no  sign  of  any  such  greatness.  Every 
succeeding  generation  it  seemeth  to  increase,  whilst  such  examples  as  had  un 


VI  PREFACE. 

disputed  supremacy  before  it  made  itself  manifest,  have  since  wrapped  their 
antique  cloaks  about  them,  and  been  content  \vith  humbler  places.  The  shades 
of  Sophocles,  ./Eschylus,  Euripides,  Menander,  and  Aristophanes,  are  stirred 
from  thoir  long  deep  lethargy  by  wondrous  memorials  of  the  wood-stapler's  son 
of  Stratford  uttered  within  the  ruin  which  was  once  their  "  Globe,"  by  some  ad- 
venturous tourist  from  an  island  that  never  had  name  or  existence  in  their  mem- 
ories ;  and  so  their  masters  inarms  yet  pupils  in  learning,  the  haughty  Romans, 
rise  from  their  desolate  theatres  marvelling  exceedingly  to  hear  there  proclaimed 
in  all  that  appertaineth  to  excellence  in  the  writing  of  Tragedy  and  Comedy  the 
undisputable  omnipotence  of  a  Briton. 

Thus,  in  his  national  proper  apparelling,  goeth  he  so  famously  abroad,  but  in 
a  foreign  dress  he  is  scarce  less  reverenced,  for  the  principal  nations  of  Europe 
have  strove  to  make  his  excellence  as  familiar  with  them  as  was  possible,  and 
have  turned  his  English  into  as  eloquent  language  of  their  own  as  they  had  at 
their  commandment.  By  these  means,  the  Spaniard,  the  Italian,  the  French- 
man, and  the  German,  have  got  him  into  their  friendly  acquaintance.  But  oi 
these  only  the  Germans  can  be  said  either  to  know  him  thoroughly,  or  appre- 
ciate him  with  a  proper  affection.  These  excellent  worthy  persons  do  love  him 
with  all  their  hearts,  study  him  so  intently,  they  will  not  let  the  slightest  of  his 
manifold  graces  to  escape  without  the  full  measure  of  admiration  it  meriteth,  and 
do  so  much  make  of  him  the  general  talk,  as  though  all  Germany  were  but 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  her  sole  glory  no  other  than  William  Shakspeare.  I 
have  ventured  to  style  him  the  High  Priest  of  Nature,  and  truly  not  without 
proper  warrant.  He  is  the  chief  interpreter  of  her  mysteries,  and  the  sovereign 
pontiff  of  her  universal  church,  wherever  the  beautiful  is  felt  or  the  intellectual 
understood  ;  and  Nature,  who  gave  unto  him  his  surpassing  attributes,  rcceiveth 
back,  in  a  myriad  of  exhaustless  channels,  as  1  have  insufficiently  noted,  the  di- 
vine excellence  that  came  of  her  giving.  Since  he  hath  ministered  at -her  altar 
there  hath  been  no  schism  as  to  her  doctrine,  nor  sign  of  dispute  of  her  authority  ; 
for  he  so  put  her  religion  into  language  and  action,  that  wherever  there  is  en- 
lightened humanity,  there  must  ever  remain  the  most  earnest,  loving,  deep-hearted 
devotedness.  In  this  capacity  it  is  as  utter  foolishness  to  attempt  drawing  up  an 
inventory  of  the  riches  hoarded  in  the  treasuries  of  the  deep,  as  to  seek  to  parti- 
cularize, with  any  thing  nigh  unto  faithfulness,  the  prodigal  amount  of  good  he 
hath  caused  to  be  distributed  to  mankind.  As  a  benefactor,  'tis  vain  to  look 
for  his  peer  ;  as  a  philanthrophist,  no  one  hath  lived  with  such  profit  to  his  fellows. 
The  legacy  which  he  left  in  trust  to  Time,  for  the  universal  benefit,  hath  this 
peculiar  property,  that  the  more  of  it  is  disposed  of,  the  more  abundantly  will  it 
increase  ;  and  so  rapidly  doth  it  multiply  itself  as  it  getteth  to  be  spread  abroad, 
that  it  may,  without  any  color  of  exaggeration,  be  said,  it  is  a  benefaction  that 
must  embrace  all  space  and  all  eternity. 

Whilst  endeavoring  to  exhibit  something  that  approaches  to  the  true  charac- 
ter of  the  man,  I  have  also  sought  to  portray  the  principal  characteristics  of  the 
age  on  which  he  conferred  such  marvellous  honor.  Perchance  some  may  think 
that  these  volumes  are  worthy  only  of  that  sort  of  credit  a  mere  romance  can  look 
for  ;  but  let  them  be  assured,  there  is  more  of  history  in  these  pages  than  divers 
books  purporting  to  be  histories  can  boast  of,  and  whenever  they  hold  not  Truth 
by  the  hand,  they  tread  as  nigh  upon  her  heels  as  may  be.  Mayhap  too,  others 
may  look  on  divers  passages,  savoring  in  no  slight  prominence  of  over-boldness 
in  the  writer,  but  in  very  truth,  it  is  nought  else  but  the  daring  which  love  in- 
spires, and  ought,  it  is  respectfully  urged,  in  no  case  to  be  considered  as  coming 
of  any  other  source.  Of  the  imperfectness  of  the  elaborate  picture  I  have  es- 
sayed, I  am  as  conscious  as  any  person  that  breathes,  but  I  doubt  not  amongst 


PREFACE.  Vll 

all  liberal  kind  hearts,  I  shall  find  such  charitable  constructions  put  on  my  de- 
ficiency, as  may  induce  them  to  allow  that  the  performance,  humble  as  it  may 
be,  hath  not  been  altogether  unprofitable.  This  I  have  been  the  more  induced 
to  look  for,  from  the  generous  encouragement  afforded  to  "  Shakspeare  and  his 
Friends,"  by  such  critics  and  scholarly  persons  who  have  taken  it,  in  hand,  who 
both  publicly  and  privately  have  bestowed  on  it  their  commendation  with  such 
exceeding  bounteousness  as  I  had  not  dared  to  expect.  That  the  praise  so  gen- 
erally given,  applied  much  more  to  the  subject  than  its  treatment,  I  cannot  help 
but  believe  ;  but  let  that  be  as  it  may,  I  will  ever  seek  what  means  I  have 
at  my  disposal,  to  prove  how  earnestly  I  strive  for  the  desert  in  which  it 
ought  to  have  originated.' 

Doubtless,  it  would  be  but  fitting  of  me  here,  to  make  some  apology  for  pub- 
lishing these  works  out  of  their  proper  order,  as  the  present  should  have  prece- 
ded its  predecessor  ;  but  methinks  I  cannot  do  better  than  leave  the  fault  to  be 
dealt  with  by  the  reader  as  he  shall  think  fittest — hope  it  may  be  found  a  mat- 
ter of  such  heinousness  as  to  deprive  the  offender  of  some  excusing,  particularly 
as  each  is  a  distinct  work  ;  complete  in  itself.  If  there  exist  no  other  objec- 
tion, I  doubt  not,  despite  their  irregular  starting,  they  will  now  run  their  race 
together  as  fairly  and  as  gallantly  withal  as  can  be  expected  -of  them. 

There  hath  been  some  stir  lately  made  concerning  of  the  orthography  of  the  ever 
honored  name  of  our  "  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon."  On  that  point,  it  is  only  neces- 
sary here  to  say  that  it  was  customary  Vith  divers  notable  persons  of  the  age  of 
Elizabeth,  to  write  their  names  in  more  than  one  form,  just  as  it.  took  their  fan- 
tasy, proof  of  which  will  be  discovered  in  the  letters  of  the  time,  wherein  Raleigh 
sometimes  signeth  himself  "  Rawley,"  Lord  Burleigh  hath  some  three  or  four 
ways  of  spelling  his  name,  and  others  do  the  like  sort  of  thing ;  therefore,  to 
find  a  variation  in  the  autographs  of  the  illustrious  Shakspeare  is  in  no  manner 
strange.  The  orthography  here  adhered  to,  hath  the  recommendation  of  being 
that  which  the  great  Bard  employed  in  the  latter  period  of  his  life,  when  it  is 
supposed  he  must  have  settled  it  to  his  liking  ;  is  moreover  the  same  that  was 
used  by  the  choicest  of  his  friends,  who  doubtless,  had  the  best  means  of  know- 
ing his  humor  in  it,  and  hath  been  made  familiar  to  us,  in  consequence  of  its 
adoption  by  the  most  learned  of  his  editors,  critics,  and  scholars  in  this,  and  in 
all  other  countries,  who  so  it  is  presumed,  ought  to  be  the  properest  guides  to 
follow  in  such  a  matter. 


STORY 


OF 


CHAPTER  f. 

All  was  this  Land  ful  filled  of  Faerie, 
The  Elf-Qnene  with  hire  jolie  company 
Daunsed  full  oft  in  many  a  grene  raede, 
This  was  the  old  opinion,  as  1  rede. 

CHAUCER. 

The  vallies  rang  with  their  delicious  strains, 

And  pleasure  reveled  on  those  happy  plains. 

CHALICIIILL. 

What  if  my  lordinge  doo  chaunce  for  to  miss  me! 
The  worst  that  can  happen  his  cudgel  will  kiss 

me. 
TRAGICALL  COMEDYE  OF  APIUS  AND  VIRGINIA. 

OH  !  what  a  beauteous  night  was  that 
time-lion ored  twenty-third  of  April,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  five  hundred 
and  sixty-four  !  The  air  was  clear  as  any 
crystal,  and  the  wind  just  shaking  the  fra- 
grance from  the  young  blossoms,  as  it 
swept  along  to  make  music  in  the  fresh 
leaves  of  the  tall  trees,  did  create  such  har- 
mony and  sweetness  therein,  that  nothing 
could  have  appeared  so  delectable,  save  the 
star-bestudded  sky  above,  wherein  the  lady 
moon  was  seen  to  glide  with  so  silvery  a 
brightness  tint  the  sapphire  heavens,  the 
flowery  earth,  and  the  sparkling  water, 
were  appareled  in  one  mantle  of  the  deli- 
catest  light.  Peradventure  so  fair  a  night 
hath  nnver  been  seen  before  or  since  ;  yet, 
of  such  bountiful  beauty  as  it  vas  through- 
out, there  was  one  spot  wherein  its  ex- 
quisite rare  attractions  were  heaped  to- 
gether with  so  prodigal  a  hand,  that  the 
place,  for  the  exceeding  pleasantness  of 
its  aspect,  must  have  been  like  unto  that 


famous  garden  of  Paradise,  that  held  our 
first  parents  in  their  primitive  innoce^cy 
and  happiness. 

It  was  a  low  meadow  field,  marked  by 
sundry  declivities  and  inequalities,  where- 
on a  goodly  show  of  all  manner  of  spring 
flowers  were  sleeping  in  the  moonlight, 
even  to  the  very  waves  of  that  right  famous 
river  the  Avon,  which  was  flowing  along 
in  all  its  refreshing  loveliness,  at  its  margin. 
Trees  were  here  and  there  of  divers  kinds, 
garmented  in  their  newest  livery  of  green ; 
a  row  of  alders,  a  clump  of  beeches,  a  soli- 
tary oak,  a  shady  coppice,  were  stretching 
far  and  wide  in  one  direction ;  and  hedges 
of  hawthorn  and  elder,  interspersed  with 
crab,  wild  plum,  and  towering  elms,  would 
intersect  the  country  in  others.  Close  at 
hand  was  the  town  of  Stratford,  with  the 
tall  spire  of  the  church,  and  the  quaint 
eaves  of  the  houses  distinctly  visible.  Here 
stood  the  mansion  of  one  of  its  persons  of 
worship.  There  the  more  modest  dwelling 
of  an  industrious  yeoman.  At  one  "place 
was  the  cottage  of  the  sturdy  laborer ;  in 
another  the  tenement  of  the  honest  miller  ; 
whilst,  as  tho  eye  stretched  ouT"  to  the  dis- 
tance, othei  "bniMings  might  be  faiutly  seen 
which  doubtless  marked  the  situation  of  the 
neighboring  villages.  .«•*- 

But,  although  signs  of  habitation  were 
thus  plentiful,  of  man  or  woman  not  one 
was  there  in  sight ;  for  this  especial  reason, 
all  manner  of  nonest  folk  had  laid  them 
down  to  sleep  long  since.  Little  could  be 
seen  of  live  things^  excepting  perchance  a 
water-rat  swimming  upon  the  Avon,  or 
mayhap,  a  fold  of  sheep  on  the  adjoining 


10 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


farm  ;  rr  beard,  save  the  tinkle  of  the 
sheep-bells,  or  the  bark  of  the  shepherd's 
dog,  occasionally  responded  to  by  some  dog 
afar  off;  or  the  rushing  of  the  water  at  the 
mill-wheel,  or  the  croaking  of  the  frogs 
among  the  rushes,  or  the  hooting  of  an  owl 
as  she  passed  by,  intent  on  a  mousing  expe- 
dition to  the  nearest  barn  ;  and  these  sounds 
made  as  excellent  sweet  music  as  ever 
poet  did  delight  to  hear.  Certes  this  was 
just  such  a  scene,  and  these  the  very  pro- 
perest  accompaniments  for  awakening  in 
the  heart  that  profound  sympathy  with  na- 
ture which  the  few  to  whom  such  feeling 
is  familiar  give  expression  to.  in  sentiments 
that  partake  of  the  same  beauty  and  immor- 
tality as  the  source  whence  they  spring. 
All  at  once  a  new  and  unfamiliar  sound 
came  floating  upon  the  air.  It  was  faint 
and  indistinct,  a  mere  murmur  ;  y^f,  music- 
ally soft  and  low.  Gradually  it  grew  upon 
the  ear,  as  a  blossom  opening  to  the  sun- 
*hine.  A  gentle  harmony  became  distin- 
guishable ;  then  came  tones  of  such  ex- 
quiske  melodiousness,  it  was  ravishing  to 
listen  to  them.  At  last  voices,  seeming 
in  some  number,  were  readily  heard,  and 
then,  words  becoming  audible,  they  were  at, 
last  distinctly  ^repeated  in  the  following 
order  : 

"  We  come  from  the  violet's  azure  cells, 
We  come  from  the  cowslip's  golden  bells, 
From  the  hawthorn's  odorous  bloom  we  fly  ; 

From  the  dewy  eaves 

Of  the  primrose  leaves, 
From^he  daisy's  blushing  buds  we  hie  ; 
And  fill  the  air  with  sounds  and  sights 

As  though  to  earth  all  heaven  was  streaming, 
More  sweet  than  lover's  stolen  delights, 

More  bright  than  aught  loved  maid  is  dream- 

ing. 

We  come  from  the  snowdrop's  pallid  head,  • 
We  come  from  the  heather's  lowly  bed, 
From  the  wild  bee's  haunt  and  the  wood-lark's 

home  ; 

From  the  grassy  couch 

Where  the  lev'rets  crouch, 
And  the  coney  hides  ;  —  we  come  !  we  come  !" 

Whilst  this  roundelay  was  being  sung, 
there  appeared  moving  in  the  atmosphere, 
all  manner  of  bright  colors,  like  unto  a 


goodly  rainbow  in  the 


a  shower 


of  all  the  delicatest  flowers  upon  the  earth, 
and  presently  forms  could  be  distinctly 
traced  amongst  them  ;  and  as  they  ap- 
proached the  banks  of  the  river,  it  was  seen 
that  they  were  crowds  of  tiny  beings,  of 
shape  as  beautiful  as  ever  the  eye  looked 
on  ;  garmented  very  daintily  in  what  seem- 
ed to  be  blossoms  of  divers  kinds  and  colors. 
Their  complexions  were  marvelous  fair  ; 
their  hair  of  a  bright  golden  hue,  curling 


very  prettily,  decorated  with  exceeding 
small  wreaths,  or,  mayhap,  a  dainty  sweet 
flower  worn  as  a  helmet ;  and  they  floated 
on  the  air  with  infinite  ease  in  every  possi- 
ble position  ;  some  plunging  head  down- 
wards ;  and  others,  as  it  were,  reclining 
backwards,  looking  to  observe  who  came 
after  them.  On  they  came,  as  countless  as 
the  stars ;  and  in  the  centre  was  one,  round 
whom  the  rest  were  thronging  with  a  won- 
derful show  of  love  and  reverence ;  and  she 
reclined  in  a  r-ar;  carved  of  pearl  that  seem- 
to  be  as  light  as  a  gossamer,  was  shaped 
like  a  shell,  and  drawn  by  two  bright-wing- 
ed butterflies.  Her  face  was  as  lovely  as 
the  morning  light,  and  on  her  brows  she 
wore  a  coronal  of  jasmine  studded  with 
fresh  dew  drops.  A  scarf  of  rose  color  ot 
a  singular  fine  fabric,  the  material  whereot 
had  doubtless  been  stolen  from  the  silk- 
worm's web,  was  tied  from  the  shoulder  to 
the  hip,  where  it  was  fastened  in  a  bow 
over  a  close  vest  of  a  sapphire  hue,  richly 
ornamented  with  •gold  leaves  ;  and  the  rest 
of  her  appareling  was  of  the  like  pretty  fan- 
tasy. Scarcely  had  this  exquisite  fair  crea- 
ture and  her  companions  alighted  on  the 
enameled  banks  of  the  river,  and  the  voices 
had  become  hushed  into  an  indistinct  mur- 
mur of  pleasure  at  finding  themselves  at 
tneir  journey's  end,  when  the  air  was  again 
filled  with  the  same  wondrous  harmonies 
and  delicate  words,  that  had  there  been  cre- 
ated so  recently ;  but  the  voices  now  were 
of  a  deeper  tone. 

Presently  there  appeared,  hovering  about, 
a  vast  crowd  of  similar  little  beings  as 
those  that  had  a  moment  since  alighted  on 
the  ground,  only  these  were  of  a  more  mas- 
culine aspect,  and  garmented  in  hose  and 
doublet,  fitting  tight  to  the  body,  of  divers 
delicate  colors,  wearing  famous  pretty 
feathers  in  their  caps,  mayhap  filched  from 
the  small  birds  ;  and  some  had  quivers  of 
arrows  at  their  backs.  Some  wore  a  smart 
rapier,  of  at  least  the  length  of  a  tailor's 
needle;  and  many  carried  spears  of  a  mar- 
velous fine  point  and  thinness.  These 
were  floating  on  the  air  in  all  manner  of 
picturesque  attitudes,  save  one  who  sat  in 
a  fair  car  of  gold,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  gi 
gantic  dragon-flies,  attended  by  a  company 
who  appeared  to  act  as  a  guard  of  honor. 
He  wore  a  crown  on  his  head,  and  a  rapier 
at  his  side,  and  a  purple  robe  of  fine  velvet, 
richly  embroidered  with  stars,  over  his  vest. 
Perpetual  youth  sat  smiling  on  his  counte- 
nance, and  his  limbs  were  of  so  graceful  a 
shape,  my  poor  words  have  not  the  cunning 
to  describe  it.  As  this  assembly  descended 
to  join  the  other,  a  chc  us  of  mutual  con- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


11 


gratulation  arose,  whereof  the  burthen  of 
the  sylphs  was,  "  Hail  Oberon  !"  and  that 
of  the  others,  "  Hail  Titania  !" — showing 
that  those  two  were  the  king  and  queen  of 
fairie, — which  seemed  to  be  sung  with  such 
wonderful  joy  and  so  sweet  a  spirit,  that  it 
was  exquisite  to  hear  beyond  all  conceiv- 
ing. 

King  Oberon  having  stepped  from  his 
car,  advanced  to  that  of  his  queen  close  by, 
and  with  a  very  excellent  cpurtesy,  did 
hand  the  fair  Titania  out,  perchance  to 
tread  a  measure  on  the  verdant  mead ; 
whereupon  their  discourse  ran  thus  : 

"  Light  of  my  life,  and  life  of  all  my  joy  !" 
rapturously  exclaimed  the  fairy  king. 
"  In  whose  fair  eyes,  the  fountains  of  my  bliss, 
My  soul  drinks    sweeter   and   more    delicate 

draughts 
Than  flowers  or  fruits  provide  ;  say  with  what 

aim, 

For  well  1  know  some  hidden  purpose  lies 
Within  the  covert  of  thy  fantasy, 
Have  I  been  summoned  with  my  company 
From  the  deep  dingle  in  the  emerald  wood. 
Where,  'mid  the  tangled    roots  and  gnarled 

boughs 

Of  reverential  oaks  and  hoary  pines, 
With  our  rude  mirth  we  rouse  the  dappled  deer 
Or  chase  the  owlets  to  their  dark  retreats." 
"  And  what  wouldst  give  to  know  1" 
asked  Titania,  with  a  pretty  seriousness. 

"  What  give,  sweetheart  I"  replied  he. 
"  How  like  a  very  woman  art  thou  grown  ! 
Thou  hast  some  pretty  meaning  in  the  act, 
Some   quaint  device,  mayhap  some    harmless 

jest, 

Whereby  the  rosy  hollows  of  thy  cheek 
Shall  be  arrayed  with  all  thy  fairest  smiles, 
To  bear  glad  witness  how  man's  wiser  mind 
Can  by  a  woman's  wit  be  set  at  nought. 
And  for  the  secret  thou'lt  a  bargain  make, 
Which  having  ratified,  the  secret's  told  ; 
And  in  its  nothingness  must  lie  the  jest, 
And  in  its  point  thy  triumph." 

"  Tush,  my  lord  !" 

cried  his  fair  companion,  half  turning  from  him. 
"  Art  thou  so  little  curious.as  this  1 
Nay,  by  the  trembling  beam  that  leaves   the 

skies 

To  steal  soft  kisses  from  the  yielding  wave, 
I'll  hie  me  hence  and  tell  thee  not  at  all." 
"  In  pity  say  not  so  !"  said  he. 

"  I'll  say  and  do  !" 

answered  the  other  with  a  famous  show  of  re- 
solution. 
"  Seem'st  thou  not  more  inclined  to  learn   the 

drift 

Of  why  on  such  a  night  of  all  the  year, 
1  bade  thee  hasten  to  this  favored  spot." 

"  Then    am  I  curious  to  such   excess,"   ob~ 

served  her  lord, 

"  As  passeth  all  conceiving.     I  prithee  say 
What  was  thy  purpose.     Tell  it  straight, 


For  my  impatience  is  so  powerful 
As  will  endure  no  hindrance." 

"  O'  my  word  !"  cried  Titania, 
"  Thy  nature  grows  impatient  of  a  sudden. 
Fie  on  thee,  my  lord  !  Dost  mock  me  so  ! 
With  such  conceits  dost  think  a  woman  caught 
Who  for  a  curious  humor  hath  been  famed, 
And  therefore  knoweth  how  it  shows  itself? 
Hadst  "thou  a  secret,  1  would  never  rest 
A  minute,  nay,  a  moment  of  the  hour, 
Till  I  became  its  mistress.     I  would  watch 
All  fittest  opportunities-to  ply 
The  searchingest  questions  ever  spoke  ; 
And  at  thy  rising  and  thy  lying  down. 
The  hunt,  the  walk,  the  banquet  or  the  dance  ; 
In  brief,  in  every  time  and  ev'ry  place, 
I'd  importune  thee  with  such  earnestness, 
And  in  a  way  so  lovingly  withal, 
Thou    couldst  not  hold  it  from   me  if  thou 

wouldst ; 

Or  shouhlst  thou  still  attempt  to  keep  it  hid, 
Then  would  1  venture  close  to  where  it  hides, 
And  with  sweet  force  dislodge  it  from  thy  lips." 
"  Then' thus  such  sweet   enforcement  I  em- 
ploy." 

Thereupon  his  elfin  majesty  very  gallant- 
ly did  salute '  his  lovely  queen,  the  which 
she  received  as  if  in  no  way  inclined  to  an- 
'ger,  as  may  be  supposed  ;  and  then  they, 
saying  manifold  loving  pleasantries  unto 
each  other,  walked  to  were  theTe  was  a 
banqueting  table,  set  out  for  them,  with  all 
manner  of  tempting  delicates,  and  sat  them- 
selves down,  each  in  a  sort  of  throne ;  for 
the  reader  must  be  made  aware,  that  whilst 
the  king  and  queen  of  Fairie  were  convers- 
ing as  hath  been  described,  there  were 
raised  upon  the  green  sward  by  their  attend- 
ants, a  royal  canopy  of  crimson  silk  and 
gold,  and  a  goodly  display  of  most  delecta- 
ble cheer ;  and  hundreds  of  the  little  people 
were  running  about  putting  the  things  in 
order,  whilst  groups  of  beautiful  sylphs 
were  receiving  notable  sweet  courtesies 
from  tueir  elfin  gallants  ;  some  reclining 
their  graceful  figures  on  the  delicate  grass, 
and  others  standing  up  as  if  preparing  for 
the  dance ;  and  in  another  place,  there 
were  seen  a  score  or  so  of  musicians,  a 
tuning  of  their  records,  theorbos,  citterns, 
harps,  sackbuts,  and  the  like  choice  instru- 
ments. Presently  the  queen  gave  the  sign 
for  them.to  begin  their  revels,  and  then  the 
music  struck  up  a  most  ravishing  minstrel- 
sy ;  the  dancers  commenced  treading  a 
measure  with  such  infinite  grace  as  hath 
never  been  visible  to  mortal  eyes,  and  the 
rest  were  disporting  of  themselves  in  all 
parts  of  the  meadow,  laughing,  jesting, 
feasting  and  making  merry  with  such  a 
prodigality  of  happiness  as  dull  mortality 
hath  no  knowledge  of.  Some  were  a  hunt- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ing  of  the  field-mice  into  their  holes,  or 
driving  the  leaping  frogs  into  the  river,  with 
a  famous  hallooing  and  admirable  cheerful 
noise  ;  others  of  the  merry  elves  were  amu- 
sing of  themselves  by  jumping  over  the 
toadstools  that  grew  thereabouts,  and  may- 
hap one,  not  being  so  good  a  leaper  as  his 
fellows,  would  jump  clean  into  one  of  these 
dry  fungous  plants,  to  the  near  smothering 
of  himself  in  its  dust,  and  choking  of  his 
companions  with  laughter.  Then  some  of 
the  sylphs,  who  were  not  of  the  dancers, 
were  engaged  in  making  wreaths  of  the 
delicatest  blossoms  in  season,  either  for 
those  they  affected  of  the  other  sex,  or  for 
their  own  wear.  Others  were  putting  to- 
gatlier  a  true-love  posie.  Here  and  there 
might  be  seen  a  couple,  apart  from  the  rest, 
by  the  exquisite  earnestness  of  their  coun- 
tenances, declaring  themselves  to  be  em- 
ployed in  such  delectable  manner  as  showed 
there  was  no  lack  of  affectionateness  be- 
twixt them  ;  and  a  company  of  others  had 
got  in  the  midst  of  them  an"  elf  of  a  most 
jocund  spirit,  known  to  divers  by  the  sever- 
al names  of  Puck,  Robin  Goodfellow,  and 
Will-o'-the-Wisp,  who,  as  was  evident  from 
their  faces,  with  his  droll  jests  and  diverting 
tricks,  kept  them  in  a  constant  humor  of 
laughing.  Here^ould  be  one  mischievous 
elf  running  after  a  sylph  with  a  huge  worm, 
which  it  was  manifest  she  liked  not  the 
looks  of;  and  there  another  pelting  a 
companion  with  cowslips,  who  was  making 
ready  to  fling  at  him  with  a  like  missile. 
Everywhere  there  was  the  appearance  of 
the  very  absolutest  free-heartedness ;  not  a 
grave  face  was  to  be  seen,  not  a  sigh  was 
to  be  heard. 

Now  there,  were  seen  amongst  them  such 
abundance  of  pleasant  pastime,  as  was  quite 
a  marvel  "to  behold,  in  the  which  the  tricksy 
Will-o-the-Wisp,  or  Puck,  or  Robin  Good- 
fellow,  as  he  was  variously  called,  did  ap- 
pear to  enjoy  himself  to  the  very  bent  of  his 
humor.  In  the  meanwhile  Titania  and 
Oberon  moved  from  the  banquet,  and  were 
soon  pleasantly  engaged  treading  of  a 
measure  to  the  delicatest  music  ever  known. 
\\l  of  a  sudden  as  they  were  disporting  of 
themselves,  every  one  of  them  very  merrily, 
there  came  one  hastening  from  the  other 
end  of  the  meadow,  crying  out  something, 
the  which  as  soon  as  it  was  heard,  banquet, 
canopy,  dancers,  musicians,  and  all  the  iiiiry 
world  disappeared  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  and  of  that  gallant  company  no  vestige 
now  remained.  The  "blades  of  the  young 
grass,  unharmed  by  the  light  footfalls  of  the 
tiny  dancers,  bent  to  the  midnight  wind. 
The  frogs  came  peeping  from  the  rushes. 


and  the  timid  water-rat  ventured  to  put  her 
head  out  of  the  covered  hole  beneath  tne 
river's  bank,  wherein  she  had  made  her 
home. 

"  It  be  woundy  cold  o'  nights,  still  dame, 
for  all  it  be  getting  so  nigh  unto  the  flowery 
month  of  May,"  exclaimed  an  awkward  var- 
let,  looking  to  be  something  betwixt  man 
and  boy,  and  dressed  in  a  humble  suit  of 
russet,  famously  worn  and  soiled,  that  fitted 
him  not  at  all,  as,  carrying  of  a  huge  Ian- 
thorn  with  an  outstretched  arm  before  him, 
he  seemed  to  be  guiding  of  a  short  t-tout 
woman,  well  wrapped  up  in  a  serviceable 
cloak  and  muffler,  who  bent  her  steps 
through  the  field  towards  the  neighboring 
town. 

"  Ay,  it  be  cold  enough,  out  of  all  doubt," 
replied  his  companion,  in  a  quick  thick 
voice,  half  swallowed  in  her  muffler,  as  she 
endeavored  to  keep  as  near  as  possible  to 
his  heels.  "  Yet  do  I  remember  me  a  colder 
night  than  this,  two  years  ago  this  very 
day." 

"  Odd  zooks  !  was  it  so  indeed  ?"  asked 
the  other  in  a  tone  of  monstrous  won- 
dering. 

*  "  Ay,  that  was  it,  Humphrey,"  replied  the 
woman  with  impressive  earnestness.  "  That 
night  I  had  laid  me  down  to  rest  my  weary 
bones,  and  nigh  unto  midnight  I  had  got  me 
into  the  comfortablest  slumber  weary  body 
ever  had,  when  there  came  at  the  gate  so 
huge  a  noise,  I  had  like  to  have  been  fright- 
ened out  of  my  sleep  and  my  wits  too.  I 
dressed  me  in  a  presently,  wondering  who 
could  be  a  sending  at  that  time,  not  expect- 
ing to  hear  from  Mistress  Hathaway,  for  a 
month  to  come,  nor  from  Dame  Hart,  for  a 
full  week ;  when  looking  out  from  the  lattice 
I  spied  a  horseman,  in  a  cloak  that  swept 
down  close  upon  his  horse's  heels,  wlie,  in  a 
terrible  high  voice,  bade  me  come  quick,  for 
life  a-nd  death  depended  on  my  speed. 
Thereupon,  as  may  be  suppposed  of  me,  I 
made  all  convenient  haste  in  my  appareling 
— for  thou  knowest,  Humphrey,  I  like  to 
keep  none  waiting." 

"  O  my  life,  Gammer  Lambswool,''  ex- 
claimed the  other  drily,  "kept  you  net 
me  an  hour  by  the  clock,  ere  I  got  sight  of 
you,  I  know  not  what  waiting  means." 

"  Nay,  nay, — thou  couldst  not  have  been 
at  the  gate  so  long  as  that,"  replied  the  old 
woman  ;  "  for  ere  thou  hadst  well  knocked 
twice.  I  c;.lled  to  thee  from  the  lattice." 

"So  God  me  save,"  cried  out  Humphrey, 
with  wonderful  emphasis, ';  I  knocked  some 
scores  of  times — to  say  nought  of  the  mon- 
strous bawling  I  kept  up,  loud  enough  to 
wake  the  seven  sleepers :  and  I  doubt  not 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


13 


at  all,  master  will  give  me  a  taste  of  the 
cudgel  for  having^fcrried  so  long." 

"  He  shall  do  thfee  no  such  unkind  office, 
be  assured,"  said  Gammer  Lambawoo), 
"  for  I  will  take  care  to  bear  thea  blameless 
in  the  matter.  But  to  return  to  what  I  was 
a  saying,"  added  she,  too  glad  at  having  a 
listener,  to  let  him  off  without  the  whole  story. 
"  On  coming  to  the  gate,  the  stranger  was 
for  having  me  mount  upon  a  pillion  behind 
him.  which  I  liked  not  at  first :  but  upon 
his  pressing  the  emergency  of  the  case, 
and  placing  a  gold  piece  in  my  hand,  I 
made  no  more  to  do — for  I  like  not  appear- 
ing over  scrupulous  in  matters  of  jeopardy, 
the  more  especially  when  an  honest  wager 
is  to  be  gained  by  it.  1  had  scarce  got  my 
seat  when  the  stranger  said  he  must  needs 
.  blind-fold  me,  the  which  I  liked  less  than 
the  other;, but  upon  his  assuring  me  I 
should  suffer  no  harm,  and  placing  another 
gold  piece  in  my  hand,  I  suffered  it  to  be 
done,  for  thinks  I,  mayhap,  the  occasion  re- 
quireth  secresy  ;  and  I  oft  had  a  huge  sus- 
picion there  was  no  necessity  for  me  to 
seem  to  know  more  than  those  who  required 
my  aid,  would  allow  ;  if  so  be  they  paid  me 
well  for  holding  of  my  curiousness." 

"  Here  be  a  villainous  thick  cloud  about 
to  cover  up  the  moon,  and  be  hanged  to 
it !"  exclaimed  her  companion  in  a  tone  of 
vexation,  a?,  with  a  face  waxing  marvelous- 
ly  fearful,  he  watched  the  approach  of  a 
broad  black  cloud  spreading  over  the  sky. 
"  Make  more  speed  I  pray  you,  good  Gam- 
mer, else  we  shall  be  left  in  the  dark  before 
we  have  got  out  of  this  field,  which  hath 
the  horridest  reputation  of  any  place  in 
these  parts  ;  and  I  like  not  passing  through 
it  at  this  late  hoi^r,  I  promise  you." 

"  In  honest  truth  it  be  not  in  good  re- 
pute," observed  the  old  woman,  quickening' 
her  pace  somewhat.  u  Unnatural  strange 
sights  have  been  seen  here,  and  it  be  well 
known  that  they  by  whom  they  have  been 
looked  on,  have  never  been  themselves 
since.  But  to  my  story.  Hardly  had  he 
blindfolded  me  when  he  spurred  his  horse  to 
so  monstrous  a  pace,  that  it  seemed  more 
like  unto  flying  than  riding ;  and,  not  having 
been  used  to  such,  perchance  I  should  soon 
have  been  jolted  from  my  seat,  had  not  I 
held  my  companion  round  the  girdle  as  firm 
as  a  vice.  Now  began  T  to  repent  of  my 
too  great  willingness  to  venture  on  this  er- 
land.  T  was  going  I  knew  not  where,  with 
I  knew  not  whom,  to  do  I  knew  not  what ; 
but  when  I  bethought  me  of  the  stranger's 
largess,  I  took  heart,  for  out  of  all  doubt  a 
piece  of  gold  is  a  notable  fine  recommenda- 
tion in  a  new  acquaintance  !  and  methinks 


it  be  ungrateful  to  think  ill  of  those  who 
have  behaved  handsomely  to  you  ;  so  I  said 
i  nought,  and  proceeded  on  my  journey  with 
as  much  contentation  as  1  might." 

"  A  grace  of  God,  Gammer,  make  more 
speed  .'"  cried  her  companion  earnestly. 

"  T  be  getting  on  as  fast  as  my  old  legs 
!  can  carry  me,"  answered  she ;  ,  and  then 
1  continued  her  gossip.  "  Well,  we  travelled 
|  on  at  this  terrible  pace  for  I  know  not  how 
long  a  time,  till  the  horse  came  to  a  dead 
stop ;  and,  with  an  injunction  to  be  silent, 
my  companion  quickly  alighted,  carried  me 
some  little  distance  in  his  arms,<l£d  me  up 
some  steps,  and  then  leading  me  yet  a  little 
further,  suddenly  pulled  the  bandage  off  my 
eyes.  I  found  myself  in  a  very  stately 
chamber,  having  the  most  costly  hangings 
eye  ever  beheld,  and  everything  of  a  like 
splendor  about  it.  Lights  were  burning  on 
a  table  close  upon  the  bed's  foot,  but  I  had 
not  time  to  notice  one  half  of  what  was 
there,  when  my  conductor  haughtily  bade 
me  look  to  my  patient,  as  he  pointed  to  the 
bed ;  and  hearing  a  most  piteous  groan,  I 
hastened  to  do  his  bidding." 

41  Mercy,  good  Gammer,  make  mere  speed ! 
These  clouds  be  close  upon  the  moon,  and 
we  not  half  through  this  terrible  field  yet ;" 
cried  Humphrey,  evidently  more  attentive 
to  the  look  of  the  sky  than  the  speech  of 
his  companion. 

"  Marry,  :tis  so  sure  enough  !"  exclaimed 
the  old  darne,  taking  a  hasty  glance  at  the 
moon.  "  Well,  there  found  I  a  dainty  young 
creature,  assuredly  in  as  doleful  a  strait  as 
poor  lady  ever  was  ;  and  I  came  in  the  very 
nick  of  time,  to  do  her  such  desirable  ser- 
vice as  she  required  of  me.  I  sought  to 
give  her  what  comfort  I  could,  but  I  was 
stopped  by  the  voice  of  him  who  had  brought 
me.  angrily  bidding  me  hold  my  prate,  and 
speed  my  office  ;  and  then  broke  he  out  into 
such  bitter  invectives  against  the  poor  lady, 
as  were  dreadful  to  hear,  to  the  which  she 
replied  never  a  word,  for  indeed  she  could 
not,  she  was  in  such  severe  travail.  At 
last,  to  my  great  joy,  the  lady  became  a 
mother ;  but  scarce  had  I  took  the  babe  in 
my  a'rms,  when  my  gentleman,  who  had 
been  all  this  time  striding  across  the  room, 
seemingly  in  a  bad  humor,  hearing  the  child 
cry,  darted  towards  me,  snatched  it  rudely 
away,  and  hurried  out  of  the  room  with  it. 
I  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  'twouid  be  an 
easy  matter  to  knock  me  down  with  a 
feather.  I  could  have  no  doubt  there  was 
a  most  cruel  mischief  a-doing.  and  my  blood 
run  cold  within  me,  at  the  thought  of  it." 

"  There  !  the  moon  hath  gone  clean  out 
of  sight !"  exclaimed  Humphrey,  as  if  in 


14 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


utter  despair.  "  Alack,  what  an  unchristian 
place  for  an  honest  poor  body  to  be  in  at  this 
late  hour." 

"  Well,  we  must  e'en  get  on  as  well  as 
we  can,  and  the  lanthorn  will  help  us  to 
make  sure  we  go  not  astray,"  observed  the 
other  consolingly. 

"  What  to  do  I  knew  not,"  Continued 
she.  "  The  poor  mother  looked  to  be  scarce 
alive,  that  was  pitiful  enough  to  see,  let  her 
fault  have  been  what  it  might ;  but  taking 
away  the  life  of  an  innocent  babe  that  had 
scarce  began  to  breathe,  could  not  be  ought 
else  than  a  very  devilish  and  unnatural 
murder." 

"  Nay,  talk  not  of  murder  I  pray  you, 
good  Gammer  !"  cried  her  companion  very 
movingly  ;  "  I  cannot  see  the  length  of  my 
arm,  and  I  know  not  what  monstrous  fear- 
ful things  may  be  in  the  darkness,  ready  to 
pounce  out  upon  us." 

"  Nothing  unnatural  can  hurt  you  if  you 
be  not  evil  inclined,  let  them  here  lie  ever 
so  thick,"  observed  the  old  dame  :  but  this 
seemed  not  to  add  much  to  the  other's  small 
stock  of  courage,  for  he  continued  to  walk 
along,  looking  suspiciously  about  him  in  as 
perfect  a  fear  as  ever  was,  whilst  Gammer 
Lambswool  strove  to  keep  as  close  at  his 
heels  as  she  could. 

"  Ere  I  could  recover  myself  from  the 
strange  fright,  what  had  been  that  moment 
done,  had  put  me  in,  he  returned,  and  with- 
out the  child,"  added  she  with  much  empha- 
sis. "  Whereupon  I  was  so  confounded 
and  terrified  at  the  sight  of  him,  that  I  re- 
member not  what  further  took  place,  till  I 
found  myself  at  mine  own  door  with  a  full 
purse  in  my  hand ;  but  less  glad  at  the 
sight  of  It  than  I  was  to  be  quit  of  the  vil- 
lain's company." 

"  Mercy,  Gammer,  what  be  that !"  cried 
Humphrey,  in  a  monstrous  fearful  voice,  as 
he  lifted  up  his  lantern,  evidently  a  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot,  and  seemed  to  be 
gazing  at  something  in  the  distance. 

"  Where,  I  pray  you !''  inquired  the  oth- 
er eagerly,  as  she  strove  to  raise  herself  on 
her  toes  for  to  peep  over  his  shoulder. 

"  It  moves  !"  whispered  her  companion, 
drawing  his  breath  hard. 

"  Heaven  save  us  from  all  harm !"  mut- 
tered the  old  woman,  beginning  to  partake 
of  the  other's  alarm,  though  she  knew  not 
as  yet  what  it  was  caused  by. 

"  By  St.  Nicholas,  it  be  making  towards 
us !"  added  he  as  plainly  as  his.  fright 
would  allow,  and  the  next  moment  the  lan- 
tern dropped  from  his  trembling  hands,  anc 
he  fell  on  his  knees,  saying  of  his  prayers 
with  his  teeth  a  chattering  as  if  he  was  taken 


with  an  ague.  GamrneiLambswool,  being 
n  the  dark — for  their  lipit  had  been  extin- 
guished by  the  fall — and  hearing  something 
approaching,  was  about  to  take  to  her 
jrayers  also,  when  she  was  startled  by  a 
quick  succession  of  blows,  that  seemed  to 
"all  upon  her  companion  with  a  force  that 
quickly  put  all  conceit  of  a  ghost  out  of  her 
lead. 

"  Why,  thou  idling  varlet !"  exclaimed  a 
voice  close  beside  her.  "  Wert  not  strictly 
old  not  to  tarry  a  moment,  and  thou  hast 
)een  gone  nigh  these  two  hours  past — a 
murrain  on  thee." 

"  Oh,  master !"  bawled  Humphrey,  most 
ustily,  writhing  under  the  punishment  he 
was  receiving.  "  Hurt*  me  no  more,  I  pray 
you.  Mercy,  good  master !  In  honest 
;rulh  I  tarried  no  more  than  I  could  help." 

"  Indeed,  Master  Shakspeare,  he  is  not  to 
slame,  for  I  was  hindered  from  coming," 
ried  the  old  woman.  "  But  tell  me,  I  be- 
seeeh  you,  how  fareth  your  sweet  wife  ?" 

"  Badly,  as  she  needs  must,  when  she 
bath  been  crying  out  for  you  go  long,"'  an- 
swered he,  as  if  somewhat  out  of  humor. 

'  Well,  dear  heart,  lead  you  the  way,  1 
will  haste  to  her  without  a  moment's  more 
delaying,"  said  the  Gammer,  in  a  sort  of 
coaxing  voice ;  upon  which  Humphrey, 
picking  up  his  lantern,  and  quite  forgetting 
his  fear  in  the  cudgelling  he  had  lately  had, 
although,  in  honest  truth,  he  had  been 
scarce  hurt  at  all — seeing  his  master  and 
the  midwife  moving  off  as  fast  as  they 
could — kept  close  to  their  heels  till  they 
reached  John  Shakspeare's  dwelling  in 
Henley  Street. 


CHAPTER  II. 

At  first    THE    INFANT. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Porter.     On  my  Christian  conscience,  this 
one  christening  will  beget  a  thousand  ;  here 
will  be  father,  godfather,  and  all  together. 
Man.     The  spoons  will  be  the  bigger,  sir. 

IBID. 

He  ruleth  all  the  roast 
With  bragging  and  with  boast, 
Borne  up  on  every  side 
With  pomp  and  with  pride. 

JOHN  SKELTON. 

Now  there  was  an  admirable  jovial  com- 
pany assembled  at  the  chvclling  of  Dame 
Shakspeare,  to  do  honor  to  the  christening 
of  her  child,  and  among  them  were  many 
of  the  worthy  burgesses  of  Stratford  ;  for 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


15 


be  it  understood,  John  Shafrspeare  was 
known  to  be  a  thriving  man,  and  such  are 
sure  to  have  no  lack  of  acquaintances  ;  and 
his  excellent  partner  having  coins  of  a  family 
of  some  repute  in  those  parts,  being  no 
other  than  the  heiress  of  Arden,  was  much 
looked  up  to  ;  and,  as  she  appeared  unto  all, 
of  an  honest  kind  heart  and  admirable  sweet 
nature,  she  possessed  every  one's  good 
word ;  of  which  the  consequence  was,  the 
house  could  scarce  contain  the  company 
the  occasion  had  assembled.  Some  stood 
about  the  porch  jesting  and  making  merry  ; 
others  were  in  the  garden,  especiaiiy  of  the 
younger  sort,  amusing  themselves  w  th 
pleasant  talk  one  with  another.  One  or 
two  decent  motherly  dames  were  in  the 
kitchen  bustling  to  and  fro,  looking  to  the 
dinner,  of  which  a  huge  fire  covered  with 
pots  and  kettles,  and  having  a  famous  large 
joint  at  the  spit,  a  little  ragged  urchin  kept 
turning — being  well  minded  of  all  not  to  It't 
it  burn — showed  some  preparation — the 
whilst  a  stout  wench  with  famous  red 
cheeks  and  elbows,  evidently  in  her  best 
finery,  along  with  Humphrey,  in  his  Sunday 
jerkin,  kept  hurrying  in  and  out,  laden  with 
knives,  napery,  drinking  vessels,  trenches, 
and  other  needful  things  at  a  feasting. 

In  the  best  chamber  of  the  whole  house 
which  looked  to  be  newly  strewed  with 
fresh  rushes,  and  garnished  here  and  there 
with  such  flowers  as  were  in  season,  some 
in  china  bowls,  and  some  in  parcel-gilt 
goblets,  there  was  a  large  recess,  made  by 
that  end  of  the  room  abutting  out  into  the 
street,  wherein  were  most  of  the  principal 
personages  of  the  company.  First,  for  in 
respect  of  his  calling,  I  would  give  him 
precedency  of  the  others,  there  sat  Sir  Na- 
thaniel the  curate,  easily  to  be  known  by 
his  portly  person,  his  merry  eye,  his  loud 
laugh,xand  his  free  speech.  It  was  bruited 
abroad  that  he  loved  good  living  better  than 
became  a  churchman,  and  his  maple  face 
and  famous  round  belly  did  confirm  sucli 


lantern  jaws,  his  darned  hose,  and  his  old 
fashioned  doublet,  and  moreover  assented  to 
what  the  other  said,  with  a  readiness  that 
savored  much  of  servility.  Nearer  this  way 
sat  a  substantial  looking  yeoman,  by  name 
Richard  Hathaway,  clad  in  honest  home- 
spun, in  deep  discourse  with  a  neighboring 
wealthy  sheep  farmer,  concerning  the  mar- 
ket price  of  wool,  the  state  of  the  crops,  and 
the  like  matters.  A  knot  of  burgesses 
were  standing  round  two  aldermen  of  the 
town,  who  were  debating  very  stoutly  upon 
business  connected  with  the  corporation ; 
and  the  parish  clerk,  a  little  dumpy  man, 
with  monstrous  thick  legs,  was  leaning  half 
out  of  the  casement,  in  earnest  talk  with 
some  one  in  the  street  below. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  chamber  were 
all  the  women  congregated,  appareled  in 
their  very  best,  and  talking  as  though  none 
had  a  mind  to  listen.  The  rich  farmer's 
wife,  sitting  very  stately  in  a  robe  of  fine 
scarlet,  with  a  white  hood,  n  gay  purse,  and 
a  bunch  of  keys  at  her  side,  hanging  from 
a  silken  belt  of  silver  tissue ;  whilst  her 
waist  was  b;>und  with  a  sash  of  grass-green 
silk  richly  embroidered,  no  lack  of  jewels 
about  her,  and  on  each  finger  two  rings  at 
least,  divided  the  admiration  of  hor  compan- 
ions with  the  aldermen's  wives  in  watchet- 
colored  tunics  and  fringed  kinles,  with 

where- 
in the 


golden  coifs  and  other  cuetly  toys 
with  they  had  attired  themselves. 


midst  of  them  sat  Dame  Shakspeare,  mod- 
estly and  matronly  clad,  and  without  doubt, 
as  seemly  a  woman  as  any  there,  looking 
contented  and  happy,  and  giving  very  earnest 
thanks  to  her  good  friends  and  guests  as 
they  made  up  to  her  with  some  pretty  gift 
or  another — mayhap,  a  set  of  apostle  spoons, 
or  a  standing  cup  of  silver,  or  a  gilt  bowl, 
for  the  boy,  who.  with  the  chrisorn-cloth 
about  him  in  token  of  his  recent  baptism, 
lay  in  the  arms  of  his  nurse — a  rosy  faced 
dame,  who  stood  beside  her  mistress  com- 
mending of  the  babe  to  all  coiners  above 


tale's  wonderfully.  In  apparel  he  was  slov-  i  babes  that  ever  lived.  And  lastly,  by  the 
enly,  and  not  over  clean  in  his  linen ;  but  door,  giving  a  hearty  welcome  to  all  who 
being  of  a  ready  wit  and  of  a  cheerful  hu-  entered,  drossod  in  an  excellent  suit  of  Lin- 
mor,  he  went  on  from  day  to  day  feasting  coin  green,  and  having  as  cheerful  face  as 
wherever  there  was  any  store  of  victual,  a  |  a  man  ever  wore,  stood  worthy  John  Shaks- 
welcome  if  not  an  honored  guest.  Beside  !  peare,  the  giver  of  the  feast. 
him  was  one  Stripes  the  schoolmaster,  and  j  "  Come  in,  neighbors  !  I  pray  you  come 
as  folks  said,  a  notable  conjuror-  who  had  :  in  !"  exclaimed  he,  as  some  were  entering. 
a  very  lean  look  with  him.  and  wore  such  \  "  I  am  heartily  gl  id  to  see  you,  and  my  good 
garments  as  seemed  to  be  clean-  past  all  j  dame  be  as  ready  to'-give  you  a  welcome  I'll 
recovery  of  tailoring,  they  were  so  thread-  j  be  bound  fort.  Weil  met  Thomas  Hart ! 
bare.  By  what  was  going  on,  it  appeared  j  Robort  Bruce  I  commend  me  to  your  good 
as  if  he  was  content  to  be  the  butt  of  the  j  will.  Worthy  Hammet  Sadler  I  am  much 
other,  for  he  took  in  good  part  all  the  jests  j  beholden  to  you  for  this  visit.  Ha,  Oliver 
the  curate  aimed  at  his  shrunk  shanks,  h'.s !  Dumps  !"  cried  he,  as  his  eyes  lighted  on  a 


16 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


melancholy  looking  little  man,  in  a  new 
leathern  jerkin  and  black  karsie  hose. 
"  Though  most  men  hugely  mislike  visits 
of  the  constable,  I  greet  you  well." 

"  God  requite  you,  neigJibor,"  answered 
the  man,  not  altering  a  whit  the  solemness 
of  his  aspect. 

"  Alethinks  we  are  all  indifferently  hon- 
est," continued  his  hof.t.  "  Yet  are  we  well 
inclined  you  should  exercise  your  office 
amongst  us  with  as  little  hindrance  as  may 
be." 

"  Marry,  'tis  a  villainous  world !"  ex- 
claimed the  constable.  "  But  if  any  disho- 
nesty hath  been  done,  point  me  out  the 
knave,'that  I.  may  take  him  up  before  his 
worship." 

"  Nay,  by  your  leave  not  so,"  replied  the 
other.  "  If  yoa  are  for  taking  up,  we  are 
only  willing  you  should  take  up  the  dinner  : 
but  with  such  an  offender  we  doubl  not  being 
able  to  play  the  high  bailiff  as  well  as  any 
in  the  county,  and  woujd  on  the  instant 
commit  him  to  safe  custody  in  our  own 
keeping."  Thereupon  there  was  a  laugh 
of  those  around  ;  for  when  the  host  tuketh 
upon  himself  to  jest,  even  if  his  wit  be  not 
of  the  brightest,  the  guests  must  lack  good 
manners  sadly,  if  their  mirth  break  not  out 
at  it  without  stinting. 

"  See  you,  John  a  Combe  1"  inquired  the 
buxom  wife  of  one  of  the  aldermen  to  the 
other,  as  they  ribw  stood  somewhat  apart 
from  the  rest,  observing  the  scene  I  have 
endeavored  to  describe. 

"  Ay.  yonder  is  he,  Mistress  Alderman 
Malmsey,"  replied  the  other,  pointing  to  one 
who  had  just  entered,  and  seemed  by  his 
apparel  to  bo  somewhat  of  a  gallant,  for  he 
was  very  dn.intily  dressed  in  a  new  puce- 
colored  doublet,  with  scarlet  hose,  buff 
shoes,  and  fine  rosettes  to  them :  a  well 
starched  ruff  below  his  beard,  and  a  hand- 
some rapier  at  his  girdle. 

"  By  our  Lady,  Mistress  Alderman  Dow- 
las, he  beareth  himself  bravely,"  exclaimed 
the  first. 

"  I'faith  methinks  he  is  as  pretty  a  man 
as  any  ot  his  inches,"  added  the  other. 

"  And  then  to  note  how  civilly  he  behavc'th 
himself,"  continued  Dame  Malmsey.  <;  H;J 
ever  speaketh  of  us  women  in  such  delicate, 
respectful  terms  as  would  do  a  woman's 
heart  good  to  hear  ;  and  if  any  so  much  as 
insinuate  aught  to  our  prejudice,  it  moveth 
him  so,  he  will  be  ready  to  right  the  biggest 
man  of  them  all." 

"  And  yet  I  marvel  he  should  still  remain 
a  bacheldr,"  observed  Dame  Dowlas.  "  He 
cannot  be  less  than  a  good  manly  age,  for  as 
Master  Alderman,  my  husband,  hath  told  me, 


it  was  twenty-five  years  come  Whitsuntide-, 
since  old  John  a  Combe  bought  his  wadding 
suit  of  his  father  ;  and  that  he  is  well  accom- 
modated for  a  wife  there  can  be  no  question, 
seeing  that  he  hath  ever  a  fair  sum  (if  money 
in  his  purse  at  a  friend's  need,  and  old  John 
a  Combe  hath  the  reputation  of  well  filled 
coffers." 

"  Perchance  the  old  man  is  not  willing  his 
son  should  marry,"  said  her  companion. — 
"Or,  mayhap,  thinks  it  fit  he  should  wed 
with  none  but  the  chiefest  families,  for  he 
hath  taken  infinite  pains,  and  spared  not  the 
cost,  he  should  have  as  'good  schooling  as 
any  in  the  land  ;  whereof  the  '.cc  is, 

you  shall  find  young  John  a  Combe  one  of 
the  properest  gentlemen  to  be  met  with  in  all 
Warwickshire." 

"  Certes,  he  seemeth  not  to  affect  one  more 
than  another,"  exclaimed  Dame  Malmsey." 
"  But  I  would  wager  my  test  kirtle,  there  is 
neve?  a  maid  for  five  miles  round  tStratford, 
who  would  not  give  her  ears  to  have  him  for 
ahusband." 

"In  all  sincerity  I  say  it,  I  wish  he  may 
find  a  wife  worthy  of  him,"  said  tho  other,  to 
which  her  companion  added  a  like  sincere 
wish.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  object  of  their 
friendly  commendations  passed  across  the 
cliamber,  very  courteously  returning  the 
courtesies  of  those  he  met, — and  few  were 
there  that  did  not  hasten  to  greet  him,  as 
soon  as  they  caught  sight  of  him  at  his  en- 
trance, which  showed  in  what  estimation  he 
was.  These  as  quickly  as  he  well  could  be 
parted  from,  and  made  up  to  Dame  Shak- 
speare,  who  witff  a  face  radiant  with  her 
choicest  smiles,  gave  him  her  hand  at  his 
approach. 

"  I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  I  have  come 
so  late,"  said  he  to  her,  in  a  very  soft,  gentle- 
manlike voice ;  "  I  have  been  detained  against 
my  will,  else  would  I  have  been  here  long 
since." 

"  I  pray  you,  trouble  not  yourself  about 
it,"  replied  she,  with  an  excellent  pleasant 
kindness.  .  "  Believe  me,  you  are*  infinitely 
welcome,  Master  Combe,  honor  our  poor 
dwelling  when  you  will." 

"  In  sooth,  I  regret  exceedingly  not  having 
sooner  paid  my  respects  to  our  young  master 
here,"  added  he,  looking  from  the  smiling 
mother  to  the  pretty  babe  with  a  delighted 
countenance.  "  For  mver  saw  I,  in  all  my 
days,  a  (*iild  whose  exquisite  comeliness 
made  earliest  acquaintance  <S0  desirable." 

"  Nay,  sweet  Sir,  it  is  your  goodness  that 
maketh  you  think  so,"  replied  she,  though 
pleased  beyond  measure  with  the  compli- 
ment. 

"  An'  it  please  your  worship,  it  be  very 


THE  YOUTH  O?  SHA£S?EABE. 


17 


exquisite  comeliness,  indeed  !"  exclaimed  [  truth,  I  cannot  expect  for  the  boy  any  such 
the  nurse  with  some  emphasis,  as  she  held  j  famous  fortune,  and  should  be  well  satisfied, 
out  the  child  to  be  seen  by  him  more  conve-  \  could  I  be  assured  he  would  live  to  play  the 
niently.  "  In  all  honesty  I  say  it,  I  know  part  of  an  honest  man,  and  die  in  the  esti- 
not  the  babe  so  choicely  featured.  I  pray  mation  of  his  fellows." 
you,  note  how  fair  a  forehead  it  hath — the  "  If  such  be  your  desire,  believe  me  the 
hair,  no  silk  ever  was  of  such  marvelous  fine-  j  assurance  is  easily  come  at,"  remarked  John 
ness — here  are  cheeks  that  bees  would  clus- :  a  Combe,  courteously;  "  for  it  is  manifest 
ter  at  taking  them  to  be  such  delicate  rari-  from  what  nurse  hath  said  of  him,  that  he 
ties  as  they  have  had  no  experience  of — but  possesses  his  mother's  excellent  rare  virtues, 
the  eyes.  I  pray  your  worship,  look  at  these  j  and  with  such  commendable  gifts  he  cannot 
eyes  !  What  pretty  twinklers  they  be  !  So ,  fail  to  realize  all  honorable  expectations." 
mild,  so  soft, so  loving,  and  so  roguish  withal !  "  I  am  proud  of  your  good  opinion,  worthy 
I'faith,  eyes  of  so  rare  a  sort  surely  no  child  Master  Combe,"  answered  she,  with  the  un- 
ever  had  ;  and  as  for  this  dainty  little  mouth  '.  affectedness  of  a  truly  modest  woman.  "  It 
— if  there  shall  be  found  any  cherry  so  tempt-  !  shall  at  least  keep  me  at  my  powerfulest  en- 
ing  to  look  upon,  I  am  no  true  woman."  j  deavors  to  deserve  it  better." 


"  O  my  life,  he  is  wonderfully  pretty !" 
cried  John  a  Combe,  gazing  with  an  admir- 
ing eye  upon  its  many  attractions. 

"  Dost  think  so,  really  ?"  asked  the  happy 
mother. 


notable 

cunning  to  describe,"  continued  the  nurse, 
jumping  her  charge  up  and  down  abit  as 
nurses  do.  "  And  for  a  curious  nature,  his 
exceedeth  all  comprehension.  There  shall 
nothing  pass  in  his  presence  unnoticed  of 
him  ;  and  if  any  thing  new  come  within  his 
reach,  doubt  not  he  will  have  hold  of  it  in  a 
presently ;  nay,  his  curiousness  is  of  so  ex- 
treme a  sort,  that  if  he  but  get  sight  of  a 
thing,  he  will  allow  of  no  peace  till  he  have 
it  in  his  hand,  and  thereby  gain  some  know- 
ledge what  stuff  it  be  i»ade  of." 

"  Methinks,  nurse,  there  is  much  sign  of 
after  wisdom  in  being  so  early  a  learner," 
observed  John  a  Combe. 

'•  Ay,  an  it  please  your  worship.,  that  is 
there  I'll  warrant  you,"  replied  she.  "  Then 
as  for  his  temper,  he  'is  so  sweetly  disjpsed, 
none  can  help  loving  him.  He  is  none  of 
your  cross-grained,  restless,  ill-behaved  little 
brats  that  be  ever  a  squalling  and  bawling 
from  morning  till  night,  disturbing  of  every 
one — not  he  by  my  halidom !  for  he  is  so 
peaceable,  you  might  live  in  the  house  and 
not  know  a  babe  was  in  it.  He  goeth  to 
sleep  just, when  it  is  proper  for  him,  and 


"  As  some  small  token  of  my  regard,  I 
beseech  you,  accept  of  me  this  poor  trifle 
for  your  sweet  son,"  said  he,  as  he  produced 
a  very  daintily  wrought  silver  cup  and  cover. 


Eeshrew  my  heart,  but  that  is  as  pretty 

"  But  then,  it  hath  such  strange,  wise,  f,  present  for  a  babe  as  I  have  seen  this  many 
table   ways   with    it   as   exceed   all   my   a  day,"  exclaimed  the  nurse :  and  then  ad- 

'  dressing  the  infant,  as  she  ler  him  rise  and 
fall  in  her  arms,  cried  out,  "  Hoity  toity,  my 
young  master !  thou  hast  a  goodly  store  of 
friends  methinks !  But  thou  deservest  it 
every  bit,  thou  "dost,  thou  pretty  rogue1' 


And  then  she  fell  to  tickling  of  him  with  one 
hand  upon  his  chest,  whilst  she  held  him  by 
the  other,  till  the  babe  laughed  after  so  da- 
licate  a  fashion  as  was  exquisite  to  see. 

"  I  feel  too  much  beholden  to  you,  worthy 
Master  Combe,  to  say  aught  of  the  matter," 
said  the  delighted  mother. 

"  And  here,  nurse,"  ha  added,  taking  out 
of  his  purse  a  piece  of  silver,  which* he 
placed  in  her  .hands,  "  is  some  small  token 
you  should  bestow  your  best  attentions  on 
this  my  young^-iend  hare." 

"  That  will  *  your  worship,  depend  on't, 
and  a  million  of  thanks  for  your  worship's 
largess,"  exclaimed  the  other,  dropping  a 
curtsey,  as  she  accepted  the  coin.  "  Well, 
commend  me  to  Master  Combs,  for  a  true 
gentleman!"  continued  she  as  he  had  re- 
tired to  another  part  of  the  chamber. 

"  He  is  ever  so,"  answered  her  mistress. 
"  He  giveth  signs  of  a  most  liberal  heart, 


wakes  himself  up  only  at  such  times  as  may  '  and  is  at  all  times  a  ready  mean  for  the  do- 
be  most  convenient  for  him  to  be  looked  to.  In  !  ing  of  any  good.  Perchance  one  might 
short.  I  will  be  bound  fort,  his  like  is  not  to  '  travel  many  miles,  and  not  meet  with  so 
be  found  in  this  world ;  and  if  he  come  not  good  a  neighbor,  so  true  a  friend,  or  so 
to  be  a  bishop  or  at  least  a  justice  o'  the  worthy  a  Christian." 

peace,  I  shall  be  hugely  mistaken  in  him."  "  Now,  neighbors  !  now  friends !  an  it 
"  O  my  word,  nurse,  you  have  mighty  i  please  you  in  to  dinner,"  cried  John  Shaks- 
hopes  of  him,"  exclaimed  Dame  Shakspeare, '  peare :  on  the  instant,  all  were  in  prepara- 
gazing  fondly,  and  somewhat  proudly,  on  j  tion  to  obey  the  welcome  summons,  and  John* 
trie  object  of  so  much  eulogy,  as  it  lay  dandl- 1  a  Combe  hurrying  back  to  Dame  Shakspeare, 
ing  in  the  arms  of  her  attendant.  "  In  good  gallantly  led  the  way  with  her,  followed  by 


18 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


the  rest  of  the  company,  till  he  had  placed 
her  in  her  proper  seat.  After  Sir  Nathaniel 
had  said  grace,  the  company  set  down  to  a 
dinner  that  would  have  gladdened  any  but 
to  have  beheld  ;  for  there  was  brought  upon 
the  table  a  famous  store  of  all  things  in 
season,  with  plenty  of  excellent  liquor,  both 
ale  and  cider,  and  all  set  to  with  good  ap- 
petites and  with  an  evident  determination  to 
enjoy  the  cheer  that  had  been  provided  for 
them.  Of  these,  none  so  distinguished 
himself  as  did  the  curate  and  the  school- 
master. Stripes  sat  nearly  bolt  upright  in 
his  chair,  as  serious  as  a  judge  and  as  rave- 
nous as  a  wolf;  yet  there  w;is  not  so  glar- 
ing an  impudency  in  his  proceedings  as  was 
in  the  other,  for  he  was  not  importunate — he 
waited  to  be  asked — eat  what  was  given 
him — was  ready  again ;  and  with  small 
pressing,  continued  at  it  till  long  after  all 
else  had  done. 

The  host  and  hostess  seemed  ever  anx- 
ious that  each  person  should  have  what  ha 
liked,  and  p^ty  of  it,  and  kept  Maud  the 
girl,  and  Humphrey,  the  boy,  at  their  vigil- 
ance, supplying  of  what  was  needed,  whilst 
John  a  Combe  busied  himself  in  pressing 
those  nighest  him  to  make  good  cheer,  and 
looked  as  if  he  cared  not  what  he  had  him- 
self, as  long  as  the  rest  fared  well.  Of  a 
surety  every  one  appeared  to  enjoy  himself 
to  his  heart's  content,  nor  were  the  women 
altogether  unmindful  of  the  bountiful  hospi- 
tality that  had  garnished  the  board  ;  for  they 
eat  and  praised,  and  smiled  in  such  a  sort 
as  showed  how  well  they  were  pleased  with 
their  entertainment. 

^.t  last  the  meal  was  over,  the  dishes  re- 
moved, and  in  their  stead  the  tables  were 
covered  with  a  plentiful  variety  of  cakes,  such 
fruit  as  could  be  got,  Marc^ane,  apples  and 
comfits,  stewed  prunes  anodishes  of  other 
preserves,  syllabubs  for  the  younger  folks 
muffle  of  new  milk  and  verjuice,  and  wine 
for  the  elders  of  two  or  three  several  kinds  ; 
besides  which,  John  Shakspeare  was  brew- 
ing a  goodly  bowl  of  sack  with  sugar  in  it, 
for  such  as  affected  such  delicate  drink,  of 
whom  the  two  aldermen  w^re  most  conspic- 
uous, swearing  there  was  no  such  liquor  in 
the  world,  whilst  his  excellent  sweet  wife 
opposite  was  preparing  a  jug  of  spiced  ale, 
such  liquo'r  being  desired,  above  all  others, 
by  such  'of  her  guests  as  were  farmers  or 
yeomen ;  ever  and  anon  saying  something 
to  the  nurse,  who  was  standing  behind  her 
chair  with  the  babe  in  her  arms ;  or  ac- 
knowledging with  some  few  gracious  words, 
the  courtesies  of  John  a  Combe,  who  sat 
nigh  her,  and  by  his  own  readiness  took 
heed  that  she  should  have  everything  she 


needed  ready  at  her  hand.  The  jingling  cf 
glasses,  and  the  like  noises,  caused  by  the 
moving  of  bottles,  and  other  drinking  ves- 
sels, having  in  some  degree  subsided,  and 
all  having  before  them  what  they  most  de- 
sired, it  was  observed  that  John  a  Combe 
stood  up  with  his  glass  filled  in  his  hand  ; 
and,  with  some  ado,  the  rude  prating  of  Sir 
Nathaniel  being  stopped,  he  was  heard  to 
speak  after  this  fashion : 

"  My  worthy  good  neighbors  and  friends ! 
There  is  a  custom  now  of  old  standing  in 
this  our  very  dear  country,  which  methinks 
should  be  held  in  good  esteem  of  all  true 
English  hearts ;  to  wit,  the  drinking  of 
healths,  which,  I  take  it,  is  a  great  encoura- 
ger  of  honest  love  ;  and  keepeth  true  friend- 
ship in  excellent^  remembrance  among  all 
men.  Now  it  may  be  known  unto  you,  that 
this  same  estimable  custom  is  in  most  re- 
quest amongst  those  of  old  acquaintance. 
Therefore  I  beseech  you'  pardon  me,  if  on 
this  occasion  I  require  of  you  to  follow  the 
custom  with  some  alteration.  There  is 
no  old  familiar  friend  I  would  now  ask  your 
remembrance  of;  but  one  whose  very  name 
hath  been  unknown  to  you  till  this  day.  I 
cannot  point  out  to  you  what  noticeable  vir- 
tues he  hath  shown,  worthy  of  your  com- 
mendation ;  for  as  yet  I  have  been  so  little 
in  his  company,  he  hath  not  had  time  to 
show  his  goodness  to  me  ;  but  knowing  his 
father's  extreme  honesty  of  soul,  and  his 
mother's  manifold  excellencies  of  nature,  1 
I  am  assured  he  cannot  fail  to  have  in  him 
such  bountiful  gifts,  as  in  good  time  mus\ 
bring  to  him  all  good  men's  affections. 
Neighbors  !  I  pray  you,  with  full  cups  joi» 
with  me  very  heartily  in  drinking — health 
to  our  young  friend,  William  Shakspeare,  a 
long  lite  and  a  prosperous  !" 

Afetliinks  there  should  be  no  need  to  as- 
sure the  reader  that  the  desire  of  John  a 
Combe  was  followed  on  the  instant  with  the 
sincere,  good  will  of  all  present. 

"  Well  done,  John  a  Combe,"  shouted 
Sir  Nathaniel ;  "  O'  my  life,  a  truly  excel- 
lent proper  speech  ;  and  very  scholarly  spo- 
ken. What  sayest  Ticklebreech  ?"  cried 
he  familiarly  to  the  schoolmaster,  who  sat 
over  against  him.  "  Is  not  the  speech  a 
sound  speech,  ay,  and  a  notable  speech,  ay, 
and  a  speech  of  marvelous  discretion  ?" 

"  An  it  please  your  reverence,"  replied 
Strides,  looking  all  the  whilst  as  solemn  as 
if  it  was  a  matter  of  life  or  death  with  him ; 
"  touching  the  speech  that  hath  lately  had 
utterance  amongst  us,  I  will  make  so  bold 
as  to  say,  that  a  properer  speech  shall  not 
be  found,  even  should  you  seek  for  it  in  the 
choicest  of  Demosthenes  his  Philippics,  or 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


19 


of  Cicero  his  Orations.  It  is  a  speech  that, 
hath  in  it  thess  several  excellences  ;  excel- 
lence of  matter,  excellence  of  rhetoric,  and 
excellence  of — 

i;  It  may  be  known  of  all  here  I  am  no 
scholar,  like  unt^our  good  friend  and  neigh- 
bor Master  Combe,"  observed  John  Shaks- 
peare. with  his  honest  cheerful  face  all  of  a 
glow,  and  to  the  complete  cutting  short  of 
the  schoolmaster  in  what  threatened  to  be 
an  exceeding  prosy  discourse.  "  Yet  had  I 
what  I  lack  the  most,  I  doubt  it  would  do 
me  such  good  office  as  sufficiently  to  assure 
him  of  the  full  great  love  I  bear  him  in  my 
heart  for  the  friendliness  he  hath  shown  to 
me  and  mine  on  this  and  other  occasions. 
Fain  would  I  dilate  concerning  of  what 
numberless  famous  proofs  he  hath  exhibited 
of  the  generousness  of  his  humor,  but  that 
I  know  none  of  you  stand  in  any  ignorance 
of  them.  From  his  earliest  life  he  hath  been 
given  to  all  manner  of  truly  estimable  vir- 
tues ;  and  now  his  riper  manhood,  in  its 
thorough  honesty  and  free-heartedness,  de- 
clareth  what  proper  effect  hath  come  of  the 
exceeding  virtuousness  of  his  youth.  I  feel 
proud  that  Stratford  can  boast  of  such  a 
one  ;  and  I  pray  you  pardon  me,  when  I  add, 
my  pride  is  none  the  less  at  finding  such  a 
one  should  hold  me  in  his  commendation  ; 
for,  as  I  take  it,  to  be  well  spoken  of  is  ever 
to  be  desired  ;  but  the  praise  of  the  praise- 
worthy is  a  thing  beyond  all  price.  In  tes- 
timony that  your  opinion  accordeth  with 
mine  own,  I  beseech  you  neighbors,  join  with 
me  in  drinking  to  the  health  of  our  wor- 
thy townsman,  John  a' Combe,  desiring  that 
he  may  long  continue  to  live  amongst  us, 
in  the  same  pride  and  honor  as  he  doth  at  this 
present." 

"  Marry,  but  this  looketh  to  be  the  pro- 
perest  speech  of  the  two !"  exclaimed  Sir 
Nathaniel,  as  all  prepared  themselves,  and 
with  evidence  of  great  good  will,  to  do  as 
their  host  would  have  them  ;  "  What  sayest, 
Pedagogus  ?" 

"  Indeed,  and  as  your  reverence  out  of 
your  singular  wisdom  hath  observed/'  said 
the  schoolmaster,  refraining  awhile  from  the 
pippin  he  was  a  moment  since  intent  upon 
adding  to  the  great  mass  of  victual  that  had 
gone  before  it.  ';  It  be  out  of  all  compari- 
son the  properest  speech.  In  short,  it  shall 
be  found,  on  the  very  searchingest  exami- 
nation, of  so  proper  a  sort,  that  its  fellow 
shall  not  be  met  with,  seek  where  you  will." 

Much  more  of  the  same  poor  stuff  he 
might  have  added,  had  not  the  voice  of  John 
a  Combe  sent  him,  nothing  loath  to  the 
munching  of  his  pippin ;  for  he  was  of  that 
well-disposedness,  he  would  hold  his  prate  j 


when  his  betters  were  talking  ;  but  among 
poorer  folk  he  would  say  out  his  say,  were  it 
a  mile  to  the  end ;  and  heed  none,  should 
they  talk  ever  so.  Master  Combe,  thereup- 
on quickly  disclaimed  any  title  to  praise  for 
whatever  he  had  done  ;  asserting  that  it  was 
what  every  man  should  do,  regardless  of  all 
else  but  the  good  that  came  of  it.  This 
brought  others  to  speak,  especially  the  al- 
dermen and  burgesses  of  his  particular 
acquaintance,  who  in  homely  fashion  gave 
their  evidence  of  his  worthiness.  In  fact, 
every  one  appeared  anxious  to  say  in  what 
great  estimation  he  was  held  of  therft,  only 
with  one  solitary  exception.  Of  the  com- 
pany was  one  Master  Buzzard,  a  gentleman 
of  those  parts,  who,  for  all  he  was  of  bet- 
ter estate  than  any  there,  was  an  ignorant 
vain  person,  living  in  great  dissoluteness, 
with  such  companions  as  the  priest  and  the 
schoolmaster,  and  other  roysterers ;  and 
cared  for  nothing  so  much  as  hawking  and 
spending  his  time  in  riotous  ill-living  among 
such  as  were  ready  to  fall  into  his  humor. 
He  was  of  a  middle  size  with  strong  body 
and  full  look,  and  affected  to  mislike  any- 
thing like  niceness  in  apparel.  Indeed,  his 
manners  were  of  the  rudest,  but  being  an 
excellent  customer  of  John  Shakspeare,  he 
got  inv^d  to  the  christening.  At  hearing 
the  praises  that  were  so  bountifully  lavish- 
ished  upon  John  a  Combe,  his  soul  was 
stirred  with  a  very  devilish  envy ;  and 
though  he  said  nought,  save  'twas  to  mutter 
some  contemptuous  expression,  unheard  of 
any  but  those  nighest  him,  it  was  easy  to  be 
seen  that  he  was  in  wonderful  ill-humor. 

At  this  time  a  many  of  the  company  were 
amusing  themselves  at  the  game  of  Barley 
Break,  in  the  warehouse  and  places  where 
the  wool  was  stored,  and  other  things  in 
which  John  Shakspeare  dealt ;  and  it  did 
so  happen  that  Master  Alderman  Dowlas, 
the  draper,  was  shut  up  in  the  middle  room 
with  the  buxom  wife  of  his  neighbor,  Mas- 
ter Alderman  Malmsey,  the  vintner,  and  he 
must  needs  be  making  love  to  her,  though 
he  had  as  exquisite  fair  a  wife  of  his  own 
as  any  honest  man  need  desire.  Now  this 
worthless  draper  was  a  man  of  no  par- 
ticular likelihood  to  fall  in  with  a  pretty 
woman 's  fantasy,  having  features  by  no 
means  comely ;  a  long  thin  nose,  and  a 
mouth  about  as  expressive  of  any  particular 
affectionateness  as  a  roll  of  broadcloth.  In- 
deed, there  was  a  sort  of  sanctimoniousness 
in  the  cut  of  his  beard,  and  the  cropping  of 
his  hair,  and  the  sober  suit  of  grey  in  which 
he  was  usually  appareled,  that  seemed  to 
give  the  flattest  contradiction  to  love  of  any 
sort,  unless  it  were  the  love  cf  godliness 


20 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


and  a  decent  life.  Whether  what  he  had 
been  drinking  put  into  his  head  any  such 
villainy,  or  that  he  was  of  a  very  amorous- 
ly disposed  nature  at  all  times,  I  know  not ; 
but  certain  it  is,  he  left  the  table  to  play  at 
Barley  Break;  of  an  equal  surety  is  it,  he 
was,  in  the  course  of  the  game,  shut  up  in 
the  middle  room  with  the  young  comely 
wife  of  his  brother  alderman  ;  and  it  is  be- 
yond all  contradiction  that,  after  flattering 
"the  very  infiniteness  of  her  most  absolute 
and  inconceivable  beauty,"^  as  he  was 
pleased  to  style  her  somewhat  attsactiveness, 
in  a  sufficiency  that  ought  to  have  satisfied 
the  vainest  woman  that  ever  lived,  he  in  a 
monstrous  earnestness,  swore  he  loved  her 
better  than  aught  else  in  the  universal  world. 

"  Fie  on  you,  Jonathan  Dowlas  !"  cried 
the  pretty  woman,  evidently,  from  the 
twinkling  of  her  merry  dark  eyes,  taking 
the  affair  as  an  excellent  good  jest.  "  I 
marvel  you  should  so  conduct  yourself  to 
your  friend's  wife,  and  you  a  godly  man 
too,  that  hath  been  married  this  seven  year  ! 
— as  I  Kve,  methinks  it  is  too  bad  of  yoi*," 

"  Alack,  adorable  sweet  creature !"'  cried 
the  Alderman,  twitching  his  chair  as  nigh 
as  possible  to  hers,  the  which  she  marked 
by  immediately  increasing  the  defence  be- 
tween them.  "  'Tis  all  on  account  of  the 
insufficiency  of  the  flesh.  The  flesh  re- 
belleth  against  all  discretion.  It  stirreth, 
as  it  were,  yea,  it  be  exceedingly  moved." 

"  I  would  it  would  move  farther  off  then," 
exclaimed  his  fair  companion,  as  she  remo- 
ved herself  a  short  distance,  upon  rinding 
him  again  attempting  to  get  closer  to  her 
than  she  liked. 

"  Sweet,  Mistress  Malmsey,"  continued 
the  draper,  very  pathetically,  "  as  the  hart 
panteth  for  the  water  broeks,  doth  my  enam- 
ored soul  thirst  after  thine  incomparable 
sweet  perfection." 

"  Then  you  must  quench  your  thirst  at 
other  fountains,  I  promise  you,"  pithily  re- 
plied the  vintner's  wife.  "  My  husband  hath 
a  famous  store  of  wines.  I  doubt  not,  if 
you  would  give  him  an  order  for 'some,  a 
draught  or  so  occasionally  would  do  you, 
out  of  all  comparison,  more  benefit  than 
would  the  draining  of  my  incomparable 
sweet  perfections  to  the  dregs.'' 
"  Nay,  that  never  could  be,  my  honeysweet !" 
exclaimed  the  Alderman,  trying  to  take  her 
hand,  which  she  presently  snatched  away 
from  him.  "  Sooner  shall  princes  wear 
buckram,  and  penniless  rogues  ruffle  it  in 
ready  money  better  than  credit,  and  large 
costliest  cloth  of  gold.  Believe  me,  as  I  love 
profits  before  any  loss,  I  shall  grow  into  a 
desperation,  succeed  I  not  in  my  suit." 


"  Your  suit  is  like  to  go  unshod,  for  it  ia 
bootless,"  answered  Mistress  Malmsey, 
with  a  pretty  laugh  at  her  own  jest ;  then 
added,  more  seriously,  "  Marry  to  prevent 
such  a  mischance  as  your  falling  into  des- 
peration, I  would  acquaint  your  wife  with 
your  desires,  and  doubt  not  at  all  she'd  suit 
you  in  a  presently." 

The  Alderman  looked  as  if  he  relished 
not  this  raillery.  He  spoke  never  a  word 
for  a  minute  or  so.  What  more  he  might 
have  said,  I  know  not ;  for  soon  after 
by  the  chances  of  the  game,  they  were  re- 
leased from  their  imprisonment,  and  she 
allowed  him  no  more  opportunity  of  having 
any  such  conversation  with  her  that  day. 
In  the  meanwhile,  they  at  the  table  were 
still  jovially  employed  iu  making  good  cheer. 
John  a  Combe  was  intent  upon  setting  off 
every  one  to  enjoy  themselves  after  such 
fashion  as  pleased  them  most,  and  seeing 
that  all  had  proper  refreshment  when  their 
sports  had  tired  them  in  any  way.  John 
Shakspeare  was  employed  in  a  like  manner, 
and  so  was  his  good  dame ;  whereof,  the 
consequence  was,  as  has  been  acknowledg- 
ed many  times  since,  that  there  never  was 
known,  at  any  merry-making,  such  a  gene- 
ral contentation  of  the  guests ;  and  he  who 
was  the  general  cause  of  this  great  content 
lacked  no  honor  which  the  occasion  seemed 
to  warrant.  He  was  praised  as  bountifully 
as  it  each  had  taken  a  cue  from  the  nurse — 
all  the  women  must  needs  have  a  kiss  of 
him  ;  and  divers  among  those  nigh  unto  mar- 
riageable estate  would  not  be  satisfied  with- 
out dandling  him  a  bit  in  their  arms — may- 
hap to  show  certain  of  the  young  men  there 
how  apt  they  were  at  so  notable  an  exercise. 
At  last,  having  been  caressed  and  praised 
of  all,  with  a  liberality  that  exceedeth  con- 
ception, amid  much  regret  of  the  young 
folks  nurse  took  him  away — as  in  sooth,  it 
was  high  time  he  should  be  asleep  in  his 
cradle. 

Master  Burrard  continued  at  the  table 
eyeing,  with  a  marvelous  sour  and  gloomy 
aspect,  the  attentions  that  were  paid  to  John 
a  Combe  and  it  fretted  him  to  find  that  he, 
for  all  his  greater  state  was  held  in  no  such 
estimation.  Along  with  him,  were  Sir  Na- 
thaniel, Stripes,  and  Oliver  Dumps ;  ant1 
sometimes  others  would  join  them  for  a 
time.,  upon  getting  weary  ot  their  sports, 
but  these  four  appeared  to  like  nothing  so 
well  as  continual  tippling  of  such  liquors 
as  were  before  them,  seasoned  with  such 
talk  as  persons  so  disposed,  were  most  like 
to  affect.  • 

"  It  may  be,  or  it  may  not  be,"  observed 
Sir  Nathaniel,  after  rehearsing  to  his  listen- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ers  a  scandalous  story  ;  "  but  here  is  a  child 
found,  and  as  far  as  my  learning  may  go,  I 
know  of  no  child  having  been  born  without 


the  help  of  a  mofher. 
Conjuror  ?" 


What  sayest,  Sir 


"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it,  please 
your  reverence,"  replied  the  schoolmaster. 
"  Though  it  hath  been  asserted,  by  divers 


one  who  cometh  to  the  resolution  of  doing 
his  duty  though  it  be  unpleasant  to  him. 
"  And  though  no  later  than  yesterday  I  did 
put  in  the  stocks,  for  wantonness,  one  Marian 
Loosefish,  a  woman  also,  as  in  my  conscience 
I  do  firmly  believe  ;  yet  as  it  seemeth  to  me 
it  be  like  to  bring  her  Majesty's  name  into 
contempt  among  all  her  loving  subjects — the 


creditable  historians  that  Venus  sprang  which  be  against  the  law — to  say  that  wo- 
from  the  foam  of  the  sea,  and  Minerva  from  men  be  given  to  all  manner  of  villany,  and 
the  brain  of  Jove  ;  for  my  own  part,  I  would  .  to  assert  at  the  same  time  that  the  Queen's 
maintain,  yet  with  all  due  deference,  the  Highness  is  a  woman,  I  must  maintain 


utter  impossibility  of  any  one  person  com- 
ing into  this  world  without  having  to  boast 
of  a  mother,  and  perchance,  if  there  should 
be  no  doubt  on't,  of  a  father  also." 

"  Thou  art  a  fool  old  hocus  pocus,  and  no 
conjuror !"  exclaimed   the  curate,  sharply, 


it  by  virtue  of  my  office,   that  if  all   wo- 
men may  be  queans,  then  is  the  queen  no 


"  Pooh !"  -e: 
"  But  I  will 


ed  Master  Buzzard, 
ave  it  '  pooh,'  "  cried  the 


constable,  raising  his  voice,  and  seeming  in 


"  a  very  fool,  and  as  ignorant  as  a  heathen.  !  some  indignation.  "  It  be  flat  contumacious- 
Had  Adam  a  mother,  or  Eve  ?  Surely  thou  ness,  and  very  sedition.  I  will  allow  of  it 
hast  forgotten  thy  Testament — thou  Ba-  on  no  account ;  and  I  charge  you,  on  your 
laam's  ass!  But  thou'  never  wert  half  so  ;  allegiance  declare  the  Queen's  Highness  no 
wise  an  animal  as  he  ;  for  it  be  well  known  \  woman,  or  any  such  vileness,  else  will  I 
of  all  men,  that  once  upon  a  time,  when  he  straight  with  you  to  the  cage." 
was  carrying  off  Potiphar's  wife  into  Egypt, '  What,  wouldst  put  a  gentleman  in  the 
he  spake  unto  Moses,  saying,  '  Paul !  Paul !  cage  ?"  cried  Sir  Nathaniel,  as  if  in  som« 
thou  almost  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian.'"  surprise.  "  Hath  no  respect  for  persons  ?" 
"  Methinks. asses  must  have  been  wiser  "No,  nor  for  parsons  either,  should  they 
in  those  days  than  they  be  now,"  said  the  conduct  themselves  unadvisedly,"  answered 
constable,  gravely.  "  My  father  hath  had  the  little  man  determinedly.  "  I  am  put  in 
an  ass  of  his  own  a  long  time  past,  but  it  authority  for  the  preservation  of  the  peace, 
never  gave  any  sign  of  speech."  \  and  it  behooveth  me  to  keep  good  heed  there 


"  It  hath  begun  at  last,  then  eccesigqium" 
cried  Sir  Nathaniel,  laughing  famously,  in 
which  he  was  joined  by  his  companions. 
"  But  touching  this  child.  It  doth  appear 
that  Dame  Lucy  made  discovery  of  a  young 
child  that  had  been  abandoned,  as  it  was  said ; 
and  as  it  could  not  have  been  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy's,  it  could  riot,  with  any  toleration,  be 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  wife's.  That  child  the 
good  dame  had  me  christen,  some  short  time 
since,  by  the  name  of  Mabel ;  and  she  hath 


be  no  idle  prating  like  to  lead  to  a  brawl." 

"  The  man's  an  ass,"  said  Master  Buz- 
zard, in  very  evident  contempt. 

"  Hullo,  my  masters  !  what  hath  caused 
this  unseemly  to  do  amongst  you?"  called  out 
John  a  Combo,  as,  drawn  by  the  constable's 
loud  voice,  afad  violent  manner,  he,  with 
oth^e,  was  attracted  to  the  table.  "  I  mar- 
v<'L  on  such  an  occasion  as  this,  to  see  any 
quarrelling.  I  pray  you,  say  the  matter  of 
difference  betwixt  you,  that.  I  may  do  my 


resolved,  as  she  told  me,  to  bring  it  up  as  i|st,  as  speedy  as  may  be,  to  bring  it  to  an 
her  own  :  the  which  she  must  needs  do  with  Whicable  ending." 

the  perfect  likeness  that  ever  was,  for  many  i  "  Marry,  this  is  it,"  replied  Oliver,  in  no 
do  say  she  hath  other  right  to  it  than  that  of  way  abating  the  greatness  of  his  indignation, 
first  discoverer.'' 


"  By  God's  body,  it  be  infamous  !"  cried 
Master  Buzzard,  in  a  rude  loud  voice  that 
attracted  the  attention  of  all  within  reach  of 


whilst  Master  Buzzard  sat  with  a  perfect 
indifferency,  mingled  with  some  scorn  of  the 
whole  business,  rocking  himself  on  his  chair, 
"  Master  Buzzard  hath  given  me  ill  words, 


it.  "  The  vileness  of  these  women  hath  no  ;  and  I  will  have  the  law  of  him  ;  moreover, 
rivalry  save  the  craft  with  which  they  hide  he  hath  spoken  shamefully  of  the  queen's 
it.  They  are  traitors  to  honesty,  all  of  them  ;  grace,  for  the  which  he  shall  have  to  make 
and  I  would  as  soon  believe  in  the  trustwor-  ;  proper  amends  ;  and,  lastly,  he  hath  insinu- 
thiness  of  a  cut-purse,  as  I  would  in  the  vir-  .  ated  evil  opinions  of  my  lady,  the  wife  of  his 


tuousness  of  anv  one  of  them." 


Q 


"  An'  it  please  you,  Master  Buzzard,  the 
ueen's    Highness    whose  unworthy  con- 


stnble  I  am,  is  a  woman,  as  I  have  heard," 
here  remarked  Oliver  Dumps,  with  the  air  of 


worship  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  in  particular, 
and  of  all  women  in  general,  saying  that 
they  be  notoriously  dishonest,  and  ever  given 
to  unlawful  behavior." 

"  What  he  hath  spoken  ill  ef  you,  worf  »y 


Master  Constable,  be  sure  he  said  in  jest,-" 
remarked  John  a  Combe.  "  And  I  cannot 
believe  you  to  be  so  unneighborly  as  to  allow 
of  such  a  thing  moving  you." 

"  Nay,  but  he  hath  called  me  an  ass,  Mas- 
ter Combe,  and  there  be  no  jest  in  that  as  I 
can  see,"  cried  out  the  offended  constable. 
"  He  meant  it  as  a  jest  depend  on't,"  re- 
plied the  other. 

"  Ay,  'twas  a  jest  out  of  all  doubt,"  here 
observed  Sir  Nathaniel,  just  after  draining 
his  goblet.  "  Didst  not  take  it  take  it  for  a 
jest,  Ticklebreech  ?"  added  he,,  turning  to 
his  companion. 

"  O'  my  life  yes,  an't  jkpe  your  reve- 
rence," answered  the  IHoolmaster  ;  "  as 
excellent  good  jest  as  ever  I  heard." 

"  Well,  an'  it  be  a  jest,  indeed,"  said  Oli- 
ver Dumps,  in  a  quieter  tone  ;  "  believe  me 
I  was  ignorant  of  it,  else  would  I  have  said 
nought  of  the  matter,  for  I  am  not  so  crab- 
bed as  to  take  offence  where  none  be  intend- 
ed ;  but  what  saith  he  concerning  his  ill 
speech  of  the  queen  ?  that  was  no  jest,  at 
least  he  will  find  it  none,  I  warrant  you." 

"  You  must  have  misunderstood  his  mean- 
ing surely  ?"  observed  John  a  Combe.  "  Tis 
not  at  all  in  reason  that  one  known  to  be  so 
well  disposed  towards  her  Majesty  as  is 
Master  Buzzard,  should  say  so  much  as  one 
single  word  to  her  prejudice." 

"  If  he  said  not  all  women  be  mere  wan- 
tons, count  me  the  lyingest  knave  in  Chris-  j 
tendom,"  asserted  the  constable  with  some 
vehemence. 

"  Perchance  he  may  have  said,  it,  but  that 
he  had  any  such  meaning  will  I  never  be- 
lieve," remarked  Master  Combe. 

"  I  will  wager  my  life  on  it  he  had  avery 
different  meaning,"  exclaimed  the  curate. 
Then  called  he  to  his  sworn-fellow,  "  What 
sayest,  Lanthornjaws  ?" 

"  Please  your  reverence,  I  will  vouch  fa- 
it, his  meaning  must  needs  have  been  ofHi 
clean  contrary  sort,"  readily  answered  the 
schoolmaster. 

"  Marry  then,  since  that  be  the  opinion 
of  these  honest  gentlemen,  I  will  not  stir  in 
the  matter  further,"  said  Oliver.  "  I  would 
torture  no  man's  speech  to  do  him  hurt,  not 
I,  even  though  I  might  be  made  alderman  to- 
morrow for't.  But  touching  my  lady,  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy's  wife,  I  heard  of  a  child  she 
had  found  and  bringeth  up  as  her  own,  of 
the  wluch  if  I  remember  me,  Master  Buz- 
zard believeth  the  good  lady  to  be  the  mo- 
ther, without  consent  first  had  and  obtained 
of  his  worship,  her  husband  ;  and  this  I  take 
it,  can  be  no  other  than  scandalum  magna- 
tum — a  terrible  heinous  offence  as  I  have 
heard." 


"  I  cannot  believe  Master  Buzzard  would 
speak  of  such  a  matter,  save  as  the  common 
talk  of  the  vulgar  sort,  who  know  no  bet- 
ter," said  John  a  Combe.     For  mine  own 
part,  there  is  nothing  of  which  I  am  so  well 
assured  as  of  the  wonderful  excellence  of 
woman.     All  that  extreme  force  of  rhetoric 
could  speak,  or  most  famous  cunning  of  the 
pen  could  describe,  in  my  humble  opinion 
could  never  give  her  such  sufficient  justice 
as  her  infinite  merits  deserve.     Whatever 
there  is  of  goodness — whatever  there  is  of 
kindness,  of  piti  fulness  of  heart,  of  noble- 
ness of  disposition,  have  their  chiefest  place 
in  her,  and  she  is  the  origin  of  that  mar- 
velous sweet  power  that  gives  humanity  its 
rarest  excellence,  and  binds  all  nature  in 
one  unending  chain  that  never  rusts,  that 
will  not  clog,  and  that  cannot  be  sundered 
— the  links  whereof  are  those   endearing 
sympathies  that  join  to  form  the  universal 
bondage  of  the  affections.     Such  bountiful 
store  of  graces  does  she  possess,  that  al- 
though poets  from  earliest  time  have  been 
endeavoring  to  make  them  known  to  the 
world,  in  our  own  day  such  attractions  as 
have  escaped  notice,  are  found  to  be  out  of 
all  number ;  and  it  hath  been  well  asserted, 
the  same  is  like  to  continue  to  latest  pos- 
terity.    Methinks  there  shall  be  no  need  of 
saying  aught  to  show  what  great  share  she 
hath  in  the  production  of  everything  that 
tendeth  to  happiness  in  this  world,  for  you 
cannot  help  knowing  that  all  true  pleasure 
is  of  her  giving.      Of  her  excellence    I 
would  content  myself  with  asking — What 
virtue  is  like  to  a  woman's  ? — What  honesty 
is  like  to  a  woman's  ? — What  love,  what 
courage,  what   truth,  what   generousness, 
what  self-denial,  what  patience  under  afflic- 
tion, and  forgiveness  for  wrong  come  at  all 
nigh  unto  such  as  a  woman  showeth  ?     Be- 
Jieve  me  the  man  who  cannot  honor  so  truly 
divine  a  creature,  is  an  ignorant  poor  fellow, 
whom  it  would  be  a  compliment  to  style  a 
fool ;  or  an  ungrateful  mean  wretch,  whom 
charity  preventeth  me  from  calling  a  villain." 
"  Thou   liest,   knave !"   shouted    Master 
Buzzard,  starting  to  his  feet,  and  drawing 
his  rapier,  and  looking  to  be  in  a  monstrous 
deadly  rage.     "  Thou  art  thyself  but  a  pal- 
try villain  as  ever  lived,  and  a  coward  to 
boot,  as  I  will  presently  prove — so  come  on, 
or  I  will  make  no  more  account  of  thy  pes- 
tilent  body   than   I   would   of    a   stinking 
mackerel." 

41  Aid  in  the  Queen's  name,  you  that  be 
good  men  and  true  !"  exclaimed  the  consta-- 
ble,  amidst  the  shrieks  of  the  women  and 
j  the  outcries  of  the  men,  as  he  bustled  up 
I  between  the  expected  combatants . 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"Put  down  your  weapon,  Master  Buz- 
zard, I  pray  you,"  cried  John  Shakspeare, 
hastening  with  others  to  the  scene. 

"  I  will. cut  off  thy  ears  as  a  supper  for 
my  dogs  !"  continued  Master  Buzzard,  seem- 
ing to  increase  in  his  passion. 

"  A  riot !  a  riot !     Surrender;  you  my  pris- 
oner in  the  Queen's  name !"  added  Oliver 
^umps,  advancing  close  to  the  offender,  as 
with  the  intention  of  seizing  him. 

"  Out  fool,  or  I  will  pin  thee  to  the  wall," 
shouted  Master  Buzzard,  making  a  pass  at 
the  constable,  the  which  to  a^pid  he  made 
a  leap  of  so  prodigious  a  length,  it  hath 
been  said  he  never  did  such  a  feat  before  or 
since. 

"  Oh,  here  will  be  a  foul  murder  done !"  ex- 
claimed Dame  Shakspeare,  piteously  wring- 
ing of  her  hands. 

"  Come  on  fellow,  and  take  thy  death  !" 
cried  Master  Buzzard,  going  furiously  at 
John  a  Combe,  who  had  got  his  weapon  out 
in  readiness  to  defend  himself,  but  ere  his 
opponent  reached  within  thrusting  distance, 
John  Shakspeare  had  fast  hold  of  his  arm, 
and  others  springing  on  him  at  the  same 
moment,  he  was  soon  deprived  of  all  means 
of  offence. 

"  I  marvel  a  person  of  your  quality  should 
be  for  a  quarrel  at  such  a  time  as  this,"  ob- 
served his  host. 

"  Is't  fitting  such  a  pitiful  coxcomb  of  a 
fellow  should  preach  to  me,"  cried  the  other 
very  furiously,  striving  to  break  from  those 
who  held  him. 

"  Hold  him  fast,  good  neighbors,"  ex- 
claimed Oliver  Dumps,  now  coming  nearer, 
seeing  that  his  prisoner  was  disarmed.  "  Let 
him  go  on  no  account,  I  pray  you.  He 
hath  sought  to  do  me  deadly  injury  in  the 
execution  of  my  office,  and  it  cannot  but  go 
hard  with  him  at  assize." 

"  I  beseech  you,  pass  it  over  !"  said  John 
a  Combe.  "  It  was  but  some  sudden  heat 
of  temper  in  him,  and  I  doubt  v  not  he  will 
regret  it  in  the  morning." 

"  Away  coward  ;  I  spit  at  thee.!"  shouted 
Master  Buzzard,  in  a  fiercer  rage  than  ever, 
as  he  was  being  borne  out  at  the  door.  "  I 
do  long  to  be  at  thee.  I  would  make  more 
holes  in  thy  body  than  shall  be  found  in  a 
sieve." 

"  Bring  him  along,  neighbors,"  cfted  the 
constable.  "  We'll  spoil  this  killing  humor 
of  his,  I  promise  you." 

Master  Buzzard  was  forciMk  carried  out 
of  the  house,  yet  without  any  rudeness  on 
the  part  of  his  bearers,  who  because  of  his 
quality  were  loth  he  should  be  punished  for 
his  brawling ;  and  after  much  opposition 
from  Oliver  Dumps  wanting  to  be  thought 


the  Queen's  trusty  officer,  who  liked  net  of 
an  offence  being  hushed  up,  it  was  agreed 
that  no  notice  should  be  taken  of  it,  on  con- 
dition of  the  offender's  going  peaceably 
home.  In  the  mean  time,  the  guests  re- 
covering from  their  alarm,  got  to  dancing  a 
measure,  and  other  diversions,  as  if  nought 
had  happened  to  disturb  their  sports,  and 
went  not  away  till  late,  vowing  that  of  all 
the  merry  meetings  they  had  been  at,  for 
the  pleasure  they  had  had,  none  had  been 
like  to  the  christening  of  William  Shaks- 
peare. 


CHAPTER  III. 

These  things  begin 

To  look  like  dangers,  now,  worthy  my  fates. 
Fortune,  I  see  thy  worst ;  let  doubtful  states, 
And  things  uncertain  hang  upon  thy  will ; 
Me  surest  death  shall  render  certain  still. 

BEN  JONS.W. 
I  held  it  ever 

Virtue  and  cunning  were  endowments  greater 
Than  nobleness  and  riches  ;  careless  heirs 
May  the  two  latter  darken  and  expend  ; 
But  immortality  attends  the  former, 
Making  a  man  a  god. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Their  angry  looks,  their  deadly  daunting  blows, 
Might  witness  well  that  in  their  hearts  remained 
As  cankered  hate,  disdain,  and  furious  mood, 
As  ever  bred  in  bear  or  tiger's  breast. 

GASCOYNE. 

"  SAUL,  what  art  doing  ?" 

"  Looking  to  see  that  the  gesses  and  bells 
of  this  tercel  gentle  be  in  the  properest  trim, 
master." 

"Ay,  well  thought  of;  but,  as  I  have 
ever  marked,  thou  hast  wonderful  foresight." 

"  Marry,  my  sight  be  good  enough  ;  me- 
thinks  I  can  trace  a  hawk  as  well  as  any." 

"  In  truth  thou  hast  many  commendable 
qualities,  and  I  would  fain  give  some  token 
of  how  well  esteemed  they  are  of  me." 

"  Indeed  !  but  that  be  kind  of  you,  master ; 
monstrous  kind  !  and,  as  for  my  qualities,  I 
doubt  they  be  anything  out  of  the  common. 
Peradventure  I  am  as  cunning  at  the  rear- 
ing of  hawks  as  any  fellow  in  Warwick- 
shire ;  at  quarterstaff,  wrestling,  pitch  the 
bar,  running  at  the  quintain,  and  other 
games,  care  for  none ;  and  will  dance  a 
morrice,  play  tne  hobby-horse  in  the  May 
games,  or  take  a  fling  at  a  Shrove-tide  cock, 
with  as  much  perfectness  as  you  shall  see 
among  a  thousand." 

His  master  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  so ; 
yet  his  aspect  wore  a  troubled,  and  by  no 


24 


TIIE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


met.is  pleasing  expression,  that  looked  as  if 
he  wanted  to  disburden  his  mind  of  some-1 
thing.  For  a  while  he  kept  feeding  of  a 
hawk  he  held  on  his  wrist.  His  companion 
was  a  sturdy  varlet  of  some  thirty  years, 
with  a  freckled  face,  a  thick  clumsy  head, 
and  features  expressive  of  one  alike  reck- 
less and  impudent.  He  was  clad  in  a  for- 
ester's frock  of  Kendal  green,  confined  at 
the  waist  with  a  belt,  having  a  pocket  at 
the  side,  below  which  little  could  be  seen, 
save  his  crimson  hose  and  thick  buff  boots ; 
and  he  wore  a  rapier  and  a  dagger.  Of 
these  two  the  one  was  Master  Buzzard,  of 
whom  the  reader  hath  already  some  know- 
ledge, and  the  other  was  his  man  Saul,  his 
chief  favorite  and  confidant.  They  were  to- 
gether in  the  hall,  once  a  fair  chamber,  in 
Master  Buzzard's  house,  with  a  famous  tim- 
ber roof,  and  a  goodly  store  of  old  armor 
hung  about,  but  on  account  of  the  great 
number  of  hawks  and  dogs  that  were  kept 
in  it,  some  being  here  and  some  there,  a  lit- 
ter of  pups  in  one  corner  and  a  cast  of  fal- 
cons in  another,  with  lurchers,  deer-hounds, 
and  spaniels  of  every  kind,  running  in  and 
out  of  every  hole  and  corner,  with  little  re- 
gard to  cleanliness,  the  place  was  scarce  fit 
for  any  human  being  to  be  in.  All  amongst 
the  corslets  and  plates  of  mail,  were  nailed 
the  skins  of  herons  and  the  tails  of  foxes, 
the  antlers  of  a  stag  and  the  heads  of  divers 
kinds  of  wild  fowl,  badgers,  pole-cats,  and 
other  vermin ;  and  there  seemed  to  be  but 
little  furniture  in  ordinary  use,  as  chair  or 
table,  unencumbered  with  things  necessary 
for  hawking,  or  hunting,  or  fishing,  or  some 
sport  of  a  like  nature.  On  a  corner  of  a 
long  table,  close  to  where  Master  Buzzard 
was  standing,  there  stood  a  tray  with  the 
remains  of  a  pasty,  and  a  flagon  beside  it, 
which  was  some  sign  that  the  place,  how- 
ever unsightly  it  might  be,  was  not  badly 
off  for  victual. 

"  Thou  knowest,  Saul,  how  good  a  master 
1  have  been  to  thee,*  continued  Master 
Buzzard. 

"  Ay,  by  gog's  blood,  that  do  I !"  exclaim- 
ed his  man,  with  great  earnestness,  "  and 
many  thanks  to  your  worship.  I'faith,  there 
is  no  denying  I  am  well  off  for  a  master,  for 
one  more  cunning  in  hunting,  and  hawking, 
and  all  such  goodly  sports,  of  a  more  valor- 
ous nature,  let  his  weapon  be  whUt  it  may  ; 
or  of  a  more  truly  prodigal  disposition,  upon 
any  proper  occasion,  I  doubt  hugely,  I  should 
meet  with,  sought  I  ever  so.  Marry,  if  your 
worship  is  as  well  off  for  a  servant  as  am  I 
for  a  master,  then  ought  we  to  be  envied  of 
all  men." 

"  By  God's  I  value  not  my  best  goshawk 


as  I  do  thy  faithful  service,"  replied  his  ma»< 
ter,  still  seeming  to  keep  his  attention  fixed 
upon  his  bird.  "  In  truth,  Saul,  I  do  look 
upon  thee  as  my  right  hand ;  and  •  I  do  in- 
tend, before  any  very  long  time  hath  passed, 
to  show  thee  such  excellent  instance  of  my 
good  will  as  must  rejoice  thee  inlinitely  to 
see." 

"  'Fore  George !  master,  I  want  none 
such,"  said  his  companion,  albeit  with  a 
"marvelous  lack  of  sincerity.  "  Yet  would 
I  on  no  account  baulk  the  generousness  of 
your  humor.  H  am  not  unmindful  how  oft 
your  worship  hath  stood  between  me  and 
harm,  when  a  parcel  of  poor  linsey  wolsey 
knaves  of  the  town  yonder,  went  about  tell- 
ing of  me  the  horri  blest  slanders  that  ever 
was  heard." 

"Ay,  it  hath  been  said  of  many  thou 
wert  he  who  stabbed  Daniel  Short,  of  Bars- 
ton,  who  was  found  dead  in  the  meadow," 
observed  the  other,  regarding  of  his  goshawk 
with  a  more  intense  earnestness.  "  But  I 
heeded  them  not.  It  was  sworn  before  the 
high  bailiff  thou  didst  misuse  Joan  Spring- 
field at  the  town  end.  and  he  was  for  pro- 
ceeding against  thee  with  as  much  severity 
as  might  be ;  but  I  stayed  him  in  the  matter. 
And  there  was  much  ado  made  of  thy 
shooting  at  Daniel  Buckthorn,  of  the  Mill ; 
and  it  would  have  gone  hard  with  thee  had 
I  not  stepped  in  and  hushed  all  up." 

"  Never  was  man  so  abused  !"  exclaimed 
Saul  with  a  very  monstrous  vehemency.  '• 
have  enemies,  master, — scores  of  them,  1 
promise  you ;  and  they  be  such  thorough- 
going cowards  and  dastardly  poor  villains  as 
cannot  come  with  any  fair  weapon  before 
me,  and  challenge  me  with  the  infamy  they 
would  lay  to  my  charge,  that  I  might  disprove 
it  on  their  pestilent  bodies,  but  needs  must 
whisper  all  manner  of  the  horriblest  false 
stuff  that  ever  was  uttered,  among  such  piti- 
ful fools  as  they  can  get  to  listen  to  them. 
'Slife,  master !  there  be  no  living  for  such 
knaves,  and  an  honest  man  might  as  well  go 
hang  at  once  as  be  pestered  with  them.  For 
mine  own  part,  I  do  think  the  ridding  of  the 
world  of  any  a  very  commendable  thing ; 
and  could  I  meet  with  one  who  had  been 
playing  his  knave's  tricks  on  your  worship, 
or  on  Any  other  for  whom  I  am  so  bound, 
I  would  slit  his  vveason  for  him  whenever 
the  time  served,  and  none  should  be  the 
wiser." 

A  smile  oAeculiar  meaning  appeared  on 
the  face  of  Master  Buzzard  at  this  inti 
mation. 

"  Dost  know  John  a  Combe  ?"  inquired 
the  latter  with  an  assumed  indifferency. 

"  Know  John  a  Combe !"  exclaimed  Saul 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


in  some  surprise,  and  with  a  more  evident 
contempt.  ';  Is  he  not  the  errantest  skip- 
jack in  all  the  country  round  ? — a  fine  Sun- 
day gentleman,  forsooth  !  that  looks  as  if  he 
layeth  himself  up  in  lavender  o'nights,  that 
he  may  smell  sweet  i'the  morning  ?  Why  he 
is  as  common  as  the  stocks,  and  as  like  to  be 
avoided  by  all  true  men  as  is  the  pillory  or 
the  whipping-post.  I  should  as  soon  expect  j 
Gammer  Lambswool  to  inquire  for  the  gos- 
sip's bridle,  as  your  worship  to  ask  after  John 
a  Combe.  'Sblood !  he  taketh  upon  him, 
too,  to  come  Master  perfection  over  us,  and 
must  needs  be  seeking  to  be  thought  an  ex- 
ample of  goodness,  and  wisdom,  and  every 
virtue  under  the  sun,  thinking  to  be  as  fa- 
mous as  Sir  Guy  of  Warwick.  I  would 
forfeit  a  year's  wages  found  I  not  more  vir- 
tue in  a  bunch  of  nettles  than  you  shall 
discover  in  him,  search  you  from  now  till 
doomsday." 

Master  Buzzard  sought  not  to  interrupt 
his  man  in  his  speech,  for  a  very  excellent 
reason,  because  it  was  much  to  his  liking, 
the  which  the  other  knew  firll  well ;  for 
Ke  was  a  cunning  knave,  that  ever  stu- 
died to  jump  with  his  master's  humor  at  all 
times,  and  was  aware  of  what  had  passed 
betwixt  him  and  Master  Combe,  and  more- 
over, was  willing  enough  to  reap  advantage 
of  it. 

"  Indeed,  I  take  him  to  be  as  scurvy  a 
fellow  as  any  that  lives,"  observed  Master 
Buzzard  with  wonderful  bitterness. 

"  That  is  he,  out  of  all  doubt,"  replied  his 
man  in  much  the  same  sort  of  spirit.  "  I 
hate  such  popinjays.  It  be  monstrous  fine 
certainly  for  such  a  paltry  knave  as  he  is  to 
be  ever  schooling  of  your  worship,  as  it 
were" — 

"  I  tell  thee,  Saul,  I  will  endure  his  swag- 
gering airs  no  longer !"  exclaimed  Master 
Buzzard,  interrupting  his  man  with  great 
fierceness.  "  He  is  ever  thrusting  him- 
self in  my  way — a  murrain  on  him !  I 
cannot -do  as  my  wont  for  his  pestilent  med- 
dling. Wherever  he  is  I  must  need  play 
mumchance.  All  run  to  John  a  Comba ;  all 
bend  to  John  a  Combe ;  all  listen  to  John  a 
Combe  !  'Slife  !  it  maketh  me  mad  to  see 
him  so  noticed,  so  praised,  so  courted,  whilst 
his  betters  must  be  thrust  aside  as  worthy 
of  no  better  heed  than  a  mangy  cur." 

"  Doth  the  caitiff  ruffle  it  so  bravely  ?" 
inquired  the  other.  "  Well,  never  heard  I 
of  such  thorough  impudency.  But  what 
ignorant  poor  fools  must  be  they  who  would 
be  led  by  him !  Marry !  I  am  so  moved 
with  indignation  at  the  slights  put  on  your 
worship  by  so  paltry  a  villain,  that  I  know 


not  what  mischief  I  should  be  ready  to  do 
him." 

"  But  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it,"  con- 
tinued his  master  with  more  vehemence. 
"  He  hath  put  on  me  intolerable  affronts, 
and  as  yet  all  attempts,  seek  I  when  I  would, 
to  be  revenged  of  him,  have  been  bootless. 
No  later  than  this  very  morning,  scarce  an 
hour  gone,  meeting  him  alone  in  foe  back 
lane,  I  drew  upon  him,  thinking  I  nad  him 
sure ;  but  the  villain  carried  some  amulet  or 
devilish  charm ;  for  though  I  made  my 
deadliest  thrusts  with  all  the  skill  of  which 
I  am  master,  he  remained  unhurt,  and  in  a 
short  space  my  weapon  was  sent  flying  out 
of  my  hand  a  full  twenty  yards  ;  whereupon, 
with  a  Judas  smile,  the  villain  bowed  to  me, 
and  wishing  me '  Good  day,'  took  himself  off 
on  the  instant." 

"  O'  my  life  !  'twas  but  a  coward's  trick, 
master !"  cried  Saul.  "  I  marvel  you  did 
not  after  him  and  stick  him  as  he  went." 

"  By  this  hand,  I  would  gladly  have  done 
it !"  exclaimed  his  master.  "  But  I  was  so 
confounded  at  the  flight  of  my  rapier,  and 
at  the  fellow's  assurance,  that  I  knew  not 
what  to  be  at,  and  ere  I  had  resolved,  he 
had  gone  clean  out  of  sight.  Doubtless  he 
will  go  bruiting  it  abroad,  as  far  as  he  can, 
how  he  had  'me  at  his  mercy  and  spared  my 
life.  'Slife  !"  continued  he  with  an  exceed- 
ing uneasy  and  malignant  look  with  him, 
"  methinks  I  am  poorly  served  when  such  a 
fellow  as  this  can  do  me  all  manner  of  of- 
fence, and  go  unharmed." 

"  Nay,  by  your  leave,  master,  not  so," 
quickly  answered  Saul,  "  when  you  have 
had  my  service  in  this  business,  I  will  be 
bold  to  say  you  shall  not  count  yourself 
poorly  served." 

"  I  would  I  could  be  well  rid  of  him," 
said  Master  Buzzard  in  a  lower  voice. 

"  If  it  please  you,  master,  let  that  be  my 
care,"  observed  the  other. 

"  I  hear  that  he  is  oft  to  be  met  with  af- 
ter dark  in  the  narrow  lane  at  the  town 
end,"  observed  Master  Buzzard,  his  voice 
gradually  sinking  to  a  whisper. 

"  A  goodly  place,  and  a  goodly  time  too," 
added  the  other,  with'  a  sort  of  half  audible 
laugh, "  but  mayhap  his  worship  shall  choose 
to  go  there  once  too  often."  Thus  went  they 
on,  as  had  men  do  concert  their  villanies, 
half  ashamed  to  look  each  other  in  the  face, 
and  as  their  intentions  became  manifest, 
dropping  their  voices  to  a  close  whisper, 
that  the  evil  they  would  be  about  might  not 
be  heard  of  any.  But  in  this  I  can  follow 
them  no  longer,  having  gam^in  view  more 
worthv  of  the  reader's  attention. 


26 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


There  was  a  hall  to  be  holden  at  the  town 
that  day,  at  which  the  aldermen  and  others 
of  the  corporation  had  been  summoned  in 
such  terms  as  showed  it  to  be  a  matter  of 
the  very  hugest  importance  that  called  them 
together..  Whether  it  related  to  certain  in- 
telligence of  some  rebellion  broke  out  against 
the  Queen's  Highness,  to  risings  of  the  pa- 
pists, ojLjio  rumors  of  invasion  from  the 
SpaniarW,  seemed  not  to  be  clearly  ascer- 
tained ;  for  among  the  honest  burgesses  who 
had  got  note  of  this  extraordinary  meeting, 
there  were  heard  as  many  reasons  for  it  as 
there  were  tongues  to  speak  them,  whereof 
the  general  belief  at  last  rested  upon  the 
three  above  named.  That  nothing  threaten- 
ed to  affect  the  immediate  safety  of  the  town 
was  apparent  from  the  usual  air  of  careless- 
ness and  security  that  prevailed  throughout 
the  principal  street.  Here  might  be  seen  a 
troop  of  boys  fresh  broke  out  from  school, 
hallooing  like  mad ;  there  a  knot  of  a  mean- 
er sort  at  play,  whilst  a  little  one  from  the 
school,  though  hastening  home  to  his  pa- 
rents, kept  casting  behind  him  a  wistful 
look,  as  if  he  did  long  to  join  in  their  pas- 
time. One  or  two  big  dogs  were  seen 
stretched  at  their  length  by  their  master's 
doors,  and  now  amd  then  some  one  or 
other  of  a  smaller  kind  would  dart  out  of  a 
doorway,  yelping  at  the  heels  of  the  noisy 
children,  till  one  more  courageous  than  his 
fellows  would  up  with  a- stone,  and  send  him 
back  yelping  louder  than  he  came,  making 
the  tailor  leap  from  his  board,  the  cordwain- 
er  throw  down  his  lapstone,  and  the  appren- 
tice leave  his  work,  to  see  what  was  the 
hubbub.  Here  and  there  careful  mothers 
were  calling  out  of  their  casements  to  has- 
ten home  their  boys,  or  some  provident  house- 
wife would  be  casting  a  store  of  victual  for 
the  feeding  of  her  stock  of  fowls,  who,  with 
fluttering  wings  and  eager  throats,  would  be 
seen  eagerly  Socking  towards  her. 

In  several  places,  there  might  be  seen 
some  two  or  three  of  the  neighbors  convers- 
ing soberly  and  with  great  show  of  earnest- 
ness, more  particularly  about  the  doors  of 
the  principal  burgesses ;  and  in  front  of  the 
casements  of  Master  'Alderman  Malmsey, 
the  vintner,  where  there  •  was  a  famous 
group,  with  a  horseman  in  the  midst,  look- 
ing to  be  so  busy  of  speech  as  to  pay  but 
little  heed  to  the  tankards  and  drinking 
horns  held  by  some  of  them.  Opposite  was 
the  dwelling  of  Master  Alderman  Do\vl;is. 
the  draper,  with  its  lower  windows  showing 
divers  rolls  of  cloth  of  sundry  colors,  whilst 
at  the  open  clement  above  sat  his  buxom 
fair  wile,  with  Mistress  Malmsey  at  her  side, 
plying  oi'  her  needle  with  a  very  commend- 


able industry,  and  as  it  seemed  using  her 
tongue  with  a  like  speed.  Coming  down 
the  street  was  a  drove  of  cows,  some  of 
which  must  needs  put  their  heads  in  the 
water-tiough  before  the  inn,  thinking  to 
have  a  good  drink,  but  the  stable  boys  would 
not  allow  of  it,  for  they  drove  them  off  pre- 
sently, by  throwing  up  their  arms,  and  mak- 
ing a  great  shouting.  A  little  curly-haired 
child  scarce  big  enough  to  run  alone,  was 
standing  in  the  midst  of  the  road  mooing  at 
the  cattle  as  bold  as  you  please,  and  putting 
out  its  little  hands  as  if  to  prevent  them 
going  further ;  and  an  elder  sister,  with  a 
marvellous  anxious  frightened  face,  was 
rushing  from  a  neighboring  door-way  to 
hurry  him  out  of  danger.  All  the  case- 
ments, and  nearly  all  the  doors,  stood  invit- 
ingly open  for  it  was  a  hot  summer's  day 
at  the  latter  end  of  June,  and  every  where 
there  where  signs  of  a  desire  to  be  relieved 
of  the  oppressive  sultriness  of  the  atmo- 
sphere, either  by  seeking  of  the  shady  place, 
or  where  a  draught  of  cooler  air  might  be 
gained,  or  by  drinking  of  tankards  of  cider 
and  other  refreshing  liquors,  wherever  they 
might  be  had. 

For  all  this  gossiping  and  carelessness 
on  every  side,  it  was  noted  that  one  or  two 
of  the  elder  aldermen  who  were  going  to  the 
hall,  wore  visages  of  exceeding  gravity,  and 
seemed  intent  upon  avoiding  the  approaches 
of  such  of  their  townsmen  as  they  met  in 
their  way,  with  looks  so  suspicious  and 
fearful,  that  the  latter  knew  not  what  to 
make  of  it.  Presently,  there  came  by  John 
Shakspeare  and  Master  Combe,  likewise  on 
their  way  to  the  hall ;  but  they  looked  to  be 
in  a  more  serious  humor  even  than  the  al- 
dermen, and  would  on  no  account  stop  for 
any,  which  was  the  more  strange,  because 
both  were  well  known  to  be  of  a  most 
friendly  spirit,  and  had  ever  cheerfully  an- 
swered any  man's  salutation. 

"  Whether  so  fast,  my  master  ?"  shouted 
Sir  Nathaniel,  as  he  popped  his  fat  rosy  face 
out  at  the  casement  to  call  them.  "  Dost 
pass  so  exquisite  a  house  of  entertainment 
as  this,  at  the  pace  thou  art  going,  when  the 
sun  seemeth  to  be  intent  upon  making  of  us 
so  many  St.  Bartholomews  ?  Two  rabid 
dogs  could  not  have  behaved  less  reasonably 
towards  good  liquor.  Prithee,  come  and 
share  with  us,  and  doubt  not  being  welcome, 
even  if  thou  pay  for  all." 

To  this  invitation,  the  two  merely  shook 
their  heads  and  continued  on  their  way,  to 
the  huge  discontent  of  the  curate  and  the 
schoolmaster,  who,  at  the  sight  of  them,  ex- 
pected to  have  had  at  least  an  extra  tankard 
or  two  without  hurt  to  their  own  puiises. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


37 


John  Shakspeare  and  his  friend  then  pro- 
ceeded without  further  hindrance  to  the 
church,  and  soon  afterwards  entered  the 
vestry — a  chamber  of  no  great  dimensions, 
furnished  only  with  a  long  table,  at  the  head 
of  which  was  a  high-backed  chair,  and  on 
each  side  were  a  couple  of  benches..  In 
the  chair  was  the  high  bailiff,  one  Timothy 
Mallet,  the  wheelwright.  Opposite,  on  a 
low  stool,  with  a  many  papers,  and  two  or 
three  huge  books  before  him,  sat  the  dimin- 
utive form  of  Jemmy  Catchpole,  the  town 
lawyer,  whf  was  said  to  be  so  learned  in  the 
law  as  to  be  fitter  to  be  a  judge  of  assize 
than  any  living.  His  sharp  grey  eyes 
twinkled  with  a  perpetual  restlessness,  and 
his  parchment-skin  seemed  growing  of  a 
deeper  yellow,  as,  with  a  pen  in  his  hand, 
he  watched  or  made  notes  of  the  matter  pro- 
ceeding. On  each  side  were  seated  such 
of  the  aldermen  as  attended,  likewise  others 
of  the  corporation  who  were  not  of  the  al- 
dermen ;  and  Master  Alderman  Malmsey, 
with  his  purple  in-grain  countenance  and 
very  praicheon  of  a  person,  who  affected  the 
'orator  in  no  small  measure,  was  on  his 
legs,  if  such  round  things  as  he  had  might 


be  so  called,  denounq(g  with  a  monstrous 
vehemency  a  motion,  then  under  discussion, 
for  repairing  the  parish  well.  Some  listened 
to  him  attentively,  others  were  conversing 
apart ;  but  it  might  have  been  noted,  that  a 


had  appeared  so  unmindful  of  what  was  go- 
ing on,  looked  marvelously  attentive ;  and 
the  others,  as  if  curious  to  know  what  one 
so  well  esteemed  had  to  say  on  the  matter. 
wrere  no  less  careful  listeners. 

"  I  pray  you  lose  not  the  precious  time  in 
such  idle  stuff  as  this,"  exclaimed  he.  "  We 
want  your  wisest  counsel.  We  are  threat- 
ened with  such  calamity  as  is  enough  at  the 
mere  thought  of  it,  to  strike  us  dead  with 
fear.  We  cannot  thrust  it  aside.  It  hath 
come  upon  us  unprepared.  All  that  can  be 
done  is  to  endeavor  to  keep  the  mischief  in 
as  narrow  a  compass  as  may  be  possible. 
Up  and  be  doing  then,  my  masters,  without 
a  moment's  delaying,  for  the  negligence  of 
one  may  be  the  destruction  of  all." 

At  the  hearing  of  this  discourse,  so  differ- 
ent from  what  all,  excepting  the  anxious 
few,  expected,  the  greater  number  stared  in 
absolute  astonishment,  and  the  rest  waited 
as  if  in  the  expectation  of  hearing  what  was 
to  follow. 

"  My  friends !"  continued  the  speaker,  in 
a  low,  thick  voice,  as  if  he  could  scarce 
speak,  "  The  plague  is  in  Stratford  .'" 

"  The  plague  ?"  exclaimed  many  in  the 
same  moment  of  time,  leaning  forward  from 
their  seats,  breathless  with  horror  and  sur- 
prise. 

"  I  would  to  God  there  could  be  a  ddubt 
of  it !"  replied  John  Shakspeare.  "  My 


few  wore  aspects  so  anxious  as  plainly  j  wrorthy  and  approved  good  friend,  Master 
showed  their  minds  were  intent  on  another  i  Combe,  of  whose  honorableness  there  can 
matter.  His  argument  was  to  the  effect,  j  be  none  here  present  who  have  not  had 
that  water  was  a  thing  which  all  honest ;  excellent  evidence,  hath,  in  one  of  the  mani- 
men  ought  to  eschew,  unless  as  at  the  mar-  J  fold  generous  offices  he  is  ever  intent  upon 
riage  at  Cana  it  could  be  turned  into  wine,  |  doing  to  his  poorer  neighbors,  made  this 
and  that  wine  was  a  thing  most  absolute  ]  doleful  discovery ;  and  with  the  advice  of 
and  necessary  to  a  man's  well  doing ;  there-  j  divers  of  the  most  experienced  of  my  fellow 
fore,  it  would  be  much  better  to  buy  a  pipe  i  burgesses,  who  alone  knew  of  it  from  me,  I 
of  such  fine  hippocras  as  he  could  sell  them,''  |  have  had  you  here  assembled,  that  you  might 
for  the  use  of  the  corporation,  than  to  apply  learn  from  him  the  exact  truth,  and  then 
any  of  its  funds  for  the  repairing  of  so  un-  consider  amongst  yourselves  which  will  be 
profitable  a  thing  as  a  well.  At  this,  up-  the  fittest  way  of  providing  for  the  common 
started  at  once  a  baker  and  a  butcher, !  safety." 

swearing  with  equal  vehemency,  that  no- ;  At  this  there  was  a  dead  silence ;  and 
thing  was  so  necessary  as  plenty  of  bread  \  when  Master  Combe  stood  up,  every  eye 
and  meat,  and  advocating  the  greater  lauda-  was  strained  to  scrutinize  him,  and  every 
bleness  of  laying  in  a  store  of  such  victual, '  ear  stretched  forward  to  hear  the  most  dis- 
which  they  could  not  do  better  than  have  of  tinctly  the  promised  communication, 
them,  to  wasting  the  corporation  funds  in  "  I  pray  you,  my  worthy  neighbors  and 
the  project  that  had  so  injudiciously  been  friends,  fear  nothing  !"  exclaimed  John  a 
proposed.  Others  might  have  followed  in  a  Combe  ;  "  fear  will  only  make  you  the  vie- 
like  strain,  but  at  this  instant  John  Shaks-  tim  of  \vhat  you  dread ;  but  courage  and 
peare,  who  had  waited  with  his  stock  of  pa-  good  conduct  will  help  you  to  drive  the  pes- 
tience  getting  to  be  less  and  less  every  mo-  tilence  from  your  door.  That  it  doth  exist 
ment,  now  rose,  and  with  his  honest  face  amongst  us,  I  wouldl  could  doubt ;  and  this 
somewhat  pale  and  of  an  uneasy  expression,  is  how  I  came  at  the  knowledge  of  it.  Hear- 
proceeded  to  take  a  share  in  the  debate.  It  ing  that  there  was  a  poor  family  visited  with 
was  noticed,  that  on  his  rising,  the  few  who  a  sudden  sickness,  of  which  some  were  like 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


to  die  had  they  not  help  presently,  I  speeded 
thither  with  what  medicine  I  usually  carry 
on  such  occasions  knowing  them  to  be  of 
special  benefit  in  divers  disorders.  In  a  low 
cottage,  ruinous,  and  exceeding  dirty,  I  came 
upon  the  sufferers.  As  God  me  save,  I 
there  saw  a  sight  such  as  I  have  not  seen  in 
my  whole  life  before ;  and  trust  in  Jesu 
never  to  see  again.  I  entered  at  the  kitchen, 
where,  in  one  corner,  on  a  litter  of  rushes,  I 
beheld  one  dead,  the  father  of  this  wretched 
family,  and,  by  his  side,  his  wife  in  the  last 
agonies ;  the  fixed  stare  of  whose  yellow 
eyeballs  settling  into  death,  I  saw  at  a 
glance  made  all  help  of  medicine  out  of  the 
case.  A  babe  was  crawling  on  the  floor 
towards  her  ;  but  it  had  a  sickly  look  with 
•it  that  was  ghastly  to  see.  In  another  cor- 
ner was  a  young  girl  dead  also,  her  fair  face 
getting  to  be  discolored  and  unsightly  ;  and 
in  a  chair  was  a  boy  who,  by  his  dress,  I 
knew  was  used  to  labor  in  the  fields,  and  he 
complained  he  felt  so  deadly  bad  he  could 
not  return  to  his  work.  I  went  into  another 
chamber,  where  was  the  old  grannam,  lying 
upon  a  truckle  bed,  moaning  terribly,  but 
saying  nought ;  and  doubled  up  at  her  feet 
was  the  figure  of  another  ancient  dame,  who 
had  been  her  nurse  till  she  dropped  where 
she  was,  and  could  not  be  got  to  move  hand 
or  fcot.  I  was  informed,  by  a  charitable 
neighbor  who  came  in  with  me,  that  this  ill- 
ness had  only  appeared  amongst  them  since 
the  preceding  night,  soon  after  unpacking  of 
a  parcel  they  had  received  by  the  carrier 
from  some  friends  in  London.  On  hearing 
this  I  had  a  sudden  misgiving,  for  I  had  re- 
ceived certain  intelligence  the  day  previous, 
that  the  pestilence  had  broke  out  there.  My 
heart  was  too  full  to  speak  ;  and  when  I  was 
further  told,  that  in  addition  to  the  inmates 
of  the  cottage,  sundry  of  the  neighbors  who 
had  called  in,  hearing  of  their  sickness,  had 
been  taken  with  a  like  disorder,  one  of  whom 
had  given  up  the  ghost  not  half  an  hour 
since,  my  suspicion  took  firmer  ground. 
Presently  I  examined  one  of  the  dead.  My 
fears  then  received  terrible  confirmation. 
The  plague  spot  was  upon  him.  Having 
given  such  orders  as  I  thought  necessary, 
without  .exciting  any  alarm,  I  fumigated 
myself  well,  and  acquainted  my  good  friend, 
John  Shakspeare,  with  the  fearful  truth  ; 
and  by  his  advice  you  have  been  called  here 
to  take  instant  measures  to  prevent  the 
spreading  of  this  direful  calamity.  In  what- 
soever thing  I  may  be  of  service  at  this  un- 
happy time,  I  pray  you  use  me  as  one  friend 
would  use  another.  Believe  me,  I  will  do  it 
lovingly,  whatever  may  be  required." 
Though  the  speaker  concluded  what  he 


had  tr  say,  for  some  moments'  space  none 
sought  to  interrupt  the  awful  silence  which 
followed,  but  sat  like  so  many  statues  of  fear 
with  eyes  almost  starting  from  their  sockets, 
mouths  partly  open,  and  big  drops  of  perspi- 
ration standing  upon  their  wrinkled  fore- 
heads. Of  the  most  terrified  was  the  little 
lawyer  upon  the  stool,  who,  leaning  his  el- 
bows pn  the  table,  and  with  his  pointed  chin 
resting  upon  his  palms,  kept  his  sharp  eyes 
fixed  upon  John  a  Combe,  looking  more 
frightened  as  the  other  proceeded  in  his  nar- 
ration, till  he  gave  voice  to  his  consternation 
in  an  audible  groan.  Presently,  some  began 
to  turn  their  gaze  from  Master  Combe  to 
each  other,  and  finding  in  every  face  the  hor- 
ror so  visible  in  their  own,  they  remained 
stupified  and  bewildered,  till  one  nigh  unto 
the  door  rushed  out,  and  with  the  look  of  one 
struck  with  a  sudden  frenzy,  ran  home,  shout- 
ing at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  The  plague !  the 
plague !"  and  many  others  of  that  assembly, 
put  out  of  all  discretion  by  the  greatness  of 
their  fear,  made  from  the  place  with  as  much 
speed  of  foot  as  they  could  use,  in  the  hope 
of  securing  the  safety  of  themselves  and  fa- 
milies.  They  that  were  left  then  proceeded' 
to  take  counsel  amoi«hemselves  what  was 
fittest  to  be  done  ;  antnVIaster  Combe,  being 
invited  by  them  to  assist  in  their  delibera- 
tions, did  give  such  excellent  advice,  that  it 
was  agreed  to  by  all,  with  wonderful  admira- 
tion of  his  wisdom  and  greatness  of  heart  ; 
and  they  sat  for  several  hours  making  reso- 
lutions in  accordance  with  what  he  had  pro- 
posed. 

"I  cannot  hear  of  a  denial,"  said  Master 
Combe  to  John  Shakspeare,  as  they  were  re- 
turning together  from  the  hall.  "  This  can 
be  now  no  proper  place  for  your  sweet  wife 
and  her  young  son,  or  any  of  her  family. 
Stay  they  here,  it  must  be  at  the  hazard  of 
their  lives,  for  none  can  say  who  shall  escape ; 
whilst  if  they  seek  refuge  in  my  poor  dwell- 
ing till  the  danger  hath  passed,  they  need 
have  communication  with  none,  and  so  shall 
be  in  no  peril." 

"  In  honest  truth,  I  like  it  well,  Master 
Combe,  and  am  much  beholden  to  you  for 
your  friendly  care,"  replied  his  companion. 
"  Yet  am  I  fearful  of  accepting  of  your  cour- 
tesy, thinking  it  may  put  you  to  inconveni- 
ence, and  to  some  danger  also." 

"  Speak  not  of  it,  an'  you  love  me,"  said 
the  other,  with  a  very  sincere  earnestness ; 
"  it  is  at  your  entire  disposal,  as  long  as  it 
may  be  at  your  need.  As  for  myself,  this  is 
my  place.  Whilst  so  many  of  my  neighbors 
are  in  such  imminent  peril,  here  will  I  remain 
to  do  them  whatever  office  may  be  expedient 
for  their  good." 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


*  An'  if  it  please  you,  worthy  sir,  I  will  as- 
sist you  with  what  humble  ability  I  have," 
added  John  Shakspeare ;  "  I  will  take  order 
that  my  dame  and  her  babe  proceed  forthwith, 
with  their  attendants,  to  the  security  pro- 
vided for  them ;  for  which  sweet  kindness  I 
and  mine  shall  feel  bound  to  you  ever  after, 
and  will  make  provision  for  her  having  all 
things  necessary ;  and  then  I  will  hold  my- 
self in  readiness  to  do  whatsoever  you  shall 
think  fittest." 

"  I  would  accept  of  no  help  in  this  matter 
sooner  than  your  own,"  answered  Master 
Combe  ;  "  knowing  your  thorough  honesty 
and  well  disposedness,  as  I  do  ;  yet,  methinks 
you  shall  find  sufficient  in  this  strait  to  watch 
over  the  safety  of  those  dearest  to-  you,  and 
cannot  advisedly,  when  they  are  looking  to 
you  for  help,  put  your  life  in  jeopardy  for  the 
Security  of  others." 

"  Nay,  by  your  leave,  Master  Combe, 
though  I  am  no  scholar,  I  cannot  allow  of 
that,"  exclaimed  John  Shakspeare,  with  some 
eagerness  ;  methinks  my  duty  to  my  neigh- 
bors calleth  me  to  their  assistance  when  they 
shall  require  it  of  me,  quite  as  loudly  as  it 
may  yourself." 

"  But  forget  you  how  many  are  dependant 
on  your  exertions  for  an  honest  living,  which 
is  not  my  case,"  answered  his  companion. 

"  I  will  see  to  their  safety,  and  I  will  look 
with  as  much  care  as  I  may  to  my  own;"  said 
the  other  earnestly  ;  "  but,  in  mine  own  opi- 
nion, I  should  be  deserving  of  the  good  will 
of  none,  were  I  to  slink  away  when  danger 
was  at  the  heels  of  my  friends,  and  leave 
them  to  stand  it  as  they  might,  whilst  I  cared 
only  for  the  safety  of  myself  and  what  be- 
longed to  me." 

"  Your  hand,  honest  John  Shakspeare  !" 
cried  Master  Combe,  shaking  his  friend's 
hand  very  heartily  in  his  own.  "  Believe  me, 
I  love  you  all  the  better  for  having  such  no- 
tions. But  I  must  down  this  lane,"  conti- 
nued he,  as  they  stood  together  at  the  corner. 
"  I  beseech  you  hasten  your  sweet  wife  as 
much  as  you  can,  that  she  may  out  of  the 
town  with  as  little  delay  as  need  be  at  such  a 
time,  and  I  will  with  all  convenient  speed  to 
my  house  to  prepare  for  her  reception.  A  fair 
good  night  to  you,  neighbor." 

"  God  speed  you,  worthy  sir,  in  all  you 
do !"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  the  same 
friendly  feeling,  as  Master  Combe  proceeded 
on  his  way.  "  There  wends  as  good  a  man 
as  ever  broke  bread  !"  continued  he,  when  the 
object  of  his  praise  was  out  of  hearing  ;  and 
he  stood  where  he  was  for  some  minutes, 
leaning  on  his  staff",  with  his  honest  heart 
full  of  admiration,  watching  the  progress  of 
his  companion,  till  » turning  of  the  lane  hid 


him  from  his  view.  It  was  now  just  up  on 
twilight,  and  the  lane  being  bordered  by  tall 
trees,  closely  planted  and  in  their  fullest  foli- 
age, a  great  portion  of  it  was  in  deep  shadow ; 
but  this  seemed  only  to  make  more  fresh  and 
vivid  the  high  bank  on  the  other  side  which 
led  up  into  a  cornfield,  whereof  the  rich  yel- 
low ears,  and  the  crimson  poppies  blushing 
beneath  them,  as  seen  in  every  gap  of  the 
hedge,  gave  promise  of  abundant  harvest ; 
and  the  hedge,  being  of  elder  in  great  patches 
of  blossom,  looked  at  a  distance  like  unto 
pure  white  linen  a  drying  on  the  green 
branches.  John  a  Combe,  as  he  walked 
along,  noticing  the  quick  movements  of  the 
bats,  whirling  here  and  there  in  quest  of  such 
insects  as  formed  their  victual,  on  a  sudden 
had  his  eye  attracted  by  a  gleam  of  light  on 
the  opposite  bank,  which  at  first  he  took  to 
be  a  glow-worm,  but  the  next  moment  distin- 
guished a  large  black  mass  moving  in  the 
deep  shadow ;  the  which  he  had  scarce  made 
out  to  be  the  figure  of  a  man,  when  two  men, 
armed  and  masked,  rushed  upon  him  from 
that  very  spot.  As  quick  as  lightning  his 
rapier  was  out  and  he  on  his  defence.  A 
muttered  execration  was  all  he  heard,  as  they 
came  upon  him  both  at  once,  in  such  a  sort 
as  proved  they  would  have  his  life  if  they 
could.  John  a  Combe  was  on  the  brink  of  a 
dry  ditch,  and  within  a  few  yards  of  a  gate 
leading  to  the  cornfield,  over  against  which 
was  an  opening  in  the  trees  that  gave  a  fair 
light  to  see  all  around  ;  and  for  this  he  made, 
defending  himself  the  whilst  so  briskly,  that 
neither  of  his  opponents  could  get  him  at  an 
advantage.  Here  having  got  himself  with- 
out hurt  of  any  kind,  he  put  his  back  to  the 
gate,  and  now,  seeing  that  he  had  before  him 
two  stout  varlets  in  masks,  who  pressed  on 
him  as  though  they  would  not  be  baffled  in 
their  aims,  he  presently  put  forth  what  cun- 
ning of  fence  he  had,  and  so  nimble  was  his 
steel,  and  so  quick  his  movements,  that  he 
avoided  every  thrust.  This,  however,  only 
seemed  to  make  them  the  more  savage  and 
desperate,  and  they  pressed  closer  upon  him. 
What  might  have  been  the  end  on't,  had 
things  gon^n,  I  cannot  take  on  me  to  deter- 
mine ;  but  me  conflict' was  stopped  much 
sooner  than  was  expected  of  any,  for  one  of 
the  two  was  felled  to  the  earth  from  an  un- 
seen hand,  and  the  other  varlef  at  the  same 
moment  got  such  a-  thrust  in  his  wrist  as 
made  him  incapable  of  any  mischief. 

"  Lie  there,  caitiff!"  exclaimed  John  Shak- 
speare, who,  loitering  at.  the  top  of  the  kne, 
had  heard  the  clash  of  the  weapons,  and  has- 
tening to  the  spot  had  come  in  time  to  deal 
a  blow  with  his  staff  that  rid  his  fr;end  of  the 
fiercest  of  his  assailants.  "  Lie  there  for  a 


30 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


pitiful  coward,  and  a  knave  to  boot.  I  doubt 
not  hanging  be  too  good  for  thee,  tliou  mur- 
derous villain,  to  seek  the  life  of  one  of  so 
excellent  a  nature.  But  thou  hast  not  done 
amiss  in  hiding  of  thy  face,  for  I  warrant  we 
shall  find  rascal  writ  in  every  line  of  it.  As 
I  live,  Master  Buzzard  !"  cried  he,  in  some 
surprise,  as  he  took  off  the  mask  of  him  he 
had  knocked  down. 

"  And  here  have  we  no  bigger  a  villain  to 
help  him  than  his  man  Saul !"  exclaimed 
John  a  Combe,  as  he  tore  off  the  visor  of  the 
other.  Master  Buzzard  came  to  himself  pre- 
sently, for  he  was  but  little  hurt,  and  finding 
he  had  been  completely  baffled,  he  said  never 
a  word.  As  soon  as  he  regained  his  footing, 
with  a  look  of  devilish  malignity  he  took  him- 
self off,  leaving  his  man  to  follow  as  he  best 
might.  Neither  received  hindrance  from 
Master  Combe  or  his  trusty  friend,  who  were 
in  truth  monstrous  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  com- 
pany of  such  thorough  paced  villains. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

And  what's  a  life  1    A  weary  pilgrimage, 
Whose  glory  in  one  day  doth  till  the  stage 
With  childhood,  manhood,  and  decrepit  age. 
And  what's  a  life '?    The  flourishing  array 
Of  the  proud  summer  meadow,  which,  to-day, 
Wears  her  green  plush,  and  is  to-morrow — hay. 

QUARLES. 

How  now  !  Ah  me  ! 
God  and  all  saints  be  good  to  us  ! 

BEN  JONSON. 

Death  may  usurp  on  nature  many  hours, 
And  yet  the  fire  of  life  kindle  again 
The  overpressed  spirits. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  house  of  John  a  Combe,  so  hand- 
somely offered  by  him  for  the  reception  of 
Dame  Shakspeare  and  her  infant  son,  lay 
about  a  mile  from  Stratford,  the  nighest  way 
across  the  fields ;  and  had  been  built  some 
twenty  years  in  a  famous  cmaint  pretty  style, 
with  projecting  gables,  curiously  formed  and 
carved ;  a  latticed  porch,  whweon  all  man- 
ner of  delicate  flowers  were  climbing  very 
daintily,  and  it  was  enclosed  with  its  garden 
in  a  high  wall  that  had  iron  gates,  in  an  arch- 
way in  front,  from,  which  a  broad  path  led  on 
each  side  of  a  well-kept  lawn  right  up  to  the 
house. 

Dame  Shakspeare  had  a  famous  fire  of 
good  logs  burning  in  her  chamber,  the  light 
whereof  shewed  the  goodly  hangings  of  the 
bed,  and  rich  arras  brought  from  beyond  seas 
that  were  about  the  wainscot,  with  all  the 


store  of  needful  furniture  in  high  presses 
cupboards,  chairs,  tables,  and  the  like,  ex- 
quisitely carved  in  choice  woods  that  stood 
around  her  on  every  side.  The  good  dame, 
clad  in  a  simple  long  garment  of  linen  that 
wrapt  her  all  around,  sat  at  some  short  dis- 
tance from  the  fire-dogs,  knitting  of  a  pair 
of  hose,  whilst  over  against  her  sat  nurse 
Cicely,  witli  the  babe  in  her  lap,  the  front  of 
his  white  frock  hid  under  a  dowlas  cloth, 
that  was  carefully  tucked  under  his  chin, 
feeding  him  with  a  pap-spoon.  Nurse  talked 
on  without  ceasing,  gossipping  to  the  mother 
and  prattling  to  the  babe,  all  in  a  breath  ; 
but  Dame  Shakspeare  scarce  spoke  a  word. 
Indeed,  her  thoughts  were  in  a  strange  mis- 
giving humor,  fearing  for  the  present,  and 
doubting  of  the  future,  till  her  eye  would 
light  on  her  sweet  son ;  and  then  noticing  of 
his  exceeding  happiness  at  what  he  was 
about,  her  aspect  would  catch  a  sudden 
brightness,  and  mayhap  she  would  say  some- 
thing is  if  there  was  nought  to  trouble  her. 

"  Of  those  who  are  dead  some  say  there 
is  no  knowing  for  the  number,"  continued 
nurse.  "  They  die  out  of  all  calculation  ; 
not  here  and  there  one,  as  in  honest  fashion 
they  should,  but  everywhere  scores.  Hum- 
phrey heard  at  the  gate,  of  Oliver  Dumps, 
that  they  went  so  fast,  it  was  supposed  there 
would  soon  be  none  left  to  tend  the  sick. — 
Ods  lifelings,  what  an  appetite  thou  hast !" 
added  she,  as  she  kept  feeding  of  the  child. 
"  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  thou  wouldst  eat  up 
house  and  home  kept  thou  this  fashion  at  all 
times.  Well,  it's  all  one.  They  that  are 
dead  cannot  help  themselves  ;  and  for  the 
living  they  must  trust  in  God's  mercy.  How 
now,  chuck  ?  What,  more  !  Well,  heaven 
send  tlice  good  store  of  victuals  !  By  my 
troth,  methinks  Master  Combe  shall  deserve 
well  of  us  all  our  days.  As  for  myself,  I 
wish  I  could  know  the  service  I  might  do  his 
worship,  I  would  not  spare  my  old  bones,  I 
promise  you.  He  hath  been  a  mean  for  the 
preserving  of  our  lives,  that  be  a  sure  thing; 
for  it  standeth  to  reason,  had  we  remained  m 
the  town,  we  should  have  been  no  better  than 
loathsome  corpses  long  since." 

Dame  Shakspeare  replied  not ;  but  her  na- 
ture was  too  forcibly  impressed  with  the 
load  of  Obligation  she  lay  under,  not  to  as- 
sent to  all  her  attendant  would  express  on 
that  point. 

"  And  thou  hast  especial  reason  to  be 
thankful  to  him,  my  young  master,"  con- 
tinued the  old  woman  to  her  charge ;  "  by'r 
lady,  thou  hadst  best  make  haste  to  be  a 
man,  and  shew  his  worship  how  grateful  of 
•heart  thou  art  for  his-  goodness.  And  then 
to  put  us  all  in  so  delectable  a  place  aa 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


SI 


this,''  added  she,  looking  round  the  chamber 
in  evident  admiration.  "  O'  my  life,  'tis  a 
house  fit  for  a  prince,  and  it  hath  in  it  every 
thing  that  heart  could  desire.  This  is  his 
worship's  own  bed-chamber,  as  I  have  heard. 
Happy  the  woman  who  shall  have  the  own- 


their  foliage,  made  a  famous  rustling  as  the 
wind  came  sweeping  among  their  branches. 
Every  thing  looked  indistinct  and  shadowy 
within  the  range  of  sight,  and  beyond,  all 
seemed  as  though  closely  wrapl  up  in  a 
'shroud.  Certes,  to  one  of  Dame  Shakspeare's 


it,  say  I !    I  protest  when  I  hear  how  !  disposition,  the  prospect  around  must  have 
he  hath  borne  himself  throughout  the  j  appeared  wonderful  melancholy,  and  it  gave 
dreadful  raging  of  this  doleful  pestilence,  I  j  a  chill  to  her  heart  that  filled  her  with  mon- 
am  clean  lost  in  wonder  and  astonishment ;  strous  disquietude.  All  was  in  perfect  silence 


at  his  infinite  goodness." 


and  solitude,  save  down  below,  where  Hum- 


"  Surely,  nurse,  it  must  be  somewhat  be-  phrey,  armed  with  a  rusty  harquebus,  was 
yond  the  time  they  usually  come  ?"  here  ex-  j  marching  to  and  fro  within  the  gate,  of 
claimed  Dame  Shakspeare ;  "  I  hope  nought  \  which  station  he  was  exceeding  proud,  as 
amiss  hath  happened  to  either,  and  yet  I  was  manifest ;  for,  immediately  he  caught 
kfear.  Alack,  it  would  go  hard  with  me  sight  of  his  mistress  at  the  casement,  he 
were  I  to  lose  my  husband ;  and  Master  j  held  his  piece  firm  to  his  side,  made  himself 
Combe  hath  showed  himself  so  true  a  friend  look  as  tall  as  he  might,  and  with  a  terrible 
I  could  not  but  grieve  at  his  loss.  I  pray  |  valorous  countenance,  as  he  supposed,  con- 


God,  very  heartily,  both  are  safe." 

"  Amen  !"  said  the  nurse  very  devoutly. 
"  But  keep  up  a  good  heart.  I  pray  you, 


tinned  to  walk  backwards  and  forwards  at 
his  post. 

"  Hast  seen  any  thing,  Humphrey  ?"  in- 


mistress.  I  would  wager  my  life  on't  no  ^  quired  Dame  Shakspeare. 
harm  shall  happen  to  them.  They  must  "  Yes,  mistress,  an'it  please  you,"  replied 
needs  be  much  too  useful  to  be  spared  when  j  he,  stopping  ,short  in  his  walk,  and  holding 
such  pitiful  work  is  going  forward.  But '  of  hiniself  as  upright  as  any  dart.  "  I  have 
concerning  of  the  time  of  their  usual  com-  seen  old  Grammer  LambswooFs  two  sandy 
ing,  I  cannot  think  it  hath  yet  arrived,  colored  pigs  making  for  home  with  all  the 
though  mayhap  it  shall  be  found  to  be  no  speed  of  foot  they  were  master  of." 


great  way  off.  Peradventure,  rest  you  pati- 
ent awhile,  you  shall  hear  Humphrey  give 
us  note  of  their  approach  before  long.  Ha ! 
my  young  rogue  !"  continued  she,  address- 
ing the  babe,  and  fondling  him  very,  prettily, 
upon  finding  he  would  take  iKMiiore  of  her 
food.  "  I  warrant  me  now  thou  hast  had  a 
famous  meal !  Art  not  ashamed  to  devour 
such  monstrous  quantities,  when  victual  is 
so  scarce  to  be  had '?  O'  my  conscience,  hj| 
laughed  in  my  very  face !  By  your  pati- 


"  Psha !  hast  seen  any  thing  of  thy  mas- 
ter ?"  added  the  good  dame. 

"  No,  mistress,"  answered  he. 

"  Haskseen  ought  of  Master  Combe  ?" 

"  No,  mistress." 

Hearing  no  further  questioning;  Hum- 
phrey continued  his  marching  ;  and  his  mis- 
tress, in  no  way  satisfied  with  iiis  intelligence, 
remained  at  the  casement  silent  and  ab- 
stracted. She  could  hear  nurse  Cicely 
walking  up  and  down  the  chamber,  evidently 


ence,  mistress,  this  son  of  yours  is  no  other  j  by  her  speech  and  occasional  humming  striv- 


than  a  very  horrible  young  reprobate,  for  he 
seemeth  to  care  for  nought  when  he  hath  all 
that  he  standeth  in  need  of." 


ing  to  get  the  boy  into  a  sleep. 

"  Well,  never  saw  I  the  like !"  exclaimed 
Cicely,  in  tones  of  such  monstrous  astonish- 


"  Bless  his  dear  heart !"  cried  the  much  ment  as  drew  the  mother's  attention  in  an 
delighted  mother,  rousing  up  from  her  me-  instant.  "  instead  of  getting  into  a  good 
lancholy  at  sight  of  her  babe's  enjoyment,  j  sound  sleep  as  I  was  assured *thou  hadst 
"  It  glads  me  more  than  I  can  speak  to  see  fallen  into,  I  know  not  how  long  since,  kere 
him  looking  so  hearty,  and  in  so  rare  a  art  thou  as  wide  awake  as  am  1,  and  listen- 
humor.  But  I  must  to  the  casement,  I  am  ing  to  my  poor  singing  with  a  look  as  if  thy 
impatient  of  this  seeming  long  delay  ;"  and  ;  very  heart  was  in  it."  Certes,  it  was  as  the 
so  saying  she  suddenly  rose  from  her  seat,  nurse  had  said.  The  babe  lay  in  her  arms, 
and  made  for  the  window,  a  broad  casement  seeming  in  such  strange  wonder  and  de- 
which  looked  out  over  the  porch,  for  the  lights  as  surely  no  babe  ever  showed  before, 
chamber  was  above  the  ground-floor,  and  Even  Dame  Sliakspeare  marveled  somewhat 
opening  it  she  leaned  out  to  watch  for  her  i  to  note  the  amazed  smiling  aspect  of  her 
husband.  The  night  had  set  in,  though  it !  young  son. 

was  scarce  eight  of  the  clock ;  but  being  the  j  "  By  my  fay  !"  continued  the  old  woman, 
latter  end  of  October  that  was  no  marvel.  "  if  this  babe  come  not  to  be  some  great  mas- 
Dark  clouds  were  floating  heavily  in  the  ter  of  music,  I  am  hugely  mistaken  in  him. 
sky,  and  the  trees,  though  half  denuded  of  '  I  remember  me  now,  this  is  the  first  time  I 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


have  chanced  to  sing  in  his  hearing. — Marry, 


"Oh,  good  God!"  shrieked  the  diseased 
man  in  his  phrenzy.  "  Oh,  the  Infinite 
Great  One !  Thi?  '.s  the  day  of  doom !  Hide 
— hide,  ye  wicked ! — the  ministers  of  judg- 
ment compass  ye  ill  about.  There  is  no 
'scape  from  the  co,  Burning  fire.  It  scorch 
my  flesh — it  burneth  my  bones  to  asl 


an'  if  his  worship  be  so  taken  with  my  music, 
I  warrant  me  he  shall  have  a  rare  plenty  of 
it,  for  I  have  as  famous  a  store  of  ballads  as 
any  woman  in  Warwickshire." 

"  I  doubt  not  they  will  be  well  liked  of 
him,  judging  of  the  manner  he  hath  taken  the 
first  he  hath  heard,"  observed  his  mother. 

At  this  moment  there  was  heard  such 
horrible  unnatural  screaming  and  strange 
uproar,  that  made  Dame  Shakspeare,  more 
full  of  misgiving  than  ever,  rushed  back  to  the 
cagement  with  as  much  speed  as  she  could 
use.  The  first  object  that  met  her  eye  was 
no  other  than  Humphrey,  half  lying  on  the 
ground,  supporting  himself  with  one  arm, 
and  one  leg  doubled  under  him,  and  with 
the  other  hand  holding  in  his  trembling 
grasp  the  harquebus  he  made  so  brave  a 
show  with  a  few  minutes  since.  He  was 
shaking  in  every  limb;  his  hat  had  fallen 
off,  leaving  his  face  the  more  visible,  which 
bore  an  aspect  of  the  completes!  fright  ever 
seen.  His  eyes  were  starting  forward,  his 
cheeks  pale,  and  his  mouth  half  open,  one 
jaw  knocking  against  the  other  as  hard  as 
they  could.  Turning  her  gaze  in  the  direc- 
tion in  which  the  boy  was  staring,  as  if  in- 
capable of  moving  away  his  eyes,  though 
for  a  single  instant,  she  saw  a  sight  the  hor- 
ribleness  of  which  made  her  scream  out- 
right. It  was  a  spectral  figure  at  the  gate, 
with  long  bare  arms  and  legs,  alj^livid  and 
gastly,  and  a  face  that  seemed  more  terrible 
to  look  on  than  death  itself.  The  pesti- 
lence in  its  worst  stage  was  apparent  in 
every  feature  ;  and  the  glaring  eye,  blue 
skin,  gaunt  jaw,  and  ragged  beard,  were 
more  distinguishable  for  tho  sheet  in  which|  |(iands;  but  when  the  frightful  object  got 


Y 
Ah !"  and  again  the  same  horrible  yell  pierc 

the  air  as  he  writhed  under  his  pains. 

"  Humphrey,  I  say,  drive  him  away,  I 
prithee  !"  cried  the  frightened  mother  more 
earnestly  than  at  firs*.  "  Alack !  if  he 
should  break  in  now  we  are  clean  lost !" 

"  Ye — ye — yes,  mistress,"  muttered  Hum- 
phrey, but  he  sought  not  to  move  either  his 
eyes  from  the  man,  or  his  limbs  from,  the* 
ground.     However,  it  did  so  fall  out,  that 
the  terrible  cause  of  all  their  fear,  after 
pending  of  his  strength  in  vainly  essaying 
o"  shake  down  the  gates,  screaming  and 
jailing  after  the  fashion  that  hath  been  told, 
n  the  height  of  his  frenzy  fell  from  the 
ilace  he  had  climbed  to  down  to  the  hard 
ground  within  the  walls,  where,  after  twist- 
ng  himself  about  for  some  few  seconds  in 
he  horriblest  contortions,  and  shrieking  as  if 
n  the  last  agonies,  he  finally  lay  stiff,  silent, 
and  manifestly  dead. 

"  Humphrey  !  Humphrey  !  get  you  in 
doors  this  instant,"  exclaimed  his  mistress 
n  a  manner  as  though  she  scarce  knew 
what  she  said.  Then  wringing  of  her  hands 
ixceeding  pitifully,  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice, 
'  Woe  is  me !  the  plague  will  be  upon  us, 
and  no  remedy." 

Dame  Shakspeare  had  called  to  Humphrey 
many  times,  and  though  he  answered  her  at 
:irst,  he  paid  but  small  attention  to  her  com- 


the  head  and  part  of  the  body  were  wrapped. 
He  shook  the  iron  bars  of  the  gate  as  if  he 
would  have  them  down,  and  tried  to  climb 
them,  all  the  whilst  giving  out  such  piercing 
.  shrieks  as  made  the  blood  run  cold  to  hear. 

"  Jesu  prcservelhe  child !"  exclaimed  the 
terrified  mpther. 

"  Flames  and  the  rack !"  shouted  a  hollow 
sejliilchral  voice,  as  he  shook  the  iron  bars 
again  and  again.  "  Hell  rages  in  my  every 
vein  !  Fires  eat  into  my  heart !  O  mercy  !" 
Then  arose  another  scream  more  wild  and 
piercing  than  any  that  had  preceded  it,  and 
the  poor  wretch  flung  his  head  about,  and 
twisted  his  limbs,  as  if  in  the  horriblest  torture. 

*  Drive  him  away,  good  Humphrey !" 
cried  Dame  Shakspeare,  the  sense  of  her 
child's  danger  overcoming  all  other  feelings 
in  her. 

"  Ye — ye — ye — yes,  mistress !"  answerec 
Humphrey  as  plainly  as  his  fright  wouk 
allow  him,  but  moved  he  never  an  inch. 


within  the  walls,  he  did  nought  but  keep  re- 
garding of  his  motions  with  an  uneasy  stare, 
as  if  his  wits  had  clean  gone ;  and  now  his 
mistr6ss  again  called  to  him,  he  moved  not, 
nor  spoke  a  word,  nor  gave  any  sign,  save 
the  loud  chattering  of  his  teeth,  that  he  was 
one  of  the  living.  Presently  there  was  heard 
the  sound  as  of  sundry  persons,  running,  and 
ere  any  very  long  time  there  appeared  at  the 
gate  divers  of  the  town  watch,  and  others, 
with  torches  and  lanterns,  armed  with  long 
staves  and  other  weapons. 

"  Get  you  in,  dame,  I  pray  you,  and  shut 
to  the  casement,"  cried  Master  Combe  from 
among  them. 

"  In  with  you,  in  God's  name,  or  you  are 
lost !"  almost  at  the  same  moment  of  time 
shouted  John  Shakspeare ;  and  h's  wife, 
with  a  hurried  ejaculation  of  her  great  com- 
fort at  hearing  of  their  voices,  did  as  she 
was  bid,  and  sunk  into  a  chair  more  dead 
than  alive. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SilAKSPEARE. 


33 


"  I  would  rather  hare  given  a  thousand 
pounds  than  he  should  have  escaped,"  said 
Master  Combe.  "  I  pray  God  no  harm  come 
of  it  to  your  sweet  wife  and  children." 

"  I  cannot  help  but  fear,  the  peril  is  so 
great,"  replied  John  Shakspeare  in  a  some- 
what desponding  tone. 

"  Lord  ha'  mercy  upon  us  !"  muttered  a 
voice  not  far  off  of  them. 

"As  I  live,  'tis  my  knave  Humphrey!" 
exclaimed  his  master,  looking  through  the 
bars  of  the  gate.  '.*Why  how  now !  what 
art  doing  there  ?  Get  thee  in  by  the  back 
way  on  the  instant,  and  stir  not  while  we 
are  gone." 

"  La,  what,  be  that  yon,  master,  indeed  ?" 
cried  out  Humphrey  with  a  sort  of  foolish 
joy,  as  he  recognized  the  voice. 

"  Get  thee  in,  I  tell  thee !"  replied  the 
other  sharply,  and  Humphrey  not  caring  to 
take  another  look  at  the  dead  man,  walked 
himself  oft",  and  soon  disappeared  behind  the 
house ;  whereupon  his  master  with  a  key  he 
had,  opened  the  gate,  and  by  the  directions 
of  Master  Combe,  the  corpse  was  presently 
placed  upon  a  hand-barrow  and  carried 
away  by  the  watchmen  ;  then  a  fire  of  dry 
sticks  was  made  on  the  spot  where  it  had 
fallen,  in  which  certain  aromatics  were 
flung,  which  made  a  cloud  of  smoke  that 
filled  the  air  all  round  about  for  a  great 
space.  After  it  had  burned  some  time, 
John  Shakspeare  called  to  his  wife  that  she 
might  ope  the  casement,  and  she  waited  no 
second  calling.  Then  passed  they  nigh 
upon  an  hour  in  very  comfortable  discourse 
one  with  another,  as  if  it  was  a  customary 
thing  of  them,  she  leaning  out  of  the  cham- 
ber, and  her  husband  and  worthy  Master 
Combe  standing  upon  the  lavrn  beneath, 
closely  wrapped  up  in  long  cloaks,  and  car- 
rying lighted  torches  in  their  hands. 

"  I  cannot  express  to  you  how  glad  I  am 
lo  hear  of  the  abating  of  the  pestilence," 
Said  Dame  Shakspeare.  "  Tis  the  pleasant- 
est  news  I  have  heard  this  many  a  day. 
But  think  you  it  may  be  relied  on  ?" 

"  I  have  taken  the  very  surest  means  of 
proving  its  perfect  credibleness,"  answered 
Master  Combe. 

"  Not  so  many  have  died  of  it  to-day  by 
twenty  as  died  yesterday,"  added  her  hus- 
band ;  "  and  yesterday  we  buried  ten  less 
than  the  day  before." 

"  I  am  infinitely  thankful !"  exclaimed  she 
in  a  famous  cheerfulness.  "  I  heartily  pray 
it  may  continue  so."' 

"  So  do  we  all,  sweet  dame,"  answered 
Master  Combe.  "And  I  have  good  assu- 
rance, now  we  are  blessed  with  the  prayers 
of  one  so  worthy,  we  cannot  help  but  speed 


in  our  endeavors.  But  the  night  wears  on 
apace.  I  pray  you  pardon  me  for  hurrying 
away  your  husband.  O'  my  life  I  would  not 
do  it,  only  we  have  that  to  look  to  this  night, 
which  cannot  be  done  without  him." 

"  Ay,  Dame,  we  must  be  going,"  added  her 
husband.  <:  So  a  good  sweet  rest  to  thee, 
and  kiss  my  boy  lovingly  for  me  I  prithee." 

"  That  will  I  dear  heart,  without  fail," 
answered  she.  "  And  a  fair  good  night  to 
you  both,  and  may  God  above  preserve  you 
in  all  perils." 

"  Good  night,  sweet  dame,  and  infinite 
thanks  for  your  kind  wishes,"  said  Master 
Combe ;  and  then  he  and  his  associated  left 
the  house,  locking  the  gates  after  them ; 
and  proceeded  straight  to  the  town. 

Now  was  there  a  wonderful  difference  in 
this  town  of  Stratford  to  what  it  had  been 
only  a  few  months  since,  when  I  sought  the 
picturing  of  it ;  for  in  place  of  all  the  pleasant 
riot  of  children  and  general  gossiping  of 
neighbors,  all  was  dumb  as  a  churchyard ; 
save  at  intervals,  \he  wail  of  the  sorrowful 
or  the  shriek  of  the  dying  disturbed  the 
awful  stillness.  Scarce  a  living  creature 
was  to  be  seen  excepting  the  watchman 
keeping  guard,  to  whom  divers  of  the  un- 
happy burgesses  would  talk  to  out  of  their 
windows,  inquiring  who  of  their  friends  were 
yet  spared,  or  one  or  two  having  been  close 
prisoner*  in  their  own  houses,  would  creep 
stealthily  along  the  street  to  breathe  the 
fresher  air,  looking  about  them  suspiciously 
and  in  great  dread,  and  ready  to  fly  at  any 
unusual  sound ;  and  instead  of  the  sun 
throwing  its  warm  beams  upon  the  house- 
tops and  other  open  places,  there  was  a  sul- 
len darkness  everywhere  about,  except  just 
where  one  carried  a  torch  or  a  lantern  with 
him,  which  made  a  faint  red  light  therea- 
bouts, or  when  the  moon  burst  out  of  the 
deep  black  clouds,  and  disclosed  to  view  the 
deserted  streets  grown  over  with  patches  of 
rank  grass ;  the  melancholy  houses, — many 
nntenauted  because  of  the  pestilence  having 
spared  none  there, — divers  with  a  red  cross 
upon  their  doors  in  evidence  that  the  plague 
had  there  found  a  victim,  and  the  rest  with 
doors  and  windows  carefully  barred  and 
lights  streaming  through  the  closed  shutters 
— a  glad  sign  that  there  at  least  none  had 
yet  fallen. 

John  Shakspeare  and  Master  Combe, 
closely  wrapped  in  their  cloaks,  entered  the 
principal  street  just  as  the  moon  made  a 
clear  path  for  herself  in  the  sky,  and  threw 
such  a  light  as  made  them  distinguish  objects 
for  the  time  almost  as  well  as  in  broad  day. 
The  first  person  they  met  was  no  othei 


34 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEA11E. 


than  Oliver  Dumps,  armed  with  a  bill,  and 
wearing  a  face  so  wp-begone  as  was  pitiful 
to  look  on. 

"  Well  Oliver,  what  news  ?"  inquired 
Master  Combe. 

"News!"  exclaimed  the  constable  in  his 
dolefullest  manner.  "Prithee  what  news 
canst  expect  to  hear  at  such  a  miserable 
time  ?  As  I  am  a  Christian  man,  and  a  sin- 
ful, I  am  nigh  worn  out  with  melancholly. 
What  a  world  is  this  !  Alack,  what  will  be- 
come of  us  ?  I  see  no  end  to  the  evil  where- 
of this  town  is  so  full.  We  are  all  villainy 
— very  villainy,  as  I  am  a  Christian  man." 

"  Why  what  hath  happened,  good  Oli- 
ver?" asked  John  Shakspeare. 

"Wickedness  hath  happened,"  replied 
Oliver  Dumps;  "the  very  shamefullest 
wickedness  ever  I  came  a  nigh.  Well  may 
we  be  visited  by  plagues.  Our  natures  are 
vile.  We  run  after  iniquity  as  a  curtail 
dog  runs  i'  the  wheel."  Then,  being  further 
pressed  by  Master  Combe  to  come  to  the 
point,  he  added,  "  First,  there  is  Sir  Nathan- 
iel, who  will  not  be  moved  to  do  any  good 
office  for  the  sick ;  and  Master  Buzzard, 
who,  setteth  his  dogs  at  me,  should  I  venture 
to  ask  of  him  to  assist  his  poor  neighbors. 
Then  Stripes  is  ever  getting  of  money  from 
a  parcel  of  ignorant  wretched  folk  to  con- 
^  jure  the  pestilence  away  from  their  houses ; 
added  to  which,  no  longer  ago  than  scarce 
the  half  of  an  hour,  I  came  upon  Simon 
Lumpfish  and  Jonathan  Swiggle,  two  of  the 
town  watch,  in  the  kitchen  of  an  empty 
dwelling,  making  use  of  a  barrel  of  strong 
beer  without  any  color  of  warrant,  by  each 
laying  of  his  length  on  the  floor,  and  put- 
ting of  his  mouth  to  the  bung-hole." 

"  They  shall  be  looked  to,"  observed  Mas- 
ter Combe ;  "  but  come  you ,  with  us,  good 
Oliver,  perchance  we  may  need  your  assis- 
tance." Then  turning  to  one  of  the  watch, 
who  was  stationed  at  a  door-way,  he  in- 
quired how  things  went  in  his  ward. 

"  One  hath  died  within  this  hour  over  at 
Peter  Gimblet's,an'it  please  your  worship," 
answered  the  man  respectfully ;  "  and  there 
are  two  sick  here  at  Dame  Holloway's. 
They  do  say  that  Morris  Greenfinch  be  like 
to  recover ;  and  in  some  houses  hereabouts, 
where  the  plague  hath  been,  they  have 
taken  it  so  kindly  that  it  hath  scarce  been 
felt." 

After  bidding  of  him  keep  strict  watch, 
they  continued  their  walk;  and  presently 
heard  a  voice  of  one  calling  across  the  way 
to  his  neighbor  opposite. 

"  How  goeth  all  with  you  ?" 

"  We  are  all  well,  thanks  be  to  God  ! 
neighbor  Malmsey.  And  how  fareth  your 


bed-fellow  ?"  replied  one  from  a  casement 
over  against  him. 

"  Bravely,  neighbor  Dowlas,  I  thank  you," 
said  his  brother  alderman ;  "  they  do  say 
there  is  some  show  of  the  pestilence  abating ; 
I  would  it  were  true,  else  shall  we  be  all 
ruined  for  a  surety.  1  have  not  so  much  as 
sold  a  pint  of  wine  for  the  last  week  past." 

"  Nor  I  a  yard  of  cloth,  for  a  month," 
added  the  other.  "  I  pray  God,  the  survi- 
vors may  have  the  decency  to  go  into 
mourning  for  their  tot  relations." 

"  And  so  your  good  dame  is  well,  neigh- 
bor ?"  asked  Alderman  Malmsey. 

"  As  well  as  heart  could  wish,"  replied 
Alderman  Dowlas. 

"  Commend  me  to  her,  I  pray  you,"  said 
the  o|her ;  and  then  with  a  "  good  night," 
each  closed  his  casement.  Upon  proceed- 
ing a  little  further  on,  the  party  were  stop- 
ped by  the  melodious  sweet  sound  of  several 
voices,  intent  upon  the  singing  of  some  holy 
hymn.  Perchance  it  might  have  proceeded 
from  some  pious  family ;  for  in  the  quiet 
night,  the  ear  could  plainly  enough  distin- 
guish the  full  deep  bass  of  the  father,  join- 
ing with  the  clear  sweet  trebles  of  his  wife 
and  children.  And  exceeding  touching  it 
was  at  such  a  time  to  hear  such  proper 
singing ;  indeed,  so  moved  were  the  three 
listeners,  that  they  sought  not  to  leave  the 
spot  till  it  was  ended. 

"  That  be  David  Hurdle's  voice,  I  will 
be  bound  for  it,"  exclaimed  the  Constable. 
"  Indeed,  it  be  well  known  he  hath,  during 
the  raging  of  the  pestilence,  spent  best  part 
of  the  day  in  praying  with  his  family,  and 
in  the  singing  of  godly  hymns.  He  is  a 
poor  man — some  call  him  a  Puritan,  but  I 
do  believe  him  to  be  as  honest  good  Chris- 
tian man  as  any  one  in  this  town,  be  they 
rich  or  poor,  gentle  or  simple.  But  what 
villainous  rude  uproar  is  this,  my  masters  ! 
that  treadeth  so  close  on  the  heels  of  such 
exquisite  music  ?" 

r  faith,  Oliver  Dumps  had  good  cause  to 
£ry  out  as  he  did ;  for  all  at  once  they  were 
startled  by  a  number  of  most  unmannerly 
voices,  shouting  in  very  boisterous  fashion 
such  profane  words  as  these : — 

"  If  we  boast  not  a  fire, 
That  is  just  our  desire — 

What  then  ?    We  must  needs  burn  the  bellows  ; 
And  if  here  there's  a  man 
Thai  hath  nought  in  his  can — 
What  then?     He's  the  prince  of  good  fellows." 

"Odds,  my  life  !"  exclaimed  a  voice  that 
was  heard,  amid  the  din  of  laughing  and 
shouting-,  and  other  lewd  behavior.  "  Odds, 


THE  YO 


3UTII 


OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


my  life,  tnat  is  as  exquisite  a  catch  as  ever 
I  heard.  Methinks,  :tw  the  very  movinest, 
mirthfullest  a .  What  sayest  Tickle- 
breech  ?" 

"  Exactly,  so,  an'  it  please  your  rever- 
ence," replied  the  voice  of  the  schoolmaster, 
in  a  tone  somewhat  husky. 

"  By'r  lady,  master  parson,"  said  another, 
"  methinks  'tis  of  that,  superlative  exquisite- 
ness  'twould  tickle — (a  hiccup)  the  ribs  of 
a  tombstone." 

Master  Combe,  and  his  companions, 
peeped  through  the  crevices  of  the  shutters, 
and  beheld  Sir  Nathaniel  seated  at  the  head 
of  a  table  covered  with  drinking  vessels, 
with  Stripes  opposite  him,  and  nigh  upon  a 
score  of  low  idle  disorderly  vagabonds  sit- 
ting round  making  merry,  but  with  mon- 
strous little  assurance  of  sobriety  in  their 
looks. 

"  Lord !  Lord  !  an'  these  fellows  be  not 
heathens.  I  marvel  what  they  shall  rightly 
be  called,"  said  the  scandalized  constable. 

"  It  grieves  me  to  see  Sir  Nathaniel  so 
readily  accommodate  himself  to  such  dis- 
creditableness,"  observed  John  Shakspeare. 

'"Slight!"  exclaimed  Master  Combe, 
whose  nature  was  vexed  to  behold  such  a 
scene  with  such  actors  in  it ;  "  he  is  a  very 
hog  that  will  swill  any  wash  that  is  given 
him,  let  it  be  where  it  may." 

The  ringing  of  a  large  hand-bell  now  at- 
tracted their  attention  elsewhere  ;  and  look- 
ing along  the  street,  they  observed  a  cart 
slowly  proceeding  towards  them,  accompa- 
nied by  two  or  three  stout  fellows,  some 
carrying  torches,  and  others  armed  with 
bills.  It  stopped  at  a  house  where  was  a 
red  cross  on  the  door,  at  which  having 
knocked,  and  the  door  opening,  two  stepped 
in,  and  presently  returned,  bearing  of  a 
heavy  burden  betwixt  them,  with  the  which 
they  ascended  a  short  ladder,  and,  without 
any  word  spoke,  cast  into  the  cart.  Then 
ringing  of  the  bell  again  they  continued 
their  way,  till  some  door  opening  noiseless- 
ly, they  stopped,  entered,  and  with  the  same 
dreadful  silence  carried  out,  what  on  nearer 
approach,  proved  to  be  a  corpse,  which  was 
added  to  the  rest  they  had,  in  the  manner 
that  hath  been  described. 

"Hast  taken  many  this  round?"  asked 
Master  Combe,  of  one  of  the  watchmen 
walking  in  front  of  the  horse. 

"No,  your  worship,  God  be  thanked," 
replied  the  man. 

"  Hast  many  more  to  take  ?"  asked  John 
Shakspeare. 

"  I  expect  not  master,"  said  the  other. 
Indeed,  from  all  I  have  witnessed  and  can 


get  knowledge  of,  it  seemeth  to  me  the  pes- 
tilence be  abating  wonderfully." 

"  God  send  it  may  come  to  a  speedy  end- 
ing." excaimed  Oliver  Dumps,  with  some 
earnestness ;  it  maketh  me  clean  out  of- 
heart  when  I  think  of  what  ravage  it  hath 
made."  , 

The  three  now  walked  at  the  horse's 
head,  conversing  concerning  of  who,  had 
died,  and  who  were  sick,  and  the  like  mat- 
ters, stopping  when  the  cart  stopped,  and 
going  on  when  it  proceeded ;  but  always 
keeping  before  the  horse,  because  of  the 
wind  blowing  from  that  direction.  At  one 
house  the  men  remained  lorfger  than  was 
usual,  and  the  door  being  open,  there  was 
heard  a  great  cry  of  lamentation  as  of  a 
woman  in  terrible  affliction. 

"  Ah,  poor  dame,  she  hath  infinite  cause 
for  such  deep  grieving,"  said  the*constable. 

"  Go,  get  you  hence  !"  cried  one  very  ur- 
gently from  within  the  house.  ",As  God 
shall  judge  me,  he  shall  not  be  touched." 

"  What  meaneth  this  ?"  inquired  John 
Shakspeare. 

"  I  say  it  shall  not  be,"  continued  the 
same  voice.  "  I  will  die  ere  I  will  let  him 
be  borne  away  from  me.  Hast  hearts? 
Hast  feelings  ?  Dost  know  of  what  stuff  a 
mother's  love  be  made  ?  Away  villains." 

"  'Tis  a  most  pitiful  story,"  observed  Mas- 
ter Combe.  Wondrous  pitiful !  in  sooth, 
she  hath  been  sorely  tried.  But  I  must  in, 
else  in  her  desperation  she  will  allow  of  no- 
thing ;  and  mayhap  they  may  be  violent 
with  her." 

"  What  wouldst  do  ?"  inquired  John 
Shakspeare,  catching  his  friend  by  the  arm, 
as  he  was  making  for  the  door.  "  Surely, 
if  there  is  one  dead  here,  you  will  only  be 
endangering  of  yourself  by  venturing  in, 
and  no  good  come  of  it  to  any." 

"  I  pray  you  think  not  of  it,"  cried  Oliver 
Dumps,  seeming  in  famous  consternation. 
!i  There  hath  more  died  in  that  house  than 
in  any  two  in  the  town." 

"  Fear  nothing ;  I  will  be  back  anon," 
said  Master  Combe,  as  he  broke  away  and 
entered  at  the  open  door. 

"  Alack,  think  not  of  following  him,  I 
pray  you,  John  Shakspeare  !"  called  out  the 
constable,  in  increased  alarm,  as  he  beheld 
the  one  quickly  treading  upon  the  heels  of 
the  other.  "  Well,  never  saw  I  such  wan- 
ton seeking^  of  death.  They  be  lost  men. 
'Twill  be  dangerous  to  be  in  their  company 
after  this;  so  I'll  e'en  have  none  on't." 
And  away  started  he  in  the  direction  of  his 
home.  In  the  mean  while  the  other  two 
reached  an  inner  chamber,  where  was  a 
sight  to  see  that  would  have  melted  any 


f* 
m 

26 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ntone.  On  a  low  bed  there  sat  a  matronly 
woman,  of  decent  appearance,  with  an  as- 
pect pale  and  exceeding  careworn,  and  her 
eyes  full  of  such  thorough  anguish  as  is 
utterly  impossible  to  be  described  ;  and  she 
held,  folded  in  her  arms,  the  body  of  a  youth 
seeming  to  be  dead  of  the  pestilence. 

"  The  last !"  exclaimed  she,  in  most  mov- 
ing tones,  as  she  fixed  her  tearful  gaze  on 
the  discolored  object  in  her  lap.  "  Husband 
— children — all  gone,  despite  my  tender 
nursing,  and  constant  hope  this  one  might 
be  spared,  and  now  that — each  followed  the 
other,  and  here  am  I — woe  is  me  ! — widow- 
ed, childless,  and  heart-broken.  Alack,  'tis 
a  cruel  world !"  And  thereupon  she  sobbed 
in  such  a  sort  dfc  could  not  be  seen  of  any 
with  dry^yes. 

"  But  they  shall  never  take  thee  frcfm  me, 
my  dear  boy,"  continued  she  in  a  like  piti- 
ful manner.  "  Heretofore  I  have  borne  all 
and  flinched  none  ;  but  thou  hast  been  my 
last  stay,  whereon  all  the  love  1  bore  thy 
good  father  and  thy  brave  brothers,  was 
heaped  together ;  and  losing  thee,  I  lose  my 
very  heart  and  soul ;  so,  quick  or  dead,  I 
will  cling  to  thee  whilst  I  have  life.  Away ! 
insatiate  wretches !"  she  cried,  turning  her 
mournful  aspect  upon  the  two  men;  "  Hast 
not  had  enough  of  me  ?  Dost  not  see  how 
poor  a  case  1  am  in  for  the  lack  of  what  1 
have  l>een  used  to  ?  Begone  !"  And  then 
she  hugged  the  lifeless  youth  in  her  arms  as 
if  she  would  part  with  him  on  no  account. 
Neither  Master  Combe  or  John  Shakspeare 
felt  as  they  were  complete  masters  of  them- 
selves ;  but  they  knew  it  could  not  be  proper 
that  the  dead  should  stay  with  the  living. 

"  Believe  me,  we  sympathize  in  your  great 
afflictions  with  all  our  hearts,  good  dame," 
at  last  observed  the  former  to  her,  with  that 
sweet  courteousness  which  was  so  natural 
to  him.  "  But  I  pray  you,  have  some  pity 
on  yourself,  and  be  resigned  to  that  which 
cannot  be  helped." 

"  Ah,  Master  Combe !"  cried  she,  now 
first  observing  him,  "  I  would  I  could  say 
I  am  glad  to  see  you ;,  for,  in  truth  you 
have  been  an  excellent  good  friend  to  me 
and  mine  iii  our  greatest  need ;  but  as  it 
Beemeth  to  me  my  heart's  strings  be  so  upon 
the  stretch,  'twould  be  but  a  mockery  to  say 
BO,  Oh,  the  misery !"  and  then  she  bowed  her 
head  and  wept  exceedingly.  At  this  Master 
Combe  endeavored  all  he  could  to  give  her 
comfort ;  and  as  his  speech  was  wonderfully 
to  the  purpose,  though  at  first  she  was  deaf 
to  all  argument  of  the  sort,  by  degrees  he 
won  her  to  some  show  of  reason. 

"  But  he  shall  not  be  touched  !"  she  ex- 
claimed, mournfully,  yet  determinedly. 


"  Who  so  proper  TO  carry  him  out  of  the 
world  as  she  who  brought  him  in  it  ?  I  will 
have  no  rude  hand  laid  on  his  delicate 
limbs.  I  will  to  the  grave  with  him  myself. 
Alack !  poor  boy,  how  my  heart  aches  to 
look  at  thee  !"  Then  carefully  wiping  off 
the  tears  she  had  let  fall  upon  his  face,  she 
proceeded  to  wrap  him  in  a  sheet,  ever  and 
anon  giving  of  such  deep  sobs  as  showed  in 
what  extremity  she  was  in.  This  Master 
Combe  sought  not  to  interrupt ;  and  John 
Shakspeare's  honest  nature  was  so  moved 
at  the  scene,  he  had  no  mind  to  utter  a 
word.  Even  the  men,  used  as  they  must 
have  been  to  sights  of  wretchedness,  re- 
garded not  what  was  going  on  in  total  in- 
differency,  as  was  manifest  in  their  aspects. 
But  the  movingest  sight  of  all  was  to  see 
that  hapless  mother,  when  she  had  disposed 
of  her  dead  son  as  decently  as  she  could, 
bearing  the  heavy  burthen  in  her  arms  with 
a  slow  step,  looking  pale  as  any  ghost,  and 
in  such  terrible  despair  as  can  never  be  con- 
ceived. The  men,  as  they  led  the  way  with 
a  lantern,  were  forced  more  than  once,  to 
draw  the  cuffs  of  their  jerkins  over  their 
eyelids ;  and  Master  Combe  and  John  Shak- 
speare followed  her,  full  of  pity  for  her  sor- 
rowful condition.  She  bore  up  bravejy  till 
she  came  to  the  door,  when  the  sight  of  the 
dead-cart,  made  visible  by  the  red  glare  of 
the  torches,  came  upon  her  with  such  a  sud- 
denness, that  she  swooned  away,  and  would 
have  fallen  on  the  ground,  had  not  Master 
Combe  ran  quickly  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms.  Then,  by  his  direction,  her  dead  son 
was  placed  with  the  other  corpses,  and  she 
carried  back  to  the  room  she  had  left ;  and 
after  seeing  she  had  proper  attendance,  he 
and  John  Shakspeare  proceeded  with  the 
watchman  and  others  that  had  the  care  of 
the  cart,  calling  nowhere  else  as  they  went 
in  so  doleful  a  humor  that  they  spoke-  never 
a  word  all  the  way.  They  came  to  a  field 
outside  of  the  town,  where  was  a  great  hole 
dug,  and  a  la*ge  mound  of  fresh  earth  at  the 
side  of  it.  At  this  time,  some  of  the  men 
took  in  their  hands  mattocks  which  were 
stuck  in  the  soil,  others  backed  the  cart  so 
that  the  end  of  it  should  come  as  nigh  as 
possible  to  the  pit,  and  the  rest  held  torches 
that  the  others  might  see  the  better.  Scarce 
any  spoke  save  Master  Combe,  who,  in  a 
low  tone,  gave  such  orders  as  were  needed. 
Presently  the  cart  was  tilted,  and  in  the 
next  moment  the  bodies  of  those  dead  of  the 
pestilence  swept  into  the  rude  grave  pre- 
pared for  them. 

"  By  God's  body,  I  heard  a  groan !"  cried 
John  Shakspeare,  with  a  famous  vehemence. 
In  an  instant  there  was  so  dead  a  silence 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


you  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  What  had 
been  said  was  true  enough,  for  ere  another 
minute  had  elapsed,  alt  there  distinctly 
heard  a  sound  of  groaning  come  from  the 
pit.  Each  of  the  men  looked  at  his  neigh- 
bor in  silent,  terror,  and  speedily  as  they 
might  brought  their  torches  to  throw  as 
much  light  as  they  could  into  the  pit's 
mouth. 

"  Alack  !  I  fear  we  have  buried  the  living 
with  the  dead  !''  exclaimed  Master  Combe, 
evidently  in  a  monstrous  perplexity.  Every 
eye  was  strained  to  note  if  any  sign  of  life 
was  visible  amongst  the  mass  below.  What 
a  sight  was  there  presented  to  the  horror- 
struck  gazers  !  Arms  and  legs  and  upturned 
faces  that  had  burst  from  their  frail  cover- 
ings, all  discolored  and  ghastly,  looking  more 
hideous  than  can  be  conceived. 

"  As  I  live,  something  moveth  in  this  cor- 
ner !"  cried  John  Shakspeare. 

"Alight  here,  ho !"  shouted  Master  Combe 
in  a  voice  that  brought  every  torch  to  the  spot 
ere  the  words  had  scarce  been  uttered  ;  and 
all  were  breathless  with  expectation.  To  the 
extreme  consternation  of  every  one  there, 
Master  Combe  suddenly  seized  a  torch  out  of 
the  hands  of  one  of  the  watch  who  was  nigh- 
est  to  him,  and  leaped  in  amongst  those  foul 
bodies,  close  upon  the  spot  pointed  out  by 
John  Shakspeare. 

"  Help  all,  if  ye  be  Christian  men  ! "  cried 
Master  Combe,  as  if  he  was  exceeding  mov- 
ed, whilst  those  above  were  gazing  down  up- 
on him,  bewildered  with  very  fear.  "  Help, 
I  pray  you  1  for  here  is  the  widow's  son  alive 
yet ;  and  if  care  be  used  without  loss  of  time, 
perchance  we  shall  have  such  good  fortune 
as  to  restore  him  to  her  to  be  her  comfort  all 
her  days." 

Methinks  there  needs  no  telling  of  what 
alacrity  was  used  to  get  the  youth  out  of  the 
pit  with  all  speed,  every  one  forgetting  of  his 
danger  in  the  excitement  of  the  case.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say,  he  was  rescued  from  his  ex- 
pected grave  before  he  had  any  conscious- 
ness of  being  there,  and  that  such  treatment 
was  used  as  soon  turned  to  his  profit ;  for  he 
recovered,  and  grew  to  be  hale  soon.  Of  the 
infinite  joy  of  the  late  bereaved  mother,  when 
that  her  dead  son  was  restored  alive  to  her 
loving  arms,  shall  I  not  attempt  to  describe, 
for  to  my  thinking,  it  is  beyond  the  extremes! 
cunning  of  the  pen. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Weep  not,  my  wanton,  smile  upon  my  knee  ; 
When  thou  art  old  there's  grief  enough  for  thee. 

GREECE. 

O  flatterer  false,  thou  traitor  born, 
What  mischief  more  might  thou  devise 
Than  thy  dear  friend  to  have  in  scorn, 
And  him  to  wound  in  sundry  wise  ? 
Which  still  a  friend  pretends  to  be, 
And  art  not  so  by  proof  I  see. 

Fie,  fie  upon  such  treachery  ! 
WM.  Hux.vis.   (Paradise  of  Dainlie  Devices.) 
Who  will  not  judge  him  worthy  to  be  robbed, 
That  sets  his  doors  wide  open  to  a  thief, 
And  shows  the  felon  where  his  treasure  lies  1" 
BEN  JONSON.     (Every  Man  in  his  Humor.) 

TIME  passed,  and  with  fy  passed  away  all 
sign  of  the  dreadful  scourge  that  had  fallen 
so  heavily  on  the  good  town  of  Stratford.  So 
out  of  mind  was  it,  that  the  honest  burgesses 
scarce  ever  talked  of  the  subject,  save  per- 
adventure  some  long  winter's  eve,  when  tales 
were  going  round  the  chimney  corner,  some 
one  or  another  would  vary  the  common  gos- 
siping of  ghosts  and  witches,  fairies  and  such 
like,  with  a  story  of  the  fearful  plague,  the 
which  never  failed  to  make  the  hearers,  ere 
they  entered  their  beds,  down  on  their  mar- 
row-bones, and  very  heartily  thank  God  they 
had  escaped  such  imminent,  terrible  danger 
Everything  was  going  on  just  in  the  old  plea- 
sant way. 

John  Shakspeare  had  been  made  an  alder- 
man of,  and  was  now  advanced  to  the  dignity 
of  high  bailiff,  being  also  in  a  fair  way  of  bu- 
siness, and  in  excellent  repute,  for  his  tho- 
rough honesty,  among  his  fellow-burgesses  ; 
nor  was  it  forgotten  of  them  the  good  part 
he  played  with  Master  Combe  in  the  time 
of  the  pestilence.  Of  these,  neither  had  suf- 
fered by  the  manifold  dangers  in  which  they 
had  oft  ventured  ;  nor  had  Dame  Shakspeare, 
or  her  family  either,  notwithstanding  of  the 
frights  he  had  been  put  to.  As  for  her  sweet 
son  William,  he  grew  to  be  as  handsome  and 
well  behaved  a  child  as  ever  lived  in  the 
world,  and  the  admiration  of  all  who  could 
get  sight  of  him.  Concerning  of  his  intelli- 
gence above  all  other  children  that  ever  liv- 
ed, nurse  Cicely  gave  such  marvelous  ac- 
counts, that  he  must  needs  have  been  a  pro- 
digy ere  he  was  in  short  coats.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  there  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt  he 
gave,  at  an  exceeding  early  age,  many  signs 
of  excellence,  and  of  aptitude  for  such  learn- 
ing as  the  inquisitive  young  mind  is  ever 
most  intent  upon. 

Once  when  John  Sliakspeare,  with  Huia- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


phrey  and  others  who  assisted  him  in  his  bu- 1  cate,  sweet  enjoyment  as  is  unknown  to  mor» 
siness,  were  laboring  hard  in  weighing  and  tals,  till  the  morning  star  appeareth  in  the 
sorting  and  packing  certain  tods  of  wool,  the  skies,  when  away  hie  they  to  their  hiding- 
good  dame  was  in  her  chamber  seated,  ply-  i  places,  every  one  as  swiftly  as  if  he  had  wings 
ing  of  her  needle  famously,  and  on  the  floor, :  to  carry  him."  The  boy  listened  with  his 
just  at  her  feet,  was  her  young  son,  having  j  fair  eyes  upturned,  gazing  in  his  mother's 


by  him  certain  toys  such  as  children  com- 
monly find  some  pretty  pastime  in.  Some- 
times he  would  seem  monstrous  busy  divert- 
ing of  himself  with  these  trifles,  prattling  to 
himself  all  the  whilst ;  anon  he  would  leave 
off,  and  lifting  up  his  face,  would  ask  some 
question  of  his  mother,  the  which  if  she  an- 
swered not,  be  sure  he  would  importune  her 
with  infinite  earnestness  till  she  did.  Close  at 
hand  there  was  a  spinning-wheel ;  on  the 
wainscot  were  two  or  three  samplers,  con- 
taining divers  fiae  texts  of  Scripture,  with 
flowers  worked  round  the  border,  doubtless 
of  the  good  dame's  own  working.  On  a 
square  table  of  oak  was  a  basket  with  threads 
and  tapes  and  the  like  in  it ;  l>eside  it  was 
some  cloth  of  a  frolic  green,  of  which  she  ap- 
peared to  be  making  a  new  frock  for  the  boy, 
with  such  pretty  fantasy  of  her's  in  the  fashi- 
oning of  it,  as  she  thought  would  become  him 
most.  The  casement,  which  looked  out  into 
the  garden,  being  unclosed,  there  was  upon 
the  ledge  a  large  ewer  filled  with  sprigs  of 
lavender,  that  made  the  chamber  smell  very 
daintily.  Nurse  Cicely  was  assisting  of 
Maud  in  a  further  room,  the  door  of  which 
being  open,  the  two  could  be  seen  at  their 
employment,  getting  up  the  linen  of  the  fa- 
mily— for  nurse  had  grown  greatly  in  her 
mistress'  confidence,  because  of  her  constant 
affectionateness  and  care  of  the  child,  and  of 
her  trustworthiness  and  wonderful  skill  in  all 
household  matters. 

"  Mother,  I  pray  you  tell  me  something 
concerning  of  the  fairies  of  whom  Nurse 
Cicely  discourseth  to  me  so  oft !"  exclaimed 
the  boy. 

"  Prithee,  wait  till  nurse  hath  leisure,"  re- 
plied his  mother.  "  She  knoweth  more  of 
them  than  do  I." 

"  An'  you  love  me,  tell  me  are  they  so 
mindful  of  good  little  children  as  she  hath 
said  ?"  added  he  more  ungently. 

"  In  deed,  I  have  heard  so,"  answered  the 
dame. 

"  I  marvel  where  they  shall  find  lodging, 
be  they  of  such  small  stature  ?"  observed 
the  child. 

"It  is  said  they  do  commonly  sojourn  in 
the  cups  of  the  sweetest  flowers,"  said  she  ; 
"  hiding  themselves  all  the  day  therein,  in  the 
deepest  retreats  of  woods  and  lonely  places  : 
and  in  the  night  time  come  they  out  in  some 
green  field,  or  other  verdant  space,  and  dance 
merrily  of  a  summer's  eve,  with  such  deli- 


face  in  a  famous  seriousness  and  wonder, 
then  seemed  he  to  ponder  awliile  on  what 
had  been  told  him. 

"  And  how  many  little  children  be  possess- 
ed of  such  goodness  as  may  make  them  be 
well  regarded  of  these  same  fairies  ?"  asked 
he  at  last. 

"  They  must  give  way  to  no  naughty  be- 
havior," answered  his  mother.  "  They  must 
not  be  uncivil,  nor  froward,  nor  capable  of 
any  kind  of  disobedience  or  obstinacy,  nor  say 
any  thing  that  is  not  true,  nor  be  impatient, 
or  greedy,  or  quarrelsome,  nor  have  any  un- 
cleanly or  untidy  ways,  nor  do  any  one  thing 
they  are  told  not." 

"  I  warrant  you  I  will  do  none  of  these," 
exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  But  above  all  they  must  be  sure  learn 
their  letters  betimes,"  continued  the  other ; 
"  that  they  may  be  able  to  know  the  proper 
knowledge  writ  in  books,  which  if  they  know 
not  when  they  grow  up,  neither  fairy  nor  any 
other  shall  esteem  them  to  be  of  any  good- 
ness whatsoever." 

"  I  warrant  you  I  will  learn  my  letters  as 
speedily  as  I  can,"  replied  the  child  eagerly. 
"  Nay,  I  beseech  you  mother,  teach  them  to 
me  now,  for  I  am  exceeding  desirous  to  be 
thought  of  some  goodness."  The  mother 
smiled,  well  pleased  to  notice  such  impati- 
ence in  him,  and  bade  him  leave  his  toys  and 
fetch  her  a  horn-book  that  was  on  a  shelf  with 
a  few  books  of  "another  kind,  the  which  he 
did  veiy  readily  ;  and  then  as  he  stood  lean- 
ing on  her  lap,  seriously  intent  upon  observ- 
ing of  the  characters  there  put  down,  she  told 
him  of  what  names  they  were  called,  and 
bade  him  mark  them  well,  that  he  might  be 
sure  not  to  mistake  one  for  another.  This 
very  willingly  he  promised  to  do,  and  for 
sometime,  the  whilst  she  continued  her  work, 
yet  with  a  frequent  and  loving  eye  on  his 
proceedings  he  would  pore  over  those  letters, 
saying  to  himself  what  their  names  were,  or 
if  he  stood  in  any  doubt,  straightway  questi- 
oning of  his  mother  upon  the  matter. 

"  B  ut  what  good  are  these  same  letters  of, 
mother  ?"  inquired  he  all  at  once. 

"  This  much,  replied  Dame  Shakspeare— 
"  knowing  of  them  thoroughly  one  by  one, 
you  shall  soon  come  to  be  able  to  put  them 
together  for  the  forming  of  words  ;  and  when 
you  are  sufficiently  apt  at  that,  you  shall 


all  such  words  as  are  in  any  sentence— 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


39 


which  you  shall  find  to  be  made  up  of  such  ; 
and  when  the  reading  of  these  sentences  be 
familiar  to  you,  doubt  not  your  ability  to  mas- 
ter whatsoever  proper  book  falleth  into  your 
hand — for  all  books  are  composed  of  such 
sentences." 

"  Is  it  so,  indeed  !"  observed  the  boy  in  a 
nretty  sort  of  innocent  surprise.  "  And  do 
any  of  these  goodly  books  discourse  of  the 
fairies  you  spoke  of  awhile  since  ?" 

"  All,  that  do  they,  and  famously  I  warrant 
you,"  answered  his  mother. 

"  Oh  !  how  glad  of  heart  shall  I  be  when 
I  can  muster  such  books  !"  exclaimed  the 
child  very  earnestly  ;  "  for  I  do  long  to  learn 
more  of  these  fairies.  Dost  know,  mother, 
that  after  nurse  hath  sung  me  songs  of  them, 
or  told  me  marvelous  pretty  tales  of  them,  as 
is  her  wont  till  I  have  fallen  asleep,  it  hath 
seemed  to  me  as  if  crowds  of  such  tiny  folk 
out  of  all  number,  shining  so  brightly  in  their 
gay  apparel  of  the  finest  colors,  as  though  I 
was  with  them  in  the  fair  sunshine,  have 
come  thronging  to  me,  offering  me  this  dain- 
ty nice  thing  and  the  other  dainty  nice  thing, 
and  singing  to  me  sweeter  songs  than  nurse 
Cicely  sings,  and  dancing  and  making  sport 
with  such  infinite  joy  as  would  make  any 
glad  to  be  of  their  company  ;  and  whilst  they 
continue,  they  show  me  such  wonderful  great 
kindness,  and  afford  me  such  extreme  pfea- 
sure,  it  grieveth  me  when  I  wake  to  find  they 
are  all  gone.  So  that  I  am  exceeding  de- 
sirous, as  I  have  said,  to  make  myself  as 
good  as  I  can,  and  to  learn  my  letters  as 
speedily  as  I  may,  that  I  may  be  admitted  to 
play  with  them,  and  be  loved  of  them  as  much 
as  they  will  let  me." 

The  good  dame  marvelled  somewhat  to 
hear  this,  and  to  note  with  what  pleased  ex- 
citement it  was  said,  for  sooth  to  say,  it  was 
a  right  pleasant  picture,  as  ever  limner  drew, 
to  see  those  intelligent  eyes  so  full  of  deep 
expressiveness,  and  the  fair  forehead  sur- 
rounded with  its  clustering,  shining  curls, 
and  the  delicate,  rosy  cheek  and  smiling 
mouth,  that  could  of  themselves  have  dis- 
coursed most  exquisite  meaning,  even  though 
that  most  melodious  voice  had  failed  in  its 
proper  office. 

"  Marry,  but  you  have  pleasant  dreams, 
methinks  !"  exclaimed  she  at  last. 

"  Ay,  that  have  I,''  replied  the  boy  :  "  yet 
I  like  not  waking,  and  all  this  sweet  pleasant- 
ness go  away,  I  know  not  wThere.  But  I  must 
to  my  lesson  of  the  letters,"  added  he,  as  he 
took  to  his  horn-book  again  ;  "  else  shall  the 
fairies  take  me  to  be  of  no  manner  of  good- 
ness, and  straightway  have  none  of  me. 

"  Yes,  an'  it  please  you,  mistress  is  within. 
I  pray  you  enter,"  nurse  Cicely  was  here 


heard  to  say  in  the  next  chamber — "  I  doubt 
not  she  will  ,be  exceedingly  glad  of  your 
company ;  so  walk  in,  I  beseech  you.  Here 
is  Mistress  Alderman  Dowlas,  an'  it  please 
you,  mistress  !"  exclaimed  she,  entering  the 
chamber,  closely  followed  by  the  draper's 
wife,  looking  very  cheerful,  and  dressed  in 
a  scarlet  cloak  and  a  hat,  with  a  basket  in 
her  hand  and  her  purse  at  her  girdle,  as 
though  she  were  going  to  marketing. 

"  Ha,  gossip,  how  farest  ?"  inquired  the 
visitor,  making  up  to  her  host,  with  a  merry 
tripping  pace. 

"  Bravely,  neighbor,  I  thank  you  heartily," 
replied  she,  and  then  they  two,  kissed  each 
other  affectionately,  and  nurse  Cicely  got  a 
chair,  and  having  wiped  the  seat  with  her 
apron,  sat  it  down  close  to  her  mistress. 

"And  how's  the  dear  boy  f  Come  hither, 
you  pretty  rogue,  I  would  have  a  kiss  of 
you.!"  exclaimed  the  alderman's  wife,  as 
she  sat  herself  at  her  ease,  and  gave  the  bas- 
ket for  nurse  to  place  on  the  table. 

"  An'  it  please  you,  I  am  learning  of  my 
letters,"  said  the  child,  shrinking  closer  to 
his  mother's  side. 

"  Nay^  by  my  troth,  this  is  somewhat  un- 
civil of  you,"  cried  the  dame,  though  she 
laughed  merrily  all  the  time.  "  But  I  doubt 
you  will  use  a  woman  so  when  you  get  to  be 
a  man." 

"  He  will  have  none  of  his  father  in  him 
an'  he  do,"  observed  nurse,  "  for  he  had  the 
wit  to  win  one  of  the  very  comeliest  women 
all  the  country  round." 

"  La,  nurse,  how  idly  you  talk  !"  exclaim- 
ed Dame  Shakspeare,  then  bending  her  head 
to  her  young  son  to  hide  a  slight  blush  that 
appeared  on  her  fair  cheeks,  she  said  to  him 
— "  Go  you  to  neighbor  Dowlas  like  a  good 
boy  I  pray  you." 

"  Ha,  come  hither  straight,  and  mayhap  I 
shall  find  you  some  keepsake  ere  we  part," 
added  her  neighbor.  The  child  moved 
slowly  towards  her,  with  his  eyes  steadfastly 
regarding  of  his  horn-book,  till  she  raised 
him  on  her  knee  and  caressed  him ;  and  yet 
he  was  as  intent  on  the  letters  as  ever. 

"  And  what  has  got  here,  I  prithee,  that 
thou  art  so  earnest  about  ?"  asked  Mistress 
Dowlas,  as  she  examined  what  he  had  in  his 
hand.  "  A  horn-book,  as  I  five !  and  dost 
really  know  thy  letters  at  so  early  an  age  ?" 

"  By'r  lady,  of  all  children  ever  I  met,  he 
exceedeth  them  in  aptness  at  any  sort  of 
learning,"  cried  nurse  Cicely,  putting  of  lu's 
frock  straight  because  of  its  appearing  some- 
what rumpled  ;  "  as  I  live,  I  never  heard  of 
his  fellow  :  wilt  believe  it,  mistress  ? — if  by 
chance  I  sing  him  a  ballad — the  which  he  is 
ever  a  calling  of  me  to  do,  he  will  have  it 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


and  again ;  and,  perchance,  ere  the 
day  is  over,  he  will  be  playing  with  his  toys 
and  singing  of  thatveiy  ballad  all  the  whilst !" 

"  Oh,  the  dear  boy !"  exclaimed  the  dra- 
per's pretty  wife,  as  she  cuddled  him  closer 
in  her  arms,  the  mother  looking  on  with  a 
famous  satisfaction  in  her  features ;  "  and 
canst  tell  me  those  pretty  letters  ?"  inquired 
she  of  him. 

"  Nay,  I  doubt  I  can  tell  you  them  all," 
replied  the  child  ingeniously ;  "  but  methinks 
I  know  a  good  many  of  them."  Then  point- 
ing with  his  finger  on  the  several  characters 
as  he  named  them,  he  continued — "  first  here 
is  A,  that  ever  standeth  astraddle ; — next  him 
is  B,  who  is  all  head  and  body  and  no  legs  ; 
— then  cometh  C,  bulged  out  behind  like  a 
very  hunchback ; — after  him  D,  who  doeth 
the  clean  contrary,  for  his  bigness  is  all  be- 
fore ; — next,"  here  he  hesitated  for  some  few 
seconds,  the  others  present  regarding  him 
with  exceeding  attentiveness  and  pleasure 
— "  next  here  is — alack,  I  have  forgotten  of 
what  name  this  one  is  called :  mother,  I  pray 
you  tell  me  again  !"  It  was  told  him  pre- 
sently. Then  went  he  on  as  before,  with 
great  seriousness  naming  of  the  letters  with 
some  few  mistakes,  in  most  of  which  he 
quickly  corrected  himself,  and  coming  to  a 
halt  when  he  was  in  any  doubt  of  the  matter 
— which  ended  in  his  asking  help  of  his  mo- 
ther— none  interrupting  him  till  he  came  to 
the  last  of  them. 

"  There  is  a  scholar  for  yon  !"  cried  nurse 
Cicely  in  an  ecstacy  of  admiration ;  "  saw 
any  such  wonderful  cleverness?  O,  my 
Christian  conscience,  I  am  amazed  at  be- 
holding of  such  a  marvel !  Well,  an'  he 
come  not  to  be  some  famous  learned  clerk  I 
shall  be  hifgely  disappointed." 

"  Dear  heart,  how  I  love  thee !"  exclaimed 
Mistress  Dowlas,  kissing  him  with  an  earn- 
est show  of  affection  ;  "  rturse,  prithee  give 
me  the  basket ;  I  have  got  him  there  a  deli- 
cate piece  of  march-pane,  which  I  doubt  not 
will  give  him  infinite  content ;  and  here  in 
my  purse  I  have  got  a  bran  new  silver  groat 
fresh  from  the  mint,  which  he  shall  have  of 
sne  as  a  keepsake." 

"  Marry,  what  a  prodigal  goodness  !" 
cried  nurse,  as  she  did  what  was  required  of 
her  without  loss  of  time ;  but  he  meriteth  it 
well,  he  doth,  I  will  be  bound  for  him,  and 
every  good  thing  in  this  world  that  might 
grace  his  having." 

"What  say  you  to  neighbor  Dowlas  for 
her  great  kindness  ?"  inquired  the  much  de- 
iighted  mother,  as  her  young  son  took  in  his 
hands  her  visitor's  gifts. 

"  I  thank  you  right  heartily,  neighbor 
Dowlas,"  replied  he,  lifting  up  his  fair  eyes 


with  such  modesty  and  gratefulness  express- 
ed in  them,  as  charmed  her  heart  to  see. 

"  I'faith,  should  I  be  inclined  to  become 
covetous,  methinks  here  I  should  find  ample 
excuse  for  it,"  observed  the  draper's  wife, 
patting  of  the  child's  rosy  cheeks  as  she  put 
him  down  from  her  lap  ;  then  rising,  added, 
"  But  now  I  must  hie  me  home  as  speedilj 
as  I  may  for  the  getting  of  dinner  ready,  for 
I  have  tarried  so  long  a  space  since  my  com- 
ing out,  that  perchance  my  good  master  shall 
give  me  up  altogether." 

The  draper's  wife  having  gossiped  all 
she  had  to  say  concerning  of  her  neighbors 
and  their  doings,  kissed  the  boy  and  his 
mother  very  lovingly,  and  took  her  leave. 

Now  the  reader  hath  already  had  some 
acquaintance  with  those  worthies,  Master 
Alderman  Dowlas  and  Master  Alderman 
Malmsey,  but  methinks  'tis  high  time  he 
should  know  more  of  them  for  the  better 
understanding  of  this  story.  Both  had  been 
married  some  time  to  two  as  proper  women 
as  ever  were  seen.  The  former  of  the  two 
was  a  rigid,  serious,  methodical  fellow  to  all 
outward  appearance ;  somewhat  tall  and 
slender,  with  hard  solemn  features,  as  hath 
been  described  ;  and  the  other  was  one  of  a 
right  jolly  face  and  portly  person,  with  a 
merry  dark  eye,  ever  a  winking  at  some 
pretty  woman  or  another,  and  a  short  black 
beard,  with  hair  of  a  like  color.  Eacli  was 
turned  of  forty,  and  therefore  ought  to  have- 
been  of  discreet  behavior ;  and  as  for  their 
wives,  if  ever  men  had  inducement  to  honest 
conduct,  they  had  in  possessing  of  such 
women ;  for  they  were  ever  of  an  admirable 
pleasant  humor,  of  notable  excellence  in 
what  women  ought  to  be,  and  in  all  res- 
pects such  good  wives,  that  it  was  not  pos- 
sible to  say  ought  to  their  discredit.  Each 
was  a  little  short  of  thirty,  and  having  had 
no  children,  had  not  yet  parted  with  their 
youthfulness,  and  the  innocent  happy  care- 
lessness which  is  so  oft  its  companion.  They 
were  friends  from  girls,  and  loved  each  other 
as  though  they  were  sisters. 

"  Neighbor  Dowlas !"  cried  a  well-known 
voice,  as  the  draper's  wife  was  crossing  to 
her  house ;  and  looking  up,  she  saw  her 
gossip  Mistress  Alderman  Mamlsey  leaning 
out  of  her  casement.  "  I  pray  you  come  in  a 
while,  I  have  a  matter  of  some  moment  for 
your  private  car." 

"  I'll  come  to  you  this  very  instant,"  an- 
swered the  other,  and  straightway  passed 
into  the  vintner's  dwelling.  Scarce  had  she 
got  within  the  threshhold,  when  the  jolly 
vintner  bustled  up  to  her  with  a  marvelous 
obsequious  courtesy  welcoming  her  to  the 
house,  pressing  her  to  taste  of  his  best  wine, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


41 


And  leering  in  her  face  the  whilst,  whisper- ' 
ing  all  sorts  of  sugared  compliments  in  her 
ear. 

"Nay,  prithee  let  me  go !"  exclaimed  she, 
striving  to  free  her  hand,  which  he  held  in 
his  as  they  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  stair. 
"  You  riurt  my  fingers,  you  vile  wretch,  with 
your  intolerable  squeezing/' 

"  Oh,  delectable  Mistress  Dowlas  !"  cried 
he,  kissing  of  her  hand  in  seeming  rapture ; 
"  the  stars  are  but  pitiful  rushlights  to  those 
exquisite  bright  eyes,  and  that  delicate  fair 
cheek  out-rivaleth  the  peach's  richest 
bloom." 

"  Away  with  you,  and  your  poor  flatter- 
ing stuff !"  said  the  draper's  pretty  wife,  still 
striving  to  break  away  from  him ;  "  I'm 
not  to  be  cozened  so  easily,  I  promise  you." 

"  I  beseech  you,  dearest  life,  allow  me  one 
sweet  salute  !"  whispered  he,  in  most  en- 
treating tones,  as  he  brought  his  face  as 
close  as  he  could  to  her's." 

"  There's  one  prithee,  make  the  most 
on't !"  exclaimed  she,  as  the  took  him  a  box 
on  the  ear  that  made  the  place  ring ;  and 
then  ran  laughing  up  stairs. 

Neighbor  Malmsey  wore  a  more  serious 
face  than  was  her  wont.  At  least  so  thought 
neighbor  Dowlas,  as  she  entered  her  cham- 
ber ;  and  after  the  customary  courtesies 
were  over,  and  the  two  were  seated  close 
together,  neighbor  Malmsey  looked  more 
serious  still. 

"  I  have  a  matter  to  speak  of,  that  mak- 
eth  me  exceedingly  dull  at  heart,"  com- 
menced Mistress  Malmsey. 

"  Doubtless,  'tis  concerning  the  improper 
behavior  of  her  wretch  of  a  husband," 
thought  Mistress  Dowlas ;  then  added  aloudv 
"Believe  me,  I  am  infinitely  concerned  also." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  think  the  worse  of 
me  for  telling  you,"  continued  the  vintner's 
wife  ;  "  but  1  assure  you,  rather  than  allow 
of  your  being  unhappy  by  knowing  it,  I  have 
for  many  years  past  endured  much  of  un- 

Eleasantness  at  his  hands,  and  said  nought 
ut  rebuke  him  for  his  wantoness. 

"  Alack,  we  cannot  all  have  good  hus- 
bands !"  exclaimed  her  gossip,  in  a  conso- 
lotary  sort  of  manner. 

"  Now,  my  Jonathan " 

"  But  he  only  groweth  the  bolder  for  my 
forbearance,"  continued  neighbor  Malmsey, 
interrupting  the  other.  Indeed,  he  getteth 
to  be  quite  abominal,  and  must  have  a 
speedy  check  put  to  his  misdeeds,  or  his 
wickedness  will  soon  make  such  a  head, 
there  will  no  putting  of  him  down." 

"  O'  my  lite,  I  cannot  count  him  so  bad 
as  that,"  observed  neighbor  Dowlas,  as  if, 
with  a  view  of  affording  the  ill-used  wife 


some  comfort.  "  Perchance,  it  \»  only  a 
little  wildness  that  good  counsel  will  make 
him  ashamed  of  speedily.  Now,  my  Jona- 
than   " 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  no  worse  of  him," 
quickly  answered  the  vintner's  wife  ;  "  but 
methinks,  it  looketh  to  be  a  very  shameful 
impudency  in  him  to  go  on  so,  and  have  so 
good  a  wife." 

"Ay,  'tis  monstrous  that,  of  a  surety  !" 
cried  her  gossip. 

"  But  I  have  done  with  him,"  added 
neigbor  Malmsey,  with  some  earnestness ; 
"  he  hath  lost  my  good  opinion  long  since. 
I  will  foreswear  his  company,  an'  he  mend 
not  soon." 

"  Prithee,  take  not  to  such  extreme  mea- 
sures !"  said  the  other,  concernedly.  "  Find- 
ing no  profit  in  it,  I  doubt  not  he  will  alter 
his  way,  and  I  will  take  good  heed  he  shall 
do  you  no  matter  of  dishonesty." 

"  Marry,  I  can  answer  for  that,"  observ- 
ed her  companion ;  "  but  I  do  .assure  you  I 
have  talked  to  him  many  times  c*f  the 
heinousness  of  the  offence,  and  ftever  at 
any  time  have  given  him  the  slightest  pro- 
vocation for  such  notorious  misbehaving  to 
you." 

"  Of  that  I  feel  well  assured,"  answered 
neighbor  Dowlas  ;  and  if  at  last  he  do  not 
love  you  as  fondly  as  ever  man  loved  his 
wife,  I  shall  be  hugely  mistaken." 

'•  Eh  ?  What  ?  Love  me  ?"  exclaimed  her 
companion,  looking  in  a  famous  wonder. 
';  But  I  marvel  you  should  make  jest  of  it. 
I  would  not  in  such  a  case  I  promise  you  ; 
but  it  glads  me  infinitely  to  say  there  is  no 
tear  of  such  a  thing.  My  Timothy  giveth 
me  no  sort  of  uneasiness." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  her  neighbor,  seeming 
in  a  greater  amazement  than  the  other  had 
been. 

"  I  would  your  husband  would  take  a  pat- 
tern  of  him." 

"  I  would  nought  of  the  kind,  neighbor 
Malmsey,"  quickly  ejaculated  the  draper's 
wife,  with  a  very  absolute  earnestness.  "  I 
like  not  my  husband  to  be  ever  a  running  af- 
ter another  man's  wife,  seeking  of  unlawful 
favors  of  her,  as  for  years  past  Master 
Malmsey  hath  done  to  me,  I  promise  you." 

"  My  Timothy  run  after  you,  neighbor 
Dowlas  !"  screamed  out  the  vintner's  wife, 
bounding  from  her  seat  in  as  absolute  as- 
tonishment as  ever  was  seen. 

"  By  my  troth,  yes,"  answered  her  com- 
panion. 

"  Oh  the  horrid  villain !"  exclaimed  the 
other. 

"  He  is  ever  pestering  of  me  with  hia 
foolish  flatteries  and  protestations  of  kve, 


42 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


id  the  like  poor  stuff,"  added  the  draper's 
ife.  "I  have  no  rest  from  him  when  I 
have  such  ill-hap  as  to  be  in  his  company. 
Nay,  as  I  came  in  here  he  would  needs 
have  a  kiss  of  me  at  the  stair-{pot,'but  I  up 
with  my  hand  and  gave  him  so  rude  a  sa- 
lute on  the  ear,  I  donbt  not  I  have  taken  all 
conceit  of  such  favors  out  of  his  head." 

"  Oh,  the  abominable  caitiff!"  cried 
neighbor  Malmsey. 

"  I  liked  not  telling  you  of  it,  thinking  it 
might  vex  you,"  continued  the  other,  "  so 
I  bore  it  as  good  luunoredly  as  I  could,  and 
should  not  have  spoke  of  it  now  had  you 
not  begun  the  subject  upon  my  entering  of 
the  room." 

"  'Twas  of  Master  Dowlas's  shameful 
behavior  to  me  I  was.  speaking,"  said  the 
vintner's  wife.  "  He  hath  followed  me  up 
and  down  for  years  in  this  way,  spite  of  all 
I  could  say  or  do." 

"  What,  my  Jonathan !"  now  cried  the 
other,  starting'from  her  chair  in  a  greater  to 
do  than  her  companion  had  been.  "  The 
absolute  %retch  !  But  I  will  be  even  with 
him,  I  warrant  you.  Please  you,  neighbor 
Malmsey,  to  leave  -the  revenging  of  the 
wrong  done  us  by  these  pitiful  hypocrites  ; 
it  shall  be  done  after  such  a  sort  as  shall 
punish  them  handsomely  for  their  intended 
villainy,  and  in  remembrance  of  it,  keep  them 
from  all  such  baseness  for  the  future." 

"  That  will  I,  and  willingly,  gossip,"  an- 
swered her  companion  with  the  tears  in  her 
eyes.  "  But  he  hath  oft  pressed  me  to  give 
him  a  private  meeting,  prithee,  say  what  I 
had  best  do." 

"  I  have  a  merry  cousin  of  mine,  who 
will  help  us  in  this  purpose  of  ours,"  replied 
neighbor  Dowlas.  "  So  you  must  e'en  in- 
vite him  to  sup  with  you  alone  at  Widow 
Pippins.'  I  will  do  the  same  with  my  wor- 
shipful gallant,  and  if  you  learn  your  part  of 
me,  we  will  have  as  exquisite  sport  as  ever 
misused  woman  had  of  a  vile  husband." 

"  Rely  on  me,"  said  neighboi  Malmsey. 
"  But,  as  1  live,  I  hear  the  voice  of  your 
precious  partner  talking  to  mine  on  the 
stair-foot !"  exclaimed  she. 

"  Doubtless  they  will  both  make  for  here, 
so  do  you  as  I  have  said,  and  leave  the  rest 
to  my  managing,"  added  the  other.  She 
had  scarce  said  the  words,  and  they  had  re- 
seated themselves,  when,  as  they  appeared 
intent  upon  some  deep  discourse,  there 
entered  Master  Alderman  Dowlas,  with  his 
usual  great  soberness  of  manner,  having  his 
brother  alderman  behind  him  in  a  jesting 
humor,  as  he  seemed,  as  if  quite  forgetful  of 
the  box  of  the  ear  he  had  just  had. 

"  P.erdie  !  here  is  one  about  to  send  the 


town  crier  after  you,  fair  Mistress  Dowlas  !M 
exclaimed  he,  making  up  to  her  as  gallantly 
as  ever. 

"  Indeed,  I  have  marveled  hugely  on  ac- 
count of  your  long  stay  abroad,  knowing 
not  how  you  had  disposed  of  yourself,"  said 
the  draper.  "  But  I  am  wonderfully  con- 
tent to  find  you  in  such  admirable  company. 
And  how  doth  my  fair  life  ?"  whispered  he, 
glancing  at  his  friend's  wife  most  enamor- 
ed ly,  as  he  followed  her  to  a  distant  part  of 
the  chamber,  and  vowing  and  entreating  and 
flattering  of  her,  as  though  it  were  done  for 
a  very  wager.  Nor  was  Master  Malmsey 
in  any  way  behind  him  in  such  ill-doing,  as 
may  be  supposed,  for  he  sat  down  with  his 
back  to  the  other,  before  Mistress  Dowlas, 
exercising  of  his  tongue  with  the  movingest 
expression  he  could  think  of,  and  gazing  at 
her  comeliness  as  though  it  were  the  rarest 
feast  for  the  eye  that  the  whole  world  con- 
tained. Neither  thought  of  glancing  to- 
wards where  was  his  wife.  Indeed,  each 
was  too  intent  on  what  he  was  about  to  heed 
what  the  other  was  a  doing,  not  imagining 
such  a  thing  as  his  friend  attempting- of  the 
same  thing  as  he  was  himself  straining 
might  and  main  to  accomplish.  Howsoever, 
in  the  space  of  a  few  moments  this  private 
talk  was  broke  up,  manifestly  to  the  excee- 
ding contentation  of  these  worthless  hus- 
bands. 

"  What  an  absolute  fool  is  neighbor  Malm- 
sey, that  he  looketh  not  closer  after  his 
wife  !"  thought  Master  Alderman  Dowlas, 
as  he  descended  the  stair  looking  solemn  aa 
an  owl. 

"  What  a  very  ass  is  neighbor  Dowlas, 
that  he  cannot  see  that  I  am  making  love  to 
his  wife  before  his  face  ?"  thought  the  vint- 
ner, with  an  inward  chuckle  of  satisfaction 
at  his  own  cleverness  and  better  fortune. 

All  that  day  the  draper  appeared  in  a 
most  exquisite  satisfaction  with  himself. 
The  seriousnesss  of  his  aspect  was  oft  dis- 
turbed with  a  happy  smile,  and  as  the  noon 
wore  out,  he  kept  ever  asking  of  the  hour. 

"  Dame,"  said  he  at  last,  after  he  had 
spent  a  wonderful  time  in  washing  and 
decking  himself  out  in  his  best  apparel,  till 
he  looked  as  spruce  and  stiff  as  a  roll  of 
buckram ;  "  there  is  a  certain  godly  man 
over  at  Ilillsborough,  that  I  have  promised 
neighbor  Hurdle  to  go  and  hear  preach  this 
night ;  if,  peradventure,  I  should  tarry  long, 
prithee,  get  thee  to  bed  betimes.  I  am  loath 
thy  rest  should  be  shortened  by  waiting  up 
for  me." 

"  Marry !  I  should  like  to  go  myself  to 
hear  the  good  man,"  observed  his  wife, 
somewhat  mischievously  by  the  way,  "  for 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


43 


methinks  his  preaching  cannot  fielp  being  '  the  widow  Pippins.     There  was  she  leaning 
as  good  for  rne  as  for  you/'  j  on  her  elbows  over  the  railing,  as, if  watch- 

"  But  the  distance  is  far  too  great  for  thy  |  ing  for  him,  her  brown  face  crinkling  upon 


walking,  dame,  else  shouldst  thou  without 
fail,"  replied  he  very  readily. 

"  Nay,  but  I  walked  to  Barston  last 
Shrovetide,  which  is  a  good  mile  longer," 
ea-id  she.  "  I  doubt  not  such  a  jour- 
ney will  do  me  an  especial  good  service, 
to  say  nought  of  the  godliness  of  it." 

"  Indeed,  I  would  take  tliee  with  all  my 
heart,"  added  her  husband,  "  but  since  the 
last  rains  some  parts  of  the  road  are  utterly 
impassible  for  huge  deep  ponds  that  go  right 
across." 

"  Then  will  we  borrow  John  a  Combe's 
grey  horse,  and  I  will  ride  behind  you  on  a  pil- 
lion," answered  his  wife,  as  if  desirous  to 
bring  him  to  a  nonplus. 

"  O'  my  life  !  I  cannot  wait  to  go  a  bor- 
rowing now,  so  I  must  e'en  wish  thee  good 
bye,  and  take  thee  another  time,"  replied 
Master  Dowlas  ;  and  then,  as  if  fearful  she 
would  more  strongly  desire  to  go,  as  quick 
as  he  might  he  took  himself  'straight  out  of 


the  house.      Scarce 
street  when  he  was 


had  he    entered  the 
hailed  by  his    jolly 


her  red  arms,  like  a  rasher  of  bacon  on  the 
burning  coals.  Perchance  she  might  be 
laughing,  but  Jonathan  Dowlas  was  not 
nigh  enough  to  see  very  distinctly.  Get 
thee  in  quick,  T  prithee,  and  I  will  be  with 
thee  straight." 

The  alderman  obeyed  her  bidding  with  a 
stately  alacrity,  and  he  had  scarcely  got 
fairly  housed  when  he  was  met  by  mine 
hostess,  whose  still  bright  eyes,  albeit  though 
she  was  a  woman,  somewhat  advanced  in 
years,  twinkled  with  a  most  merry  mali- 
ciousness. 

"  Follow  me,"  whispered  she,  evidently 
striving  to  suppress  a  laugh,  and  then  giving 
him  a  sly  nudge  and  a  wink,  added,  "  Oh, 
thou  villain !"  led  the  way  to  a  chamber, 
of  the  which  she  had  scarce  closed  the  door, 
when  she  burst  out  into  a  long  loud  laugh, 
the  draper  looking  on  as  though  he  knew 
not  what  to  make  of  it.  "  By  my  fay,  now 
who  would  ha ve  thought  of  this  !"  exclaim- 
ed she,  holding  of  her  sides,  and  looking 
at  him  with  exceeding,  yet  with  a  mon- 
strous ludicrous  intentness.  "  Where  didst 
get  the  powder  to  make  so  exquisite  fair  a 
woman  so  infinitely  in  love  with  thee  as  is 
Mistress  Malmsey?"  The  alderman  re- 
laxed somewhat  in  the  seriousness  of  his 
aspect  at  hearing  this  intelligence.  "  She 
dotes  on  the  very  ground  thou  dost  walk 
on  !"  continued  she,  and  the  alderman  smiled 
outright.  "  But  who  would  have  suspect- 
ed this  of  one  so  serious  as  thou  art  ?  O 
my  womanhood  !  what  a  very  rogue  thou 
art !"  saying  which  she  fetched  Master 
Dowlas  so  sore  a  thump  on  the  back,  that  it 
went  some  way  towards  the  knocking  of 
him  off  his  legs. 

"  Poor  Master  Malmsey  !"  cried  she,  as 
plainly  as  she  could  in  the  midst  of  her 
laughing,  "  Alack  !  he  hath  no  suspicion  of 
his  wife's  huge  fondness  for  thee,  I'll  be 
bound  for't.  Knowing  of  thy  notable  grav- 
ity, he  cannot  have  the  slightest  color  of 
jealousy.  But,  I  charge  thee,  use  her  with 
a  proper  handsomeness.  She  is  none  of 
your  light  madams — she  hath  a  most  gentle 
spirit,  and  is  the  very  delicatest,  sweetest 
o  x  ,  creature  I  ever  came  nisrh."  Then  fixing 

that  hung  in  famous  clusters  even  up  to  the  on  him  a  look  in  which  seriousness  and 
thatch.  The  other  part  looked  to  be  the  sta-  i  mirth  seemed  striving  for  the  mastery,  she 
bles,  pigsties,  and  the  like  sort  of  places,  'cried,  "Go  .to,  for  a  sly  fox!"  and  hitting 
Jonathan  made  for  the  entrance  holding  up  i  of  him  just  such  another  thump  as  she  gave 
his  head  as  high  as  he  might.  him  a  moment  since,— with  a  fresh  burst 

;Ha,  ha!  Master  Alderman,  ar't  there  !"    of  laughter— she  left  him  to  himself, 
exclaimed   a   voice  from   the  gallery,   and       Jonathan   found   that   he  was  in  a   long 
looking  up,  the  draper's  eye  caught  sight  of  narrow  chamber,  strewed  with  rushes,  wilh 


neighbor  opposite,  standing  at  his  door  in 
his  Sunday  jerkin  and  new  gallygaskins, 
as  finely  trussed  as  ever  he  was  when  a 
good  score  years  younger.  To  his  qufttion 
where  was  he  going  so  fine,  the  draper  an- 
swered as  he  had  told  his  wife,  then  Master 
Malrnsey  declared  to  the  other  that  as  his 
good  dame  had  gone  a  visiting  to  her  aunt's, 
he  intended  making  a  night  on't  with  a  few 
choice  spirits  at  his  cousin  Birch's.  Thus 
each  were  deceived,  and  each  laughed  in  his 
sleeve  at  the  other's  credulity. 

Jonathan  Dowlas  proceeded  on  his  way, 
hugging  himself  in  his  own  conceit  at  the 
pass  he  had  brought  matters  to  with  the 
buxom  Mistress  Malmsey,  till  he  came  to 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  was  a  small 
inn  known  as  "The  Rose,"  kept  by  the 
widow  Pippins,  in  famous  repute  for  her 
careless  free  humor,  and  fondness  for  jests 
of  all  sorts.  The  building,  or  buildings,  for 
there  seemed  more  than  one,  were  connected 
by  a  wooden  gallery  that  run  across  right 
in  front  of  the  yard,  on  one  side  of  which  lay 
the  more  respectable  portion  of  the  tenement, 
with  its  boarded  front  covered  with  grapes, 


44 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


a  door  at  each  end,  and  one  at  the  side,  at 
which  he  had  entered — having  in  the  mid- 
dle a  small' table  set  out  for  supper,  with  a 
larger  one  at  the  further  end  of  the  chamber, 
completely  covered  with  a  cloth  that  fell 
down  to  the  ground  on  all  sides  of  it,  and  it 
was  fairly  hung  round  with  arras,  some- 
what the  worse  for  its  antiquity,  for  it 
gaped  in  some  places  sadly.  He  had  hard- 
ly noticed  these  things  when  the  door  at 
the  bottom  of  the  room  opened,  and  there 
entered  Mistress  Malmsey,  clad  in  her  very 
gayest  attire,  and  looking,  as  the  alderman 
thought,  more  blooming  than  ever  he  had 
seen  her.  He  with  an  exceeding  forma) 
sort  of  gallantry,  hastened  to  get  a  chair 
for  her,  expressing  of  his  extreme  rapture 
at  her  goodness  in  giving  him  this  appoint- 
ment, and  then  sat  himself  down  as  close 
to  her  as  he  could,  taking  her  hand  very 
lovingly  in  his,  and  commencing  his  fa- 
mous fine  compliments,  protestation?,  and 
entreaties,  with  an  earnestness  that  he  im- 
agined was  sure  of  prevailing  with  any 
woman.  The  vintner's  wife  answered  with 
some  coyness,  that  convinced  him  what  the 
widow  Pippins  had  said  was  true  enough, 
and  he  straightway  redoubled  his  exertions, 
fully  assured  that  his  success  with  her  was 
beyond  all  doubting. 

"  Divinest  creature !"  exclaimed  the 
enamored  draper,  looking  at  his  companion 
as  lack-a-daisical  as  a  hooked  gudgeon. 
"  fairest,  sweetest,  super-finest  she  alive  ! 
I  do  assure  thee  ray  affections  be  of  the  best 
nap,  and  will  wear  in  all  weathers,  and  I 
will  give  tbee  such  liberal  measure  of  my 
love  as  shall  make  thes  infinitely  loath  to 
have  dealings  elsewhere." 

"  Alack,  men  are  such  deceivers!"  cried 
Mistress  Malmsey.  "  They  soon  depart 
from  what  they  promise." 

"  Count  me  not  as  such,  I  pr'ythee,"  re- 
plied the  alderman,  "  I  am  warranted  fast. 
I  do  assure  thee,  I  am  none  of  such  poor 
fabrics — I  am  of  the  finest  quality,  even  to 
the  fag  end.  Oh,  exquisitest  Mistress 
Malmsey,  an'  you  do  not  take  pity  on  me 
straight,  I  must  needs  lie  on  the  shelf  like 
a  considerable  remnant,  of  which  the  fash- 
ion hath  gone  out  of  date." 

"  Hush !  as  I  live,  there  is  my  husband's 
voice  !"  here  exclaimed  the  vintner's  wife, 
to  the  great  alarm  of  her  lover,  and  both 
staited  up  together,  seeming  in  a  wonderful 
surprise#nd  affright. 

"  What  ho  !  house  here  !"  shouted  Mas- 
ter Alderman  Malmsey,  from  the  stair 
foot. 

"  Hide  thee,  good  master  Dowlas,  or  I 
am  lost,"  exclaimed  the  vintners  wife,  and 


before  Jonathan  could  look  about  him,  she 
had  vanished  out  of  the  bottom  door ;  but 
he  was  not  allowed  time  to  think  what  he 
should  do  in  such  a  dilemma,  for  he  heard 
the  footsteps  of  his  neighbor  close  upon  the 
door,  so,  as  speedily  as  he  could,  he  crept 
under  the  table  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room,  imagining  that  the  other  was  merely 
paying  of  a  passing  visit,  as  he  was  pro- 
ceeding to  his  cousin  Birch's,  and  would 
tarry  but  a  short  time.  Here  he  lay  snug- 
ly ensconced,  not  daring  to  peep'  out  for 
fear  he  should  be  seen.  Presently,  in 
came  the  jolly  vintner,  humming  of  a  tune, 
and  bandying  jests  with  the  widow  Pippins, 
who  led  the  way  with  a  light — it  getting  to 
be  nigh  upon  dark — and,  by  her  loud  laugh- 
ing, was  in  as  fine  a  humor  at  beholding 
him  in  her  house,  as  she  had  before  been  at 
seeing  his  neighbor. 

"  Odds  pittkins,  what  a  jest !"  cried  the 
merry  widow,  putting  the  light  upon  the 
supper  table.  "Happy  man  !  added  she, 
looking  on  him  as  seriously  as  she  could, 
and  then  giving  him  a  sly  poke  on  the  ribs, 
exclaimed,  as  plain  as  her  loud  laughing 
would  allow,  "  but  what  a  monstrous  poor 
fool  is  her  husband  !"  At  which  saying  of 
hers,  Master  Malmsey  joined  in  the  laugh 
right  earnestly. 

"  T^ere  is  never  such  an  ass  in  Strat- 
ford," said  he,  when  his  mirth  would  allow 
him  words.  He  is  so  weak  of  conceit  in 
the  matter  that  he  will  allow  of  my  making 
love  to  his  wife  before  his  eyes.  J3ut  mum, 
widow — mum's  the  word,"  said  he,  myste- 
riously, "  I  should  not  like  of  his  knowing 
what  kindqess  I  am  doing  him.  Mayhap 
he  would  take  it  somewhat  uncivil  of  me. 
So  be  close,  widow,  I  prithee. 

"  As  a  fox,"  replied  the  other  knowingly. 

"  Dost  not  think,  a  man  who  taketh  no 
better  heed  »f  his  wife,  ought  to  be  so  serv- 
ed T'  inquired  the  vintner. 

"  O'  my  troth,  yes  !"  answered  the  widow, 
breaking  out  into  a  fresh  peal  of  laughter ; 
"  And  trust  me,  I  would  think  it  good  sport 
to  help  make  a  fool  of  him." 

"  I  thank  thee  exceedingly,"  said  Master 
Malmsey. 

"  Nay,  thou  hast  small  cause  of  thanks, 
believe  me,  Master  Alderman,"  replied  his 
merry  companion,  with  the  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks  from  sheer  mirth  ;  "  I  do 
it  out  of  good  will — out  of  good  will,  I  do 
assure  thee."  Then  nudging  him  o'  the 
elbow,  having  an  exceeding  sly  look  with 
her,  she  added —  "  Art  thou  not  a  rogue, 
now, — an  espepial  rogue — a  very  cozening 
rogue,  to  make  the  flower  of  all  Stratford 
to  be  so  taken  with  thee  2" 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


45 


*  It  cometh  entirely  of  her  fool  of  a  hus- 
band," answered  the  vintner,  chuckling 
mightily.  "  He  would  allow  of  our  being 
together  at  all  times,  and  was  ever  thrust- 
ing of  her,  as  it  were,  into  my  arms.  How 
could  I  help  myself.  I  am  but  a  man,  and 
she  so  exquisite  sweet  a  creature !  So, 
whilst  he  was  humming  and  hawing  to  my 
pood  dame,  I  had  her  up  in  a  corner,  ma- 
King  of  love  to  her  by  the  hour  together." 

"Fie  <>n  thee,  Master  Alderman!"  said 
she,  shaking  her  head  as  if  with  a  famous 
seriousness.  "  Thou  art  a  dangerous  man 
for  any  jtoor  woman  to  be  with,  so  I  will 
e'en  be  quit  of  thy  company.  I'faith  thou 
art  a  sad  rogue."  Then  fetching  him  a 
poke  i'  the  ribs  that  made  him  gasp  for 
breath,  she  hurried  out  of  the  room  laugh- 
ing more  heartily  than  ever. 

All  this  made  Jonathan  Dowlas  prick  up 
his  ears,  and  he  marvelled  hugely  who  could 
be  the  frail  wife  his  neighbor  was  enamored 
of  as  he  had  had  no  suspicion  of  such  a  thing ; 
whereof  the  knowledge  of  it  he  had  now 
gained,  made  him  think  of  his  designs  on 
Mistress  Malmsey  a  proper  punishment  for 
his  brother  alderman's  unpardonable  con- 
duct towards  his  friend,  whoever  he  might 
be.  Full  of  all  sorts  of  speculations  on  the 
matter,  he  remained  in  his  hiding  place 
without  moving,  for  he  could  hear  the  vint- 
ner humming  of  a  tune,  and  walking  to  and 
fro,  and  was  cautious  his  hiding  place  might 
not  be  discovered.  Presently  the  door 
opened  and  some  one  entered,  whom  Master 
Malmsey  addressed  in  such  a  manner  as 
made  Jonathan  feel  assured  it  was  the  very 
woman- the  other  declared  he  so  loved.  She 
answered  in  so  small  a  voice  she  could  not 
be  well  heard  in  the  draper's  hiding  place  ; 
and,  in  a  minute  after,  the  two  seated  them- 
selves at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  where, 
although  he  had  heard  each  word  his  neigh- 
bor spoke,  because  of  the  greater  loudness  of 
his  speech,  of  his  companion  distinguished 
he  never  a  word,  it  seemed  to  be  uttered  in 
such  a  whisper.  The  extreme  movingness 
of  the  vintner's  speech  at  last  filled  his 
neighbor  with  so  absolute  a  curiousness  to 
know  who  it  was  the  other  was  so  intent 
upon  loving,  that  he  began  with  wonderful 
cautiousness,  to  lift  up  a  part  of  the  table 
cover,  so  that  he  might  take  a  peep  without 
being  seen. 

The  first  thing  he  got  sight  of  was  neigh- 
bor Malmsey,  kneeling  on  one  knee  with  his 
hand  to  his  heart,  with  nothing  but  the  most 
desperate  and  uncontrollable  affection  in  his 
looks,  and  such  an  absolute  irresistibleness 
in  his  speech,  that  it  was  as  if  no  woman 
must  stand  against  it.  Before  him  was 


seated  a  female  very  prettily  attired,  whose 
face  being  somewhat  in  the  shade,  and  a 
little  turned  from  him,  Master  Dowlas  could 
not  at  all  make  out.  The  candle  wanted 
snuffing  abominably,  or  perchance  he  would 
have  seen  better. 

"  Prithee  turn  not  away  those  lustrous 
eyes,"  exclaimed  the  vintner  in  a  rare  im- 
passioned manner ;  "  the  poor  knave  thy 
husband  heedeth  not  their  brightness ;  and 
that  most  delicious  lip,  that  rivaleth  my 
choicest  wines  in  the  tempting  richness  of 
its  hue, — why  should  such  a  sorry  feliow  as 
he  is  have  its  flavor  to  himself,  who  mani- 
festly careth  not  for  it.  All  my  heart 
longeth  but  for  a  taste.  My  dear  sweet, 
prithee  allow  it  but  this  once.  I  will  be 
bound  to  thee  ever  after.  I  will  hold  thee 
in  more  regard  -than  my  chiefest  customer. 
Come,  we  dally  with  opportunity.  I  will 
be  bold  and  steal  it  an'  thou  wilt  not  give 
after  so  much  asking."  Just  at  this  mo- 
ment the  speaker  made  an  effort  as  if  to 
salute  his  companion,  and  she  moving  at 
the  same  time  brought  her  full  face  to  the 
light,  and  Jonathan  Dowlas  beheld  his  own 
wi'fe.  A  clap  of  thunder  would  not  have 
startled  him  more  than  such  a  discovery ; 
indeed  so  monstrous  was"  lie  moved  at  it 
that  he  clean  forgot  where  he  was,  and 
rising  quickly  hit  himself  so  sore  a  crack  o' 
the  crown  against  the  table,  that  he  could 
do  nought  for  some  minutes  after  but  rub 
his  pate  and  vow  vengeance  against  his 
false  wife  and  wicked  treacherous  neigh- 
bor. 

"  By'r  lady  now,  I  must  go  up,"  cried  Mis- 
tress Malmsey  from  below,  so  loud  that  all 
heard  her. 

"  O'  my  troth,  here  is  your  wife  coming, 
and  if  she  catch  us  I  shall  be  undone  !"  ex- 
claimed Mistress  Dowlas,  immediately  after 
which  the  unhappy  draper  heard  the  shuffling 
of  feet,  and  he  was  left  in  darkness. 

"  Now  if  his  wife  come  here,  I  will  have 
excellent  revenge,"  thought  he.  Presently 
he.  heard  a  door  open,  and  some  one  cry  out 
in  a  whisper — "  Master  Alderman,"  where- 
upon he  stealthily  left  his  hiding  place. 

"  Hist!"  cried  he,  fumbling  his  way  on  tip- 
toe across  the  room. 

"  Hist !"  replied  some  one  else,  evidently 
making  towards  him  with  as  little  noise  as 
possible. 

"  Prithee  where  art,  my  honey  sweet  ?" 
inquired  the  former ;  "  since  thy  departure 
here  hath  been  that  most  wretched  villain,  thy 
husband,  seeking  to  do  me  the  most  mon- 
strous wickedness  with  my  wife  ;  but  if  I  pay 
him  not  handsomely  there  is  no  smoothnesa 
in  velvet.  Come  Hither  quick,  my  dear  life 


40 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


for  I  am  impatient  to  have  thee  in  my  most 
fond  embrace  !" 

"Ha,  indeed!"  cried  Master  Malmsey, 
who  had  hid  himself  behind  the  arras  when 
his  fair  companion  had  ran  off  with  the  light, 
and  hearing  a  voice  cry  "  Master  Alderman," 
crept  out,  thinking  she  had  returned  to  him. 
"  Take  that  and  be  hanged  to  thee !"  where- 
upon he  made  a  blow ;  but,  being  in  the  dark, 
he  hit  nothing. 

"  Villain,  art  there !"  exclaimed  Master 
Dowlas  in  as  towering  a  rage  as  his  neighbor; 
"  let  me  but  get  at  thee,  I'll  maul  thee  I  war- 
rant ;"  and  both  proceeded  to  strike  th?  empty 
air  in  a  most  terrible  passion  ever  seen — ever 
and  anon  giving  the  panels  such  famous 
thumps,  that  it  made  their  knuckles  smart 
again. 

"  Dost  call  this  going  to  hear  a  godly  man 
at  Hillsborough,  thou  traitorous  caitiff?"  sar- 
castically asked  the  vintner,  hitting  on  all 
sides  of  him,  and  jumping  here  and  now 
there,  in  his  desire  to  punish  his  false  neigh- 
bor. 

"  Ay,  marry,  as  much  as  it  be  going  to 
Cousin  Birch's,5'  retorted  the  other,  coming 
on  more  cautiously  and  with  less  noise,  yet 
no  less  intent  on  vengeance.  In  consequence 
of  the  one  being  so  wonderful  quick  in  his 
movements,  and  the  other  so  quiet,  he  could 
not  be  heard  moving,  there  was  no  harm  done 
for  a  good  space,  save  by  hurting  themselves 
stumbling  over  chairs  and  the  like,  which  was 
sure  to  make  he  who  was  hurt  in  a  greater 
rage  than  ever,  and  to  be  more  intent  upon 
having  his  vengeance  of  the  other.  It  would 
have  been  a  goodly  sight  to  have  seen  this 
precious  pair  of  husbands,  if  they  could  have 
been  seen  in  the  darkness,  each  so  earnest 
upon  punishing  of  the  other  for  the  same 
thing  he  was  himself  guilty  of,  and  giving 
vent  to  no  lack  of  ill  names  and  execrations, 
which  he  who  uttered  quite  as  richly  merited 
as  he  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  At  last 
the  vintner  got  within  an  open  door  at  the 
top  of  the  room,  where  the  draper  pounced 
upon  him  like  a  cat,  and  as  they  were  tuss- 
ling away  with  all  their  might  it  was  closed 
behind  them  and  fastened  without  their  know- 
ledge. Neither  had  the  slightest  idea  he  was 
now  in  a  different  chamber,  for  in  truth  nei- 
ther had  time  to  give  the  matter  a  thought, 
each  having  enough  to  do  to  defend  himself 
from  the  other's  hearty  cuffs,  sometimes  roll- 
ing together  on  the  floor,  and  anon  hustling 
each  other  on  their  legs,  yet  with  no  great 
damage  to  either.  After  some  minutes  spent 
this  way  both  left  oft',  being  completely  out 
of  breath  with  their  great  exertions.  Some- 
what to  their  astonishment  they  heard  Loud 
bursts  of  laughter  from  the  adjoining  cham- 


ber, and  noticing  the  light  streaming  from 
under  the  door,  both  impelled  by  the  same 
curiousness,  crept  softly  towards  it.  Jona- 
than Dowlas  stooped  to  take  a  peep  at  the 
keyhole  ;  Timothy  Malmsey  put  his  eye  to  a 
crack  in  the  panel, — each  was  aware  of  the 
other's  vicinity,  but  not  a  word  was  said  by 
either.  They  looked  and  beheld  a  supper- 
table  well  laid,  at  which  two  handsome  gal- 
lants, clad  in  delicate  suits,  with  rapier  and 
dagger,  were  regaling  themselves  and  mak- 
ing merry,  evidently  to  their  heart's  content- 
ment ;  whilst  the  Widow  Pippins  stood  by  as 
if  waiting  upon  them,  and  giving  them  a  nar- 
ration, which  she  seemed  as  though  she  could 
scarce  tell  for  laughing. 

"Indeed, -an'  it  please  your  worships,  it 
be  the  very  excellentest  trick  ever  I  heard 
of,"  said  she,  holding  of  her  sides.  "  Here 
carne  these  poor  fools  of  husbands,  each  des- 
perately enamoured  of  his  friend's  wife, 
which  these  merry  women  allowed  of  only 
that  they  might  the  better  punish  them  as 
they  deserved.  I'  faith,  what  wittols  must 
they  have  been  to  have  fancied  themselves 
likely  to  prevail  with  such.  They  ought  to 
have  known  that  when  a  pretty  woman  is  so 
inclined  she  looketh  to  something  above  her. 
There  is  no  temptation  in  it  else.  Little 
guess  Master  Dowlas  and  Master  Malmsey, 
that  'tis  to  your  worships  they  care  for,  and 
none  other." 

"  Here's  a  horrid  villainy  come  to  light !' 
muttered  the  draper. 

"  Oh,  what  a  vile  quean  have  I  for  a 
wife  !"  exclaimed  the  enraged  vintner  in  the 
same  low  voice. 

"  Little  guess  they  how  often  you  two 
have  had  secret  meetings  here  with  their 
buxom  wives,"  added  the  widow  ;  "  or  what 
exquisite,  sweet  pleasure  you  have  found  in 
their  delectable  company." 

"  O'  my  word,  neighbor,  methinks  we  have 
been  foully  wronged  !"  cried  Jonathan  in  a 
monstrous  dismal  tone. 

"  'Slight,  there  be  no  doubt  on't !"  an- 
swered Timothy,  manifestly  in  a  still  worse 
to  do.  "  Alack  !  my  head  aches  horribly." 

"  By  my  troth,  I  do  feel  a  sort  of  shooting 
pain  there  myself,"  added  the  other,  rubbing 
his  forehead  with  his  palm  very  dolefully. 

"  I  pray  your  worships,  make  haste,"  con- 
tinued the  laughing  widow.  "  There  is 
Mistress  Malmsey  below  stairs,  and  Mistress 
Dowlas  in  the  next  chamber,  wonderfully  im- 
patient to  have  with  them  their  several  lov- 
ers. Never  saw  I  women  so  dote  on  men  as 
they  dote  on  your  worships.  Alack  for  their 
simple  husbands  !" 

"  We've  been  infamously  abused,  neigh- 
bor !"  exclaimed  the  draper,  whilst  the  others 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


47 


In  the  next  chamber  were  laughing  very 
merrily.  "  As  I  live,  we  are  two  miserably 
wretched  husbands.".  And  thereupon,  may- 
hap out  of  sympathy  for  his  brother  in  mis- 
fortune, he  threw  his  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  moaned  very  pitifully. 

"  God's  precious  !  I  shall  go  mad !"  cried 
the  vintner,  lifting  up  one  leg  and  then  the 
other,  like  a  goose  treading  on  hot  bricks. 
"  But  shall  we  not  burst  in  on  these  dainty 
gallants,  neighbor,  and  spoil  their  sport  ?" 

"  Nay,  nay,  see  you  not  they  have  weap- 
ons," whispered  his  more  cautious  compa- 
nion. "  Peradventure  they  would  give  us 
our  deaths  were  we  to  venture  upon  them 
unarmed.  Let  us  seek  to  get  out  "of  this 
place  as  speedily  as  we  may,  and  find  assist- 
ance ;  doubtless  we  shall  be  in  time  to  dis- 
turb them  at  their  villanies,  and  so  rid  our- 
selves of  our  cozening  false  wives,  and  be  re- 
venged on  their, paramours." 

"  Ha  !  prithee  set  about  it  on  the  instant," 
said  the  other  ;  "  then  Master  Dowlas  began 
feeling  of  his  way  along  the  wainscot  with 
his  brother  alderman  close  at  his  heels  do- 
ing the  like  thing,  till  they  came  to  a  door, 
which  was  soon  opened  by  the  former,  and 
to  the  great  joy  of  both,  proved  to  lead  out 
into  the  gallery.  From  here  they  were  not 
long  before  they  found  themselves  in  the 
parlor  of  the  house,  where  was  a  famous 
company  assembled  of  their  friends  and 
neighbors,  among  whom  were  John  Shak- 
speare,  the  high  bailiff,  and  Oliver  Dumps, 
the  constable.  These  were  quickly  informed 
of  the  grievous  wrong  doing,  in  such  moving 
terms,  that  the  whole  party,  arming  them- 
selves with  what  weapons  they  could  conve- 
niently lay  a  hold  on,,  proceeded  under  the 
command  of  their  chief  magistrate  to  seize 
upon  the  offenders. 

"What  a  villainous  world  is  this  !"  ex- 
claimed Oliver,  putting  on  his  most  melan- 
choly visage.  "  Marry,  an'  aldermen's  wives 
must  needs  take  to  such  evil  courses,  how 
shall  a  constable's  wife  escape  ?" 

They  soon  burst  into  the  chamber,  where 
they  found  the  two  gallants  up  in  a  corner 
with  their  backs  towards  them,  with  the  Wi- 
dow Pippins  standing  in  a  manner  as  though 
she  would  not  have  her  guests  rudely  med- 
dled with. 

"  Hollo,  my  masters  !"  exclaimed  she. — 
"  Are  ye  mad — that  ye  enter  thus  unman- 
nerly before  two  gentlemen  qf  worship  ?" 

"  Mind  her  not,  neighbors — she  is  nothing 
better  than  a  very  villainous  go-between  !'' 
exclaimed  Master  Alderman  Malmsey  in  his 
deadly  rage  flourishing  of  a  spit  he  had  got 
in  his  hand,  as  if  he  would  do  one  or  other 
of  them  some  dreadful  injury. 


"  These  be  the  same  two  fine  fellows  that 
must  needs  be  meddling  with  our  wives  : — 
I  will  take  my  oath  on't !"  cried  Master  Al- 
derman Dowlas,  in  a  horrible  bad  passion, 
pointing  towards  them  with  the  kitchen  po- 
ker. 

"Down  with  them  !"  shouted  one. 

"  Let  us  dispatch  them  straight !"  bawled 
a  second. 

"  By  goles,  we  will  be  their  deaths — the 
monstrous  villains  that  cannot  let  honest 
men's  wives  alone,"  cried  a  third  ;  and  all 
seemed  moving  forward  with  mischief  in  their 
looks. 

"  Respect  the  law,  neighbors,  respect  the 
law  !"  exclaimed  the  constable,  striving  all, 
he  could  to  repress  the  desire  for  instant 
vengeance  so  manifest  in  his  companions. 

"  Ay,  we  must  have  no  violence,  my  mas- 
ters," added  John  Shakspeare.  "  If  these 
persons  have  done  aught  amiss,  I  will  take 
care  they  shall  answer  for  it,  but  I  cannot  al- 
low of  their  being  hurt." 

"  Oh,  what  'monstrous  behavior  is  this  in 
an  honest  woman's  house !"  cried  the  Wi- 
dow Pippins. 

''  Stand  aside,  mistress,  I  prithee,"  ex- 
claimed Oliver  Dumps,  pushing  by  the  wi- 
dow, and  seizing  hold  of  one  of  the  gallants 
by  the  shoulder,  added,  in  a  louder  voice, 
"  surrender  you  in  the  Queen's  name." 

"  Now,  neighbor  Dowlas,"  said  John 
Shakspeare,  "  look  you  in  the  face  of  this 
one,  and  say  if  you  can  swear  him  to  be  the 
villain  that  playeth  the  wanton  with  your 
wife ;  and  you,  neighbor  Malmsey,  do  the 
same  with  the;  other." 

"  I  warrant  you,"  replied  both,  moving 
with  alacrity,  and  with  the  terriblest  re- 
vengeful aspects  ever  seen,  to  do  what  their 
high  bailiff'  had  required.  Each  caught  hold 
of  one  of  the  dainty  young  gentlemen  with 
great  rudeness,  and  poked  his  beard  close  in 
his  face,  and  each  at  the  same  moment 
started  back  as  though  he  had  been  shot, 
amid  the  loud  laughter  of  every  one  in  the 
room.  These  gallants  proved  l.o  be  no 
other  than  their  own  wives  ;  and  all  been 
let  into  the  secret  by  them  for  the  more 
more  complete  punishing  of  their  faithless 
husbands. 

"  Go  to,  for  a  sly  fox  !"  cried  the  Widow 
Pippins,  giving  Master  Dowlas  just  such 
another  famous  slap  of  the  back  as  she  had 
saluted  him  with  on  his  first  entrance  to  the 
chamber.  "  I'faith,  thou  art  a  sad  rogue," 
added  she,  fetching  Master  Malmsey  so  ab- 
solute a  poke  i'  the  ribs  that  it  put  the  other 
poke,  bad  as  he  had  thought  it,  clean  out  of 
his  remembrance.  The  jests  that  were 
broke  upon  these  poor  aldermen  by  their 


48 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPE'ARE. 


neighbors  wefe  out  of  all  calculation,  and 
they  were  so  ashamed  they  could  say  never 
a  word  for  themselves.  And  indeed  they 
made  a  famous  pretty  figure — their  best  ap- 
parel being  all  covered  with  dust  and  broken 
rushes  from  rolling  on  the  floor,  and  their 
hands  and  faces,  hair  and  beards,  instead  of 
being  in  such  delicate  trim  as  when  they 
first  entered  "  The  Rose,"  were  in  as  dirty  a 
pickle  as  was  any  chimney-sweep's.  How- 
ever, they  ever  after  turned  out  to  be  the  best 
of  husbands,  and  would  as  lief  have  taken  a 
inad  bull  by  the  horns  as  sought  to  make  love 
to  another  man's  wife. 


CHAPTER  V. 

And  then  the  whining  SCHOOL-BOY 
With  satchel  and  shining  morning  face, 
Creeping,  like  snail,  unwillingly  to  school. 
SHAKSPEARE. 

Some  there  are, 

Which  by  sophistic  tricks,  aspire  that  name 
Which  I  would  gladly  lose,  of  necromancer  ; 
As  some  that  used  to  juggle  upon  cards, 
Seeming  to  conjure,  when  indeed  they  cheat ; 
Others  that  raise  up  their  confederate  spirits 
'Bout  windmills,  and  endanger  their  own  necks 
For  making  of  a  squib  ;  and  some  there  are 
Will  keep  a  curtal  to  show  juggling  tricks, 
And  give  out  'tis  a  spirit ;  besides  these, 
Such  a  whole  ream  of  almanack-makers,  figure- 
.  fiingers, 

Fellows,  indeed,  that  only  live  by  stealth, 
Since  they  do  merely  lie  about  stolen  goods, 
They'd  make  men  think  the  devil  were  fast  and 

loose, 
With  speaking  fustian  Latin. 

WEBSTER. 

"  BRING  hither  thy  hat.  William,  I  prithee, 
'tis  nigh  upon  school  time,"  said  Dame 
Shakspeare  to  her  young  son,  as  they  were 
together  in  her  chamber. 

"  Ay,  that  is  it,"  replied  he,  doing  what  he 
was  desired  with  a  very  cheerful  spirit. 
"  'Sooth,  though  I  lack  knowing  what  man- 
ner of  pleasure  is  found  in  school,  methinks 
it  must  needs  be  none  so  little,  nurse  Cicely 
speaketh  of  it  so  bravely."  The  mother 
carefully  smoothed  the  hat,  and  placed  it  on 
her  child's  head,  smiling  the  whilst  either  at 
what  had  just  fallen  from  him,  or  mayhap  at 
his  exceeding  comeliness,  now  she  had,  after 
infinite  painstaking,  attired  him  with  such  a 
show  of  neatness  and  cleanliness  as  made 
him  appear  worthy  of  any  mother's  love, 
were  she  the  proudest  in  the  land. 

"  Nay,  school  hath  its  pains  also,"  replied 
she ;  "  but  such  are  unknown  of  any,  save 


unworthy  boys,  who  care  more  for  play  than 
for  book,  and  will  learn  nothing  that  is  set 
them." 

"  Well,  an'  they  behave  so  ill,  it  be  plain 
they  deserve  no  better,"  observed  the  boy. — '• 
"  Yet  it  seemeth  to  me  from  what  I  have 
learned  of  nurse  Cicely  in  ballads  and  sto- 
ries, and  from  such  sweet  stories  as  you  have 
ofttimes  repeated  to  me  concerning  of  brave 
knights  and  fair  ladies,  that  if  other  pleasures 
of  a  still  sweeter  sort  are  to  be  found  in 
books,  whereof  you  can  know  only  by  going 
to  school  and  conning  your  lesson  with  all 
proper  diligence,  school  cannot  help  being  as 
pleasant  a  place  for  good  boys^as  any  goodly 
place  that  can  be  named." 

"Doubtless,"  answered  the  mother,  evi- 
dently pleased  at  noting  in  her  son  such  sen- 
sibleness  at  so  early  an  age.  Then  she  bu- 
sied herself  in  putting  each  part  of  his  dress 
as  it  should  be,  smoothing  this,  and  pulling 
down  that,  and  turning  him  round  with  a 
thorough,  yet  most  affectionate  scrutiny,  that 
no  fault  should  escape  her.  At  last,  she 
appeared  satisfied  with  her  labors,  and  hang- 
ing round  his  neck  a  satchel,  that  looked  as 
if  it  contained  no  great  weight  of  books,  she 
quickly  put  on  her  own  hat  and  cloak,  and, 
laying  hold  of  him  by  one  hand,  carrying  of 
a  basket  in  the  other,  with  many  cheerful, 
pleasant  words  to  his  unceasing  interrogato- 
ries, she  led  him  out  at  the  door. 

The  good  dame  and  her  young  son  pro- 
ceeded together  through  a  part  of  the  town, 
with  such  passing  commendation  and  salu- 
tations from  such  of  the  neighbors  as  were 
standing  at  their  doors  or  approaching  them 
as  they  went,  till  they  came  to  the  lane 
where  John  a  Combe  was  set  on  by  Master 
Buzzard  and  his  man  Saul,  as  hath  been  re- 
lated, when,  in  the  middle  of  some  speech  of 
his,  the  boy  let  go  his  mother's  hand,  and  so 
forgetful  of  school,  of  goodly  books,  and  of 
sweet  verses — which  had  formed  the  staple 
of  his  talking  all  along — as  though  such 
things  had  never  been,  he  on  a  sudden,  dart- 
ed off  as  fast  as  he  could  after  a  butterfly 
that  came  flying  past  him.  Dame  Shak- 
speare  called  many  times,  but  it  appeared  as 
if  he  heard  not  her  voice,  for  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand  he  run,  now  on  one  side  of  the  lane, 
now  on  the  other,  and  now  dodging  hither 
and  thither  wheresoever  the  dainty  insect 
spread  its  delicate  wings,  as  if  there  could 
not  be  in  this  whole  world  any  one  thing  of 
such  huge  importance  to  him  as  the  catching 
of  that  butterfly.  At  last,  his  mother  was 
obliged  to  hasten  after  him,  finding  he  heed- 
ed not  her  calling,  called  she  ever  so,  and 
succeeded  in  overtaking  her  little  truant, 
just  as  he  stood,  with  his  hat  thrown  on  the 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


grass  in  a  vain  essay  to  catch  what  he  had 
been  in  such  earnest  chase  of — with  hands 
and  eyes  uplifted,  watching  with  some  vex- 
edness  in  his  aspect,  the  swift  retreat  of  the 
enticing  insect  over  the  hedge. 

Some  scolding  followed  this  as  the  good 
dame  wiped  her  son's  hot  face,  and  dusted 
and  smoothed  his  hat,  and  set  it  on  his  head 
agp.in ;  but  he  made  such  famous  excuses 
concerning  of  the  marvelous  beautifulness 
of  this  same  butterfly  beyond  all  butterflies 
he  had  ever  seen,  that  the  loving  mother 
contented  herself  in  the  end  with  kissing 
him,  and  bidding  him  never  again  run  from 
her  side.  The  great  delight  he  had  found 
in  what  he  had  previously  talked  so  largely 
of  now  left  him  altogether,  and  he  could  say 
nought,  save  of  what  rare  pleasure  would 
have  been  his  had  it  been  his  good  hap  to 
have  captured  that  choice  fly,  with  sundry 
pertinent  questions  concerning  of  whence 
came  such  brave  toys,  how  lived  they,  and 
whether  they  could  not  be  kept  at  home,  and 
fed  on  marchpane,  and  such  other  delicates 
as  he  could  give  them,  to  all  which  she 
answered  as  she  best  could.  On  a  sudden 
he  started  a  new  subject,  for  spying  of  many 
wild  liowers  on  the  bank  he  must  needs  stop 
to  gather  some.  In  vain  his  mother  re- 
minded him  of  what  great  promise  he  had 
made  of  diligence  in  learning,  and  alacrity 
in  going  to  school,  he  implored  so  movingly, 
she  could  not  help  allowing  him  what  he  re- 
quired 01  Her ;  and  this  led  to  his  stopping 
at  other  dowers  he  saw,  to  do  the  like  tiling, 
making  such  pretty  exclamations  of  admira- 
tion at  tiie  sight  of  them,  that  the  good  dame 
could  riot  find  it  in  her  heart  to  speak  of 
his  tarrying  as  he  did,  with  any  harshness. 
Presently,  a  bird  flitting  through  the  hedge, 
would  make  him  pause  in  a  strange  wonder 
to  look  after  it ;  and  all  his  talk  of  flowers 
in  a  moment  changed  to  as  importunate  a 
questioning  upon  tlie  birds.  Indeed,  school 
now  seemed  to.  have  no  more  charm  for  him 
than  hatii  the  brightest  landscape  for  a  blind 
man ;  and  he  'kept  so  tarrying  lor-  this  thing 
and  for  the  other,  as  showed  lie  was  in  no 
little  reluctance  to  be  taken  away  from  such 
fair  sights. 

Certes,  it  is  a  long  lane  that  hath  no  turn- 
ing, and  the  boy,  with  his  mother,  got  at  last 
to  tiieir  journey's  end,  which  proved  to  be  a 
low  mean  building  at  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  whereof  part  of  the  casement  having 
been  broken,  the  missing  panes  had  been 
pasted  fbver  with  leaves  of  copy-books.  It 
was  a  wooden  building,  crumbling  with  age 
in  many  places,  with  a  ragged  thatch,  of 
so  dark  a  color  it  could  not  help  being  of 
some  standing,  underneath  winch  were 


sundry  nests,  with  the  birds  flying  in  and 
out ;  and  upon  it,  up  to  the  roof-top,  was  a 
famous  company  of  sparrows,  flitting  about 
and  making  so  great  a  chirruping  as  was 
wonderful  to  hear.  The  door  being  open, 
there  was  heard  a  low  murmuring  as  of  the 
humming  of  a  whole  hive  of  bees,  which 
increased  in  loudness  as  they  came  nearer, 
till  it  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  rough  voice, 
calling  out  "  Silence !"  when  it  sunk  a  little. 
At  this  moment  they  entered  at  the  door. 
They  came  first  into  a  chamber  with  a  brick 
flooring,  where  they  saw  a  number  of  small 
boys  ;  some  seated  upon  old  forms,  clipped 
at  the  corners,  and  carved  with  .letters  of 
every  sort,  as  might  be  seen  by  the  empty 
ones ;  and  others,  in  groups,  standing  before 
one  or  two  bigger  boys,  each  of  whom  held 
a  book  as  if  hearing  others  their  lessons ; 
but  as  soon  as  the  strangers  were  observed, 
there  was  seen  on  the  instant,  an  infinite 
lack  of  both  learning  and  teaching  amongst 
all.  One  whispered  to  another  —  others 
pointed — and  some  stood  up  to  have  a  better 
view ;  and  ah1  stretched  their  necks,  and 
strained  theis  eyes,  in  a  very  absolute  mar- 
vel, as  to  the  intent  of  the  dame  and  her  son 
in  coming  there  at  that  time. 

The  two  were  curiously  and  steadfastly 
gazed  on  by  every  boy  there,  as  they  ad- 
vanced up  two  steps  that  led  to  a  part  of 
the  same  chamber,  having  a  boarded  floor, 
where  were  some  long  desks,  at  which 
bigger  boys  had  been  writing  of  copies,  with 
one  oi»  a  greater  height  at  the  top,  where 
sat  on  a  tall  stool  no  less  a  personage  than 
Stripes  the  shoolmaster,  of  whom  tlio  reader 
hath  already  some  knowledge.  He  sat  up 
stiff  as  a  post ;  his  gaunt  visage*  as  thin  and 
sharp  as  though  his  ordinary  diet  was  of 
flint  stones,  or  other  such  matter  that  afford- 
eth  wonderful  poor  nourishment ;  his  hair 
and  beard  standing  in  great  need  of  the  bar- 
ber's art ;  an  old  gaberdine  on,  which  for  its 
rags  the  cursedest  old  Jew7  that  ever  clipped 
coin  would  have  been  ashamed  to  have  been 
seen  in ;  his  falling  bands  rumpled  and 
soiled ;  his  bases  open  at  the  knees,  and  his 
hose  in  slovenly  folds  falling  down  his  shrunk 
shanks  to  his  heels,  where  a  pair  of  huge 
pantofles,  of  the  oldest  out  of  all  doubt,  liid 
in  some  measure  the  numberless  holes  that 
had  there  begun  to  show  themselves.  He 
held  a  cane  upright  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  a  book,  having  before  him  a  boy,  who 
by  the  earnest  scratching  of  his  head,  and  the 
iutentness  of  his  gaze  at  the  broken  ceiling, 
had  doubtless  come  to  a  halt  in  his  lesson ; 
and  his  dull  stupid  face  wore  an  aspect  of 
severe  seriousness,  which  boded  no  good  to 
the  young  student.  But  for  all  this  as  he 


60 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


caught  sight  of  Dame  Shakspcare  with  her 
son  advancing  towards  him,  the  cane  was 
put  out  of  sight  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
and  a  sort  of  something  that  was  meant  to 
be  a  smile  became  visible  in  his  cadaver- 
ous countenance,  as  he  gave  the  unprepared 
»  scholar  back  his  book,  and  bade  him  to  his 
place. 

Marvelous  to  look  on  was  the  suavity  with 
which  the  pedagogue  heard  Dame  Shaks- 
peare  say  she  had  brought  her  son  William 
to  have  his  schooling,  hoping  he  would  prove 
an  apt  scholar;  thereupon  famously  did  he 
launch  out  into  all  manner  of  fine  scholar- 
like  phrases,'  whereof  it  was  in  no  way  easy 
for  any  to  find  where  lay  the  sense,  and  then 
proceeded  he  to  catechise  the  child  in  a 
monstrous  pedantical  humor,  and  to  examine 
him  as  to  the  extent  of  his  acquirements  in 
the  rudiments  of  profane  learning ;  and  al- 
though the  boy  showed  some  shyness,  which 
was  exceeding  natural  at  his  age,  before  so 
forbidding  a  person,  yet,  by  dint  of  his 
mother's  praises,  he  w,as  got  to  evince  a 
tolerable  acquaintance  with  the  spelling  of 
simple  words.  All  this  time  the  curious- 
ness  of  the  entire  school  exceedeth  concep- 
tion. No  sign  of  studiousness  was  visible 
in  any ;  instead  of  which  the  eyes  and  ears 
of  the  whole  assembly  were  bent  upon  get- 
ting the  completes!  knowledge  of  what  was 
going  on ;  and  whilst  some  of  the  highest 
part  of  the  school  kneeled  on  their  seats,  or 
leaned  over  their  school-fellows,  sundry  of 
the  bottom  part  stood  on  their  forms.  #nd  a 
few  crept  up  the  steps,  with  countenances 
<U1  agog  to  learn  as  much  as  they  could  of 
this"  strange  matter. 

"  And  1  have  brought  you  here  a  fine 
capon  for  your  own  eating,  worthy  Mr. 
Stripes,"  said  Dame  Shakspeare  to  the 
schoolmaster,  whose  mouth  seemed  to  water 
at  the  very  name  of  such  delicate  food,  as 
she  took  from  her  basket  a  fowl  carefully 
wrapped  about  in  a  clean  white  cloth ;  "  the 
which  I  hope  will  prove  to  your  liking,  and 
I  do  trust  you  will  favor  me  in  what  my 
heart  most  covets,  so  much  as  to  give  what 
attentiveness  you  can  to  my  boy's  schooling, 
that  he  may  do  you  credit  in  his  after 
years." 

"  I  am  a  very  heathen  an'  I  do  not," 
replied  he,  taking  the  gift  with  a  famous 
willingness. 

"  Then  I  will  now  leave  him  to  your 
charge,"  observed  the  dame,  and,  kissing  of 
her  young  son,  with  a  loving  admonition  to 
be  a  good  boy  and  speed  in  his  learning,  she 
departed  out  the  door.  Stripes,  first  placing 
of  his  new  scholar  amongst  others  of  his 
age  in  the  lower  room,  which  movement  of 


his  caused  a  famous  show  of  studiftusnesa 
amongst  all  the  boys  he  came  nigh,  and 
setting  him  a  lesson,  returned  to  his  desk  ; 
and  then,  undoing  the  cloth,  examined  the 
capon  both  with  his  eyes  and  his  nose, 
with  such  extreme  satisfaction,  it  looked  as 
though  he  cared  not  to  wait  for  the  cooking. 
At  last,  putting  it  in  the  cloth  again,  he 
marched  with  it  out  at  a  door  close  upon  his 
desk,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  it  as  he  went. 
Scarce  had  the  door  well  closed  upon  him, 
when  there  arose  such  a  hubbub  in  the 
school,  of  talking  and  shouting  one  to 
another  of  all  the  boys  concerning  of  the 
new  comer ;  those  who  had  some  know- 
ledge of  his  parentage  telling  others  who 
had  none,  and  some  of  the  bigger  boys 
leaving  their  places  to  have  a  closer  view  of 
him,  or  ask  him  questions,  as  seemed  to 
astonish  William  Skakspeare  exceedingly  ; 
but  he  was  not  allowed  to  be  in  a  long 
marvel,  for  the  door  opened  presently,  and 
then  there  was  an  instant  scuttling  to  places, 
and  an  infinite  affection  of  attentiveness 
everywhere.  'Speedily  as  this  was  done  it 
escaped  not  the  eye  of  the  master,  who 
seized  on  his  cane  in  a  twinkling  as  soon 
as  he  had  entered,  with  an  eye  of  severfe 
menace,  and  thundered  out  his  commands  for 
sundry  of  the  offenders  to  come  up  to  him 
without  delay ;  for  although  he  was  so  ob- 
sequious in  his  spirit  before  Sir  Nathaniel 
and  others  he  was  fearful  of  offending,  no 
greater  a  tyrant  ever  lived  than  was  he  to  his 
scholars. 

"  So,  Jemmy  Sheepshanks !"  cried  he,  as 
the  first  offender  approached  him  with  some 
backwardness  ;  "  prithee,  what  need  hadst 
out  of  thy  proper  seat  without  any  color  of 
warrant,  thou  horribly  abominable  young 
caitiff?" 

•'  An'  it  please  you,  master,  I  only " 

"  Silence !"  shouted  the  pedagogue  in  a 
voice  that  appeared  to  irtake  the  little  cul- 
prit shake  in  his  shoes. 

"  Art  not  ashamed  to  have  accommodated 
thy  worthlessness.with  the  graces  of  my 
instruction  for  so  long  a  time  as  thou  hast, 
and  never  so  much  as  brought  me  a  single 
egg,  much  less  a  fine  capon,  such  as  worthy 
Dame  Shalfspeare,  on  her  first  coming,  hath 
appurtenanced  me  with — and  thy  mother 
having  such  a  prodigal  store  of  poultry  ? 
By  Jove,  his  searching  thunders  !  thou  art 
as  barren  of  good  fruit  as  a  whipping-post. 
Prithee,  hold  me  thy  digital  extro. 

"  In  good  fay,  master,  I  only  went* " 

"  Thy  hand,  Jemmy  Sheepshanks !"  bawl- 
ed Stripes,  in  a  manner  which  brought  forth 
a  right  dolorous  wailing,  and  the  tremulous 
projection  of  a  palm  of  considerable  dirtiness 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


51 


a  few  inches  before  the  offender's  stomach. 
*  Elevate  it  somewhat !"  continued  he,  eye- 
ing the  shaking  lingers  as  a  vulture  would 
the  prey  he  was  about  to  sweep  down  upon. 
"  Somewhat  more !"  added  he  in  a  louder 
voice ;  and  whack  wont  the  descending  cane 
across  the  dirty  little  hand.  "  Ya  !"  scream- 
ed the  boy,  and  thereupon  he  doubled  him- 
self up  as  if  lie  had  an  inward  pain  of*great 
fierceness,  and  then  he  shook  his  hand  and 
rubbed  it  against  his  jerkin,  and  held  it  in 
the  other,  as  though  he  had  a  hot  cinder  in 
it,  and  made  such  a  yelling  al^  the  whilst 
as  was  pitiful  to  hear. 

"  And  now  thy  sinister  manus ;  for  me- 
tbinks  it  be  very  monstrous  injustice  one 
should  'scape,  and  the  other  not,"  observed 
the  schoolmaster,  getting  his  weapon  in 
readiness. 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  good  Master  Stripes^' 
roared  the  urchin  in  a  deprecating  tone; 
but  he  was  not  let  off  so  easily,  for  the  left 
hand  presently  fared  as  badly  as  the  right, 
and  then,  with  a  parting  crack  o'  the  crown 
for  jerking  his  hand  away,  so  that  the  peda- 
gogue missed  it  more  tiian  once,  Jemmy 
Sheepshanks  in  a  terrible  uproar  was  sent 
back  to  his  seat.  The  rest  of  those  who  had 
been  called  up  looked  on  as  though  they 
would  have  given  all  they  were  worth  to 
have  been  a-  good  hundred  miles  from  the 
spot.  The  other  boys  were  studying  of 
their  separate  tasks  with  a  seeming  dili- 
gence that  could  never  have  been  exceeded, 
and  their  new  schoolfellow  was  thinking  in 
his  mind,  from  this  first  example  he  had  had 
of  school,  it  was  no  such  brave  place  after 
all.  Each  of  the  offenders  went  through 
the  same  discipline,  save  the  last,  and  was 
as  well  reminded  as  the  lirst  had  been  of 
certain  remissness  on  his  part  in  not  having 
brought  some  nice  thing  or  other  for  their 
worthy  master. 

"  Ha,  Mat  Turnspit !  thou  art  most,  su- 
perlatively offensive  !"  exclaimed  the  peda- 
gogue, looking  at  the  remaining  one  with 
the  same  savage  aspect  as  had  been  the 
forerunner  of  the  other's  punishments.  "  I 
have  cast  up  the  sum  of  thy  offences,  the 
product  whereof " 

"  An'  it  please  you,  master,  father  killed 
a  hog  last  night,"  cried  out  the  boy  sharply, 
yet  not  without  some  trepidation. 

"  Marry,  what  then  ?  The  particulars — 
the  conclusion,  I  prithee  !"  cried  his  master1. 

"  A4>'  it  please  you,"  answered  little  Mat, 
"  mother  told  me  to  say,  an'  your  worship's 
stomach  stood  in  any  way  affected  towards 
pig's  chitliags,  she  would  send  you  as 
famous  a  dish  of  them  as  should  delight  the 
cockles  of  your  heart  mightily." 


i;  Thy  mother,  I  would  wager  to  be  as 
honest  a  woman  as  any  of  her  inches,"  ob- 
served Stripes,  his  aspect  of  a  sudden  chang- 
ing to  an  absolute  graciousness.  "  And 
touching  pig'a  chitlings,  I  would  have  thee 
communicate  to  her  auditories,  I  consider 
them  a  savoury  diet  as  any  thing  that  can 
be  eaten,  and  will  accept  of  a  dish  with 
abundance  of  thanks.  As  for  thyself,  Mat 
Turnspit,  I  doubt  not  thou  hadst  excellent 
cause  for  being  out  of  thy  seat.  Get  thee 
back  again  straight,  and  be  sure  thy  re- 
membrance plays  not  the  truant  with  the 
pig's  chitlings." 

After  this,  the  first  class  were  called  up 
to  their  reading  lesson,  and  putting  up  their 
copies,  each  holding  of  a  book,  presently 
stood  in  a  half  circle  before  their  teacher, 
who,  seated  on  his  high  stool,  with  his  cane 
in  his  hand,  and  the  lesson  before  him, 
never  failed  to  apply  the  former  to  the  palms 
of  such  as  were  amiss  in  their  reading — 
constantly  commenting  on  the  exceeding 
properness  of  beHlmor  shown  by  Dame 
Shakspeare  and  Dame  Turnspit,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  fat  capon  and  the  pig's  chitling's. 
All  this  while  there  was  a  famous  thinking 
going  on  in  the  young  mind  of  the  new 
scholar,  whose  faith  in  the  pleasantness  of 
schools  diminished  with  every  blow  he  heard 
given,  till  at  last  he  came  to  the  conclusion, 
that  it  was  the  very  horriblest  bad  place  he 
had  ever  entered :  nevertheless  he  applied 
himself  to  his  lesson  as  earnestly  as  he 
might,  with  no  greater  interruption  than 
what  came  from  some  little  neighbor  sliding 
up  to  him  with  a  civil  speech,  intent  upon 
being  on  the  best  terms  with  a  schoolfellow 
so  well  recommended  to  their  master. 

As  Stripes  was  very  furious  lecturing  of 
a  boy,  about  to  undergo  the  customary  dis- 
cipline, the  door  behind  him  opened,  and 
there  appeared  at  it  a  strange  looking  object 
in  the  likeness  of  an  overgrown  boy.  To 
all  appearance,  the  schoolmaster  looked  as 
lean  a  dog  as  ever  licked  an  empty  trencher, 
but  he  was  of  a  very  corpulency  in  com- 
parison with  the  walking  bunch  of  bones 
known  throughout  the  town  as  Skinney  Dick- 
on, the  schoolmaster's  boy,  that  now  entered 
the  school-room.  His  face  had  the  project- 
ing jaws  of  a  ravenous  crocodile,  with  the 
complexion  of  a  kite's  foot,  and  Ms  rusty 
hair  straggled  over  his  skull  like  a  mop 
worn  to  the  very  stump — this  was  support- 
ed on  a  long  thin  neck  bare  of  all  clothing 
to  the  shoulder  blade,  where  a  leather  jerkin, 
made  for  a  boy  half  his  size,  was  buttoned 
tight  with  a  small  skewer  (for  lack  of  but- 
tons, which  had  all  been  worn  off),  whereof 
the  sleeves  came  only  to  his  elbows,  show- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ing  his  naked  arms,  like  the  picked  drum- 
sticks of  some  huge  Fowl,  with  the  claw  left 
on.  A  pair  of  greasy  gaskins,  that  seemed 
as  though  they  had  been  made  for  a  grass- 
hopper, encased  the  lower  part  of  his  body 
to  his  knees,  below  which  two  bare  legs,  as 
barren  of  calf  as  an  andiron,  descended  till 
they  were  partly  lost  sight  of  in  two  old 
shoes,  whereof  the  wide  gaping  of  the  upper 
leathers  told  plainly  of  the  whereabouts  of 
the  owner's  ten  toes. 

"How  now,  Dickon  !*'  rexclaimed  his 
master,  as  soon  as  he  became  aware  of  the 
other's  vicinity. 

"  An'  it  pul-pul-pul-pul,  please  your  wor- 
ship, the  kick-kick-kick-kick  cat's  run  off 
with  the  kick-kick-kick-kick  capon." 
Scarce  had  the  words  got  loose  from  the 
chopping  teeth  of  his  stuttering  boy,  ere 
Stripes  jumped  from  his  stool  with  a  ludi- 
crous astounded  look,  and  brushing  by  his 
intelligencer  with  such  furiousness  HS  to 
l<ty  him  his  length  on  the  floor,  sought  the 
thief,  swearing  all  sorts  of  horrible  oatiis 
and  direful  imprecations;  after  running 
frantically  to  and  fro,  the  enraged  school- 
master spied  puss  on  a  shelf  in  an  outhouse, 
tearing  up  the  flesh  of  the  fowl  after  a 
fashion  as  evinced  her  appreciation  of  its 
goodness.  She  was  an  old,  large,  black 
animal,  whose  projecting  ribs  manifested 
the  like  relationship  with  famine  as  appear- 
ed in  the  master  and  boy  ;  and  made  despe- 
rate by  extreme  hunger,  she  raised  her  back, 
glared  with  her  green  eyes,  and  commenced 
so  brisk  a  spitting  an<J  swearing,  as  the 
schoolmaster,  in  a  terrible  tearing  passion, 
began  cutting  at  her  with  his  cane — though 
at  a  respectful  distance — as  proved  she 
would  not  be  got  to  part  with  her  prize  with- 
out a  tustle  ;  and  mayhap  he  would  have 
been  but  badly  off  had  she  flown  at  him,  the 
which  she  appeared  monstrously  inclined  to 
do,  but  at  this  moment  she  spied  Dickon 
hastening  to  the  rescue  with  the  stump  of  a 
broom,  which  caused  her  to  make  a  move- 
ment as  though  she  would  carry  off  her 
booty — however,  before  she  had  got  a  firm 
hold  of  the  fowl  with  her  old  teeth,  Dickon 
gave  her  so  sore  a  blow  with  his  weapon  as 
sent  her  flying  off  the  shelf  into  an  open 
water-butt  that  stood  a  yard  or  so  off  where- 
upon she  was  glad  enough  to  save  her  nine 
lives  the  best  way  she  could,  as  if  capons 
had  never  been. 

This  occurred  not  without  some,  stir  in 
the  school ;  but  scarce  had  Stripes  returned 
to  his  desk  after  placing  of  his  heart's  trea- 
sure in  a  place  of  safety,  when  his  anatomy 
of  a  boy  again  made  his  appearance  at  the 
open  door,  at  sight  of  whom  he  opened  his 


lanthorn  jaws,  quite  aghast  with  surprise, 
thinking  that  the  villainous  cat  had  again 
made  away  with  his  dainty;  but  Dickon 
came  only  to  announce  the  arrival  of  one 
Mother  Flytrap  on  an  errand  of  conjuring, 
which  speedily  allayed  his  master's  alarm. 
Dismissing  the  class  to  their  seats  with  a 
perilous  threat  kept  they  not  as  quiet  as 
mice  till  his  return,  the  pedagogue  stalked, 
with  an  air  of  marvellous  solemnity — little 
in  accordance  with  his  slovenly  gaunt  figure 
— into  an  inner  chamber,  meanly  furnished 
with  an  old  table  and  a  chair  or  two,  yet, 
having,  in  the  shape  of  a  globe  in  the  win- 
dow, a  snake  in  a  bottle  over  the  chimney, 
and  a  curious  hieroglyphic  book  spread  out 
upon  the  table :  various  signs  that  it  was 
in  especial  use  for  learned  purposes.  A 
little  woman,  whose  shrivelled  skin  savored 
o^some  antiquity,  stood  in  a  corner  of  the 
chamber,  in  a  grey  cloak  and  peaked  hat, 
leaning  with  both  hands  upon  a  stick  she 
held  before  her. 

"  An'  it  please  your  worship,"  began  she, 
parting  the  exceeding  closeness  of  her  nose 
and  chin,  and  hobbling  two  steps  forward 
as  Stripes  entered,  "be  it  known  to  you,  of 
all  the  days  in  the  year,  last  Wednesday 
was  a  week,  wanting  of  a  spoon  for  a  gossip 
of  mine — as  worthy  a  good  soul  as  ever 
broke  bread,  for  all  it  hath  been'said  of  her 
she  taketh  to  her  aquae  vitae  bottle  more  than 
is  becoming  an  honest  woman  : — but  Lord  ! 
Lord  ?  who  shall  escape  the  bruit  of  slander- 
ous tongues  in  this  cantankerous  age  ; — as 
I  was  a  saying,  over  a  sea-coal  fire,  at  Dame 
Marigold's — who  was  making  as  famous  a 
bowl  of  spiced  ale,, with  a  roasted  crab,  as 
ever  passed  mortal  lips.  Indeed,  of  all 
women  1  know,  an'  it  please  your  worship, 
she.  excelleth  in  the  brewing  of  such  deli- 
cate liquor ;  and  last  sheep-shearing  I  did 
hear  little  Jack  Maggot,  of  Maggot  Mill — 
he  that  got  his  head  broke  at  a  bout  at  single 
stick  with  Job  Styles,  the  hedger  of  our 
town — say  lie  knew  none  of  these  parts  that 
had  such  cunning  in  these  preparations. 
Mercy  o'  my  heart !  I  have  known  the 
time  when  Job  Styles  was  better  off  than 
he  is,  by  a  good  ten  crowns  a  year.  But 
we  are  all  mortal." 

"  Hast  lost  a  spoon  ?"  enquired  the  school- 
master, when  his  companion  stopped  to  take 
breath. 

*  '•  Ay,  marry,"  replied  Mother  Flytrap, 
"  as  goodly  a  silver  Evangelist  as  you  shah1 
find  come  of  any  god-father;  and  the  only 
one  of  the  four  left.  O'  my  word,  it  vexeth 
me  to  find  the  world  groweth  every  day 
more  dishonest ;  and  no  more  heed  is  taken 
of  so  goodly  a  gift  as  an  Evangelist  spoon. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


than  of  a  dish  of  beans.  Well — flesh  is 
grass  :  so  it's  what  we  must  all  come  to — 
more's  the  pity — more's  the  pity." 

"  When  lost  thou  this  spoon  ?"  asked 
Stripes. 

"  Marry,  an'  it  please  your  worship,  I 
know  not,"  replied  his  companion ;  "  but 
last  Wednesday  was  a  week,  as  I  have  said, 
when  it  was  getting  nigh  upon  noon,  I  had 
made  me  a  porridge  fit  for  the  Sophy,  with 
good  store  of  leeks  in  it,  for  my  dinner, 
when  who  should  enter  at  my  door  but 
Gammer  Bavins,  whose  son  went  to  the 
wars  and  died  beyond  seas  ;  whereupon  de- 
siring of  her  to  rest  herself,  as  in  all  civil- 
ness  I  was  bound,  seeing  that  her  mother's 
cousin's  great  uncle  and  my  grannum 
were  cousins  -  german,  I  asked  of  her 
to  have  some  of  my  famous  porridge,  to 
the  which  she  cheerfully  gave  her  consent- 
ings  ;  and  thinking  'tvvoul'd  be  but  respect- 
ful of  me  to  allow  of  her  having  a  silver 
spoon  instead  of  a  lattern  one,  the  whilst 
she  was  telling  of  me  an. excellent  famous 
story  of  what  brave  eating  was  in  porridge 
such  as  she  was  wont  to  make  for  her  gafter 
when  he  came  home  from  the  woods — for 
your  worship  must  know  he  had  been  a 
woodman,  and  of  some  repute  in  the  craft — 
and  how  monstrously  he  took  to  it  when 
she  could  chop  in  a  handsome  piece  of  bacon 
fat,  with  a  pinch  of  mustard — though  for 
mine  own  part  methinks  good  hog's  lard  in 
some  quantity,  with  a  sprinkling  of  bay  salt, 
giveth  much  the  delicater  flavor " 

"  So  the  spoon  was  missing  ?"  here  put 
in  the  schoolmaster. 

"La you!  what  a  wonderful  conjuror  is 
your  worship  !""  exclaimed  Mother  Flytrap, 
lifting  up  her  hands  and  eyes  in  amazement ; 
"  ay,  was  it :  and  though  I  have  since  search- 
ed high  and  low  in  every  crack  and  cranny 
hole  and  corner  from  housetop  to  floor,  if  I 
have  caught  as  much  as  a  glimpse  of  it 
there  is  no  hotness  in  ginger.  Peradven- 
ture " 

"  Thou  hast  come  to  learn  of  thy  missing 
spoon  ?"  said  Stripes,  knowing  full  well 
should  he  let  her  run  on,  there  would  be  no 
stopping  of  her  tongue. 

"  Odds  codlings,  yes,  an'  it  please  yon." 
replied  she  :  ';  well  !  never  saw  I  your  like 
at  finding  out  things :  as  I  live  I  said  not  a 
word  of  the  sort.  Mayhap  your  worship 
knoweth  whom  I  suspect  of  stealing  it ;  and 
by  my  troth  I  doubt  not  it*  shall  be  found 
without  some  grounds,  for  she  hath  the  re- 
putation of  a  horrible  pilferer." 

"  Thy  suspicions  rest  upon  a  woman  !" 
answered  Stripes  with  a  very  proper  solem- 
nity. 


"  A  grace  of  God !  your  worship  must 
needs  have  dealings  with  the  old  one!"  cried 
his  companion  in  a  famous  astonishment ; 
"  Marian  Loosefish  be  as  nigh  lo  a  woman 
as  ever  she  will  be,  for  she  hath  had  two 
children  and  never  a  husband,  and  hath 
been  thrice  put  into  the  stocks  for  misbe- 
comingness.  But  we  are  all  mortal.  More's 
the  pity — more's  the  pity  !" 

"  And  thou  wouldst  have  me  ascertain  by 
virtue  of  my  art,  with  what  correctness  thou 
dost  suspect  this  woman  ?"  added  the  school- 
master. 

"  Ay,  dear  heart,  out  of  all  doubt,  and  I 
have  brought  your  worship  as  exquisite  nice 
a  black-pudding  as  ever  was  made,"  an- 
swered the  other,  producing  from  under  her 
cloak  a  large  sausage  of  this  sort,  which 
her  companion  eased  her  of  with  marvellous 
alacrity ;  "  and  will,  besides,  give  your  wor- 
ship a  tester  for  your  pains,  provided  you 
can  put  the  stealing  of  it  upon  her  with  such 
certainty  she  shall  never  be  able  to  deny  it, 
and  so  I  get  back  my  spoon  again." 

"  Prithee  stay  where  thou  art,  and  keep 
strict  silence,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  with 
a  very  earnest  seriousness,  as  he  took  a 
long  black  wand  out  of  a  corner,  and  put  on 
his  head  a  strange  looking  conical  cap  of  a 
blood-red  color,  which  made  his  visage  look 
all  the  more  lean  and  ghastly ;  then  gazed 
he  with  terrible  severity  on  his  book,  turning 
over  the  leaves  for  some  minutes,  Mother 
Flytrap  looking  on  with  a  fearful  curious- 
ness,  as  dumb  as  a  stone. 

"  Mercury  in  the  sixth  house,"  muttered 
the  conjurer  as  if  to  himself. 

"  I  warrant  you  that  is  my  house ;  for 
mine  is  just  the  sixth  in  the  row  as  you  enter 
the  town,"  observed  she. 

"  Silence,  woman  !"  shouted  Stripes,  au- 
thoritatively, then  presently  added  in  an  un- 
der tone — "  Jupiter  and  Venus  in  conjunc- 
tion, whereof  the  affinities  in  equilibrio  being 
geometrical  to  their  qualities,  giveth  sign  of 
some  heavy  metal,  of  an  express  white  color, 
and  in  shape  of  some  narrowness,  with  a 
concavity  at  the  determination.  Ha  !  what 
meaneth  this  ! — Diana  under  a  cloud " 

"  That's  her  an'  it  please  you  !"  said 
Mother  Flytrap,  eagerly ;  "  she  hath  been 
'  under  a  cloud'  at  sundry  several  times, 
which  will  be  well  known  of  many,  for  she 
is  as  absolute  a " 

':  Peace,  I  tell  thee  !"  bawled  the  conju- 
ror ;  "  wouldst  turpify  my  astrologicals  ? 
Prithee  ifold  thy  prate :"  after  which  he 
continued  without  other  interruption  a  deal 
more  of  similar  heathenish  words.  "  My 
art  telleth  me  these  three  tilings,"  observed 
he  to  her  at  last,  as  grave  as  any  judg ; ; 


64 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  to  wit — thy  spoon  hath  been  stolen,  an' 
thou  hast  not  mislaid  it  in'some  secret  place ; 
— provided  a  thief  hath  got  it,  there  shall  be 
no  doubt  it  hath  been  stolen ;  and  should  it 
be  found  upon  Marian  Loosefish,  beyond  all 
contradicting  she  may  be  suspected  of  the 
theft." 

"  Wonderful !"  cried  the  old  woman,  in  a 
huge  amazement ;  u  of  all  conjuring  never 
heard  I  of  anything  like  unto  this  !  I  would 
have  sworn  it  was  her  before  your  worship 
had  told  me  a  letter  of  her  name ;  for  I  have 
all  along  suspected  her  and  no  other.  I 
protest  I  am  in  so  great  an  admiration  of 
your  worship's  marvellous  deep  knowledge 
I  scarce  know  what  to  be  at.  Odds  cod- 
lings, what  wonders  the  world  hath !" 

"  At  thy  peril,  speak  another  word  till  I 
tell  thee  !"•  exclaimed  the  reputed  conjuror, 
in  a  formidable  solemn  voice,  as  if  desirous 
of  still  more  impressing  his  customer  with 
his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  occult  sci- 
ence :  "  I  charge  thee  make  no  manner  of 
noise,  else  ill  will  befall  thee.  I  would  know 
more  of  this  matter,  and  will  have  my  fami- 
liar to  acquaint  me  with  the  particularities." 
At  this  the  old  dame,  dumb  with  extreme 
fright  and  curiousness,  backed  herself  into 
a  corner  of  the  chamber,  as  Stripes,  waving 
of  his  wand  mysteriously,  and  repeating 
some  unintelligible  jargon,  stalked  round 
and  round  the  table.  All  at  once  they  heard 
a  horrible  strange  sort  of  sound,  like  unto 
the  deep  grunting  of  an  over-fed  hog,  which 
the  conjjiror,  in  ignorance  of  its  cause,  fan- 
cied to  be  something  unnatural  coming  to 
punish  him  for  his  vaiti-glorious  boast  of  in- 
timacy with  a  familiar,  and  straightway 
stopped  his  conjurations  ;  and  Mother  Fly- 
trap, too  frightened  to  speak,  hearing  the 
sounds,  and  observing  the  half-starved  black 
cat  at  this  moment  push  her  way  through 
the  unclosed  door, — her  back  raised  and  her 
eyes  glaring  as  she  caught  sight  of  her  mas- 
ter with  the  uplifted  wand,  supposing  he  was 
about  to  punish  her  for  her  dishonesty, — had 
no  doubt  she  was  a  demon  invoked  by  the 
schoolmaster,  and  thereupon  striking  out  w  ith 
her  stick  convulsively  before  her,  she  com- 
menced crouching  down  into  the  corner, 
every  time  uttering  of  a  scream  so  piercing 
it  seemed  as  though  she  were  about  giving 
up  the  ghost. 

Her  outcry  soon  brought  Skinny  Dickon 
into  the  chamber,  who,  spying  of  the  two  in 
such  a  terrible  monstrous  fear,  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  with  his  jaws  gaping  like  a 
hungry  pike,  till  hearing  of  the  strange  un- 
earthly sound,  and  seeing  his  master  had 
been  at  his  conjurations,  a  horrible  suspicion 
seemed  to  corne  across  him  of  a  sudden ; 


and  he  dropped  on  his  knees,  as  though  he 
had  been  shot.  Presently,  some  of  the 
scholars  came  creeping  towards  the  door,  the 
back  ones  peeping  over  the  forward  ones 
shoulders,  with/aspects  alarmed  and  anxious ; 
and  the  old  woman's  screams  continuing, 
sundry  of  the  neighbors  rushed  in  at  another 
door  by  which  she  had  herself  entered,  mar- 
velling prodigiously  to  hear  such  a  distur- 
bance ;  and  marvelling  the  more,  to  note 
what  they  beheld  at  their  entrance. 

"In  God's  name,  neighbor,  what  meaneth 
this  strange  scene  ?"  enquired  a  sober 
honest-looking  artisan,  in  his  leathern  apron 
and  cap,  gazing  from  one  to  an  other  of  the 
group  in  famous  astonishment. 

"  Ya  !"  screamed  Mother  Flytrap,  again 
crouching  down  in  the  corner,  and  poking 
out  her  stick,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
object  of  her  exceeding  terror,  as  though  it 
held  a  spell  over  her. 

"  Mum-mum-mum-mum-Master's  been — 
rer-rer-rer-rer-raising  the  devil  1"  stuttered 
out  Dickon,  as  plain  as«he  could,  for  the 
fright  he  was  in. 

"YaJ"  repeated  the  old  woman,  with  the 
same  look  and  gesture. 

"  He's  there  ?"  muttered  the  trembling 
schoolmaster,  pointing  to  a  closet  whence 
the  sounds  seemed  to  proceed;  whereupon 
there  was  an  instant  backward  movement 
of  his  neighbors,  save  only  the  artizan ;  and 
the  old  woman  screamed  more  lustily  than 
ever,  for  she  believed  the  cat  was  meant,  as 
having  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  animal,  she 
had  not  seen  where  the  frightened  pedago- 
gue had  pointed. 

"With  the  Lord's  help,  mayhap  I  will 
unkennel  him,  if  there  he  be,"  observed  the 
artisan,  making  a  forward  movement. 

"  Nay,  'o  my   life,  David  Hurdle,  thou 
must  be  mad,  sure  !"  exclaimed  one  ;  and 
others  cried  out  against  his  seeking  of  such 
danger,  and  many  were  for  holding  him,  to' 
prevent  his  destruction,  as  they  thought. 

"  Fear  nought,"  said  the  artisan,  break- 
ing from  his  alarmed  neighbors  ; 
in  the  Lord's  hands.  He  will  n 
his  people  into  the  power  of  the  spoiler." 
Then  walking  boldly  up  to  the  closet,  the 
door  of  which  he  fearlessly  opened,  he  ad- 
ded, in  a  firm  voice,  "  I  charge  thee,  if  thou 
art  an  unclean  spirit,  depart  from  the  dwell- 
ing of  this  man." 

The  interior  was  too  dark  for  any  there 
to  see  into,  therefore  was  nothing  visible ; 
but  the  terror-struck  people  noticed  the  in- 
stantaneous stoppage  of  that  smothered 
grunting  which  sounded  so  unearthly  ;  and 
could  plainly  enough  distinguish  a  rustling 


we  are 

He  will  not  deliver 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


66 


as  of  some  one  moving,  which  again  caused 
an  instant  rush  to  the  door. 

"  I  charge  thee  begone !"  cried  David 
Hurdle,  undauntedly. 

"  What  dost  charge  me  ?"  grumbled  a 
deep  thick  voice  from  the  closet.  "  Prithee, 
keep  it  on  the  score,  and  give  us  'tother  pot. 
Kh,  Ticklebreech  ?" 

"  As  I  live  'tis  Sir  Nathaniel !"  cried  se- 
veral voices  at  once,  to  the  wonderful  relief 
of  the  rest ;  and  sure  enough,  Sir  Nathaniel 
it  was,  who,  after  so  absolute  a  carouse  the 
previous  night  with  his  customary  boon 
companions,  his  senses  had  xompletely  left 
him,  had  returned  home  with  the  school- 
master, without  whose  knowledge  he  had 
thrust  himself  into  the  closet,  where  he  had 
been  snoring  the  whole  morning,  coiled  up 
like  a  monstrous  caterpiller;  whereby  he 
had  put  so  sudden  a  stop  on  his  friend's 
conjurations,  and  had  nigh  driven  Mother 
Flytrap  out  of  her  five  wits. 


CHAPTE&  VII. 

The  mery  lark,  mesengere  of  the  day 
Saluteth  in  her  song  the  morowe  gray  ; 
And  tine  Phebus  ryseth  up,  so  bright 
That  all  the  orient  laugheth  at  the  sight : 
And  with  his  stremis  dryeth  in  the  greves, 
The  silver  dropis  hanging  in  the  leves. 

CHAUCER. 

For  I  am  servant  of  the  lawe, 
Covetouse  is  myne  owne  felowe. 

OLD   MORALITY. 
Out  on  you  theefles,  bouth  two  ! 
Eieh  man  maye  see.  you  be  soe, 

Alby  your  araaye 

Muffled  in  mantles  none  such  I  know, 
I  shall  make  you  lovvte  full  lowe, 
Or  I  departe  you  free. 

ANTICHRIST. 

MASTER  BUZZARD  sat  at  a  table  eating 
of  a  pasty  made  of  game  birds,  and  ever  and 
anon  flinging  a  bone  to  one  of  "the  many 
dogs  looking  wistfully  up  at  him.  He  was 
taking  of  his  morning  repast  in  the  same 
hall  of  his,  which  hath  before  been  des- 
cribed, at  interims  enjoying  frequent  and 
plentiful  draughts  at.  a  tankard  that  stood 
close  at  his  trencher  ;  and  then  again, 
swearing  lustily  at  such  of  the  dogs  who,  in 
their  impatience  to  have  of  the  delicate 
victual,  mayhap  would  leap  to  his  lap,  or  re- 
mind him  of  their  nearness  by  giving  him  a 
smart  blow  of  the  leg  with  one  of  their  fore- 
paws.  At  a  respectful  distance,  with  his 
hat  on  his  knees,  and  his  stick  beside  it,  sat 
the  shrunk-up  figure  and  parchment  physi- 


ognomy of  Jemmy  Catchpole,  the  town 
lawyer,  seneschal,  balifF,  attorney,  and  stew- 
ard, as  he  was  indifferently  styled. 

"  All  precepts  have  been"  served,  an'  it 
please  you,"  observed  Jemmy  Catchpole  ; 
"  we  have  him  in  fee  simple  with  fine  and 
recovery,  but  the  defendant  pleadeth  extreme 
poverty,  and  prayeth  in  aid  that  the  suit  may 
be  stopped  from  and  after  the  determination 
of  the  last  action,  else  shall  he  be  forced  to 
such  shifts  as  shall  put  your  honor's  hand 
and  seal  to  his  ruin,  and  cut  the  entail  from 
all  remainders  in  perpetuity — in  witness 
whereof  he  hath  but  now  demised,  granted, 
and  to  farm-let  his  desire  to  me  that  I  might 
be  a  feodary  in  this  act  for  such  an  interval- 
lum  as  your  honor  may  please  to  allow." 

"  An  I  wait  another  hour  I'll  be  hanged  !" 
rudely  exclaimed  Master  Buzzard,  thumping  . 
the  table  with  his  fist  with  such  force  as  to 
startle  some  of  the  hawks.  "  If  he  hath  not 
the  means  of  paying  his  bond,  strip  him  of 
what  he  hath.  'What !  '  Shall  I  lend  my 
money  to  a  paltry  burgess,  and  he  do  me  ill 
offices,  and  then,  when  cometh  time  for 
payment,  shall  such  a  fellow  think  to  get  oft' 
by  whining  a  dolorous  plaint  concerning  of 
his  poverty  ?  'Slife  !  when  I  let  him,  cut 
me  into  collops  for  my  hounds." 

"  As  your  honor  wills  it,"  replied  the 
lawyer  ;  "  then  will  I,  without  let  or  hin- 
drance, plea  or  demurrer,  make  an  extent 
upon  his  house  and  lands,  immediately  pro- 
vided in  that  case  he  doth  not  give  instant 
quittance  for  his  obligation." 

"  Make  him  as  barren  as  a  rotten  branch," 
cried  the  other,  with,a  frowning  indignant 
look  that  spoke  as  bitterly  as  his  words. 
"  At  one  swoop  bear  off  his  whole  posses- 
sions. By  God's  body,  an'  thou  leavest  him 
as  much  as  would  keep  his  beggarly  soul 
Ibr  a  day,  I  will  have  nought  to  do  with  thee 
ever  after." 

"  I  am  mortgaged  to  your  honor's  will," 
observed  his  companion  very  humbly,  as  he 
took  his  hat  and  stick  in  his  hand,  and  rose 
from  his  seat.  Not  long  after  he  had  taken 
himself  out  of  the  hall,  there  entered  Saul, 
booted  and  spurred,  and  soiled  with  dust,  as 
though  he  had  just  come  off  a  journey. 

"  Ha,  Saul,  art  there  !"  cried  his  master, 
his  sullen  features  brightening  upabit  at  the 
sight  of  his  man  ;  "  I  expected  thee  not  so 
soon.  But  how  fareth  my  noble  kinsman  ?" 

"  As  comfortless  as  a  hound  covered  with 
bots,"  replied  Saul,  putting  on  a  grin  at  his 
conceit.  "  Down  Towler  !  Away  Bess  ! 
Back  Ponto  !"  cried  he,  as  sundry  of  the 
dogs  came  leaping  up  to  him,  in  sign  of  his 
having  staid  from  them  some  time.  His 
honorable  lordship  walketh  about  like  a  die- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


turbed  spirit ;  his  face  has  lost  the  humor 
of  smiling,-  and  carryeth  the  affectation  of 
melancholy  with  as  much  intentness  as  a 
lean  raven.  He  crosseth  his  arms,  and 
paceth  his  chamber,  and  sigheth  heavily, 
and  seemeth  to  have  parted  with  all  enjoy- 
ment in  this  world  ;  were  he  papist  now,  I 
doubt  not  he  would  turn  monk  presently." 

"  'Tis  well,"  observed  Master  Buzzard, 
taking  to  his  meal  as  if  with  a  fresh  appe- 
tite, at  hearing  such  intelligence  ;  "  I  am 
infinitely  glad  matters  go  on  there  so  bravely. 
Here,  assay  some  of  this  pasty.  Perchance, 
thou  art  a  hungered  alter  thy  ride."  Saul 
waited  not  for  a  second  bidding,  but  with  the 
familiarity  of  a  long-tolerated  villain,  drew 
to  the  table,  and  helped  himself  without 
stint. 

"  What  dost  think,  Saul  ?"  inquired  his 
master,  putting  down  his  knife,  and  looking 
with  a  peculiar  knowingness  at  his  man, 
after  they  had  been  silently  discussing  the 
pasty  for  some  few  minutes. 

"  I'faith,  I  know  not,  master,"  replied  the 
other,  raising  his  eyes  from  his  trencher. 
.    "I  have  got  that  lewd  rascal  and  poor 
knave  in  my  toil  at  last,"  said  Master  Buz- 
zard. 

"  What,  John  Shakspeare  ?"  asked  his 
companion,  as  though  in  a  sort  of  pleased 
surprise. 

"  TMo  other,*'  answered  his  master,  evi- 
dently with  a  like  devilish  satisfaction. 
"  He  shall  presently  be  turned  upon  this 
world  as  bare  as  a  callow  owlet.  I  have 
taken  care  he  shall  be»  stripped  of  all  his  sub- 
stance, even  to  his  Sunday  jerkin,  and  sent 
adrift  as  complete  a  beggar  as  ever  lived." 

"  O'  my  life,  excellent  !"  exclaimed  his 
man,  chafing  of  his  hands  as  if  in  great 
glee ;  "  body  o'  me,  I  have  not  heard  such 
pleasant  news  this  many  a  day.  He  will 
never  fine  me  forty  shillings  again  for  brea- 
'  king  a  man's  head,  I'll  warrant,  or  coop  me 
a  whole  day  in  the  cage,  on  suspicion  of 
being  over  civil  to  a  comely  woman,  as  his 
high  baliffship  hath  done.  Well  an'  I  make 
not  good  sport  of  this,..count  my  liver  as 
while  as  a  boiled  chicken.  But  here's  a 
goodly  stock  of  patience  to  him,  that  he  may 
bear  this  pitiful  change  of  fortune  as  he 
best  may  !"  And  so  saying,  he  lifted  the 
I  tankard  to  his  mouth,  and  took  a  hearty 
draught  of  it. 

"  He  hath  no. John  a  Combe  now  to  help 
him  at  his  need,"  added  Master  Buzzard. 
"  Methinks  too  I  have  carved  out  such  work 
for  that  wight  as  will  keep  him  like  a  rat  to 
his  hole :  for  I  have  at  last  taken  such  ven- 
geance as  will  hurt  him  more  than  ever  our 


rapiers  could,  had  we  succeeded  as  I  at  first 
wished." 

"  Truly,  he  showed  himself  a  very  devil 
at  his  weapon,"  observed  the  other  ;  "  and 
handled  me  so  in  the  lane — a  murrain  on 
him  !  I  shall  bear  on  my  body  the  marks  of 
his  handwriting  to  my  life's  end :  therefore, 
am  I  all  the  more  glad  you  have  given  him 
his  deserts." 

"  Now  truss  me  with  all  speed,"  said  his 
master,  at  the  finishing  of  his  repast.  "  for 
I  am  bound  to  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's,  and  must 
needs  appear  becomingly  before  his  wor- 
ship." . 

•  "  Ay,  marry,"  replied  Saul,  trussing  his 
master's  points.  Shortly  after  which  Master 
Buzzard  mounted  his  horse,  which  had  been 
got  ready  for  him  at  the  gate,  and  rode  off 
in  the  direction  of  Fulbroke  Park. 

It  was  a  fresh  morning  at  the  latter  end 
of  April,  and  great  rains  had  fallen  for  some 
time,  the  young  foliage  was  marked  with 
such  transparent  green  as  was  truly  deli- 
cate'to  see — the  hedges  being  fairly  clothed 
all  in  'their  new  liveries,  save  here  and  there 
a  backward  hawthorn,  or  a  stump  of  an  old 
oak  the  last  frosts  had  taken  a  stout  hold  of, 
showed  its  unsightly  bare  branches.  On  the 
banks  there  was  no  lack  of  verdure,  sprink- 
led in  famous  plentifulness  with  groups  of 
primroses,  cuckoo  flowers,  snap-jacks,  dai- 
sies, cowslips,  violets,  and  other  sweet  har- 
bingers of  the  summer  season.  The  small 
birds  were  making  a  brave  chirruping  in 
and  out  of  the  hedges — sparrows,  linnets, 
finches,  and  tits,  out  of  all  number — anon, 
the  traveler  would  disturb  a  blackbird  or 
thrush  feeding,  who  would  fly  off  with  some 
noise — close  over  the  adjoining  field  of  rye, 
high-soaring,  was  seen  the  lark,  pouring 
from  her  throat  such  a  gush  of  thrilling 
music  as  nought  else  in  nature  hath  compa- 
rison with ;  at  openings  in  the  hedge  might 
be  observed  glimpses  of  the  adjoining  coun- 
try, which  looked  very. prettily — here,  a  pas- 
ture with  numberless  sheep  on  it  all  cleanly 
cropped  from  the  late  shearing,  among  which 
the  young  lambs  were  beheld  making  excel- 
lent sport  with  each  other,  or  running  with 
an  innocent  plaintive  "  ba"  to  the  mother 
ewe,  whose  deeper  voice  ever  and  anon  came 
in  with  a  pleasant  harmony — -there,  a  field 
partly  ploughed  by  a  team  of  oxen,  followed 
by  a  choice  company  of  rooks,  who  came  to 
mak«  prey  of  the  worms  that  were  turned  up 
in  the  furrows — and  not  a  stone's  throw  from  ( 
them  was  a  man  scattering  of  seed  'in  the 
newly  raised  soil — whilst  close  at  hand  were 
sundry  old  people  busily  engaged  at  weeding 
a  coming  crop.  Other  fields,  of  various  dif- 
ferent tints,  stretched  themselves  out  far  and 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


67 


wide,  till  nought  could  be  seen  but  Ihe  hedge 
rows ;  and  the  far  off  hills  and  woods,  the 
greenness  whereof  seemed  to  vanish  in  the 
distance  to  a  deep  dark  blue. 

Nothing  of  all  this  brave  sight  was  noticed 
by  Master  Buzzard,  who  rode  onhisjiorse 
with  a  tercel  on  his  wrist,  and  abrach-hound 
at  his  horse's  heels,  careless  of  all  things  in 
nature  save  only  his  own  selfish  schemings 
and  villanous  plottings  against  the  happiness 
of  others.  He  was  one  for  whom  the  beau- 
ties around  him  had  no  attractions  at  any 
time,  unless,  peradventure,  it  afforded  him 
good  sport  in  hawking  or  in  such  other  pas- 
times as  he  took  delight ;  in  fact,  from  a  rio- 
tous, headstrong  youth,  lie  had  grown  to  be  a 
man  void  of  all  principle,  seeking  his  own 
pleasures,  heedless  of  whatsoever  might  be 
in  their  way  ;  and  never  hesitating  to  stoop 
to  any  villainy  that  promised  employment  to 
his  bad  passions,  and  advantage  to  himself. 
Such  a  one  nature  might  look  in  the  face, 
smiling  in  all  her  most  exquisite  comeliness, 
and  he  would  take  of  her  no  more  heed  than 
would  he  the  squalid  lineaments  of  a  beggar's 
callet.  Indeed,  the  numberless  moving  graces 
of  our  inestimable  kind  mother,  can  only  be 
sufficiently  appreciated  by  those  whose  eye- 
sight is  free  from  sensual  and  selfish  films, 
and  whose  deep  hearted  love  helpeth  their 
vision  more  admirably  than  can  any  glasses, 
however  magnifying  they  may  be. 

Master  Buzzard  proceeded  on  his  journey 
at  a  briskish  amble,  seemingly  by  the  con- 
traction of  his  brows,  and- unpleasing  gravity 
of  his  aspect,  to  be  meditating  somewhat ;  but 
of  what  he  was  thinking  I  care  not  to  tell ;  for 
it  is  a  standing  truth,  a  bad  man's  thoughts 
will  do  good  to  none.  Sometimes  he  would 
start  from  his  reflections  to  whistle  to  his 
hound,  should  the  dog  seem  inclined  to  wan- 
der away  upon  the  fresh  trail  of  coneys  or 
hares ;  and  then  swear  a  lot  oj' terrible  oaths 
when  she  returned  to  his  side  ;  or  he  would 
walk  his  horse,  to  talk  and  trifle  with  his 
hawk  ;  and  then,  tired  of  that,  away  he  would 
bound  again,  through  the  deep  lanes,  and  over 
the  fields,  to  Charlcote,  with  his  dog  some 
little  way  behind,  carrying  of  her  nose  close 
to  the  ground,  or  running  on  before  with  a 
sharp  quick  bark,  constantly  stopping  and 
twirling  of  her  head  around  to  look  back  at 
her  master  ;  and '  away  again,  as  though  it 
was  fine  sport  to  her  to  be  so  early  a  roving. 
Thus  they  went  till  they  came  to  a  white 
gate,  at  the  which  Master  Buzzard  was 
forced  to  dismount  to  open  it,  and  then  rode 
on  again  through  a  pasture  marked  by  sweep- 
ing undulations,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
magnificent  oaks  and  beeches,  through  which 
tl%  sunshine  came  in  glances,  in  a  manner 


as  if  desirous  of  having  the  best  aspects  ot 
this  sylvan  scene. 

Here  the  palfrey  ambled  his  prettiest  paces, 
for  the  close  herbage  was  as  velvet  to  his 
hoofs,  and  he  stretched  out  his  neck,  and 
shook  his  mane,  and  pawed  the  ground  as  he 
went,  in  a  marvellous  fine  fashion :  but  all  at 
once  he  stopped  of  a  sudden,  for  right  across 
his  path,  a  little  in  advance  of  him,  there 
rushed  a  numerous  troop  of  deer,  and  Master 
Buzzard  had  a  great  to  'do  in  shouting  and 
whistling  to  call  back  his  brach-hound,  who 
at  the  first  glance  of  them  was  for  giving 
chase  at  the  top  of  her  speed.  It  was  a 
famous  sight  to  see  them  bounding  across 
the  wide  valley,  and  then  up  the  next  accliv- 
ity, where  they  stopped, — perchance  to  note 
if  they  were  pursued — the  young  fawns 
using  their  slender  legs  with  exceeding  swift- 
ness ;  and  amongst  the  rest  might  be  seen  a 
delicate  white  doe,  made  all  the  more  mani- 
fest by  the  sleek  backs  of  her  dappled  com- 
pany. Farther  on  more  of  these  were  .met 
with,  and,  if  at  any  distance,  the  bucks  would 
not  stir  ;  but  with  antlers  erect,  they  would 
get  together  and  examine  the  strangers  with 
a  marvellous  bold  front — anon  a  partridge 
would  rise  before  the  horse  with  a  startling 
whirr  ;  and  other  signs  of  a  like  nature  met 
them  as  they  went,  which  proved  plain 
enough  that  they  were* in  some  goodly  park 
or  another.  Peradventure,  whilst  Master 
Buzzard  is  making  his  way  to  Charlcote, 
the  courteous  reader  will  be  right  glad  to  be 
rid  of  his  villanous  company. 

At  this  time  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his 
dame  were  taking  a  morning's  walk  in  their 
garden  and  orchards— mayhap  to  see  how 
looked  the  trees  for  fruit,  and  the  ground  for 
vegetables  and  flowers.  These  two  were 
both  of  some  age,  that  is  to  say,  neither  were 
short  of  fifty.  The  knight  was  somewhat 
older,  of  a  middle  size  as  regards  length,  yet 
his  limbs  were  slim,  and  waist  no  great  mat- 
ter. His  countenance  was  of  the  simple 
sort,  yet  merry  withal,  for  he  affected  a  jest 
at  times,  and  never  failed  to  laugh  at  it  the 
heartiest  of  any  ;  but~~his  constant  affecta- 
tion was  of  boasting  what  wild  pranks  he  had 
done  in  his  youth  4br  all  he  was  now  a  jus- 
tice of  peace  ;  nevertheless  when  any  offence 
was  put  upon  him,  he  would  take  upon  him- 
self to  be  in  as  monstrous  a  rage  as  the 
greatest  man  in  the  shire.  He  wore  a  high- 
crowned  hat  a  little  on  one  side,  and  moved 
his  head  with  a  jaunty  air,  humming  of  a 
song  he  had  learned  when  at  college  ;  and  a 
short  nuT  surrounded  his  peaked  grey  beard. 
He  wore  a  plum-colored  doublet,  with  such 
boad  stuffed  breeches  to  his  hose  as  had  been 
lately  in  fashion,  and  carried  his  rapier  aa 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


daintily  as  any  young  gallant.  As  for  his 
dame,  she^kept  at  his  side  with  a  dignity,  as 
she  imagined,  becoming  of  her  station  ;  for 
as  she  fancied  a  justice  of  peace  to  be  nigh 
upon  the  most  wofshipful  of  all  offices,  and 
her  husband,  Sir  Thomas,  to  be  the  most 
famous  justice  that  ever  lived,  anything  in 
her  behavior  that*  might  savor  of  levity  she 
would  have  nought  to  do  with — always  ex- 
cepting she  would  laugh  a  little  at  her  hus- 
band's jests,  as  she  believed  in  all  obedience 
she  was  bound,  though  she  never  failed  to 
cry  out  "  lie — fie"  as  she  did  it,  when  they 
smacked  of  any  naughtiness.  In  short,  she 
was  a  simple  honest-hearted  creature  as  any 
that  lived,  ever  ready  to  make  up  with  kind- 
ness what  she  wanted  in  sense.  She  was 
dressed  in  an  excellent  stiff  brocade,  with  a 
long  stomacher  and  a  notable  ruff,  plaited 
and  set  out  in  the  best  fashion,  and  wore  high- 
heeled  shoes,  which  gave  her  walk  a  gravity 
she  could  not  have  otherwise  attained  ;  and 
had  her  own  hair  partly  concealed  under  a 
French  hood. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  it  was  this  very 
lady  of  whom  Master  Buzzard  spoke  so  un- 
civilly at  William  Shakspeare's  christen- 
ing, touching  a  young  child  she  had  found 
in  her  walks  abandoned  of  its  parents,  and 
had  resolved  to  bring  up  tenderly ;  but  in 
truth,  all  he  said  wa*  a  most  lewd  libel,  as  I 
doubt  not  will  readily  be  believed  of  him,  for 
she  was  too  simple  a  woman  to  do  anything 
unlawful,  and  the  child  was  a  true  foundling, 
to  whom  she  had  shown  from  the  first  a  very 
womanly  charity  and  affection.  Her  greatest 
faults  were  her  unreasonable  partialities, 
which  blinded  her  completely.  She  could 
see  no  wrong  in  ought  that  was  done  by  her 
husband,  Sir  Thomas,  who  was  not  altoge- 
ther blameless, — or  her  only  son,  a  boy  of  at 
least  fifteen  years,  and  a  very  tyrant  to  the 
gentle  Mabel,  now  grown  to  be  a  child  of 
exquisite  graces  of  disposition,  and  his  junior 
by  some  five  or  six  years. 

It  hath  already  been  said  that  the  knight 
and  his  dame  were  taking  of  a  morning's 
walk  together  ;  but  some  way  behind  these 
was  seen  a  fair  girl,  whose  clustering  light 
ringlets  were  caught  up  by  every  breeze  that 
blew,  setting  off  as  admirable  a  mild,  sweet 
countenance  as  the  most  innocent  age  of 
childhood  ever  exhibited.  Behind  her  was  a 
lubberly  boy,  dressed  very  daintily  in  doublet 
arid  hose  like  a  young  gentleman ;  and  he 
was  amusing  himself  by  picking  up  small 
stones  and  flinging  them  at  her,  many  of 
which  hit  her  sore  thumps ;  yet  the  only 
sign  she  showed  of  her  dislike  of  such  unci- 
vil treatment,  was  to  beg  he  would  not  hurt 
her  so  much.  These  two  were  the  poor 


foundling  and  the  son  of  her  benefactress—- 
and this  was  a  sample  of  the  sort  of  treat- 
merit  she  had  of  him  whenever  he  could  get 
her  away  from  the  observation  of  those  likely 
to  check  his  rudeness  ;  for  he  knew  of  old 
she  would  never  complain  of  him,  let  his 
usage  of  her  be  ever  so  bad,  and  therefore 
he  might  continue  it,  as  he  thought,  with  per- 
fect impunity. 

"  Pray  you,  sweet  Master  Thomas,  hit  me 
not  so  hard  !''  exclaimed  the  pretty  Mabel, 
in  such  winning  accents  as  one  might  have 
thought  would  have  subdued  a  savage,  as 
she  strove  unavailingly  to  save  herself  from 
the  hard  missiles  with  which  she  was  pelted 
by  putting  up  her  little  hands,  and  shrinking 
fearfully  every  time  a  stone  was  thrown. 

"  Tut,  how  can  I  hurt  thee,  thou  little 
fool  ?"  replied  young  Lucy,  desisting  not  a 
moment  from  his  unmannerly  behavior. 

"  Indeed,  you  do  exceedingly,  else  would 
I  say  nought  of  the  matter,"  added  she. 

"  Then  thou  shouldst  have  the  wit  to  avoid 
my  aim,"  said  the  boy  with  a  rude  laugh. — 
"  But  thou-  makest  brave  sport,  Mabel.  O' 
my  life,  I  should  like  to  have  thee  fixed  to  a 
stake  as  cocks  are  at  a  shrovetide,  I  warrant 
I'd  give  thee  famous  knocks." 

"  I  would  do  you  no  such  unkindness, 
believe  me,"  answered  his'^air  companion. 
"  Nor  would  I  wish  to  hurt  any  that  live." 

"  The  more  fool  thou,"  exclaimed  her  tor- 
mentor. • 

"  I  marvel  you  should  use  me  so  uncivil- 
ly," continued  the  poor  girl,  smarting  with 
the  pain  from  a  fresh  blow,  "  I  am  sure  I 
have  done  nought  that  should  give  you  any 
displeasure,  and  do  all  you  require  me  at  a 
moment's  bidding,  even  though  it  may  have 
in  it  a<great  distastefulness." 

"•Marry,  what  infinite  goodness  ! "  cried 
the  boy  in  a  jeering  manner.  "  Why,  of 
what  use  art,  if  not  to  afford  roe  some  sport 
for  the  lack  of  better?  Dost  know  the  dif-  ' 
ference  betwixt  a  good-for-nothing,  beggarly 
brat  and  a  young  gentleman  of  worship  ?— - 
and  what  so  fit,  I  prithee,  as  that  the  one 
should  be  the  pastime  of  the  other  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  it  should  be  in  some 
other  fashion,  an'  it  please  you."  observed 
Mabel  very  humbly.  "  I  will  roll  the  ball 
that  you  should  strike  it,  and  then  to  my  ut- 
most speed  to  bring  it  back  to  you  again — I 
will  be  your  horse,  your  spaniel,  your  deer ; 
nay,  aught  in  this  world  you  most  approve 
of,  and  do  all  that  in  me  lies  to  pleasure  you, 
so  that  you  give  me  no  more  cruel  blows 
with  those  uncivil  stones." 

"  'Tis  my  humor,  I  tell  thee,"  sharply  re- 
plied the  petty  tyrant.  "  And  why  should  I 
be  balked  in  my  humor  by  so  mean  a  per- 


THE  YOUTH  OF.  SHAKSPEARE. 


69 


ion  ?  Thou  art  ever  a  crying  out  about 
thy  hurts,  forsooth  ;  and  1  doubt  not  at  all 
thou  art  no  more  hurt  than  am  T." 

"  Nay,  and  indeed,  sweet  Master  Tho- 
mas  " 

"  Hold  thy  prate  !"  exclaimed  he,  picking 
up  another  missile,  somewhat  larger  in  size 
than  what  he  had  previously  thrown,  which 
he  caught  held  of  because  he  would  not 
wait  to  seek  any  smaller.  "  See,  I  have  got 
me  a  stone  of  some  bigness,  and  if  thou  art 
not  nimble,  'tis  like  thy  crown  will  stand 
some  chance  of  being  cracked."  The  poor 
child  cowed  down  as  she  saw  him  fling  ;  but 
the  blow  struck  hard,  for  a  slight  scream  es- 
caped her  involuntarily,  as  siie  hastily  put  up 
her  hands  to  her  head. 

"  Hang  thee,  why  didst  tbou  not  take  heed 
as  I  told  thee  !"  cried  the  unfeeling  boy, 
searching  about  as  if  for  another  stone ;  but 
it  so  happened  that  the  cry  of  Mabel  was 
heard  by  his  parents,  who  turned  back  to  see 
what  caused  it.  The  poor  foundling  was 
standing  in  exactly  the  same  position  as  when 
she  was  struck. 

"  Ha  !  what  aileth  thee,  Mabel  ?"  shouted 
Sir  Thomas,  as  he  approached  her.  "  Hast 
been  stung  by  a  bee  ?  Well,  'tis  but  a  small 
matter.  But  never  knew  I  a  woman  yet  that 
could  not  cry  out  lustily  at  trifles  ;  neverthe- 
less, received  she  any  great  damage  that 
need  not  be  told,  she  had  the  wit  to  hold  her 
tongue.  I  warrant  you." 

"  Fie,  fie  !"  exclaimed  the  dame,  as  usual, 
joining  in  the  knight's  laugh ;  and  then  re- 
suming her  customary  dignity  swept  forward 
to  see  if  there  was  anything  amiss. 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  cry  out,  child,  upon 
slight  causes,"  added  she,  as  she  came  close 
to  the  poor  foundling.  "  Bees  have  stings,  and 
as  is  exceeding  natural  they  will  use  them 
when  provoked  to  it,  and  perchance  thou 
shalt  be  forced  to  bear  the  smart  ;  but 
come  thou  with  me,  I  have  in  my  closet  the 

eovereignest  remedy .  Alack,  what  a 

sight  is  this  !"  cried  the  old  lady  in  some 
amazement  and  alarm,  as,  in  taking  the 
child's  arm,  she  noticed  blood  trickling 
through  her  fingers,  and  over  her  waving 
ringlets  down  to  her  back. 

"  O'  my  life,  dame,  methinks  she  hath 
sufficient  cause  for  her  crying,"  observed 
the  knight.  "But  how  came  this  about? 
Dost  know  aught  of  the  matter,  s§n  Tom  ?" 
inquired  he,  as  the  boy  came  up  to  the  spot. 

"  'Troth,  father,  I  was  flinging  at  a  bird, 
and  mayhap  struck  her  by  chance,"  said  his 
eon,  as  he  noticed  the  mischief  he  had  done. 

"Plague  on't,  why 'dost  not  take  more 
1 V  exclaimed  his  father. 

"  I  am  not  much  hurt,  I  thank  you.'1  said 


Mabel,  but  so  faintly  as  proved  she  was  nigh 
upon  swooning  ;  and,  indeed,  the  blow  had 
been  so  sharp  it  had  stunned  her  for  a  time. 
"  And  Master  Thomas  meant  not  it  should 
strike  me." 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  have  got  in  his  way, 
child  !"  observed  Dame  Lucy,  very  gravely. 
"  But  come  with  me— this' wound  must  be 
looked  to  straight."  And  so  suying,  she  led 
the  fair  child  along  to  the  house,  making 
sage  remarks  all  the  way  of  the  properness 
of  little  girls  keeping  away  from  places 
where  any  stones  were  being  thrown. 

"  J  marvel  thou  shouldst  be  so  awkward, 
son  Tom,"  said  the.  knight,  as  he  followed 
slowly  behind  the  other  two.  "  Now,  when 
I  was  of  thy  age,  none  could  match  me  at 
flinging  at  a  mark.  Many's  the  cock-spar- 
row I  have  knocked  off  his  perch  ;  nay,  I 
have  been  so  quick  of  eye  as  more  than 
once,  taking  aim  at  a  running  leveret  with 
a  stone  of  less  than  an  ounce  weight,  I 
have  hit  him  between  the  ears,  and  tumbled 
him  over  as  though  he  had  been  shot." 

Thus  this  unmannerly  boy  escaped  the 
punishment  he  deserved  for  his  heartless 
mischief,  and  thus  the  four  returned  to  the 
house,  the  dame  intent  upon  dressing  the 
child's  wound,  for  she  was  famous  in  the 
knowledge  of  simples,  and  in  small  surgery, 
as  all  good  huswives  should  be  ;  and  the 
knight  rehearsing  to  his  son  what  marvel- 
lous feats  he  had  done  in  his  boyhood  \vith 
the  flinging  of  stones.  Close  upon  the  en- 
trance they  were  met  by  a  serving  man,  an- 
nouncing the  arrival  of  Master  Buzzard, 
come  to  see  his  worship  on  business. 

'•  How  fare  you,  Master  Buzzard — how 
fare  you,"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  welcoming  his 
visitor  in  the  old  hall,  where  he  transacted 
justice  business.  "  I  must  have  your  com- 
pany to  dinner,  Master  Buzzard,  when  my 
dame  shall  do  you  all  proper  courtesies." 
Then,  unheeding  aught  he  had  to*  say  on 
the  matter,  the  old  knight  gave  instant  or- 
ders that  the  horse  of  his  guest  should  be 
well  tended,  and  preparations  made  for  as, 
famous  a  dinner  as  the  cook  could  provide. 
"  Ha  !  hast  got  a  falcon  ?"  continued  he.  "  I 
doubt  not  'tis  a  brave  bird  by  the  look  of  it, 
Master  Buzzard.  Indeed,  in  my  time,  I  have 
been  as  cunning  in  falconry  as  the  best  man 
living.  I  remember  me  I  had  a  hawk  of  my 
own  training  that  was  the  admiration  of  all 
the  country,  and  lords  and  bishops  and  great 
courtiers  came  to  beg  that  bird  of  me,  but  I 
would  part  with  her  on  no  account ;  she 
went  at  her  quarry  as  no  bird  ever  did — and 
all  of  my  own  training/  And  how  fareth 
your  noble  kinsman  ?" 

"  Bravely,  I  thank  you,  Sir  Thomas,"  re- 


60 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


plied  Master  Buzzard  courteously  ;  and  then 
holding  out  the  bird,  added,  "  this  hawk  is 
accounted  one  of  ten  thousand,  as  I  doubt 
not  you  shall  find  her  on  trial,  so  I  pray  you 
accept  of  her,  Sir  Thomas,  for  I  have  had 
her  trained  so  that  she  should  be  worthy  of 
belonging  to  so  excellent  fine  a  judge." 

"  Count  me  your  debtor,  Master  Buzzard," 
said  the  knight,  taking  the  gift  very  readily. 
"  I  shall  be  proud  to  do  you  any  good  ser- 
vice, believe  me.  By  the  mass,  tis  a  brave 
bird  !  And  so  your  noble  kinsman  is  well," 
continued  he,  as  they  sat  together  under  a 
raised  dais  at  the  top  of  the  hall.  "  I  wonder 
if  he  hath  forgot  his  ol<i  acquaintance,  Tho- 
mas Lucy — valiant  Thomas  Lucy,  as  he  was 
wont  to  call  me,  because  once  I  got  my  head 
broke  by  a  tinker  for  kissing  of  his  wife.  I  re- 
member me  now,  his  good  lordship  laughed 
when  the  fellow  offered  to  solder  it  for  me  for 
a  groat,  and  put  his  irons  in  the  fire  for  the 
purpose.  That  was  a  good  jest  i'  faith." 

"My  lord  often  speaketh  kindly  of  you, 
Sir  Thomas,' '  replied  his  guest,  though  he 
had  never  heard  his  kinsman  mention  the 
knight's  name. 

"  O'  my  heart,  doth  he  now  ?"  exclaimed 
Sir  Thomas  delightedly.  "  Well,  we  have 
been  sad  boys  together  that's  a  sure  thing — 
such  coney-catchers — such  roysterers — such 
lads  of  metal  were  not  to  be  found  in  all  Ox- 
ford. We  kept  the  college  in  a  roar,  that  did 
we,  with  our  tricks  ;  and  if  any  of  the  citi- 
zens so  much  as  said  us  nay,  we  "would  out 
with  our  toasting-irons  and  show  them  how 
famously  we  could  pass  the  montant,  the 
punto,  the  reverse,  and  other  signs  of  our 
cunning  in  fence,  till  they  were  glad  enough 
to  take  to  their  heels  with  whole  skins.  We 
had  not  our  match  at  the  duello,  I  promise 
you,  and  my  lord  was  as  choice  a  man  at  his 
weapon  as  might  be  met  with  in  those  days. 
As  for  me,  he  would  say  I  deserved  to  be 
fencer  to  the  Czar  of  Muscovy,  I  was  so 
quick  at  it,  and  that  my  nimbleness  of  motion 
made  me  as  difficult  to  be  hit  as  a  flea  with  a 
'cannon  ball ;  odds  my  life,  that  was  wittily 
*  said." 

'•  In  truth,  a  notable  jest,"  said  his  guest, 
joining  in  the  justice's  laugh. 

"  And  so  he  wears  well,  doth  he,  Master 
Buzzard  ?"  inquired  the  knight.  "  I'm  glad 
on't — heartily  glad  on't — for  he  was  a  true, 
jovial  spirit  as  ever  I  have  met  with,  and  I 
have  known  some  mad  fellows  in  my  time,  I 
warrant  you.  'Troth,  you  would  marvel  fa- 
mously to  hear  of  what  terrible,  wild  doings 
I  have  been  a  party  to  in  my  younger  d;iys 
— a  March  hare  was  not  so  mad  as  was  I — 
some  called  me  Hector-of  Greece,  because 
of  my  valor— others  the  King  of  the  Swing- 


bucklers,  I  was  so  ready  to  be  a  leader  to  the 
rest  in  any  mischief.  I  was  the  terror  of  all 
the  drawers  round  about,  I  would  beat  them 
so  readily  ;  and  the  constables  of  the  watch 
have  oft  been  heard  to  say  they  would  as  lief 
meddle  with  a  savage  bear  as  lay  a  hand  on 
me  when  I  was  in  any  of  my  wild  humors. 
That  is  a  fair  hound  of  yours,"  continued 
he,  all  at  once  noticing  the  dog  his  guest  had 
brought  with  him.  "  There  are  few  so  apt 
as  am  I  in  a  proper  knowledge  of  dogs.  I 
can  tell  a  good  one  on  the  instant.  Indeed, 
I  have  been  accounted  as  exquisite  a  judge 
in  the  breeding  and  breaking  of  them  as  could 
be  found  in  the  county  ;  and  I  have  had  in 
my  time  such  dogs  as  could  not  be  seen 
elsewhere.  A  fallow  greyhound  had  I  of  a 
most  choice  breed  that  beat  all  she  run 
against.  O'  my  life,  I  have  won  such  wages 
on  that  dog's  head  as  are  clean  incredible. 
But  your's  is  a  fair  hound,  Master  Buzzard, 
take  my  word  for't." 

"'Tis  at  your  service,  Sir  Thomas — I 
brought  her  here  for  no  other  intent,"  replied 
the  other. 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  rob  you  of  so  fair  a  hound, 
Master  Buzzard,"  said  the  justice,  patting 
and  commending  the  dog  as  she  crouched  at 
her  master's  feet. 

"  You  will  do  me  wrong  in  denying  me 
such  a  favor,  Sir  Thomas — so  I  pray  you  take 
her,"  answered  his  gflest. 

"  Nay,  •!  should  be  loth  to  do  any  man 
wrong !"  exclaimed  the  knight  with  great 
earnestness.  "  Methinks  a  justice  of  peace 
should  be  no  wrong-doer — so  I  will  e'en  ac- 
cept of  your  hound,  and  thank  you  very 
heartily.  Is  there  aught  in  which  my  poor 
ability  may  do  you  a  service,  Master  Buz- 
zard ?" 

"  There  is  a  matter  I  have  come  upon,  to 
the  which  I  should  like  to  have  your  wor- 
ship's countenance,"  began  his  companion 
with  a  famous  hypocritical  serious  face. 

"  Count  upon  it,  Master  Buzzard  !"  cried 
the  justice.  "  Believe  me,  I  would  strain 
a  point  for  you  with  great  willingness,  that 
would  I,  as  I  will  show  at  any  time  there  is 
good  warrant  for  it." 

"  I  am  much  bound  to  you,  Sir  Thomas," 
replied  the  other  ;  "  then  this  is  it.  There  is 
one  John  Shakspeare " 

"  What,  he  of  Stratford  ?"  inquired  the 
knight  qu|pkly.  "  A  man  of  fair,  round  face, 
who  married  Arden's  daughter.  I  have  heard 
him  well  spoken  of  by  divers  of  the  burgesses 
as  passing  honest,  and,  at  your  instigation, 
Master  Buzzard,  I  will  countenance  him 
against  any  man." 

"  You  have  been  hugely  deceived  in  him, 
Sir  Thomas,"  observed  lus  guest 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


61 


"  Marry,  would  ne  seek  to  deceive  a  justice 
of  peace  !"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  What 
monstrous  villainy !" 

"  I  have  heard  him  speak  most  abominable 
slander  of  your  worship,"  continued  Master 
Buzzard. 

"  Oh,  the  horrid  caitiff!"  cried  the  offend- 
ed justice.  "  Nay,  but  'tis  actionable,  Mas- 
ter .Buzzard ;  and  I  will  have  him  cast  in 
swinging  damages.  O'  my  life,  never  heard 
I  so  infamous  a  thing  !  I  will  straightway 
issue  my  warrant  for  his  appreHpsion.  I 
will  teach  him  to  slander  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
knight  o'  the  shire  and  justice  o'  the  peace,  I 
warrant  you  !  'Tis  not  fit  such  villains 
should  live ;  and  methinks  'twould  be  ex- 
ceeding proper  in  the  law  could  so  heinous 
an  offence  be  brought  in  hanging." 

"  As  I  live,  I  am  of  your  worship's  opini- 
on !"  said  his  guest.  "  But  he  is  a  very  pes- 
tilent knave,  this  John  Shakspeare,  and  one 
of  no  manner  of  honesty  whatever,  as  I  can 
presently  prove  ;  for  sometime  since,  at  his 
urgent  pressing,  believing  him  to  be  such 
creditable  person  as  your  worship  thought,  I 
lent  him  a  hundred  crowns  <yi  his  bond,  the 
which  he  hath  not  paid  to  this  day,  putting 
me  off  with  all  sorts  of  paltry  excuses  con- 
cern! ng  of  what  losses  he  had  had ;  but 
knowing,  by  certain  intelligence,  he  was 
merely  striving  Ho  get^ff  payment,  I  have 
instructed  Master  Ofehpole  to  proceed 
against  him  and  seize  what  he  hath  for  the 
payment  of  my  just  debt." 

"  I  warrant  you,"  observed  the  knight, 
"  never  heard  I  of  such  thorough  dishonesty. 
What,  borrow  a  hundred  crowns  at  his  need, 
and  at  a  proper  time  be  not  able  to  pay  it 
back  !  O'  my  life,  'tis  clean  villainy  !" 

"  Perchance  I  should  not  have  been  so 
rigorous  with  him,  had  I  not  heard  him  give 
your  worship  such  ill  words,"  added  Master 
Buzzard  ;  "  for  I  care  not  so  much  for  losing 
of  such  a  sum  ;  but  I  could  not  allow  of  one 
who  slandered  so  noble  a  gentleman  going 
unpunished." 

"  By'r  lady,  Master  Buzzard,  I  am  greatly 
beholden  to  you !"  exclaimed  the  justice ; 
"  but  I  will  trounce  him  famously — ay,  that 
will  I ! — and  keep  his  unruly  tongue  from  all 
such  lewd  behavior  forever  after." 

"  Nay,  if  it  please  you,  Sir  Thomas,  I 
would  he  shoukl  not  be  attacked  in  this 
matter,"  said  Master  Buzzard.  The  burg- 
esses might  take  it  ill  of  me,  he  being  one 
of  the  corporation,  and  of  some  influence 
amongst  them,  were  I  to  seem  to  press  him 
too  hard."  So  I  should  take  it  kindly  if  you 
would  make  no  stir  in  it ;  but  keep  you  your 
eye  upon  him,  and  if  he  should  be  found 
transgressing,  as  it  is  very  like  he  will, 


then,  if  it  so  please  you,  I  shall  be  well  con- 
tent you  punish  him  as  your  wisdom  may 
think  fittest." 

It  is  only  necessary  to  add  to  what  hath 
just  been  set  down,  that  Master  Buzzard 
stayed  dinner  with  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  and 
was  well  entertained  of  him  and  his  lady, 
ever  laughing  at  the  knight's  jests  and  mar- 
velling at  his  incredible  narrations,  but 
never  failing  to  say  something  now  and 
then  which  should  strengthen  the  other's 
misliking  of  John  Shakspeare,  which  failed 
not  of  its  purpose ;  for  the  justice  was  so 
weak  of  conceit  as  to  be  easily  enraged 
against  any  who  seemed  "not  to  think  of 
him  so  famously  as  was  evident  he  thought 
of  himself.  | 


CHAPTER 


It  is  decreed  :  and  we  must  yield  to  fate, 
Whose  angry  justice,  though  it  threatens  ruin, 
Contempt  and  poverty,  is  ail  but  trial 
Of  a  weak  woman's  constancy  in  suffering. 

FORD. 

In  felawship  well  could  she  laugh  and  carpe  ; 
She  was  a  worthy  woman  all  hire  live, 
Housbondes  at  the  chirche  dore  had  she-had  five. 

CHAUCER. 

I  exact  not  from  you 
A  fortitude  insensible  of  calamity, 
To  which  the  saints  themselves   have  bowed 

and  shown 
They  are   made  of  flesh  and  blood  ;  all  that  1 

challenge 
Is  manly  patience. 

MASSIJTCER. 
Hold  out  now, 
And  then  thou  art  victorious. 

FOHD. 

Two  persons  were  standing  in  an  empty 
chamber  bare  to  the  very  boards.  A  pain- 
ful seriousness  was  on  the  features  of  each  : 
but  there  was  no  doubting  each  strove  to  con- 
ceal from  the  other  the  exact  state  of  their 
feelings.  They  spoke  low  ;  -their  voices 
having  that  subdued  sound  which  betokeneth 
great  excitement  of  mind,  with  great  efforts 
to  keep  it  from  other's  knowledge.  One,  a 
man  seeming  to  be  of  the  middle  age,  and 
in  the  prime  of  manhood,  leaned  his  elbow  on 
the  window  sill,  with  his  forehead  resting  on 
his  palm  ;  the  other,  a  woman  of  an  admira- 
ble matronly  appearance,  had  her  arm 
around  his  waist,  and  her  fair  cheek  resting 
upon  his  ^boulder.  These  were  John  Shak- 
speare and  his  wife.  They  spoke  only  at 
intervals,  in  the  manner  described  ;  and,  as 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


uaual  in  all  troubles,  the  woman  appeared 
to  be  playing  the  part  of  the  comforter. 

"  Take  it  not  to  heart,  John,  I  pray  you," 
said  she,  as  she  seemed  to  press  him  closer 
to  her  side.  "  We  shall  do  bravely  anon. 
We  must  put  up  with  these  buffets  as  we 
best  may  ;  and,  for  my  ow^i  part,  I  can  con- 
tent myself  wondrous  well,  be  my  condition 
ever  so  humble." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  dame,"  replied  her  hus- 
band ;  "  but  canst  content  thyself  with  bare 
lying,  naked  walls,  and  an  empty  larder  ?" 

"  Ay,  dear  heart !"  answered  she  very 
readily  ;  "  for  a  longer  space  than  they  are 
like  to  visit  us.  AVe  may  be  considered  as 
poor  as  any  that  live  ;  but  whilst  I  have  for 
my  yoke-fellow  a  good  husband,  a  tender 
father,  and  one  so  industriously  disposed 
withal,  as  you  have  oft  shown  yourself  to  be, 
I  know  of  no  poverty  that  could  trouble  me 
a  jot." 

"  But  the  children,  dame,"  observed  John 
Shakspeare  in  a  huskish  sort  of  voice. 
"Alack !  Alack !  what  shall  become  of 
them  ?" 

"  O  they  will  do  well  enough,  I  warrant 
you  !"  replied  his  wife  with  a  cheerfulness 
she  was  far  from  feeling.  "  They  can  en- 
dure some  slight  discomfort,  or  they  are  none 
of  mine,  more  especially  when  they  take 
heed  of  their  loving  father's  brave  exertions 
to  keep  up  his  heart  and  make  head  against 
this  sudden  adversity." 

"  I  am  bewildered  what  to  set  my  hand 
to,"  said  he,  rising  from  his  position  with 
a  countenance  somewhat  irresolute ;  but 
when  I  look  upon  my  stripped  dwelling, 
and  remember  how  delicately  thou  hast  been 
brought  up " 

"  Tut,  tut,  dear  heart !"  exclaimed  his 
good  dame,  taking  one  of  his  hands  in  hers, 
and  gazing  affectionately  in  his  face ;  "  I 
should  scorn  myself  could  I  not  bear  the  ills 
that  might  visit  my  helpmate.  Think  not 
of  me,  1  pray  you,  for  there  liveth  not  in  the 
world  one  so  hardy  as  am  I  in  all  such  mat- 
ters." John  Shakspeare  shook  his  head 
mournfully  as  he  looked  in  her  pale  face, 
as  though  he  had  his  doubts  she  was  as 
strong  as  she  said. 

"  I  will  essay  all  that  a  man  can,"  said 
he  at  last,  "  in  the  express  hope  this  change 
of  fortune  will  do  thee  no  hurt,  for  thou 
hast  been  an  excellent  good  wife  to  me, 
dame  ;  and  'twould  go  to  my  heart  were 
any  evil  to  happen  to  thee."  At  this  com- 
mendation she  said  never  a  word  ;  but  all 
the  woman  was  in  her  eyes  presently,  and 
she  suddenly  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  laid  her  face  on  his  bosom. 

"  Woe's   me,  what   poor  foolishness  is 


this  ?"  cried  'she,  rising  from  him  a  minute 
after,  with  an  endeavor  to  look  more  cheer- 
ful ;  "  but  I  am  wonderful  pleased  you  will 
try  to  be  doing  something,  and  I  care  not 
what  it  be,  so  that  it  keep  sad  thoughts  from 
your  head ;  nay,  I  am  assured  of  it,  you 
shall  live  prosperously  the  rest  of  your  days, 
put  you  forth  all  your  strength  now  to  bear 
these  troubles." 

"  That  will  I  without  fail,  sweet  heart," 
cried  he.  After  a  brief  space  he  left  the 
chambeftl| 

Dame  Shakspeare  when  alone,  felt  the 
whole  weight  of  her  misfortune,  for  she 
had  given  such  great  keaps  of  comfort  to 
her  husband,  she  had  not  a  bit  of  ever  such 
smallness  remaining  for  herself.  She  lean- 
ed out  of  the  empty  casement,  but  of  the 
spring  flowers  blooming  in  the  garden  saw 
she  nothing ;  she  beheld  only  her  hapless 
partner  and  her  poor  innocent  children 
lacking  those  comforts  they  had  been  used 
to,  and  she  powerless  as  to  helping  them  in 
their  need.  The  wife  and  the  mother  was 
so  moved  at  the  picture  she  could  not  avoid 
drawing,  as  to  feel  a  sort  of  choking,  and 
such  heavinesirof  heart,  that  at  last  she 
dropped  her  face  upon  her  hands  and  there 
smothered  her  sobs.  All  at  once  she  caught 
the  sound  of  a  very  sweet  singing,  and 
listening  with  what  attention  she  could, 
heard  the  followingjBirds. 

A  COMFORTABLE  CAROL. 

"  Cheer  thee,  my  heart !    Thy  life  shall  have  a 

crowning 

This  poor  appareling  cannot  beguile  ; 
Phoebus  himself  hath  worn  as  dark  a  frowning, 
And  lo  !  all  heaven  is  radiant  with  his  smile  ! 
Bravely  thy  spirit  bear, 
Far  from  each  coward  fear  ; 
What  though  some  trouble  come,  is  all  joy  ban- 
ished ? 

Prithee  a  lesson  read, 
In  ev'ry  shivering  weed, 
That  knows  in  winter's  rage  springs  have  not 

vanished. 

Pleasure  is  born  of  thee,  comfort  is  near  thee, 
Glory  thy  boon  shall  be — Cheer  thee,  O  cheer 
thee  ! 

Cheer  thee,  my  heart !    Heed  not  the  present 

sorrow 

Let  future  gladness  flash  in  every  thought ; 
Never  a  night  so  black  but  hath  its  morrow, 
Whose  splendor  laughs  all  gloominess  to  nought. 
Though  thou  shouldst  feel  the.  wound, 
'Tis  but  to  plough  the  ground — 
Looks  not  the  soil  as  barren  in  the  furrow  ? 
Yet  o'er  the  sightless  clods, 
Countless  great  plenty  nods, 
When  the  rich  harvest  clothes  the  wide  field 
through ! 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


63 


Pleasure  is  born  of  thee,  comfort  is  near  thee, 
Glory  thy  boon  shall  be — Cheer  thee,  O  cheer 
thee  !" 

It  was  nurse  Cicely  singing  to  the  chil- 
dren in  an  upper  chamber,  as  was  her  wont. 
It  had  been  noted,  that  however  much  giv- 
en to  singing  was  she,  she  never  sang  any 
such  songs  as  were  familiar  to  her  hearers  ; 
but  she  would  say  when  spoke  to  on  the 
matter  she  had  learned  them  in  her  youth, 
and  knew  not  by  whom  they  were  wrft.  It 
was  the  marvel  of  many  that  they  looked 
to  be  of  a  higher  language  than  ordinary 
ballads,  whereof  the  tunes  were  the  delica- 
test  sort  ever  heard.  Dame  Shakspeare 
felt  exceeding  comforted  at  hearing  the 
foregoing  verses,  and  rising  from  her  lean- 
ing place,  hastily  brushed  away  a  tear  from 
her  eyelids,  as  though  it  was  some  base 
rebel  that  would  needs  be  in  arms  against 
her  authority.  As  she  did  this  she  was 
suddenly  aware  of  a  great  talking  of  voices 
in  what  had  been  the  warehouse,  and  her 
chamber  door  being  presently  thrown  open, 
she  beheld  the  whole  place  thronged  witli 
her  neighbors,  mostly  women  and  children, 
carrying  spare  tables  and  chairs,  and  other 
such  conveniences  as  they  thought  she 
stood  most  in  need  of. 

"  This  way,  neighbors,  this  way  !"  ex- 
claimed the  merry  Widow  Pippins,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  leader  of  the  party. 

"  Ha  !  dame,  how  dost  do  ?"  inquired  she, 
as  she  put  an  old  arm  chair  by  the  side  of 
her.  So  the  villains  have  not  left  thee  so 
much  as  a  rush  for  thy  floor  ?  But  mind  it 
not,  gossip,  for  they  have  given  thee  all  the 
better  cause  for  caring  not  a  rush  for  the 
whole  pack  of  them."  Thereupon  she  had 
a  hearty  laugh,  and  then  bustled  herself 
about  giving  directions  where  to  put  things, 
which  all  did  with  great  alacrity,  that  pres- 
ently there  seemed  some  sort  of  comfort  in 
the  chamber,  albeit  though  no  two  chairs 
were  alike.  Mistress  Malmsey  and  Mis- 
tress Dowlas  were  each  ^tthe  side  of  Dame 
Shakspeare,  for  she  was^^Hk  overpowered 
by  the  kindness  of  her  rSJPbors  than  ever 
she  had  been  at  the  great  reverse  she  had 
just  experienced  ;  and  they  two  having  got 
her  seated,  were  pressing  of  her  to  take 
some  wine  the  vintner's  wife  had  brought 
with  her,  and  were  bestowing  on  her  all 
sorts  of  friendly  consolation. 

"  Now  get  you  gone,  all  of  you,  and  let 
us  see  which  hath  the  best  pair  of  heels," 
said  the  widow,  in  her  cheerfulest  humor  to 
the  others.  u  Mayhap  if  you  search  thor- 
oughly, you  shall  still  find  some  odd  thing 
or  another  serviceable  to  our  good  neighbor ; 
and  methinks  'twould  be  infamous  of  any 


who  have  wherewithal  to  spare,  to  keep  it 
from  one  who  is  in  such  need." 

"  Ay,  that  would  it,"  said  David  Hurdle, 
who  had  run  from  his  work  on  the  news  of 
John  Shakspeare's  misfortune,  with  a  heavy 
oak  table  nigh  as  much  as  he  could  carry. 

"  Methinks  I  Jjave  a  knife  or  two,  and 
mayhap  a  spare  trencher,"  observed  Mother 
Flytrap.  "  But  alack  !  what  a  monstrous 
shame  was  it  to  have  been  so  hard  upon  so 
sweet  a  woman.  Odds  codlings  !  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  do  them  a  mischie. 
for't." 

"  Use  thy  legs  briskly,  and  thy  tongue 
shall  last  the  longer,"  exclaimed  the  Widow 
Pippins  merrily. 

"That  will  1,1  warrant  you!"  replied 
the  old  woman,  hobbling  along  with  her 
stick  at  a  rate  she  had  not  attempted  for 
many  a  day. 

"  As  I  live  the  world  groweth  more  vil- 
lainous every  hour !"  cried  Oliver  Dumps, 
putting  on  one  of  his  dolefullest  faces. 
"  What  abominable  uncivilness  and  horrible 
tyranny  is  this — what  shameful  usage  and 
intolerable  cruelty  !" 

"Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips,  Master 
Constable,"  said  the  widow.  Ci  Hast  brought 
any  useful  thing  for  our  good  neighbor  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  clean  forgot,"  answered   Oliver. 

"  Speed  thee,  then,  and  give  handsomely," 
exclaimed  she.  "  What  dost  come  here  for, 
with  thy  melancholy  visage  like  that  of  a 
frog  in  a  long  drought  ?  Get  thee  gone  for 
a  good  dozen  of  trenchers,  else  if  ever  I  draw 
thee  a  drop  of  my  liquor  again  call  me  a 
horse.  And,  prithee,"  added  the  merry  wo- 
man, as  he  was  moving  himself  off,  "  strive 
if  thou  canst  not  rind  out  a  good  store  of 
wholesome  victual  to  put  in  them ;  and 
count  on  for  brimming  measure  from  me  the 
rest  of  thy  life." 

"How  now  sweetheart,"  cried  she,  when 
there  were  no  others  left  with  Dame  Shak- 
speare save  only  herself,  Mistress  Malmsey, 
and  Mistress  Dowlas,  "  be  not  so  downcast. 
By  my  patience,  there  is  nought  in  this  you 
should  so  much  care  for.  Look  at  me,  who 
have  buried  five  husbands — seem  I  in  any 
way  woe-begone  ?  O'  my  life,  no  !  Per- 
chance I  should  seem  none  the  less  satisfied 
had  I  buried  a  hundred,  for  there  would  still 
be  plenty  as  good  above  ground,  or  I  am 
hugely  mistaken.  Troth,  care  and  I  have 
never  been  bedfellows,  that's  a  sure  thing." 

"  An'  it  please  you,  dame,  I  will  fake  the 
boy  William  to  our  house  till  things  are 
more  settled  than  they  now  are,"  observed 
the  draper's  wife. 

"  And  I  will  move  my  Timothy  to  be  a 


64 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


mean  for  setting  your  good  man  on  his  legs 
again,"  said  the  other,  as  affectionately. 

"  I  heartily  thank  you,"  was  all  Dame 
Shakspeare  could  say  in  reply. 

"Prithee  look  a  little  more  cheerful," 
cried  the  widow.  "  Smile  a  bit  now — 
'twould  do  you  wonderful  rood,  I  warrant ; 
and  a  famous  burst  of  laughing  would  be 
worth  any  money  to  you." 

Their  attention  was,  at  this  moment,  at- 
tracted by  some  loud  talking  in  the  adjoin- 
ing chamber  or  warehouse,  which  proved  to 
be  Master  Buzzard's  man,  Saul,  conducting 
of  himself  with  intolerable  insolency  towards 
John  Shakspearc,  evidently  with  a  view  of 
provoking  him  to  some  breach  of  the  peace. 

"  Humph !"  exclaimed  he  carelessly  beat- 
ing of  his  boot  with  an  ashen  stick  he  had 
with  him,  as  he  stared  about  the  naked 
chamber  with  exceeding  impudence,  "  me- 
thinks  thy  wits  must  needs  take  to  wool- 
gathering, to  help  thee  to  a  new  stock,  else 
must  thy  customers  lack  serving,  for  here  is 
as  goodly  a  show  of  nothing  as  ever  I 
saw." 

"  Get  thee  gone,  fellow !"  observed  John 
Shakspeare,  with  that  indifference  an  honest 
man  ever  feels  at  the  insults  of  a  low  vil- 
lain. 

"  Fellow  !"  cried  Saul  sharply, "  who  dost 
call  fellow,  I  prithee  ?  I  have  a  few  pounds, 
at  least,  stored  up,  with  a  something  in  my 
purse  to  spend;  but  thou  art  not  worth  a 
pinch  of  salt  with  all  thou  hast,  is  more  thah 
I  can  see  any  color  of  warrant  for  thinking. 
Marry,  I  marvel  to  hear  beggars  give  their 
betters  ill  words." 

"  Wilt  get  thee  gone  ?"  cried  the  other 
in  a  louder  key ;  "  w.hat  dost  want  here  ? 
Say  thy  business,  and  be  off." 

"  Business,  quotha !"  exclaimed  the  man, 
with  a  sneering  laugh,  "  O'  my  life,  this  be 
a  rare  place  for  business.  What  hast  got  to 
sell,  John  Shakspeare  —  spider's  webs  ? 
I'faith,  'tis  like  thou  wilt  drive  a  brave  trade 
anon,  provided  thou  canst  keep  up  a  fair  de- 
mand for  such  merchandise." 

"  O'  my  word,  if  thou  dost  not  take  thyself 
quietly  out  of  my  dwelling  in  a  presently,  I 
will  turn  thee  out,"  said  John  Shakspeare, 
determinedly. 

"  Ha,  indeed,"  replied  the  fellow,  twirling 
his  stick  about,  and  eyeing  his  companion 
superciliously  from  head  to  foot,  "  an'  I  be 
not' hugely  mistaken, 'twould  take  a  some- 
what better  man  than  thou  art,  to  do  any 
such  thing." 

"  Away,  fellow !  thou  art  contemptible," 
exclaimed  the  other,  making  great  efforts  to 
withhold  his  anger ;  "  an'  I  were  but  half 
as  vile  a  wretch  as  thou,  I  would  take  me 


a  rope  and  hang  myself  without  another 
word." 

"  How  durest  thou  call  names,  thou  piti- 
ful, beggarly  wretch !"  cried  Saul,  approach- 
ing his  companion  with  a  savage  menacing 
look.  "  Dost  think  to  play  the  high  bailiff 
again?  'Slife !  hear  I  any  more  of  thy 
bouncing  speech,  I'l|  crack  thy  crown  for 
thee." 

"  Wouldst !"  exclaimed  John  Shakspeare, 
seizing  the  fellow  so  suddenly  by  the  collar 
of  his  jerkin,  that  he  had  no  time  for  putting 
of  his  threat  in  execution.  "  Wouldst, 
caitiff!"  continued  he,  shaking  him  in  his 
strong  grasp  till  he  appeared  to  have  shook 
all  his  breath  away.  Then  drawing  him 
close  to  his  breast,  he  thrust  his  insulter 
from  him  with  such  force,  that  he  sent  him 
reeling  to  the  other  end  of  the  chamber, 
saying,  "  Get  thee  gone  for  a  villain !" 

As  soon  as  the  man  got  his  footing  he 
was  for  flying  at  the  other  in  a  horrible 
deadly  rage,  to  do  him  some  mischief,  when 
he  was  stopped  by  the  Widow  Pippins 
Mistress  Malmsey,  and  Mistress  Dowlas, 
rushing  in  before  him  from  out  of  the  ad- 
joining chamber. 

"  Away,  thou  scurvy  rogue  !"  exclaimed 
the  widow. 

"  Get  thee  hence,  thou  pitiful  rascal,  or  I 
will  clout  thy  head  off !"  cried  the  vintner's 
wife,  with  no  less  earnestness. 

"  By  my  troth,  an'  thou  stayest  here 
another  minute,  I'll  be  as  good  as  hanging 
to  thee,  thou  intolerable  villain !"  addea 
Mistress  Dowlas,  in  as  great  a  rage  as 
either. 

"  Go  to,  thou  art  a  drab !"  said  Saul,  im- 
pudently, as  he  tried  to  push  by  them. 

"  Am  I  a  drab,  fellow  ?"  exclaimed  Mis- 
tress Malmsey,  hitting  of  him  a  box  on  the 
ear  with  all  the  strength  of  her  arm. 

"  Dost  call  me  drab,  villain !"  cried  the 
draper's  wife,  giving  him  so  sore  a  one  on 
the  other  side  of  his  head  that  it  nearly 
turned  him  round^L 

"  I'll  drab  thjj^Bsaid  the  widow,  lifting 
up  her  foot  the^Bxt  moment,  and  giving 
him  a  kick  behind  of  such  force  it  sent  him 
some  paces  ;  and  the  three  women  followed 
him  up  with  such  vigor,  jhat  after  .standing 
a  moment,  quite  bewildered  with  the  quick- 
ness and  fierceness  of  their  blows,  the  fel- 
low was  fain  to  take  to  his  heels ;  but  not 
before  the  widow  had  given  him  a  parting 
benediction  witli  her  loot,  in  the  use  of 
which  she  showed  a. marvellous  cleverness, 
that  gave  him  a  good  start  to  begin  with. 

"  As  I  live  that  was  well  done  of  us !" 
exclaimed  the  merry  widow,  as  soon  as 
Saul  had  disappeared,  Und  laughing  with 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


her  usual  free-heartedness ;  "  never  knew 
I  so  goodly  a  foot-ball,  or  ever  played  so 
famous  a  game.     Indeed,  'twas  exquisite 
sport.     I  would  not  have  missed  my  share 
in  it  for  another  husband.     O'  my  life,  an' 
he  findeth   himself  comfortable  sitting  for  j 
the  next  month,  he  must  be  rarely  fashioned. 
He  must  needs  forswear  chairs,  and  rest  as 
gingerly  on  a  stool  as  would  a  cow  upon  ! 
broken  bottles.     I'faith,  'twas  rare  sport !" 

The  other  two  appeared  to  be  nearly  as  j 
well   amused,  as  they  returned  to  Dame 
Shakspeare,  who  had  come  as  far  as  the  j 
door  in  some  alarm,  when  her  neighbors 
burst  into  the  warehouse ;  but  there  were  j 
two  others,  who  had  observed  Saul's  inso- ! 
lence   from   the   kitchen,   and   these   were 
Maud  and  Humphrey,  and  were  quite  as  j 
much  moved  at  it  as  any  there.  The  former  : 
had  been  crying  ever  since  the  seizure,  and ; 
the  other  had  been  endeavoring,  with  a  vast 
show  of  awkward  aflectionateness,  to  give 
her  s;;me  comfort. 

"Humphrey!"  cried  she,  suddenly  jump- 
ing up  from  the  ground  where  she  had  been 
sitting,  at  hearing  of  her  master  so  insulted, 
and  gazing  on  her  companion  with  a  very 
monstrous  earnestness  ;  '•  An'  thou  dost  not 
go  and  cudgel  that  knave  within  an  inch 
of  his  life,  I'll  forswear  thy  company.  Ay," 
added  she  with  a  most  moving  emphasis  ; 
"  though  I  die  a  maid  for't !" 

"  By  goles,  thou  shall  never  do  so  horrid  j 
a  thing!"  exclaimed  Humphrey,  hastily! 
catching  hold  of  a  cudgel  fchat  had  often ! 
done  good  service  on  himself,  and  darting 
out  at  the  back  door  as  Saul  made  his  exit  j 
at  the  front.  Now  Humphrey  was  not  [ 
much  given  to  valor :  indeed,  to  speak  the  j 
exact  truth,  he  could  be  terrible  fearful  [ 
upon  occasions  ;  but  what  will  not  love  do  ?  I 
All  at  once  Humphrey  felt  himself  a  hero ; 
and  to  save  his  Maud  from  so  unnatural  a  ' 
catastrophe  as  she  had  threatened,  he  would 
that  moiiiMit  have  dared  any  danger,  had  \ 
it  been  ever  so  great.  As  he  proceeded  \ 
quickly  along,  tie  threw  out  his  arms,  jerked  \ 
up  his  head,  expanded  his  chest,  and  flour-  ! 
ished  his  cudgel,  with  the  air  of  a  con-  j 
queror.  No  one  knew  Humphrey.  I  doubt! 
hugely  Humphrey  knew  himself,  he  was  so  j 
changed. 

Saul  left  John  Shakspeare's  house  in  a  '•• 
terrible  bad  humor,  as  may  be  supposed,  i 
His  head  seemed  to  spin  like  a  parish  top,  j 

and  as  for but  methinks  thx8  courteous 

reader  needeth  no  retrospective  allusions. 
Suffice  it  to  say  he  was  in  a  tearing  pas- 
sion, and  went  his  way  monstrous  chap- 
fallen,  muttering  all  sorts  of  imprecations, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  as  though  in- 


tent on  studying  every  pebble  he  trod  on. 
All  at  once  some  one  ran  against  him  with 
such  force  as  nearly  to  send  him  off  his 
legs. 

"  A  murrain  on  thee  !  dost  want  thy  fool's 
head  broke  ?"  shouted  Saul. 

"  Ay,  marry,  and  why  not,  if  thou  canst 
do  it!"  replied 'Humphrey  in  a  big  voice 
that  almost  frightened  himself.  "  Go  and 
bite  thy  thumb  at  a  stone  wall,  and  be 
hanged  to  thee !  My  head  be  as  good  a 
fool's  head  as  thine,  I  warrant;  and  I  care 
not  who  knows  it.  I  tell  thee  I  take  thee 
to  be  a  scurvy  villain ;  so  have  it  in  thy 
teeth  thou  coal-carrying  knave!1' 

"  Bravely  said,  Humphrey !"  cried  a 
neighbor,  astonished  at  such  a  display  in 
one  so  litrte  noted  for  valor. 

"  Well  done,  my  heart  of  oak !"  ex- 
claimed another,  patting  him  on  the  back 
with  the  same  commending  spirit. 

"  Why,  thou  pitiful  worsted  knave !" 
bawled  out  Master  Buzzard's  man,  recover- 
ing from  his  surprise  at  being  so  abused  of 
so  mean  a  person.  "  'Slife  !  an'  do  I  not 
beat  thee  to  shavings,  I  am  a  Jew." 

"  A  ring,  my  masters — a  ring  !"  bawled 
out  another  ;  and  very  speedily  there  was  a 
circle  of  some  twenty  men  and  boys,  form- 
ed round  the  two  combatants.  Never  were 
two  persons  so  badly  matched.  Saul  was 
the  best  cudgel-player  in  the  whole  country; 
but  all  Humphrey's  knowledge  of  it  came 
of  the  blows  he  had  had  of  his  master,  and 
not  without  deserving  it;  yet  was  Humphrey 
the  favorite  of  the  spectators  beyond  ques- 
tion, all  of  whom  held  the  other  in  huge 
dislike,  for  very  efficient  causes,  and  Hum- 
phrey was  so  encouraged  and  commended 
of  them,  that  although  his  feelings  were 
somewhat  of  a  dubious  sort,  for  all  the  show 
he  made,  it  kept  up  his  valor  famously. 
Presently  the  two  began  playing  of  their 
weapons  very  prettily  ;  but  Humphrey  was 
in  so  monstrous  an  eagerness  to  pay  his 
antagonist,  he  did  nothing  but  strike  away 
as  hard  as  he  could,  in  a  manner  that  quite 
confused  the  practised  cudgel-player.  Saul 
was  in  a  horrible  passion,  which  in  con- 
junction with  other  things,  mayhap  might 
have  made  his  skill  avail  him  so  little  ;  but 
when  he  found  his  head  broke,  and  heard 
the  shouts  of  triumph  of  those  around  him, 
he  became  like  a  mad  beast,  and  struck  out 
wherever  he  could  at  mere  random.  Certes 
Humphrey  got  no  lack  of  thumps  ;  but  his 
head  looked  to  be  to  the  hardness  of  a  bullet, 
and  gave  no  sign  of  being  touched,  while 
Saul  could  scarce  see  out  of  his  eyes  for 
the  blood  running  from  his  broken  head. 

As  it  was  now  a  mere  trial  of  endurance, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


it  was  easy  to  see  who  would  get  the  best 
of  it,  for  Saul  might  have  cudgelled  a  post 
with  as  much  sign  of  success  as  he  had 
with  his  present  antagonist ;  and  nothing 
could  exceed  the  gratification  of  all  present 
at  the  heartiness  with  which  John  Shaks- 
peare's  man  gave  ft  to  the  other.  In  short, 
Saul  got  such  a  drubbing  as  he  had  never 
had  since  he  was  born ;  and  at  last,  when 
his  strength  was  nearly  exhausted,  a  sharp 
blow  sent  him  to  the  ground  like  a  stone. 
Then  rose  a  shout  of  triumph  such  as 
.  Stratford  had  rarely'heard,  and  Humphrey 
mounted  on  the  shoulders  of  two  butcher's 
apprentices,  and  followe.d  by  half  the  town 
hurraiiig  him  as  he  went — they  were  in 
such  delight  he  had  behaved  himself  so 
valorously,  and  punished  as  he  deserved  so 
notorious  a  knave — was  carried  like  a  hero 
to  his  master's  dwelling. 

"  Maud  !"  cried  the  victor,  as  he  entered 
the  back  door,  with  his  heart  swelling  with 
exultation. 

"  Well,  Humphrey,"  said  she. 

"  I  have  given  that  varlet  his  deserts." 

'"Hast?"  added  she,  approaching  him 
closely,  and  looking  earnestly  into  his  face. 

"  By  goles,  I  do  think  I  have  gone  as 
nigh  killing  the  knave  as  was  possible." 

"  Hast  ?"  repeated  she  with  a  smile  break- 
ing over  her  chubby  cheeks.  "  Then  here's 
at  thee  !"  Thereupon  she  suddenly  seized 
Humphrey  by  his  two  ears  with  her  huge 
fists,  and  gave  him  as  hearty  a  buss  as  ever 
man  received  of  woman  since  the  world 
.  commenced. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Mosca.     There's  nought  impossible. 

Votpone.     Yes,  to  be  learned,  Mosca. 

Mosca.     O  no  ;  rich 

Implies  it.     Hood  an  aa^with  reverend  purple, 
So  you  can  hide  his  two  ambitious  cars, 
And  he  shall  pass  for  a  cathedrel  doctor. 

BEN  JONSON. 
Of  an  old  English  gentleman  who  had  an  old 

estate, 
And  kept  up  his  old  mansion  at  a  bountiful 

rate, 
With  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his 

gate, 
Like  the  Queen's  old  courtier,  and  a  courtier 

of  the  Queen's.  OLD  BALLAD. 

IT  cannot  be  supposed  William  Shaks- 
peare  was  well  off  in  his  schooling  under  so 
ill  a  master  as  Stripes,  who,  though  he  did 
not  treat  him  uncivilly,  in  token  of  such 


welcome  gifts  as  his  mother  ofttimes 
brought,  Was  of  too  ignorant  pedantic  a 
nature  to  have  that  heed  which  a  young 
scholar  of  any  promise  requireth :  neverthe- 
less William  took  to  his  book  very  kindly, 
to  the  wonderful  admiration  of  Dame  Shaks- 
peare  and  her  gossips,  and  in  especial  of 
Nurse  Cicely,  which  never  failed  to  bring 
forth  notable  prophecies  of  his  future  great- 
ness from  her,  whereof  more  than  one  per- 
son entertained  them  as  exceeding  credible. 
There  was  no  wake,  or  lamb-ale,  or  other 
festival  in  the  neighborhood  the  boy  was  not 
invited  to  with  his  mother,  at  which  he  was 
continually  called  upon  to  repeat  such 
verses  he  had  learned  of  his  mother,  or  sing 
such  ballads  as  his  nurse  had  made  him 
familiar  with;  and  the  goodly  manner  he 
would  perform  what  was  required,  so  won 
upon  the  hearts  of  the  spectators,  that 
praises  out  of  all  number,  and  other  things 
more  substantial  in  great  plenty,  were  the 
sure  consequences.  As  soon  as  he  had 
learned  to  read,  wonderful  was  the  diligence 
with  which  he  perused  all  manner  of  books 
— albeit  he  quickly  exhausted  the  poor  stock 
that  could  be  had  for  his  reading,  for  these 
merely  consisted  of  a  few  volumes,  chiefly 
poems  of  Dame  Shakspearc's,  and  one  or 
two  here  and  there  of  some  neighbor.  Cer- 
tes,  no  great  matter  of  knowledge  was  to 
be  gained  of  such  books;  but  they  served 
to  excite  the  young  mind,  and  keep  it  in  a 
restless  yearning  for  more  delectable  food ; 
and  therefore  \frere  not  entirely  unprofitable. 
It  is  not  to  be  imagined  that  a  child  so 
disposed  took  no  delight  in  the  proper  pas- 
times of  his  age ;  for  the  entire  contrary  is 
nighest  to  the  truth.  Among  all  his  school- 
fellows, who  entered  into  any  sport  with 
such  absolute  zest  as  Will  Shakspeare? 
He  was  the  wildest  of  any.  His  free  spirit 
made  such  play  among  them  as  soon  gained 
for  him  the  liking  of  the  whole  school.  He 
grew  up  at  last  t£  be  the  chief  leader  in 
their  games — the  captain  of  their  exploits, 
and  the  very  heart  and  principal  of  all  their 
revel*.  If  Will  was  not  of  their  company, 
doubtless  were  they  as  much  at  a  loss  as  a 
hive  of  bees  without  their  queen  ;  but  when 
they  were  heard  as  merry  as  crickets  by  a 
winter's  hearth,  calling  lustily  to  each  other, 
crowding  here  and  running  there,  sending 
the  football  bounding  along  the  grass,  or 
leaping  over  each  other's  backs  as  though 
they  had  wings,  of  a  surety  he  was  to  be 
found  amongst  the  very  foremost.  But  it 
should  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  were 
times,  and  many  times  too,  when  the  day 
was  in  its  freshest  glory,  and  every  one  of 
his  companions  were  enjoying  themselves 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


67 


to  his  heart's  content,  he  would  be  in  some 
out  of  the  way  corner,  half  sitting  half  re- 
clining on  the  floor,  leaning  deeply  studious 
over  some  old  volume  he  had  provided  him- 
soU'  with  ;  and  the  merry  shoutings  close  at 
hand,  or  the  pressing  entreaties  of  those  he 
most  liked,  had  never  power  to  draw  him 
thence  till  he  had  gone  through  it  every 
page. 

More  than  once  too,  when  they  were  out 
together  a  maying,  or  nutting  in  the  woods, 
he  would  stray  from  the  rest,  perchance  led 
away  by  the  sweet  singing  of  the  birds,  or 
the  delicate  beauty  of  the  blossoms ;  and  in 
some  shady  place  would  sit  him  down  to 
rest,  conning  of  a  book  the  whilst,  he  had 
carried  under  his  jerkin,  till  somehow  or 
another  he  would  fall  asleep, — and  O  the 
exquisite  pleasant  dreams  he  had  at  that 
time  !  At  the  end  he  would  suddenly  start 
up,  rubbing  of  his  eyes  and  looking  in  every 
place  for  the  great  multitude  of  the  fairy 
folk,  who  a  moment  since  in  their  delicate 
finery  seemed  to  be  dancing  so  bravely  be- 
fore him,  and  singing  to  him  such  admirable 
choice  ditties,  and  doing  him  all  manner  of 
delectable  courtesies ;  but  finding  no  sign 
of  such  searched  he  ever  so,  he  would  be  in 
huge  disappointment,  till  the  shouting  of 
his  fellows  woke  him  from  la's  strange  be- 
wilderment ;  and  he  would  then  make  what 
haste  he  could  to  join  his  company. 

Of  his  disposition,  it  is  not  too  much  to 
say  it  savored  of  as  much  sweetness  as 
ever  lay  in  so  little  a  compass-  There  was 
no  aptness  to  sudden  quarrel  with  him — no 
giving  of  ill  words — no  heating  of  lesser 
boys  than  himself — no  tendency  to  mere 
rude  mischief ;  neither  selfishness,  nor 
covetousness,  nor  any  unmannerly  quality 
whatsoever,  such  as  are  frequently  in  other 
boys ;  but  he  would  give  freely  of  what  he 
had,  and  assist  those  in  their  tasks  who  were 
backward,  and  very  cheerfully  do  any  civil 
thing  for  another  that  was  in  his  compass, 
and  could  not  bear  to  see  any  cruelty,  or 
unkind  treatment  of  any  sort  let  it  be  among  i 
big  or  little.  From  this  it  will  readily  be  j 
conceived,  that  for  his  master  he  had  but 
small  affection,  even  though  Stripes  used 
him  with  more  civilness  than  was  his  wont 
to  others.  This  seeming  partiality,  how- 
ever, lasted  only  as  long  as  Dame  Shaks- 
peare's  gifts  ;  for  when  the  family  grew  to 
be  too  poorly  off  to  send  him  any,  the 
schoolmaster  showed  his  savage  humor  to 
him  as  much  as  to  the  rest. 

At  the  complete  poverty  of  his  father  by 
Master  Buzzard's  ruthless  proceedings,  it 
was  thought  William  would  be  taken  alto- 
gether from  school  to  assist  his  parents  in 


'  stu-h  things  as  he  could,  for  he  was  now 
I  grown  to  be  of  some  bigness,  and  John 
Shakspeare  had  not  withal  to  keep  either 
Maud  or  Humphrey  —  who  straightway 
made  themselves  of  the  pale  of  matrimony 
— and  was  striving  as  he  best  might  to  do 
a  little  trade  as  a  glover,  whereof  his  means,- 
with  his  neighbors  assistance,  was  only 
enough  to  accomplish ;  but  it  was  resolved 
by  the  two  alderman's  wives,  who  were  the 
prime  movers  of  all  things  in  his  behalf, 
that  it  would  be  best,  as  he  was  getting  so 
forward,  William  should  keep  school  hours, 
and  assist  his  father  at  other  times  ;  and  in 
consequence,  he  continued  to  receive  such 
instructions  as  Stripes  could  give  in  read- 
ing and  writing,  the  science  of  simple  arith- 
metic, and  the  study  of  the  Latin  grammar, 
for  some  time  longer,  wherein  he  got  to  be 
the  very  head  of  the  school,  despite  of  hav- 
ing so  unworthy  a  teacher,  and  of  the 
monstrous  negligence  and  wanton  insolency 
with  which  he  was  treated. 

Now  this  fellow  of  a  schoolmaster  was  in 
the  habit  of  using  his  boy  Dickon,  worse 
than  any  turnspit  dog  might  be  treated  by  a 
brutal  scullion.  What  his  wages  were  has 
never  been  known ;  and  indeed,  save  in  the 
way  of  blows,  he  had  never  had  anything  of 
the  sort.  He  got  such  little  victual,  that  it 
was  supposed  of  some  he  would  long  since 
have  taken  to  eating  of  himself,  only  he 
knew  not  where  to  find  a  mouthful.  Truly 
flesh  and  blood  could  not  stand  such  usage ; 
indeed  it  appeared  as  though  they  had  long 
had  nought  to  do  with  the  business,  leaving 
skin  and  bone  to  manage  everything  between 
them.  Dickon  was  reduced  to  such  a  strait, 
that  if  he  caught  sight  of  a  cur  looking  for 
bones,  he  would  take  to  his  heels  presently, 
with  the  full  conviction  the  animal  would 
make  a  grab  at  him  an'  he  got  in  his  way. 
In  him,  however,  such  leanness  was  but  the 
natural  result  of  poor  living  ;  but  his  master, 
though  he  eat  and  drank  greedily  whatever 
he  could  lay  his  hand  on,  looked  not  a  jot 
more  full  of  flesh  than  ordinary.  Indeed, 
he  starved  both  his  boy  and  his  cat,  eating 
from  them  their  share  of  victual,  yet  seemed 
to  carry  nigh  upon  as  hungry  a  look  wtih  him 
as  either.  His  tyrannical  humor  he  often 
enough  showed  upon  his  scholars,  but  this 
was  nothing  to  be  compared  with  the  sav- 
ageness  with  which  he  was  ever  falling 
upon  poor  Dickon  for  any  trifling  faults ; 
and  it  was  his  custom,  when  he  fancied 
there  was  anything  amiss  in  the  poor  boy'a 
behavior,  to  drag  him  into  the  school-room, 
to  be  horsed  by  some  of  the  biggest  of  his 
scholars ;  and  then  he  would  lay  on  him 
with  a  great  rod  with  such  fierceness  as  was 


68 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


horrible  to  see,  caring  not  a  jot  for  his  cries, 
or  the  entreaties  of  the  whole  school  he 
should  be  let  go. 

These  exhibitions  of  his  master's  cruelty 
were  intolerable  to  William  Siiakspeare, 
and  many  of  his  schoolfellows ;  so  one  day, 
after  such  a  sight,  "he  got  several  of  them 
together  he  Had  confidence  in,  and  they  be- 
ing moved  with  wrath  and  indignation,  re- 
solved among  themselves  they  would  allow 
of  it  no  longer,  no  matter  what  might  follow ; 
and  the  first  class,  which  were.tlie  chiefest 
for  strength,  entered  into  a  bond  of  mutual 
protection.  Others  of  the  greatest  spirit 
were  drawn  into  the  confederacy,  and  in  a 
little  time  the  whole  school  was  in  a  ferment 
upon  the  matter.  The  very  smallest  of  thn 
lot  was  seen  to  double  up  his  little  fist,  with 
:i  look  of  vengeance  that  spoke  volumes  of 
meaning.  All  things,  however,  were  left  to 
the  management  of  Will  Shakspcare,  and 
every  one  vowed  to  stand  by  Inrn,  though 
they  were  whacked  to  ribbons.  The  secret 
was  well  kept.  Stripes  had  not  the  slight- 
est knowledge  of  any  such  feeling  against 
him,  and  the  next  day  rushed  into  the  school- 
room, hauling  in  Dickon  by  the  ear,  who 
was  making  of  a  pitiful  lamentation,  and 
cuffing  him  mercilessly  by  the  way. 

"  Will  Siiakspeare !"  shouted  the  school- 
master ;  "  horse  me  this  villain  straight." 
The  boy  moved  not  an  inch. 

"Will   Siiakspeare,  I%say!"  thundered  j 
Stripes,  with  increased  rage;  "horse   me  | 
this  caitiff,  I  tell  thee."     Still  his  scholar 
kept  the  same  unmovedness,  and  every  one 
appeared  studying  of  their  tasks  with  more 
than  ordinary  diligence,  nevertheless  their 
little  hearts  were  a  beating  famously. 

"  Why,  thou  villain,  what  dost  mean  by 
this  ?"  exclaimed  the  pedagogue,  furiously, 
letting  go  his  hold  of  Dickon,  and  catching 
up  his  cane.  "I'll  make  thee  hear,  I  war- 
rant." In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  every 
boy  was  out  of  his  form. 

'•  Now,  Tom  Green  !"  cried  one. 

"  Now,  Jack  Hemings  !"  shouted  another. 

':  At  him,  Dick  Burbage!"  exclaimed  a 
third. 

"  On  him,  Harry  Condell !"  bawled  a 
fourth  ;  and  in  an  instant,  there  was  a  rush 
upon  the  astonished  schoolmaster  from  all 
parts  of  the  school. 

"  Ha  !  dost  rebel  ?"  screamed  he,  making 
furious  efforts  to  cut  them  with  his  cane, 
with  his  cadaverous  visage  livid  with  pas- 
sion. "  'Slight,  I'll  make  thee  rue  it!" 

But  for  all  his  terrible  efforts  he  was 
speedily  overpowered.  The  boys  came  upon 
him  with  all  the  spirit  of  ants  disturbed  in 
their  nest ;  some  clung  to  a  leg,  others  to 


an  arm.  They  jumped  upon  his  neck,  and 
hung  upon  his  jerkin  in  such  numbers,  tliat 
he  could  do  nought  in  the  world,  but  threat- 
en them  with  the  horriblest  imprecations. 
At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  Dickon, 
who  had  regarded  this  sudden  movement 
out  of  his  wits  with  sheer  amazement,  was 
called  to  hold  his  back  to  take  his  master 
on ;  and  though  at  first  he  showed  some 
sign  of  unwillingness,  he  was  soon  forced 
by  the  conspirators  to  do  as  they  bade  him. 

"  I'll  have  thee  hanged,  villains !"  bawled 
the  pedagogue,  as  he  was  being  hoisted  by 
the  strongest  of  his  scholars  upon  the  back 
of  the  poor  boy  he  had  used  so  inhumanly, 
malgre  all  his  strugglingsand  fumings.  "I'll 
lash  the  skin  off  thy  pestilent  bones.  I'll 
scourge  every  one  of  thee  to  death.  Let 
me  go,  thou  vile  wretches !" 

'•Hold  on,  Dickon!"  cried  some. 

"  Keep  him  fast,  my  masters !"  exclaimed 
others,  and  shouts  of  encouragement  arose 
from  all.  Dickon  did  hold  fast,  doubtless  in 
some  slight  pleasure,  for  all  his  seeming  un- 
willingness, and  he  had  no  lack  of  helpers 
in  his  office ;  so  that  Stripes  was  very 
speedily  prepared  for  that  punishment  he 
had  with  so  little  discretion  inflicted  upon 
others.  As  soon  as  he  began  to  be  aware 
of  what  was  intended  for  him,  he  was  like 
one  in  a  phrenzy.  Mad  with  fear,  rage,  and 
indignation,  he  redoubled  his  threats  and  his 
struggles,  but  all  to  small  profit :  for,  whilst 
he  was  held  down  as  firm  as  in  a  vice  by 
some,  others,  one  after  another,  laid  into  him 
with  all  their  might,  till  he  roared  for  mercy. 
These,  then,  taking  the  places  of  his  holders, 
divers  in  their  turn  assisted  in  the  tyrant's 
punishment,  till  not  one  of  the  whole  school 
but  had  repaid  him  with  interest  the  unde- 
served blows  he  had  received  at  his  hands. 
To  describe  the  joy  with  which  all  this  was 
done  by  the  scholars,  their  uproarious  shouts 
and  cheers,  or  the  horrible  bad  humor  of 
their  master,  is  clean  out  of  the  question.  I 
doubt  not  it  will  be  imagined  of  many.  The 
end  was,  at  a  signal  he  was  dropped  on  the 
floor,  so  completely  tamed  of  his  tyrannical 
humors,  he  would  npt  have  struck  at  a 
mouse, — where  he  was  left  to  put  himself 
to  rights  as  he  might, — and  then  the  whole 
school  took  their  leaves  of  him  very  orderly. 

The  next  day  they  came  to  the  school  as 
usual,  but  all  in  a  body ;  the  bigger  boys 
first,  and  the  little  ones  coming  after,  and 
every  one  went  to  his  place,  and  took  to  his 
studies,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  out  of 
the  ordinary.  Doubtless,  they  had  come  to 
the  resoluon  to  have  at  him  again,  showed 
he  any  more  of  his  insufferable  cruelties ; 
but  there  was  small  need  of  any  such  tiling, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


69 


for  there  never  was  so  altered  a  man  seen 
as  was  Stripes,  the  schoolmaster.  He  heard 
them  their  lessons  with  a  sort  of  suavity 
that  was  marvellous  beyond  all  things — 
praising  of  every  one  as  though  he  had  got 
for  his  scholars  such  prodigies  of  genius  as 
could  not  be  met  with  elsewhere  —  and 
taking  no  more  thought  of  canes  and  rods, 
than  if  such  things  had  never  been  in  his 
experience.  As  for  Dickon,  he  showed  his 
master  a  fair  puir  of  heels  directly  he  had 
him  off  his  back,  and  was  shortly  after  taken 
into  the  service  of  an  honest  yeoman,  father 
to  one  of  the  scholars. 
'  It  so  happened,  once  on  a  time,  as  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  and  his  chief  companions 
were  strolling  together,  they  came  upon  the 
town  crier  giving  note  to  the  inhabitants, 
that  my  Lord  of  Leicester's  players  being 
in  the  town,  would  perform  a  play  at  a  cer- 
tain hour,  to  which  the  citizens  were  in- 
vited at  a  small  charge.  This  put  some  of 
them  in  a  monstrous  desire  to  behold  so 
goodly  an  entertainment— particularly  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare,  who  had  beheld  nought  of 
the  kind  in  all  his  life  ;  but  others,  his  eld- 
ers, had  seen  plays  more  than  once,  and  they 
gave  him  such  moving  accounts  of  what  ex- 
quisite pleasant  pastime  was  to  be  found  in 
them,  that  he  did  nothing  but  wish  he  could 
get  to  a  sight  of  such.  Unluckily,  he  had 
no  money  of  any  kind,  and  his  father's  ne- 
cessities were  so  great  he  knew  none  could 
be  spared  him.  What  to  do  he  knew  not ; 
for  though  he  could  get  standing  room  fora 
penny,  no  sign  of  a  penny  could  he  see 
anywhere.  He  knew  that  divers  of  his 
schoolfellows  were  intent  upon  going,  and 
he  would  have  been  glad  enough  to  have 
joined  them,  but  he  saw  no  hope  of  the  kind, 
by  reason  of  wanting  the  necessary  price  of 
admission.  It  however  did  so  turn  out,  that  ; 
the  father  of  one  of  the  boys  was  an  espe- 
cial acquaintance  of  the  head  of  the  players, 
by  which  means  Richard  Burbage  not  only 
got  to  see  the  play  for  nothing,  but  moved 
his  father  to  allow  of  his  schoolfellow,  Will  . 
Shakspeare,  having  the  like  permission  ;  j 
which,' to  the  latter's%  extreme  comfort  was 
granted. 

The  players  gave  their  entertainment  in 
the  inn  yard  of  the  Widow  Pippins,  on  a 
raised  platform  in  front  of  the  gallery.  They 
were  not  troubled  with  scenery,  and  made 
no  particular  display  of  a  wardrobe,  but  the 
merry  interlude,  called  "  Gammer  Gurton's 
Needle,"  a  huge  favorite  at  that  time,  which 
was  then  and  there  played  by  them,  required 
little  such  accompaniment.  The  spectators, 
at  least  the  greater  number,  stood  in  the  j 
yard ;  but  those  who  chose  to  pay.  more,  j 


were  accommodated  with  seats  at  the  gal- 
lery and  casements.  William  Shakspeare, 
by  going  early  with  his  fellows,  got  a  front 
place,  and  waited,  in  a  marvellous  eagerness, 
to  see  the  interlude.  Presently  there  was  a 
movement  made  by  his  neighbors,  which 
caused  him  to  turn  round  like  the  rest,  and 
he  saw  it  was  occasioned  by  the  entrance 
into  the  gallery  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  his 
lady,  and  his  son,  who  took  the  best  places ; 
elsewhere  was  seen  Mistress  Malmsey  and 
Mistress  Dowlas,  in  their  choicest  rinery, 
pointing  out  their  acquaintances  to  each 
other ;  and  either  up  or  down,  half  the  good 
folks  of  Stratford  might  have  been  recog- 
nized, intent  upon  nothing  so  much  as  see- 
ing the  play. 

At  last  the  curtain  was  moved,  and  a  be- 
ginning was  made  of  the  play  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  Hodge  and  Deacon.  The  piti- 
ful manner  in  which  the  one  complains  to 
the  other  of  the  bad  state  of  his  lower  gar- 
ment, and  the  right  doleful  way  of  his  com- 
panion's condolences  on  the  matter,  were 
received  by  the  audience  with  loud  roars  of 
laughter.  Then,  when  Deacon  acquaints 
Hodge  of  Gammer  Gurton  and  her  maid 
Tib  having  been  by  the  ears  together,  mak- 
ing of  the  House  a  perfect  Bedlam,  and  the 
other  protests  he  was  monstrous  afraid  some- 
thing serious  would  happen,  having  taken 
note  of  the  awful  manner  in  which  Tom 
Tankard's  cow  frisked  her  tail,  there  was  no 
less  mirthfulness.  Upon  Hodge  proceeding 
homeward  and  meeting  with  Tib,  and  hear- 
ing that  all  this  turmoil  had  been  occasioned 
by  the  Gammer  losing  of  her  needle ;  when, 
upon  spying  of  Gib,  the  cat,  up  to  the  ears 
in  her  milk-bowl,  she  let  fall  the  breeches 
she  was  clouting  with  all  diligence,  (he 
humor  of  the  dialogue  seemed  equally  well 
relished.  But  when  it  came  to  Gammer 
Gurton's  terrible  to  do  because  of  her  loss, 
her  monstrous  anxioasness  to  recover  it, 
her  suspicions  of  th'e  honesty  of  her  neigh- 
bors, her  intrigues  and  quarrels  with  them, 
and  the  interference  of  no  less  a  person  than 
the  parson  of  the  parish,  Dr.  Rat,  to  make 
peace  again,  there  was  a  choice  roaring  I 
warrant  you ;  and  this  was  only  exceeded 
when  Hodge,  upon  sitting  of  himself  down, 
discovered  the  lost  needle,  to  his  great  smart, 
in  consequence  of  its  having  been  left  stick- 
ing in  his  rent  garment. 

I  doubt  much  whether  the  finest  play 
ever  writ,  was  so  well  relished  of  an  audi- 
ence as  was  this  rude  coarse  interlude,  by 
the  simple  burgesses  of  Stratford.  Even  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  laughed  as  though  he  would 
never  have  done.  As  for  William  Shaks- 
peare, it  made  such  impression  on  him,  nev  ir 


70 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


having  setn  anything  of  the  sort,  that  the 
next  day,  and  very  often  after,  lie' was  to  be 
seen,  with  his  companions,  JJurbage,  Green, 
Condell,  and  Hemings,  making  players  of 
themselves  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of 
the  town,  essaying  to  play  that  very  inter- 
lude, by  one  taking  one  character  and  the 
rest  others ;  and  it  was  said  by  some  who 
saw  them  at  it,  that  the  seeing  these  boys 
aping  the  players  out  of  their  own  heads  as 
they  did,  was  nigh  upon  as  rare  a  sight  as 
seeing  the  players  themselves.  All  these 
five  were  ever  at  it ;  and  the  playing  of  Gam- 
mer Gurton's  Needle  took  the  place  of  all 
other  sports  whatsoever.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  company  got 
such  reception,  they  repeated  their  visits  fre- 
quently ;  and  young  Burbage's  father  having 
shown  some  talent  as  a  player,  they  took  him 
to  be  of  their  company. 

On  one  occasion,  William  Shakspeare 
was  sent  with  some  gloves  to  a  certain  Sir 
Marmaduke  de  Largest,  living  at  Wilne- 
cott,  at  an  excellent  old  mansion  there,  who 
delighted  in  keeping  up  the  country  sports 
and  festivities,  and  was  noted  for  miles  round, 
what  extreme  pleasure  he  took  in  anything 
that  smacked  of  antiquity.  His  hospitality 
was  unbounded,  and  his  table  was  ever  loaded 
with  the  choicest  of  good  victual,  to  which 
all  might  seat  themselves  according  to  their 
quality ;  and  what  was  left  was  given  to  the 
poor  by  the  porter  at  the  gate.  No  one  ever 
came  there  hungry  that  did  not  leave  with 
as  much  as  he  liked  to  eat  and  drink,  under 
his  belt ;  and,  if  it  was  needed,  a  something 
in  his  purse  to-  carry  him  along.  In  his 
cooking  he  was  more  careful  there  should 
be  a  good  plenty  of  wholesome  viands,  than 
that  any  show  of  extreme  niceness  should 
be  visible  in  the  dishes ;  and  as  for  what  he 
gave  to  drink,  it  was  chiefly  honest  ale,  of 
his  own  brewing,  of  such  fine  flavor  and 
strength  as  was  not  to  be  matched,  go  where 
you  would. 

Having  passed  through  an  avenue  of  lofty 
trees,  which  led  up  to  the  house,  admiring, 
as  he  approached  it,  its  fair  appearance  and 
antique  character,  on  making  known  his  er- 
yand  he  was  ushered  by  a  jolly-looking  but- 
ler into  a  spacious  stone-floored  chamber, 
lighted  with  transome  windows,  the  walls  of 
which  were  garnished  with  a  prodigal  as- 
sortment of  corslets  and  helmets  arranged 
in  rows,  wjjJi  coats  of  mail,  military  jerkins 
or  shirts  of  leather,  halberts,  bucklers,  pikes, 
bills,  crossbows,  and  all  manner  of  the  like 
weapons  and  defences.  An  oak  table  that 
went  the  whole  length  of  the  chamber,  was 
covered  with  smoking  viands,  brimming 
black  jacks,  and  full  trenchers.  The  upper 


and  lower  messes  being  divided  by  a  huge 
saltcellar, — all  around  was  a  busy  company 
of  friends  and  retainers,  doing  honor  to  the 
feast:  and  at  the  head  of  the  table  in  a  fa- 
mous tall  chair,  sat  a  ruddy,  stout,  pleasant- 
faced  gentleman,  with  hair  and  beard  white 
and  plentiful ;  a  full  ruff  such  as  might  have 
been  in  fashion  some  score  of  years  since, 
and  a  serviceable  doublet,  with  trunks  and 
hose  of  a  sober  color.  The  hilt  of  his  ra- 
pier came  up  to  his  breast,  but  he  held  it  as 
carefully  as  if  it  had  been  an  old  friend,  and 
I  doubt  not  would  sooner  have  gone  without 
his  napkin  at  his  meals,  than  without  so  ap- 
proved a  companion.  He  kept  discoursing 
cheerfully  with  those  nighest  him,  ever  and 
anon  glancing  his  eyes  round  to  sec  that  the 
carver  did  his  duty,  and  that  all  were  well 
served.  This  was  Sir  Marmaduke  de  Lar- 
gesse. 

William  Shakspeare  had  not  entered  the 
hall  many  minutes  ere  he  was  spied  by  the 
old  knight,  who  in  a  kind  voice  bade  him 
come  near  and  state  his  business. 

"  Gloves,  eh !"  exclaimed  he  pleasantly, 
upon  hearing  of  his  errand.  "  Hie  then  to 
a  seat  at  the  table — get  thee  a  good  meal 
and  a  fair  draught — after  that  if  thou  art  in 
the  humor  come  to  me  and  I  will  attend  thy 
business  with  all  proper  diligence." 

There  was  such  sweetness  in  the  beha- 
vior of  this  old  gentleman,  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  boy  hesitating  to  do  what  he 
was  desired,  even  had  he  cared  not  to  be  of 
the  feast,  so  he  went  with  due  deference 
below  the  salt,  where  place  was  cheerfully 
made  for  him,  and  every  one  of  his  neigh- 
bors commenced  pressing  of  him  to  this  and 
the  other  tempting  dish  with  such  cordiality, 
as  soon  put  him  quite  at  home  with  them. 
A  trencher  full  of  excellent  fare,  he  quickly 
found  smoking  at  his  hand  so  enticingly, 
that  he  was  fain  to  set  to  with  exceeding 
good  will,  and  it  was  a  truly  pleasant  part  of 
the  entertainment  to  note  the  anxiousness  of 
his  neighbors,  that  he  should  have  what  he 
liked  best,  and  as  much  of  it  as  he  could 
fancy.  In  all  honesty  he  made  a  famous 
meal,  and  after  drinking  sparingly  of  the 
ale,  he  was  ready  to  attend  to  his  errand. 
Presently  a  most  thankful  grace  was  said 
by  the  chaplain,  and  in  a  few  minutes  thr 
tables  were  cleared,  and  all  had  gone  their 
several  ways,  save  only  some  guests  who 
kept  their  places,  and  continued  conversing 
with  their  bountiful  kind  entertainer.  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  did  not  move,  for  he  was 
waiting  for  some  sign  from  the  knight  of  his 
being  at  leisure. 

"  Prithee  let  me  hear  that  ballad  of  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror,  thou*  wert  speaking  of, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


71 


Master  Peregrine,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke  to 
a  curious  sort  of  pantaloon-looking  person, 
wearing  a  huge  pair  of  spectacles,  mounted 
on  his  peaked  nose. 

"  O'  my  Life,  I  doubt  hugely  I  can  say  but 
a  verse  or  two,"  replied  Master  Peregrine, 
in  a  thin  small  voice.  I  heard  it  when  I  was 
a  boy,  and  never  since,  nor  have  I  met  it  iu 
print  .  anywhere,  though  I  have  searched 
wherever  there  was  likelihood  of  its  being 
to  be  found.  Indeed  I  would  give  something 
to  know  it  thoroughly,  for  I  doubt  not  'tis 
exceeding  ancient,  and  one  of  the  very  rarest 
ballads  that  ever  were  made." 

"  Let  us  hear  what  of  it  is  in  your  re- 
membrance, I  pray  you,"  exclaimed  the 
chaplain,  who  was  one  with  a  venerable 
worthy  aspect,  and  was  then  employed  in 
brewing  a  cup  of  sack  for  the  old  knight 
and  his  guests,  in  the  which  he  was  esteemed 
famous. 

"  Well,  said,  Sir  Johan,"  said  a  young 
gallant,  a  near  kinsman  to  Sir  Marmaduke. 
"  I  love  an  old  ballad  as  well  as  any." 

"  Thou  lovest  a  pretty  woman  better  of 
the  two,  Sir  Valentine,  I'll  warrant,"  cried  a 
companion  merrily. 

"  That  doth  he  Sir  Reginald,  I'll  be  sworn, 
or  he  is  none  of  ng^*  blood,"  replied  the  old 
knight  in  the  same  humor. 

"  Well,  I  care  not '  to  deny  the  impeach- 
ment," answered  his  kinsman  with  a  smile. 
"  Doubtless  I  can  con  either  upon  occasion, 
and  get  them  by  heart  too  if  they  be  wor- 
thy." 

"  Marry,  and  very  properly."  cried  Sir 
Marmaduke,  and  then  with  a  famous  arch 
look  added,  "  I  doubt  though  you  would  like 
to  have  your  pretty  woman  as  old  as  your 
ballad, — eh,  nephew  ?" 

"  No,  by  St.  Jeronimo !"  exclaimed  Sir 
Valentine  with  such  emphasis,  it  raised  a 


laugh  all  round. 
"  Well,  give  me 


an   old   ballad  for   my 


money,"  cried  Master  Peregrine  with  a  mar- 
vellous complacency.  "  Methinks  there'  is 
nothing  like  the  delicate  pleasure  it  afford- 
eth,  if  so  be  you  stick  it  on  the  wall  with 
some  of  its  fellows,  and  go  to  the  perusal  of 
it  when  you  have  a  mind." 

"  There  the  ballad  hath  it  hollow,"  obser- 


"  It  is  of  some  length,"  said  he  ; "  and  if  I 
remember 'me  right,  is  writ  in  three  separate 
fyttes  or  divisions." 

Then  each  of  the  company  listened  with 
courteous  attention,  Master  Peregrine  com- 
menced repeating  of  the  verses  he  had 
spoken  of. 

<:  I  regret  my  memory  faileth  me  in  the 
rest  of  the  verses,  for  I  doubt  not  they  would 
be  found  well  worthy  of  a  hearing,"  said  the 
antiquary,  suddenly  coming  to  a  halt. 

"  Think  awhile — mayhap  they  shall  return 
to  your  remembrance,"  said  the  chaplain. 

"  Ay,  do,  Master  Peregrine  ;  for  I  should 
be  loajh  to  lose  any  part  of  so  goodly  a  bal- 
lad," added  the  old  knight,  who,  with  the  rest, 
appeared  to  fake  infinite  interest  in  it. 

"  Nay,  as  I  live,  I  know  not  a  verse  more," 
replied  the  other,  seemingly  in  some  vexa- 
tion when  he  found  his  thinking  was  to  no 
profit.  "  Indeed,  I  should  be  heartily  glad 
could  I  meet  with  the  other  parts,  for  they 
are  of  a  very  singular  curiousness." 

"  I'faith,  I  should  be  well  pleased  myself 
to  hear  the  rest  on't,"  remarked  Sir  Marma- 
duke, and  his  guests  spoke  much  to  the  same 
purpose. 

"  An'  it  please  your  worship,  methinks  I 
can  give  you  every  line  of  it,"  said  young 
William  Shakspeare,  who  had  fidgetted 
about  sometime  without  daring  to  speak. 

"  Ha,  Gloves !  art  there  ?"  exclaimed  the 
old  knight,  merrily  ;  "  in  very  truth  I  knew 
not  of  thy  presence.  Come  hither,  I  prithee."  . 

"  Dost  indeed  know  ought  of  it,  young 
sir  ?"  inquired  Master  Peregrine,  looking  at 
the  boy  earnestly  through  his  spectacles,  as 
he  approached  him. 

"  Every  word,  an'  it  please  you,"  replied 
William. 

"  Let  us  hear  of  it  then,  and  quickly," 
cried  Sir  Marmaduke,  putting  his  hand 
kindly  on  the  boy's  headi  William  Shaks- 
peare saw  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him ; 
yet  there  was  a  friendliness  in  every  aspect 
which  gave  him  nought  to  fear.  Standing 
where  he  was,  with  a  graceful  carriage  of 
himself,  and  a  wonderful  pleasant  delivery, 
he  presently  went  on  with  the  verses. 

"  Bravely  spoken  !"  exclaimed  the  old 
knight,  who  had  observed  and  listened  to  the 


ved  Sir  Johan  giW'ely,  yet  with  a  twinkle  in   boy  manifestly  with  a  more  ^han  ordinary 
his  eye  that  savored  of  some  humor.  "  Being  :  satisfaction  in  his  benevolent  aspect.  "  Never 
of  the  church,  perchance  I  am  not  the  fittest   heard  I  aught  more  properly  delivered." 
to  speak  on  so  light  a  matter,  but  in  all  my       "  Nor  I,  by'r  Lady,"  said  Master   Pere- 
philosophy.   I  know  not   of  ever  a   pretty   grine,  in  a  similar  excellent  humor.  "  Wliere 
woman  who  allowed  herself  to  be  stuck  on   didst  learn  this  exquisite  ballad,  young  sir  ?" 
the  wall  with  her  fellows,  were  it  even  for  a  :     "  An'  it  please  you,  my  mother  taught  it 
single  moment."     This  sally  also  occasioned   me,"  replied  William  Shakspeare. 
great  laughing,  after  which  Master  Pere-       "  Hast  any  more  such  in  thy  memory  I" 
grine  was  pressed  for  his  ballad.  i  inquired  the  other. 


72 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  A  score  at  least,  an'  it  please  yon,"  an- 
swered the  boy  ;  "  most  moving  ones  of  the 
doings  of  valiant  knights  ;  and  sundry  of  a 
delicater  sort,  ccncerning  of  the  love  of  fair 
ladies ;  besides  which  I  have  store  of  »fairy 
roundelays,  that  I  learned  of  Nurse  Cicely, 
which  smack  most  sweetly  of  the  dainty 
blossoms." 

"  O'  my  life,  thou  art  a  treasure  !"  ex- 
claimed Master  Peregrine,  in  a  most  pleased 
astonishment. 

"  Stick  him  against  the  wall,  I  prithee  !" 
cried  Sir  Reginald  merrily. 

"  Marry,  methinks  he  is  a  wall  of  himself, 
or  at  least  as  good  as  one  that  is  ever  so  well 
covered  with  ballads,"  remarke'd  Sir  Valen- 
tine ;  "  you  could  not  have  fallen  into  more 
choice  company,  Master  Antiquarian." 

"  So  thou  art  John  Shakspeare's  son,  of 
Stratford,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke  kindly  to 
him,  after  he  had  made  the  boy  say  some- 
thing of  who  he  was  ;  "  we  must  be  of  better 
acquaintance.  'Come  tftbu  here  as  often  as 
it  pleaseth  thee  ;  and  if  thou  art  for  books, 
I  have  some  thou  wouldst  be  glad  to  be  rea- 
ding of,  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt.  I  tell 
you  what,  my  masters,"  added  he,  turning  to 
his  guests,  "  I  have  a  pleasant  device  in  my 
head,  which  perchance  may  be  exceedingly 
proh'table  to  us  all ;  and  it  is  no  other  than 
to  take  this  good  boy  with  us  to  Kenilworth, 
to  see  the  queen's  highness,  and  he  shall  en- 
^tertain  us  on  the  road  with  some  of  those 
*  rare  ballads  he  hath  spoken  of." 

This,  suggestion  was  heartily  received  by 
the  company,  and  after  being  well  commen- 
ded, and  received  bountiful  tokens  of  good 
will  from  all,  William  Shakspeare  returned 
home,  bearing  a  message  to  his  father  to  the 
effect  just  alluded  to. 


CHAPTER  X.     - 

See,  she  comes : 

How  sweet  her  innocence  appears ;  more  like 

To  Heaven  itself,  than  any  sacrifice 

That  can  be  offered  to  it. 

MASSINGER. 

I'll  go  mint  thirbadgerby  owl-light : ' 
'Tis  a  deed  of  darkness. 

WEBSTER. 

THE  next  morning  early  there  was  a  won- 
derful stir  amongst  the  neighbors  at  noting 
a  brave  cavalcade  enter  Henry  Street,  and 
stop  at  John  Shakspeare's  door,  and  pre- 
sently there  came  out  the  boy  William, 
whom  his  mother  had  carefully  dressed  in 
his  best  apparel,  grieving  in  her  heart  she 


had  no  better  to  give  him,  and  by  his  father 
was  set  upon  an  ambling  palfrey,  that  ap- 
peared to  have  been  brought  for  him.  All 
of  his  acquaintance  were  grouped  about, 
marvelling  famously  to  see  Will  Shakspeare 
riding  away  in  the  midst  of  persons  qupor- 
ship  with  as  great  an  air  with  him  *K  he 
wer.e  a  lord's  son.  They  could  scarce  believe 
their  eyes ;  but  what  sweet  pleasure  and 
pardonable  pride  were  felt  by  the  parents, 
who,  after  their  respectful  salutations  to  the 
good  knight  and  his  company,  at  their  door 
watched  their  young  son  as  long  as  ever 
they  could  hold  him  in  sight,  sitting  his  pal- 
frey so  gallantly,  he  was  the  admiration  of 
all  who  saw  him.  I'faith !  It  was  a  thing  to 
talk  of  for  the  rest  of  their  days,  and  the  good 
dame  was  never  known  to  tire  of  it. 

Away  they  went  ;  Sir  Marmaduke,  his 
two  kjinsmen,  Master  Peregrine,  Sir  Johan 
the  chaplain,  and  young  William,  and  some 
half  dozen  of  the  knight's  serving  men,  all 
on  horses  ;  and  their  passing  along  the  town 
made  the  citizens  come  running  out,  and  . 
the  dames  were  seen  lifting  up  their  bak-s 
that  they  might  get  a  sight  of  good  Sir  Mar- 
maduke. Nothing  was  like  the  respect 
shown  him  wherever  he^  passed,  and  for  all 
he  had  cordial  greeting,  and  some  kind  word 
or  another.  Indeed,  he  was  held  in  especial 
esteem  wherever  his  name  was  known,  and 
few  there  were  in  the  whole  country  who 
knew  it  not,  for  the  old  knight  was  a  gentle- 
man of  ancestry  and  blood,  of  exceeding  an- 
cient name,  and 'of  large  possessions,  whereof 
the  greater  part  had  been  possessed  by  his 
family  many  generations.  The  De  Larges- 
ses had  also  held  high  offices  ;  had  been 
famous  soldiers,  prelates,  judges,  and  the 
like  honorable  persons,  and  had  ever  been 
known  for  a  fair  name  and  an  open  hand. 
The  present  possessor  appeared  to  have  in- 
herited all  the  good  qualities  of  his  ances- 
tors ;  and  though  he  was  called  by  no  higher 
title  than  good  Sir  Marmaduke,  I  doubt 
hugely  any  prouder  title  could  have  become 
him  better.  He  had  never  been  known  to  be 
in  a  passion  ;  and  though  ever  inclined  for 
a  jest,  his  mirth  had  no  offence  in  it  at  any 
time.  There  sat  he  as  stout  of  limb  as  of 
heart,  on  a  noble  grey  h»rse,  sleek-coated 
and  well  limbed,  ever  and  anon  patting  his 
graceful  neck  with  some  commendable 
speech,  which  the  poor  brute  beast  took  as 
proudly  as  though  he  knew  the  value  oi 
such  behavior  from  so  respected  a  quarter. 

On  each  side  of  him  rode  his  kinsmen  in 
all  the  bravery  of  the  times.  They  had 
gone  to  the  wars  in  their  youth,  and  though 
still  scarce  upon  manhood,  Sir  Valentine 
being  but  twentv,  and  his  cousin  Sir  Regi 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


73 


nald  five  years  his  senior,  had  shown  such 
valor  against  the  enemy  that  they  had  re- 
ceived knighthood.  The  first  was  full  of 
fine  chivalrous  notions,  as  became  his  sol- 
diership ;  and  would  have  dared  all  manner 
of  great  dangers  to  have  gained  the  kind 
opinions  of  fair  ladies,  as  became  his  man- 
hood. Of  the  inestimable  sweet  pleasures 
of  love  could  he  think  by  the  hour  together ; 
and  when  h«took  to  his  gittern,  doubtless  it 
was  to  breathe  forth  some  soft  lay  learned  of 
him  in  France  of  the  gallants  there.  Yet  of 
a  most  honorable  heart  was  he,  as  became  a 
true  lover  ;  and  his  rapier  was  ready  to  leap 
out  of  its  scabbard  at  the  bruit  of  any  wrong 
done  to  any  woman.  He  was  of  a  clear 
transparent  skin,  whereon  the  delicate  mous- 
tache had  already  come  to  some  conspi- 
cuousness,  and  the  sharp  outline  of  each 
fair  feature  had  such  fineness  as  was  exqui- 
site to  behold.  Eyes  had  he  in  color  like 
unto  a  bright  sky  in  harvest  time,  and  his 
hair  was  of  a  rich  soft  brown,  that  grew  in 
waving  folds  over  all  his  head  and  neck. 

Sir  Reginald  was  more  manly-looking  ; 
darker  in  complexion,  hair,  and  beard  ;  less 
delicate  in  his  notions ;  more  free  in  his 
speech  ;  and  was  as  ready  for  loving  any 
pretty  woman,  yet  did  so  with  an  indiscrimi- 
nateness  which  the  other  never  affected. 
Both  were  strict  friends,  as  they  had  proved 
in  many  a  time  of  need  in  the  hour  of  battle, 
and  both  were  alike  honorably  disposed,  and 
of  unblemished  reputations.  These  two 
young  gentlemen  rode  their  palfreys  like 
gallants,  putting  them  to  their  prettiest  paces 
one  against  the  other,  and  ever  and  anon 
turning  round  their  handsome  cheerful  faces, 
with  one  hand  holding  the  back  of  the  saddle, 
and  the  other  reigning  up  their  gamesome 
steeds  to  see  how  their  sport  was  relished  by 
their  kinsman,  who  it  may  well  be  believed 
took  it  very  pleasantly,  for  he  was  ever  an 
encourager  of  any  innocent  pastime  that 
served  to  make  more  happy  the  passing 
hour. 

Behind  them,  a  little  way,  rode  Sir  Johan, 
the  chaplain,  who  would  sometimes  jog  on 
alongside  of  his  good  patron,  discoursing 
very  soberly  concerning  how  bountiful  Pro- 
vidence had  been  to  the  surrounding  country, 
seasoning  his  speech  with  such  learning  as 
did  not  savor  of  pedantry.  For  all  this  he 
was  not  indifferent  to  a  jest  on  any  proper 
occasion.  Right  well  could  lie  laugh  at  one 
himself,  and  with  as  much  aptness  furnish 
one  for  his  company.  Indeed,  he  was  one  of 
those  rare  divines  who  take  upon  them  to 
think  that  whatsoever  good  thing  may  be 
met  with,  is  provided  for  our  especial  enjoy- 
ment, and  that  to  mislike  them  argueth  utter 


ignorance,  a  wonderful  lack  of  discretion, 
and  a  most  unwarrantable  and  absolute  in- 
gratitude. Therefore  Sir  Johan  was  never 
seen  with  a  long  face  -and  a  miserable 
preaching.  His  orthodoxy  was  evidently  of 
a  most  comfortable  sort.  It  agreed  with  him 
exceedingly,  and  sat  on  his  round  cheeks 
after  a  fashion  that  must  have  been  wonder- 
fully enticing  to  all  wretched  fosterers  of 
schism  &nd  heresy.  Yet  was  he  no  Sir 
Nathaniel,  but  his  very  opposite.  It  is  true 
he  would  eat  and  drink  heartily  at  all  rea- 
sonable hours ;  but  then  he  never  forgot  to 
give  as  hearty  thanks,  and  always  conduc- 
ted himself  on  such  occasions  with  a  credi- 
table decency  the  other  was  far  from  show- 
ing. ^Nothing  was  like  the  vigor  of  his  piety 
after  he  had  enpyed  himself  to  his  heart's 
content ;  and  the  eloquence,  the  learning, 
and  the  zealousness  with  which  he  would 
then  dilate  upon  the  marvellous  goodness  of 
Providence,  carried  conviction  to  all  hearers. 
His  scholarship  wotrid  have  become  a  bishop, 
though  he  was  nothing  but  a  poor  master  of 
arts ;  nevertheless,  he  was  content  with  his 
station,  and  like  a  wise  man  enjoyed  to  the 
full  whatever  honest  pleasures  it  brought 
within  his  reach. 

By  his  side  usually  rode  Master  Peregrine, 
in  an  antique  suit  that  might  have  belonged 
to  his  grandfather  ;  in  his  figure  an  admi- 
rable contrast  to  the  full  proportions  of  the 
worthy  chaplain ;  and  he  talked  to  the  latter, 
or  to  the  boy  riding  between  them,  when  he  • 
could  not  get  the  other  as  a  listener,  as  if  he 
could  never  tire  at  it,  of  old  books  and  bal- 
lads, their    histories,    contents,   character, 
form  and  complexion.     Indeed,  he  seemed 
familiar  with  everything  that  had  been  prin- 
ted since  the  invention  of  the  art.     The  very 
talk  of  a  rare  book  would  put  him  into  a 
rapture,  and  a  ballad  that  was  not  to  be  met 
|  with   he  would   think  more  precious  than 
'  gold.     Then  he  would  speak  in  such  choice 
terms  of  Chaucer,  and  Gower,  and  Wyatt, 
j  and  Surrey,  and  a  many  others,  as  though 
•  none   could  be  of  so  great   account  ;  but 
|  when   he   got  to   the  speaking   of  ballads, 
nought  could  exceed  the  delectable  manner 
in  which  he   dilated  upon  them,  in  especial 
of  such  as  were  of  a  by-gone  age. 

William  Shakspeare,  as  he  rode  between 
these  two  last,  learned  more  of  books  than 
he  had  known  all  his  days  before.  Nothing 
could  be  so  pleasant  to  him  as  such  dis- 
course. He  listened  with  such  earnestness 
as  was  the  admiration  of  his  companions, 
and  asked  questions  so  to  the  purpose,  that 
they  were  never  indisposed  to  answer  him. 
More  and  more  delighted  was  he  to  hear 
1  such  famous  books  might  be  met  with  aa 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


those  notable  classic  authors,  both  Greeks 
and  latins,  Sir  Johan  spoke  so  learnedly  on, 
and  those  exquisite  sweet  poets  and  roman- 
cers Master  Peregrine  mentioned  so  lovingly ; 
and  he  was  quite  in  an  ecstacy  when  they 
promised  to  make  him  better  acquainted  with 
their  worth  at  such  times  as  he  chose  to 
visit  them  at  Sir  Marmaduke's  mansion.  So 
rode  he  along  in  his  neat  suit  of  frolic 
green,  as  much  at  his  ease  as  any  of  the 
company,  till  he  was  called  upon  to  furnish 
their  entertainment,  as  had  been  designed ; 
and  then  unfolded  his  store  of  ballads,  and 
Master  Peregrine  assisted  him  with  such 

Earticulars  of  their  history  as  had  come  to 
is  knowledge,  that  all  allowed  so  proper  a 
companion  tor  a  journey  they  could  never 
have  met  with.  • 

On  they  proceeded  in  this'orderly  manner 
till  they  came  to  the  town  of  Long  Iching- 
ton,  some  seven  miles  distant,  where  my 
Lord  of  Leicester  had  erected  a  tent  of  such 
capaciousness  and  grandeur,  never  was 
seen  the  like  ;  and  here  it  was  intended  to 
give  her  Majesty  a  truly  magnificent  ban- 
quet, previous  to  her  departure  to  his  Lord- 
ship's famous  Castle  of  Kenilworth  she 
was  coming  to  honor  with  a  visit.  Now  it 
should  be  known  to  all,  the  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter was  in  especial  favor  of  the  Queen,  his 
mistress.  No  man  more  so;  and  as  her 
Majesty  in  one  of  her  progresses  at  that 
time,  had  given  him  assurance  she  would  do 
him  such  honor  as  to  make  his  castle  her 
residence  for  some  little  while,  he  had  busied 
himself  with  prodigious  expenses  to  make 
becoming  preparations.  This  visit  of  the 
Queen  engrossed  the  public  talk,  and  as  a 
knowledge  of  the  splendor  of  its  accompani- 
ments got  abroad,  the  inhabitants  of  the  ad- 
jacent neighborhood  became  the  more  im- 
patient to  behold  them.  '  As  for  my  Lord  of 
Leicester,  he  was  diversely  reported1 ;  some 
asserting  there  was  not  his  like  for  a  prodi- 
gal disposition ;  and  others,  though  they 
cautiously  mentioned  the  matter,  spoke  of 
him  as  one  who  held  no  discipline  over  his 
passions,  save  before  those  who  could  punish 
him  for  his  misdoings ;  and  that  he  scrupled 
not  to  use  his  great  power  to  the  furthering 
of  any  great  wickedness  he  had  a  mind  to. 
Be  tin's  as  it  may,  our  young  traveller  and 
his  worshipful  company,  after  seeing  all  at 
this  town  they  could  get  a  sight  of,  departed 
towards  the  evening,  with  lier  Majesty  and 
an  immense  concourse  of  her  royal  subjects, 
to  the  Castle  of  Kenilworth.  There,  at  her 
first  entrance,  was  beheld  a  floating  island 
on  a  pool,  made  bright  with  a  many  torches, 
whereon  sat  the  lady  of  the  lake  with  two 
nymphs,  who,  in  very  choice  verse,  gave  her 


Highness  a  famous  account  of  the  history 
of  that  building  and  its  owners.  Close  by 
was  a  Triton  riding  on  a  mermaid,  at  least 
some  eighteen  feet  in  length,  and  also  Arion 
on  a  dolphin.  The  Queen  passed  over  a 
stately  bridge,  in  the  base  court,  on  each 
side  of  which,  upon  tall  columns,  were  placed 
a  store  of  all  manner  of  delectable  gifts,  sup- 
posed to  come  from  the  Gods,  such  as  a 
cage  of  wild-fowl  from  S\ :  ndry 

sorts  of  fruits  from  Pomona,  g«at  heaps  of 
corn  from  Ceres,  vessels  of  choice  wine  from 
Bacchus,  divers  kinds  of  sea-fish  from  Nep- 
tune, warlike  appointments  from  Mars,  and 
instruments  of  music  from  Phoebus  :  which 
rare  conceit  was  much  relished  of  all,  and 
shouts  rent  the  air  as  her  Highness  took 
note  of  them. 

All  this  afforded  wonderful  entertainment 
to  William  Shakspeare  ;  but  his  marvel  be- 
came the  greater,  when  he  beheld  the  infi- 
nite variety  of  such  things  which  met  him 
at  every  turn.  He  could  never  tire  of  ad- 
miring the  rare  beauty  of  that  stately  castle 
carved  out  of  the  hard  quarry,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  such  of  the  chambers  as  his  com- 
panions got  him  access  to ;  and  the  ravish- 
ing beauty  of  the  garden,  with  its  bowers, 
'alleys,  obelisks,  spheres,  white  bears,  with 
the  ragged  staff,  the  armorial  bearings  of  the 
lordly  owner,  exquisite  flowers,  and  deli 
cious  fruits,  that  met  him  go  which  way  he 
would.  Again  was  he  in  a  great  pleasure 
at  sight  of  a  cage  of  some  twenty  feet,  the 
outside  garnished  with  all  manner  of  shining 
stones,  the  inside  decked  with  fresh  holly 
trees,  and  furnished  with  cavernous  places, 
where  a  multitudinous  collection  of  foreign 
birds  ol'  all  parts  had  been  collected ;  and, 
also,  at  beholding  the  grand  fountain  in 
fashion  of  a  column  made  of  two  athelets, 
back  to  back,  supporting  a  huge  bowl,  which 
by  means  of  certain  pipes,  did  distil  con- 
tinual streams  of  water  running,  where  a 
plenty  of  lively  fishes  were  disporting  of 
themselves,  along  side  of  which  were  Nep-  • 
tune,  with  his  trident  and  sea-horses ; 
Thetis,  in  her  chariot  and  dolphins ;  Triton, 
in  company  with  his  fishes  ;  Proteus,  herd- 
ing of  his  sea  bulls ;  and  other  of  the  like 
famous  emblems,  set  in  eight  different  com- 
partments, with  admirable  sculpture  ot 
waves,  shells,  and  huge  monsters  of  the 
deep,  with  the  ragged  staff  in  fair  white 
marble  at  top,  and  gates  of  massy  silver  for 
entrance. 

But  the  sports  that  were  then  and  there 
enacted  for  the  Queen's  pastime,  none 
could  have  so  relished  as  did  he,  especially 
the  chase  with  the  savage  man,  'clad  in  ivy, 
and  his  company  of  satyrs ;  the  bear-bait- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


75 


ings  and  the  fire- works,  the  Italian  tumblers 
the  festival  of  the  brideale,  and  the  games 
of  running  at  the  quintain  and  morrice  danc- 
ing. Beside  which,  to  his  great  diversion, 
he  witnessed  the  Coventry  men  playing  the 
old  play  of  Hock  Tuesday,  representing  in 
a  sort  of  tilting  match,  and  in  dumb  show, 
the  defeat  of  the  Danes  by  the  English,  in 
the  time  of  King  Etheldred,  the  which  so 
pleased  her'  Majesty,  that  she  bestowed  on 
the  players  two  bucks,  to  make  good  cheer 
with,  and  five  marks  in  money,  to  garnish 
the  feast ;  and  after  supper,  the  same  even- 
ing, he  was  taken  into  the  castle,  to  see  a 
play  of  a  higher  sort  played  by  men  better 
'approved  in  their  art,  that  was  then  writ, 
and  played  for  her  Majesty's  particular  delec- 
tation ;  and  though  it  lasted  two  long  hours, 
he  was  so  enamored  of  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  set  forth,  he  would  have  been  glad 
enough  to  'have  stayed  all  night,  had  they 
not  come  to  an  ending. 
•  All  this,  and  wonderful  deal  more  of 
splendor,  pageantry,  and  pastime,  was  con- 
tinued in  infinite  variety  for  nineteen  days, 
with  such  prodigal  feasting  and  rejoicing  as 
none  had  previously  been  acquainted  with ; 
and  the  entire  of  it  good  Sir  Marmaduke 
took  care  his  young  companion  should  see, 
during  which  he  had  him  as  well  lodged, 
and  as  carefully  provided,  as  if  he  had  been 
his  own  son,  he  was  so  well  pleased  with 
him ;  and  either  he,  IVtaster  Peregrine  or 
Sir  Johan.  explained  the  character  and  pur- 
port of  such  things  as  he  knew  not  of,  so 
that  he  reaped  both  pleasure  and  profit 
wherever  he  went.  Every  thing  was  to 
him  so  new  and  strange,  that  he  was  kept 
in  a  continual  state  of  pleasurable  excite- 
ment he  had  never  known  all  his  life  before 
— even  the  choice  excellence  of  Gammer 
Gurton's  Needle  was  eclipsed  by  the  singu- 
lar fine  recreation  he  was  then  enjoying. 

It  did  sometimes  happen  that  although  he 
strove  all  he  could  to  keep  with  his  com- 
pany, they  would  get  separated  in  the  throng, 
and  then  he  would  have  a  great  to  do  to  find 
them  again ;  and  once  after  the  old  knight 
had  promised  he  would  take  him  to  see  her 
Majesty,  of  whom  he  had  not  as  yet  got  a 
sight,  because  of  the  crowd  of  nobles  that 
were  ever  aroirtid  her,  a  sudden  press  of 
persons  going  in  a  contrary  direction  set 
them  so  far  asunder,  that  in  a  few  minute* 
the  boy  found  himself  in  a  place  where  there 
were  many  turnings,  of  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  say  which  might  be  the  one  his 
friends  had  taken.  Believing  he  was  not 
like  to  gain  the  required  knowledge  by  ask- 
ing, where  such  a  multitude  of  strange  per- 
80A3  were  assembled,  he  chose  a  path  with 


the  determination  of  seeking  all  ways  till  he 
found  the  right  one.  He  wandered  up  and 
down  the  green  allies,  greatly  admiring  the 
deliciously  various  trees,  bedecked  with;* 
apples,  pears,  and  ripe  cherries,  the  beds  ot 
blushing  strawberries,  and  the  plots  of  fra- 
grant herbs  and  flowers,  which  cast  beauty 
and  sweetness  wherever  he  walked,  yet  of 
his  friends  saw  he  not  the  slightest  sign  ; 
indeed,  he  had  gone  so  far  he  at  last  met 
with  no  person  of  any  kind.  Getting' to  be 
somewhat  bewildered"  at  searching  so  long 
with  such  small  profit,  upon  turning  round 
a  corner  he  came  Suddenly  upon  a  lady  and 
gentleman,  with  a  grand  company  at  some 
distance  behind.  The  gentleman  was  most 
gorgeously  apparelled.  Nothing  could  be  so 
costly  as  the  rich  satin  embroidered  with 
gold  and  jewels  that  formed  his  cloak,  save 
the  delicate  fabric  of  his  doublet,  wherein 
the  same  glorious  magnificence  was  appa- 
rent. A  massy  gold  chain  of  a  curious 
fashion,  hung  over  his  breast — gems  of 
price  glittered  on  the  handle  of  his  dagger 
— his  sword  seemed  wrought  with  the  like 
preciousness — his  hose  were  of  the  delicat- 
est  pink  silk,  woven  with  silver  threads  all 
over  the  upper  part  of  the  leg  where  they 
joined  the  trunks,  which  were  of  crimson 
and  orange  color  prettily  slashed  and  richly 
embroidered  like  the  sleeves  of  the  doublet. 
The  rest  of  his  appointments  c'orresponded 
with  what  hath  been  already  described,  and 
being  of  a  fine  make  and  somewhat  hand- 
some countenance,  they  became  him  infi- 
nitely. He  appeared  to  be  playing  the  gal- 
lant to  his  fair  companion,  for  there  was  an 
air  of  exceeding  deep  homage  and  admira- 
tion in  the  looks  with  which  he  regarded 
her. 

The  lady '  was  attired  in  a  full  robe  of 
white  satin  ornamented  writh  rosettes  in 
great  number, — in  the  midst  of  which  was 
a  pearl  in  every  one, — trimmed  with  the 
richest  lace.  A  ruff  of  lace  still  more  costly 
lay  in  folds  upon  her  neck,  surmounted  by 
wings  of  stiffened  lawn,  set  all  round  with 
pearls.  Her  hair  was  combed  from  the 
forehead,  and  pearls  of  a  very  large  size  set 
in  it,  with  other  pearls  equally  precious ; 
but  pearls  appeared  to  be  a  favorite  orna- 
ment, for  besides  what  have  been  mentioned, 
they  were  in  her  ears, — they  were  round  her 
neck,  and  upon  her  bosom, — a  long  string 
of  them  hung  down  to  her  stomacher, — ana 
they  were  worked  into  the  material  of  her 
dress  wherever  there  was  place  for  them.* 
She  was  "of  a  fair  complexion,  well  featured, 
though  she  could  not  be  called  in  her  youth, 
of  an  agreeable  aspect,  and  of  an  excellent 
stately  deportment,  and  appeared  to  be  lis* 


76 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


tening  with  singular  satisfaction  to  what 
fell  from  the  gallant  at  her  side. 

"  What  ho,  my  young  master,  what  seek- 
thou  ?"  exclaimed  she,  upon  noticing  of 
William  Shakspeure  standing  looking  at  the 
two,  as  if  so  dazzled  with  the  brave  show 
they  made,  he  knew  not  at  first  whether  to 
turn  back  or  go  on  ;  but  believing  them  to 
be  persons  of  worship,  had  taken  off  his  hat, 
and  stood  respectfully  to  let  them  pass. 

"  An'  it  please  you  I  have  lost  my  way," 
cried  he.  "  1  have  been  forced  to  part  from 
my  friends,  by  reason  of  the  great  crowd, 
and  should  I  not  overtake  them  soon,  per- 
chance I  may  miss  seeing  the  Queen,  the 
which  famous  sight  they  were  proceeding  to 
when  I  was  forced  away  from  them." 

"  Hast  never  seen  the  Queen  ?"  inquired 
the  lady  seemingly  charmed  with  the  in- 
genuousness of  the  boy's  manner. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  have  not,  by  reason  of  the 
throng  about  her,"  answered  he.  "But  I 
should  be  right  glad  to  see  her,  for  never 
yet  have  I  seen  a  Queen  of  any  kind,  and  I 
have  heard  say  our  Queen  Elizabeth  is  a 
most  gracious  lady."  At  hearing  this  the 
lady  looked  at  her  companion,  and  he  at  her 
with  a  peculiar  smile,  doubtless  of  some 
pleasant  manner. 

"And  suppose  I  show  thee  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, my  little  master,  what  wouldst  say  to 
her  ?"  asked  she. 

"  Nay,  I  would  say  naught  of  mine  own 
accord,"  said  the  other,  "  as  methinks  it 
might  savor  of  a  too  great  boldness  in  me  ; 
but  asked  she  of  me  any  question,  I  would 
with  all  proper  courtesy  answer  as  1  best 
could, — and  doubt  not  I  would  thank  you 
heartily  for  affording  me  so  brave  a  sight." 

"  By  my  troth,  well  saidli'  exclaimed  the 
lady,  as  if  in  an  excellent  satisfaction. 
"  What  say  you,  my  Lord  of  Leicester,  shall 
we  show  this  youngster,  that  speaks  so  pret- 
tily, what  he  has  such  huge  desire  to  see  ?" 
added  she,  turning  with  an  arch  look  to  her 
gallant. 

"  O'  my  life,  to  my  thinking  he  deserveth 
no  U-ss,"  replied  the  nobleman. 

"  An'  it  please  you,"  said  William  Shak- 
speare  respectfully,  "  it  seemeth  to  me  you 
must  needs  be  the  Queen  herself  \'' 

"H;j,  young  sir!  and  why  dost  fancy 
that  ?"  exclaimed  Queen  Elizabeth,  for  as 
the  reader  may  readily  believe  it  was  no 
other. 

"Because  you  have  BO  brave  an  appear- 
ance with  you,"  answered  he,  "  and  look  so 
gracious  withal.  Indeed,  an'  .you  are  not 
her  in  truth,  I  should  be  well  pleased  and 
you  were,  for  never  saw  I  so  excellent  sweet 
a  lady." 


"  Indeed  !  But  thou  playest  the  courtier 
betimes,  my  pretty  master  !"  cried  her  ma- 
icsty  in  an  admirable  good  humor. 

"  And  the  varlet  doth  it  so  gracefully  !" 
added  my  Lord  of  Leicester,  who  seemed  to" 
be  as  much  taken  with  him  as  was  his  royal 
mistress. 

"  Here  is  a  remembrance  for  thee,"  said 
the  queen,  giving  him  a  gold  piece  out  of 
her  purse;  "  I  do  applaud  thy  wit  in  having 
made  so  notable  a  discovery;  and  doubt  not, 
if  thou  goest  on  as  well  as  thou  bast  com- 
menced, thou  and  fortune  will  shake  hands 


Then  calling  to  some  of  those  her  officers- 
who  were  behind  her,  her  majesty  ga  ve  the 
boy  to  thorn  with  strict  charge  to  seek  out 
his  friends,  and  deliver  him  to  them  safely ; 
but  it  so  happened  he  had  not  proceeded  far 
in  such  custody,  when  he  met  them  ;  and 
all  were  in  some  marvel  to  hear  what 
strange  adventure  he  had  fallen  into. 

It  was  getting  towards  eve  of  the  same 
day,  when  two  persons  stood  close  under  the 
terrace  that  lay  along  the  castl«.  One  was 
closely  muffled, up,  and  endeavoring  all  he 
could  to  hide  his  face  and  person  from  ob- 
servation, and  he  kept  continually  turning 
of  his  eyes  in  every  direction  to  note  if  any 
were  watching,  whilst  he  spoke  in  a  low 
voiceyto  his  companion.  The  other  was  also 
cloaked,  but  seemed«more  intent  upon  heark- 
ening to  the  discourse  of  his  associate  than 
to  any  other  matter. 

"  Art  sure  of  her  person  V  asked  the  first 
in  a  low  whisper. 

"  1  marked  her  well,  my  lord,"  answered 
the  other  in  the  same  subdued  voice  ;  "  O' 
my  life,  never  saw  I  so  exquisite  fair  a  crea- 
ture 1" 

"  Indeed  she  is  of  ravishing  perfections — 
a  very  angel  in  the  bud !"  exclaimed  his 
companion  in  a  fervent  ecstacy.  "  Fresh  in 
youth  and  perfect  in  beauty  !  in  brief,  I  have 
never  seen  her  peer  in  all  my  experience. 
Do  as  I  would  have  thee,  thy  fortune's 
made." 

"  Count  upon  her  as  your  own,  my  good 
lord." 

"  But  be  cautious,  on  your  life." 

"  Be  assured,  in  subtlety  I  will  beat  the 
cunningest  fox  that  ever  robbed  hen-roost." 
t  "  Away !  I  cannot  stay  another  minute, 
or  mv  absence  will  be  marked."  Where- 
upon both  glided  different  ways  in  the  sha- 
dow, and  were  no  more  visible. 

Among  the  company  the  fame  of  these 
princely  pleasures  had"  attracted  to  Kenil- 
worth,  were  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  good 
dame,  who  had  brought  with  them,  as  an  at 
tendant  to  the  latter,  oo  other  than  theii 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


77 


pretty  foundling,  the  gentle  Mabel,  now 
grown  to  be  that  indefinable  delicate  exam- 
ple of  feminine  graces  thatlieth  betwixt  girl- 
hood and  womanhood.  Under  the  careful 
instruction  of  her  patroness,  she  had  been 
well  schooled  in  all  such  learning  as  was 
proper  for  a  young  person  of  such  humble 
fortunes ;  but  of  her  own  natural  well-dis- 
posedness  she  acquired  such  wisdom  as 
would  have  have  fitted  her  had  she  come  of 
the  noblest  families.  Of  her  parents  none 
knew  a  syllable  ;  and  Dame  Lucy  fancying 
none  but  mean  persons  could  behave  so 
meanly  as  to  desert  their  child,  had  brought 
her  up  in  such  fashion  as  showed  she  consid- 
ered her  origin  to  be  of  the  humblest,  intend- 
ing her  for  a  servant,  and  ever  attempting 
to  impress  on  her  mind  a  humility  corre- 
sponding with  one  meant  for  so  pitiful  a  con- 
dition. However,  having  resolved  she  should 
S3  to  Kenilworth  in  their  company  the  good 
ame  had  taken  care  her  attire  should  be  of 
a  batter  sort  than  what  she  usually  wore, 
never  failing  the  whilst  she  gave  them  for 
her  wearing,  to  accompany  them  with  a  no- 
table fine  homily  upon  the  wickedness  of 
poor  girls  seeking  to  put  on  them  such  ap- 
parelling as  was  above  their  station. 

Mabel  was  that  evening  standing  between 
her  elderly  companions  beholding  the  fire- 
works. There  was  a  huge  crowd  a  little 
wa^  before  her.  A  strange  gallant  very 
courteously  directed  the  attention  of  the 
knight  and  his  lady  to  what  was  worthiest 
of  notice,  and  in  a  very  friendly  manner  gave 
them  intelligence  of  what  was  going  to  be 
done,  at  what  cost  it  had  been  made,  and  by 
whose  skilfulness  it  was  constructed  ;  to  the 
which,  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  in  especial,  gave 
famous  attention,  entering  cheerfully  into 
the  discourse,  and  striving  to  appear  as  fa- 
miliar with  the  matter  as  his  instructor. 

"I  warrant  you!"  exclaimed  he ;  "  me- 
thinks  I  ought  to  know  something  of  such 
things.  Ay,  marry,  I  have  been  as  familiar 
with  them  as  am  I  with  my  hand." 

"  As  I  live,  I  took  you  to  be  some  learned 
gentleman  when  I  had  first  sight  of  you," 
cried  the  stranger,  with  an  appearance  of 
monstrous  respect ;  "  you  have  it  in  your 
face, sir;  indeed  your  look  savoreth  SQ  much 
of  sagacity  that  none  can  mistake  it.  Doubt- 
less you  are  some  great  Doctor  ?" 

"  O'  my  word,  but  a  simple  knight  o'  the 
shire,  good  sir^'  replied  the  other  in  a  fa- 
mous satisfaction. 

"  And  a  justice  of  peace,  Sir  Thomas," 
added  Dame  Lucy,  anxious  her  husband's 
greatness  should  not  be  imperfectly  known. 

**  I  would  have  sworn  it !"  exclaimed  their 
i»mpanion. 


"  By'r  Lady  now,  is  it  so  visible  ?"  cried 
the  other,  as  much  astonished  as  gratified. 

"  But,  as  I  was  about  saying,  when  I  was 
at  college  I  was  wonderfully  given  to  the 
study  of  chemicals  and  alchemy  ;  ay,  to  such 
extreme  that  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt  I 
should  have  got  at  the  philosopher's  stone 
had  I  kept  at  my  experiments  long  enough." 

"  Of  that  I  am  assured,"  observed  the 
stranger. 

"  But  my  chief  pleasure  was  in  the  mak- 
ing of  strange  fires  that  would  burn  of  all 
colors,"  continued  the  knight.  "  These  I 
learned  of  a  famous  clerk,  who  was  study- 
ing chemicals,  and  was  considered  more  apt 
at  it  than  any  of  his  time." 

"  A  very  Friar  Bacon,  doubtless,  Sir 
Thomas,"  said  his  companion. 

"  Marry,  yes,  that  was  he,"  replied  the 
justice. 

"  Now,  I  was  ever  a  letting  off  my  fires, 
to  the  terror  of  all  simple  people,  who  could 
not  fancy  they  were  of  this  world,  and  mar- 
vellous proper  sport  had  I  on  such  occasions  ; 
for,  as  I  live,  I  was  such  a  fellow  at  tricks  I 
had  not  my  match,  go  where  I  would." 

"  I  would  I  had  known  you  then  ;  I  was 
just  such  another,"  exclaimed  the  stranger, 
very  merrily. 

"  Ay,  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good 
to  have  seen  the  tricks  I  h:ive  played,"  con- 
tinued Sir  Thomas,  laughing  with  exceed- 
ing heartiness.  "  I  have  been  as  wild  a  colt 
as  ever  broke  his  tether,  f  promise,  you." 

"No,  indeed,  have  you  ?"  cried  the  other, 
joining  in  his  companion's  mirth  to  some 
excess. 

"  By  cock  and  pye,  'yes  ;  and  among  the 
bona  robas  too,"  added  he,  in  a  voice  and 
manner  meant  to  be  still  more  facetious,  as 
he  gave  his  companion  a  sly  nudge  at  the 
elbow. 

"  Odds  my  life,  Sir  Thomas  !"  exclaimed 
the  stranger,  apparently  increasing  the 
greatness  of  his  humor,  "  you  were  a  fit 
companion  for  the  Sophy." 

"  I  was  as  familiar  with  them  all  as  though 
we  had  been  cousins,"  added  the  knight,  af- 
ter the  same  fashion.  "  Indeed  I  was  so 
partial  to  these  pretty  ones,  that  if  any  my 
fellows  said,  '  Yonder  is  a  kirtle,'  oft' would 
I  start  on  the  instant,  though  I  had  a  mile  to 
run." 

"  Fie,  fie,  Sir  Thomas  !"  exclaimed  Dame 
Lucy,  good  humoredly  ;  then  turning  to  the 
stranger  with  a  monstrous  innocent  sort  ot 
countenance,  added,  "  Think  not  so  ill  ol 
him,  good  sir,  I  pray  you,  for  I  have  known 
him  this  thirty  year  and  more,  and  he  hath 
never  done  ought  of  the  kind,  I'll  warrant." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  believe  me,"  replied  the 


78, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


other,  with  more  sincerity  than  he  chose  | 
should  be  known.  "  But  if  it  please  you  to 
come  a  little  more  to  this  side,"  said  he, 
with  exceeding  courteousness,  "  You  shall 
behold  what  is  far  beyond  what  you  have 
already  seen." 

"  We  will,  and  thank  you,"  answered  Sir 
Thomas,  eagerly,  and  he  with  Dame  Lucy, 
presently  moved  in  that  direction. 

In  the  meanwhile,  another  courteous  gen- 
tleman was  paying  similar  attentions  to  the 
fair  Mabel,  who  received  them  in  a  thank- 
ful spirit,  as  she  ever  did  any  appearance  of 
kindness  from  another.  He  told  her  the 
wonders  of  the  castle — the  great  power  and 
princely  magnificence  of  the  possessor — 
what  famous  noble  lords  and  fair  ladies  were 
of  the  company,  and  the  unparalleled  pre- 
ciousness  of  the  jeweled  silks  and  velvets 
that  were  of  their  wearing;  and  he  took 
care  to  season  all  with  some  delicate  flat- 
tery or  another,  well  suited  to  win  the  ear 
of  one  of  her  youth  and  inexperience. 

"  Indeed  these  nobles  have  a  fine  time  of 
it,  methinks,"  said  her  companion.  "  They 
have  everything  that  heart  can  wish  for,  at 
their  command  ;  and  any  fair  creature  who 
is  so  fortunate  as  to  win  the  love  of  such, 
cannot  help  knowing  that  extreme  happi- 
ness few  have  any  notion  of.  Dost  not 
think  women  so  fortunate  are  greatly  to  be 
envied,  sweetesfr?" 

"  Doubtless,  honorable  sir.  if  they  be 
worthy,"  replied  Mabel. 

"  Crowds  of  servants  come  at  their  com- 
mand,1' continued  the  stranger,  more  earn- 
estly. "  Whatever  they  can  fancy,  let  it  be 
of  ever  such  cost,  is  brought  to  them  ere 
they  can  well  say  they  want  it — the  exquis- 
itest  sweet  music  fills  the  air  around  them 
day  and  night — all  manner  of  ravishing  per- 
fumes of  flowers  and  herbs  and  odoriferous 
gums,  enrich  the  atmosphere  they  breathe  ; 
and  he  whose  princely  nature  they  have  so 
bound  in  their  chains  as'to  hold  him  prison  • 
er  to  their  admirable  lustrous  eyes,  is  ever 
at  their  will,  glorifying  them  with  his  praise, 
deifying  them  with  his  devotion,  and  mak- 
ing every  hour  of  their  lives  redolent  with 
the  unutterable  ecstacies  of  'his  sovereign 
and  most  absolute  affections.  Dost  not 
think  such  women  infinitely  fortunate  ?" 

"  I  know  not  how  they  could  help  being 
so,  were  they  well  disposed,"  answered  the 
foundling. 

"  Just  so,  sweetest  one,"  observed  the 
gallant.  "  Now,  supposing  such  thing  as 
this  should  happen  ; — some  such  noble  per- 
son as  I  have  described — the  equal  of  the 
proudest — the  master  of  the  wealthiest,  get- 
ting sight  of  your  most  absolute  graces — " 


"What,  I  ?"  exclaimed  Mabel,  in  a  fa-  * 
mous  astonishment. 

"  And  straightway  falling  enamored  of 
the  bright  perfections  of  your  spotless  na- 
ture," continued  he;  "his  princely  heart 
thrilling  with  thedivinest  sensations,  should 
be  in  a  feverish  impatience  to  cast  his  great- 
ness at  your  feet,  and  all  out  of  love  for 
such  inestimable  choice  beauty  of  mind  and 
feature,  should  be  ready  to  fall  out  with  life, 
if  by  chance  you  deny  him  the  happiness  he 
would  find  in  your  inestimable  company." 

"  Surely,  you  are  jesting,  good  sir,"  ob- 
served his  fair  companion.  ''  I  know  not  of 
such  things  as  you  speak  of.  Indeed,  I  am 
so  humble  a  person,  none  such  as  you  have 
said,  would  ever  trouble  themselves  about 
me  for  a  single  moment ;  nevertheless  I 
thank  you  kindly  for  your  good  opinion  of 
me,  and  should  be  right  glad  to  possess  any 
merit  that  would  make  me  deserve  it  better 
than  I  do." 

••  That  cannot  be,  o'  my  life,  excellent 
creature  ?"  replied  the  gallant,  with  a  seem- 
ing fervor.  "  'Tis  your  too  great  modesty 
that  preventeth  you  from  seeing  your  own 
notable  divine  excellencies." 

"  Indeed  you  think  too  well  of  me — I  have 
no  sign  of  any  such  thing,"  said  Mabel ; 
her  truly  unassuming  nature  shrinking  from 
the  flattery ;  then  looking  round,  for  the 
first  time  dbserved  that  Sir  Thomas  rfnd 
Dame  Lucy  were  nowhere  near  her. — 
"  Alack  !  where  can  they  have  gone  !"  ex- 
claimed she,  in  some  to  do.  "  They  will  be 
exceeding  angry  I  took  not  better  heed  to 
keep  close  to  them  wherever  they  went,  as 
they  told  me.'" 

"  Speak  you  of  yqur  friends,  sweetest  ?" 
inquired  the  other,  in  an  indifferent  manner. 
"  I  saw  them  myself  not  a  moment  since, 
moving  round  this  way.  If  you  will  allow 
of  my  protection,  I  will  take  care  you  join 
them  so  soon  you  shall  not  be  missed  at  all." 

"  I  sho.uld  be  loth  to  put  you  to  such  trou- 
ble on  my  account,  I  thank  you  heartily," 
answered  his  fair  companion,  "  I  will  seek 
them  myself  the  way  you  have  kindly  told 
me."  Thereupon,  she  moved  in  that  di- 
rection, the  gallant  keeping  at  her  side,  but 
not  a  sign  of  the  knight  or- his  good  dame 
could  they  see. 

"  Woe  is  me,  I  have  lost  all  sight  of  them !" 
cried  Mabel,  now  in  no  little  trouble  of  mind. 
"  How  heedless  I  must  have  been  to  have 
let  them  go  away  without  my  knowing  it." 

"  Surely  there  they  are  yonder  !"  exclaim- 
ed the  stranger,  pointing  to  two  figures  dim- 
ly discerned  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  green 
alleys,  walking  slowly  away. 

"  Indeed  they  have  some  likeness  to  them," 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


the  replied,  yet  seeming  to  hesitate  about 
their  identity. 

"  They  cannot  be  any  other,  I  would  swear 
it,"  said  the  gallant,  with  monstrous  earnest- 
ness ;  "  see  you  not  the  knight's  very  doub- 
let ?  nay,  an'  you  do  not  make  some  speed, 
they  will  turn  the  corner,  and  mayhap  you 
may  lose  sight  of  them  altogether."  There- 
upon, Mabel,  without  another  word,  tripped 
lightly  along  the  path — her  companion  still 
keeping  close  to  her  side — anil  when  they 
got  to  the  top  they  beheld  the  two  persons 
they  had  seen  turning  round  a  corner  into 
an  alley  beyond  ;  at  the  sight  of  which  the 
poor  foundling  started  off  again  in  great 
anxiety  to  overtake  them,  but  with  no  better 
success  ;  for  however  fast  she  ran,  as  she 
got  to  the  end  of  one  path,  the  figures  were 
seen  turning  round  at  the  end  of  another, 
and  so  it  continued  for  such  a  time  she  would 
-  have  given  up  the  pursuit  in  despair,  had 
not  the  gallant  kept  encouraging  her  to  pro- 
ceed. At  last,  when  she  was  nigh  exhaust- 
ed with  her  exertions,  and  in  extreme  dis- 
comfort, because  now  she  saw  no  appear- 
ance whatever  of  those  she  took  to  be  the 
knight  and  his  lady,  on  a  sudden  she  heard 
a  loud  whistle  behind  her,  that  appeared  to 
come  from  her  companion — the  which  it  did 
beyond  all  contradiction,  for  he  had  that  mo- 
ment put  a  whistle  to  his  mouth — and  ere 
she  could  think  what  was  the  meaning  of 
such  strange  behavior,  two  or  three  stout 
fellows  rushed  from  a  grove  of  trees  close  at 
hand,  and  despite  of  a  sharp  scream  she 
gave,  threw  a  large  cloak  over  Tier,  in  the 


of  Sir  Valentine's  party,  led  by  Sir  Marma- 
duke,  who  had  plucked  out  his  trusty  ra- 
pier, the  moment  he  heard  the  clashing  of 
blades,  his  imposing  appearance  struck  a 
panic  amongst  them.  The  two  fellows 
dropped  their  burthen,  without  caring  to 
make  his  acquaintance,  and,  with  the  rest, 
made  oft*  in  different  directions. 

It  was  difficult  to  say  which  was  most  af- 
fected with  the  unusual  loveliness  of  the 
gentle  Mabel,  Sir  Valentine  or  Sir  Reginald, 
as  they  disengaged  her  from  her  unwelcome 
covering,  whilst  the  others  assured  her  of 
her  perfect  safety.  They  AVere  dumb  with 
excess  of  admiration.  Nothing  they  had 
seen  or  imagined  came  in  any  way  like  the 
exquisite  innocency  and  faultless  loveliness 
of  her  features.  She  seemed  to  them  to  be 
some  fair  spirit  of  a  better  world,  such  as 
ancient  poets  have  described  haunting  clear 
streams  and  mossy  caves,  and  the  deep  hol- 
lows of  the  emerald  woods,  by  such  names  aa 
sylphs,  dryades,  and  the  like.  Woman  she 
could  scarce  be  styled,  she  looked  so  yaung, 
and  yet  each  was  loath  she  should  be  called 
any  other  name,  believing  nothing  was  so 
worthy  of  love  and  reverence.  As  for  the 
poor  foundling,  she  was  in  some  confusion 
to  be  so  gazed  upon  by  strangers  ;  she  had 
not  yet  recovered  from  the  surprise  and  fear 
she  had  been  put  to  by  the  treachery  of  her 
late  companion,  and  gazed  about  her,  the 
prettiest  picture  of  amazement  that  had  ever 
been  witnessed.  Even  the  antiquarian  stared 
through  his  spectacles  at  her  so  earnestly  as 
he  had  at  the  ancientest  ballad  that  had 


which  she  was  muffled  up  in  a  minute,  and  j  fallen  into  his  hands  ;  and  William  Shak- 
borne  helplessly  along.  speare,  boy  as  he  was,  appeared  as  though 

"  Never  was  hawk  lured  so  cleverly,"  there  was  a  power  in  her  admirable  beauty 
said  the  gallant,  in  evident  gratification  at  |  he  felt  all  through  his  nature,  yet  witli  a 
the  complete  success  of  his  villainous !  confused  sense  of  its  particular  meaning, 


scheme. 


that  would  take  no  definite  interpretation. 


"  She  is  now  hooded,  and  must  to  her  It  is  here  only  necessary  to  add  that  the 
mews  with  what  speed  we  can.  Slight !"  j  young  and  graceful  creature  found  every 
here  sharply  exclaimed  he,  seemingly  in  a  j  possible  attention  and  respect  from  those  in 


very  absolute  vexation  ;  "  what  pestilent  in- 
terruption is  this  ?  But  they  are  but  two, 
so  haste,  for  your  lives,  we  can  give  them 
work  enough,  prove  they  for  meddling." 


whose  company  she  had  so  fortunately  fallen. 
A  search  was  quickly  commenced  for  the 
knight  and  his  lady,  and  after  some  trouble, 
taken  of  the  young  knights  as  the  sweetest 


It  so  happened  that  Sir  Valentine  and  his  pleasure  they  had  ever  enjoyed,  she  was  re- 
friend  were  together  in  an  adjoining  walk, •  stored  to  them,  but  not  without  such  thanks 
when  they  heard  the  whistle,  and  the  scream  ;  from  her,  as,  for  the  gentle,  sweet  gracious- 


following  close  upon  it ;  their  rapiers  were 
out  in  an  instant,  and  they  were  just  in  time 
to  see  a  female  muffled  up  and  borne  away. 
This  brought  them  to  the  spot  presently. — 
Two  of  the  villains  carried  Mabel,  and  were 
making  off,  whilst  their  companions  were 
engaged  with  the  young  knights,  who  were 
using  their  weapons  briskly  with  each  an 
opponent ;  but  suddenly  coming  to  the  rest 


ness  with  which  they  were  accompanied, 
never  left  their  memories  from  that  time  for- 
ward. As  for  William  Shakspeare,  he  re- 
turned to  his  loving  parents,  surprising  them 
greatly  with  the  goodly  store  of  gifts  he 
would  needs  pour  into  his  mother's  lap, 
which  had  been  bestowed  upon  him  by  his 
friends  ;  but  putting  them  in  a  still  greater 
wonder  at  his  marvellous  relations  of  what 


80 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


strange  adventures  he  had  had,  and  famous 
sights  he  had  beheld,  since  lie  had  been 
away. 


CHAPTER  XL 

His  browny  locks  did  hang  in  crooked  curls, 

And  every  light  occasion  of  the  wind 

Upon  his  lips  their  silken  parcels  hurls. 

His  qualities  were  beauteous  as  his  form, 

For  maiden-tongued  he  was  and  therefore  free. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

For  him  was  lever  ban  af  his  beddes  hed 
A  twenty  bokes,  clothed  in  black  or  red, 
Of  Aristotle,  and  his  philosophic, 
Than  robes  riche,  or  fidel,  or  sautrie. 

CHAUCEH. 
Oh,  ye  gods, 

Give  me  a  worthy  patience  !     Have  I  stood  • 
Naked,  alone,  the  shock  of  many  fortunes  ! 
Have  I  seen  mischiefs  numberless  and  mighty 
Grow  like  a  sea  upon  me  ?     Have  I  taken 
Danger  as  stern  as  death  into  my  bosom, 
And  laughed  upon  it,  made  it  but  a  mirth, 
And  flung  it  by.     *     *     *     Do  I 
Bear  all  this  bravely,  and  must  sink  at  last 
Under  a  woman's  falsehood  ! 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

"  NAY,  I  cannot  abide  these  new-fangled 
novelties,''  observed  Master  Peregrine,  who 
with  the  others  of  the  squire's  company, 
with  William  Shakspcare  in  the  midst,  ap- 
peared to  be  examining  of  certain  shelves  of 
books  that  were  in  an  antique  oak  chamber 
in  Sir  Marmaduke's  mansion.  "  They  be 
but  for  the  delighting  of  dainty  ears,  and 
such  whose  fantasies  are  only  to  be  tickled 
with  fine  filed  phrases.  1  like  not  the  boy 
should  have  such  poor  reading." 

"  I  assure  you  the  Mirrour  for  Magis- 
trates is  in  excellent  repute  of  all  men," 
said  Sir  Reginald.  "  It  is  a  very  admirable 
fine  poem,  or  series  of  legends,  relating  the 
falls  of  the  unfortunate  princes  of  this  land, 
first  originating  with  my  Lord  Sackville, 
and  now  carried  on  by  divers  authors  of  re- 
putation." 

"  Nay,  I  have  here  one  that  he  will  more 
approve  of,"  cried  Sir  Valentine,  as  he  held 
a  volume  in  his  hand  that  looked  quite  new. 
"  It  is  called  the  Paradyse  of  Daynty  De- 
vises, aptly  furnished  with  sundry  pithie  and 
learned  inventions,  devised  and  written  for 
the  most  part  by  Master  Edwards,  sometime 


"  I  doubt  not,"  said  the  chaplain,  whe  had 
also  a  book  in  his  hand.  "  But  methinks  I 
have  something  here  far  more  fitting,  of  the 
ingenious  Master  Tubcrville,  being  no  other 
than  the  heroical  epistles  of  the  learned  poet 
Publius  Ovidius  Naso,  with  Aulus  Sabinus' 
answers  to  certaine  of  the  same,  a  very  fa- 
mous and  proper  classic." 

"What  have  we  here?"  cried  the  old 
knight,- examining  a  volume  he  had  just 
taken  off  the  shelft  "  A  hundrcth  Good 
Pointes  of  Husbandrie,  as  I  live,  and  very 
profitable  reading  doubtless." 

"  Pish,  what  wants  he  with  books  of  such 
a  sort  ?"  inquired  Master  Peregrine  impati- 
ently, as  he  regarded  with  particular  satis- 
faction a  huge  folio  from  the  same  place. 
"  This  is  such  as  he  will  like  most.  O'  my 
word,  it  is  a  treasure  beyond  all  price.  This 
great  rarity  is  entitled,  A  book  of  the  noble* 
Hystoryes  of  Kynge  Arthur,  and  of  certeyn 
of  his  Knyghtes,"  and  is  from  Caxton's  own 
press,  and  bears  the  date  anno  1485.  O 
what  a  jewel ! — O  what  a  pearl  of  price  !— 
In  good  fay,  I  can  scarce  take  my  eyes  oft 
such  an  inestimable  rare  volume. 

William  Shakspeare  turned  his  intelligent 
eyes  from  one  to  another,  as  each  rccum- 
mended  his  particular  book,  almost  puzzled 
which  of  .these  goodly  volumes  he  should 
choose  first,  but  in  a  wonderful  impatience  to 
be  at  one  of  them. 

"Methinks,  after  all,  'twill  be  best  to  let 
him  make  his  own  choice,"  observed  Sir 
Marmaduke.  "  What  say  you,  young  sir," 
said  he  to  him.  "  Which  of  all  these  books 
think  you  the  properest  for  your  reading  ?*' 

"  An'  it  please  your  worship,"  replied 
William,  with  much  simplicity,  "  I  must 
needs  read  them  all  before  I  can  say  which 
is  best,  with  any  justice.". 

"  E'en  do  so,  then,  if  it  likes  you."  ex- 
claimed the  old  knight,  laughing  heartily 
with  the  rest.  "  There  are  they — you  are 
welcome  to  their  perusal  come  when  you 
will.  But  there  is  one  volume  I  would  have 
you  take  great  note  of,  and  that  is  called 
The  Gentleman's  Academic,  or  the  Booke 
of  St.  Albans,  writ  by  one  Juliana  Barnes, 
containing  the  choicest  accounts  of  hawk- 
ng,  hunting,  armorie,  I  have  met  with  any- 
where." 

"  Truly,  'tis  a  most  ravishing  work  !"  said 
Master  Peregrine.  "  A  notable  rare  speci- 
men of  the  types  of  Wynkyn  de  Worde. 
Jut  if  you  be  for  grave  reading,  choose  you 


of  her  Majesties  chappel ;  the  rest  by  sun-  The  Seven  Wise  Masters.  If  you  are  for 
dry  learned  gentlemen  of  honour  and  wor-  mirth,  pitch  upon  The  Hundred  Merry  Tales 
shippe.  It  is  full  of  delectable  poems,  I  pro-  — if  for  the  reading  of  other  light  tales, 
mise  you,  that  are  read  and  hugely  admired  nought  will  so  well  serve  your  turn  as  The 
by  all  persons  of  quality."  !  Palace  of  Pleasure.  Take  you  to  romances 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


you  may  find  exquisite  diversion  in  Amadis 
of  Gaul,  Palmerin  of  England,  Huon  of  Bor- 
deaux, Sir  Bevis  of  Southampton,  Sir  Guy 
of  Warwick,  The  Seven  Champions,  Valen- 
tyne  and  Orson,  The  Squire  of  Low  De- 
gree, Tiie  Knight  of  Courtpsie,  and  the  La- 
dy Fagiu'l.  The  Castle  of  Ladies,  and  a  hun- 
dred others  of  equal  great  merit :  but  if  you 
are  for  ballads,  my  young  master,  exquisite 
choice  ballads  and  songs  of  old  time,  look 
you  out  for  the  Blind  Beggar  of  Bethnal 
Green,  Queen  Dido,  Fortune  my  Foe,  Pep- 
per is  Black,  Adam  Bell,  Clymof  theClough, 
and  William  of  Cloudesly,  Robin  Hood  and 
the  Pindar  of  Wakerield,  and  others  out  of 
all  number  of  every  kind,  subject,  and  qua- 
lity, which  are  here  ready  for  your  reading." 

"  All  such  are  well  enough  in  their  way," 
observed  Sir  Johan.     "  But  if  he  take  to 
reading  of  the  classics,   all  other  reading 
whatsoever  advanceth  him  not  a  whit  in  his  | 
education.     What  can  he  learn  of  ancient  j 
history,  save  out  of  Herodotus,  Thucydes,  j 
Zenophon,  Titus  Livius,  Tacitus,  and  Cac-  \ 
ear ;  where  in  Philosophy  can  he  have  such  i 
guides  as  Aristotle,  Socrates,  Epicurus,  Eu- ! 
clid,  that  famous  master  of  figures  ;  Pliny,  j 
that  curious  observer  of  nature,  that  profound 
expounder  of  surgicals.     In  poetry  what  is 
like  unto  the  works  of  Homer,  Pindar,  Ana- 
creon.  Virgil,  Horace,  or   Ovid  ?     And  in 
eloquence,  what  can  couie  in  any  way  near 
unto  Demosthenes,  or  Cicero  ?     Truly  then 
the  classics  should  be-before  all  other  books, 
for  the  study  of  any  young  person,  and  so  it 
will  be  found  in  all  colleges  and  schools 
throughout  Christendom." 

These  advocates  for  modern  and  ancient 
learning,  might  have  waxed  warm  in  their 
dispute,  had  they  been  allowed,  and  the  two 
young  knights  also  took  part  in  it  in  praise  of 
chivalrous  tales,  Italian  sonnets,  and  Frencli 
lays  and  romances;  but  Sir  Marmaduke 
good  humoredly  put  an  end  to  the  argument 
by  telling  them  the  dinner  bell  was  a  ring- 
ing, which  caused  them  to  forget  their  books 
awhile,  and  look  to  their  appetites. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  William  Shaks- 
peare  was  bountifully  provided  for  in  ail 
manner  of  learning,  and  it  may  well  be  be- 
lieved he  was  not  long  in  availing  himself 
of  the  treasures  so  liberally  placed  at  his 
disposal.  All  spare  time  he  could  get  was 
passed  in  the  old  knight's  library,  where  he 
kept  like  a  bird  in  a  granary,  feeding  on  the 
plenteous  store  in  a  most  grateful  spirit,  and 
with  no  desire  to  move  from  such  excellent 
neighborhood.  But  he  was  rarely  left  alone 
for  any  great  period,  for  Sir  Marmaduke  and 
his  friends  were  too  well  pleased  with  his 
quickness  of  apprehension  and  untiring  in- 


dustry, not  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  assist 
the  studies  of  so  promising  a  scholar ;  there- 
fore he  was  sure  to  have  with  either  the  old 
knight  himself,  who  would  readily  go  over  \ 
with  him  any  creditable  book  of  legends,  or 
ancient  customs  and  sports ;  or  his  chaplain, 
who  took  huge  pains  he  should  not  be  in- 
different to  the  treasures  of  classic  lore, 
never  forgetting  by  the  by  to  put  in  on  an 
occasion,  some  most  moving  discourse  on  the 
goodness  of  Providence,  and  explain  the  chief 
points  of  all  moral  doctrine..  Then  came 
Master  Perregrine  ready  to  cuddle  him  with 
delight,  should  he  find  him-  intent  upon  some 
worm  eaten  black  letter  folio,  or  a  bundle  of 
old  ballads,  and  he  would  not  rest  till  he  had 
made  his  pupil  familiar  with  whatsoever 
concerning  of  them  ha  thought  worthy  of 
knowing — and  at  another  time  he  would  be 
visited  by  the  two  young  knights  with  whom 
he  was  in  particular  esteem,  and  they  were 
ever  striving  to  possess  him  with  the  notion 
that  the  gallantest  accomplishments  were 
the  most  worthy  of  study,  especially  of  the 
Italian  tongue,  and  that  nought  was  like 
unto  the  sweetness  of  Petrarch,  the  pleas- 
antry of  Boccacio,  or  the  grandeur  of  Dante, 
Tasso  and  Ariosto. 

From  this  it  is  evident  on  the  face  of,  that 
none  could  have  a  fairer  schooling  than  our 
young  scholar.  Indeed,  he  now  gained 
more  knowledge  in  a  day  than  he  could  have 
had  of  thai,  pedantic,  poor  ignoramus,  his 
schoolmaster,  all  his  life ;  and  it  was  the 
marvel  of  all  to  notice  how  famously  he  got 
on  in  his  learning.  There  appeared  to  be 
nothing  he  could  not  give  a  reason  for,  or 
description  of,  for  he  took  infinite  trouble  by 
asking  questions  of  all  sorts  of  people,  as 
well  as  by  conning  of  every  book  in  Sir 
Marmaduke's  library,  to  remain  ignorant  of 
as  little  as  possible.  Hour  after  hour  hath 
he  passed  at  a  time  over  some  pithy  book, 
till  his  head  would  ache  with  the  intentness 
with  which  he  would  give  his  mind  to  the 
matter  of  it — then  away  lie  went  like  a 
wild  buck  of  the  forest,  broke  loose  from 
confinement,  over  the  greea  fields  and 
through  the  nutty  woods,  hither  and  thither 
everywhere,  "'drinking  within  his  nostrils, 
choked  with  the  closeness  of  musty  volumes, 
the  sweet  pure  air  freshened  with  the  cool 
breeze — and  at  his  aching  eyes,  tired  of  the 
sameness  of  so  nv.ich  paper  and  print,  taking 
in  with  as  greedy  a  draught  the  pleasant 
greenness  of  the  teeming  soil,  and  the  deli- 
cate soft  blue  of  the  expanding  heavens. 

Some  how  or  another  it  happened,  that  he 
often  found  himself  thinking  of  the  beauti- 
ful fair  creature  he  had  seen  rescued  by  his 
friends,  from  the  hands  of  villains,  when  he 


82 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAREWARE. 


was  enjoying  the  princely  pleasures  of  Ken- 
ilworth.     In  his  solitary  musings,  whereof 
alter  any  deep  study,  he  had  of  late  taken 
to.  her  radiant  features  would  suddenly  glide 
into  his  youthful  mind,  like  as  a  sudden 
burst  of  sunshine  pierceth  the  leafy  branches 
of  a  young  tree ;  and  all  his  thoughts  took 
a  character  of  such  brightness  on  the  in- 
stant, aa  showed  there  was  some  power  of 
brilliancy  in  her  image  that  made  resplend- 
ent its  whole  neighborhood.     This  to  him 
was  both  ne\v_and  strange.     The  forms  of 
beauty  of  which  he  had  had  experience,  and 
they  were  by  no  means  few,  had  given  him 
delight — but  here  was  something  presented 
to  him  of  a  totally  different  character — of  a 
most  singular  admirable  loveliness  ;  and  the 
pleasure  he  derived  from  its  observation  he 
felt  to  l>e  of  a  far  more  exquisite  sort  than 
he  had.  known  heretofore.     The  varied  dies 
of  the  delicatest  flowers  peeping  from  their 
vernal   coverts — the  tall   moiiarchs  of  the 
forests,  bending  their  haughty  heads  to  the 
rude  wind— -the  soft  mingling  of  field  and 
wood,  hill,  stream  and  valley,  bathed  in  their 
mellow  tints,  that  made  up  the  ravishing  fair 
landscape — the  glorious  show  of  unsurpass- 
ed magnificence,  visible  at  the  sun's  rising 
and  going  down,  which  clothed  the  skies, 
like  ao  oriental  conqueror,  in  a  garment  of 
purple   and    gold,  anil   the   more    graceful 
splendor  of  the  quiet  night,  when  earth's 
unrivalled  roof  seems  as  though  carved  all 
about  with  the  likeness  of  a  goodly  almond 
tree,  as  'tis  seen  at  eve,  with  its  verdure, 
deepening  into  a  dark  blue,  spread  over  in 
every  part  with  myriads  of  silvery  blossoms 
— he  could  enjoy  with  such  huge  zest  as 
hearts  attuned  to  sympathy  with  the  beauti- 
ful can  alone  have  knowledge  of;  but  in  the 
o  utward  lineaments  of  this  novel  sign  of  the 
presence  of  nature's  unrivalled  handiwork, 
there  appeared   such  moving   graces,  that 
plainly  showed  the  masterpiece  confessed; 
and  he  had  some  glimpses,  in  the  delicious 
raptures'   which   an   increasing   familiarity 
with  his  mental  perception  of  the  beautiful 
promised    him,    of   that    marvellous    deep 
meaning  which  Heth  most  manifestly  in  the 
choicest  and  perfectest  shapeMn  which  our 
bountiful  mother  hath  given  it  a  dwelling. 
Let  none  feel  incredulous  of  what  is  here 
put  down.     Though  still  in  years  apparent, 
but  of  an  unripe  boyhood,  the  child  had  in 
him  the  greatness  of  the  man  in  embryo. 
Take  you  the  bud,  examine  it  narrowly,  you 
shall  find  in  it  a  miniature-tree,  perfect  in  all 
its  parts ;   or  the  bean — as  its  sides  have 
opened  to   show  some   promise  of  what  it 
•will  be — and  behold  all  the  characters  of 
the  plant  minutely  visible  to  your  close  in- 


spection !  Nature  never  varyeth  from  her 
first  original  type.  In  all  things  that  pro- 
mise a  profitable  increase,  the  power  is  fold- 
ed up  in  the  germ,  where,  despite  of  disad- 
vantages, it  will  gradually  unfold  itself,  till 
the  character  she  hath  put  forth  upon  it  is 
perfectly  developed  to  all  men's  eyes.  Could 
we  look  into  the  immaturity  of  any  of  those 
great  ones,  whose  mental  fruits  have  been 
the  nourishing  diet  of  every  age  that  hath 
passed  since  they  flourished,  be  sure  that 
we  should  find  at  such  early  period,  the  very 
appearances  and  manifestions  of  their  after 
perfection,  as  are  here  imperfectly  described 
concerning  of  William  Shakspe'are.  As  for 
beauty,  it  is  the  very  sunshine  of  the  soul, 
without  which  shall  the  seed  of  greatness 
lie  dormant  as  in  a  perpetual  frost ;  but  di- 
rectly it  beginneth  to  make  itself  felt,  out 
come  stem,  root,  and  leaflet,  with  such 
goodly  vigor,  that  in  a  presently  the  brave 
plant  putteth  out  its  branches  so  lovingly, - 
nought  can  resist  its  progress ;  and  lo !  in  a 
little  while,  what  numberless  rare  blossoms 
appear,  manifesting  in  themselves  the  quali- 
ty by  which  they  were  created. 

But  our  young  scholar  was  not  the  only 
one  on  whom  the  attractions  of  the  gentle 
Mabel  had  made  a  powerful  impression.  Sir 
Valentine,  and  his  friend,  oft  spoke  of  her  to 
each  other  with  exceeding  admiration,  to 
which  if  in  his  company,  the  boy  would 
listen  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  a  throbbing 
heart,  seeming  to  be  poring  over  his  book — 
but  this  he  had  as  clean  lost  sight  of  for  the 
nonce  as  if  it  and  he  were  a  hundred  miles 
apart. 

"  She  is,  indeed,  a  delectable  creature  !" 
exclaimed  Sir  Valentine,  as  they  three  were 
together  in  the  library.  "  She  seemed  a 
being  just  stepped  out  of  some  French  ro- 
mance, one  of  the  virtues  perchance,  or 
better,  some  incomparable  damsel,  possessed 
of  them  all  in  her  own  fair  person,  who  was 
about  falling  into  the  hands  of  a  powerful 
ogre,  or  other  monstrous  villain  that  is  a  foe 
to  chastity,  when  we  two  knights  going 
about  to  redress  wrong  and  defend  oppressed 
innocence,  each  for  the  honor  of  chivalry 
and  his  liege  lady,  stepped  up  to  her  rescue, 
and  by  the  help  of  our  valor,  quickly  deliv- 
ered her  from  her  enemies." 

"  A  most  moving  picture,"  cried  Sir  Regi- 
nald, laughingly  ;  "  I  would  give  something 
to  see  it  done  in  tapestry." 

"  O"  my  word,  'twould  be  a  fine  subject," 
said  his  friend,  with  some  earnestness;  "I 
doubt  not,  too,  of  especial  -profit  to  the  gazer ; 
and  I  would  have  it  worked  in  this  sort. 
There  should  be  yourself,  and  I,  your  ap- 
proved friend  and  companion  in  arms,  giving 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


83 


two  of  the  villains  furious 'battle;  and  in  a 
little  way  off  our  brave  kinsman — another 
famous  pillar  of  knighthood — shall  be  putting 
to  flight  the  other  two  rascals  away  from 
their  expected  victim,  who  shall  be  lying 
prostrate  under  a  tree,  where  she  hath  been 
left,  in  a  very  moving  tribulation.  A  little 
way  from  this  we  will  have  a  second  pic- 
ture, with  the  villains  making  oft  in  the  dis- 
tance— the  lady  now  in  a  pretty  fright  and 
bewilderment,  looking  about  her  with  Mas- 
ter Chaplain,  Master  Antiquarian,  and  our 
young  scholar,  as  country  persons  natural 
of  those  parts,  gazing  at  her  with  exceeding 
curiousness,  whilst  her  three  valiant  cham- 
pions shall  stand,  leaning  on  their  weapons, 
as  though  they  were  amazed  at  beholding 
such  heavenly  grace  in  so  pagan  a  place." 

"  Never  heard  I  so  brave  a  limner !"  ex- 
claimed the  other,  in  the  like  pleasant  humor ; 
"  Why  thou  wouldst  beat  the  cunningest  mas- 
ter of  the  art  out  of  the  field.  O'  my  life,  in 
thy  hand  the  painted  cloth  would  be  more 
moving  than  history  ;  and  we  should  speed- 
ily have  all  lovers  of  true  valor,  instead  of 
seeking  the  enemy's  encampment,  studying 
lessons  of  knighthood  from  thy  arras." 

"  Well  I  should  be  right  glad  to  know 
what  hath  become  of  her,"  said  Sir  Valen- 
tine. I  like  not  parting  so  quickly  with  so 
rare  an  acquaintance,  I  promise  you.  Nev- 
ertheless methinks  'tis  marvellous  such  a 
strange  person  as  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy 
should  have  so  exquisite  a  daughter.  Had 
he  been  in  any  way  civil  I  would  have  be- 
stowed some  pains  to  please  him,  shrivelled 
pippin  as  he  looks  to  be ;  but  he  spoke  so 
sharply  to  the  gentle  creature,  and  looked 
at  us  with  so  crabbed  an  expression,  that  I 
was  in  haste  to  be  quit  his  company ;  therefore 
I  have  been  in  perfect  ignorance  up  to  this 
date  where  she  is  to  be  found." 

"  I  have  at  least  discovered  the  old  fel- 
low's residence,"  said  Sir  Reginald. 

"Ha,  indeed  !"  cried  Sir  Valentine,  in  a 
famous  exultation.  "  Perdie,  that  is  excel- 
lent news.  Where  doth  the  pagan  place  so 
fair  a  jewel  ?  Tell  me,  I  prithee,  for  I  would 
impawn  my  heart  to  get  but  another  sight 
of  her." 

"  Marry,  but  I  think  'tis  impawned  al- 
ready, good  '  cousin,"  observed  his  friend 
with  an  arch  smile.  "  Thou  seemest  so 
monstrous  eager  on  the  matter ;  but  not  to 
baulk  thy  exceeding  curiousness,  for  my 
humor  jumps  with  it,  believe  me, — know 
that  this  peerless  damsel  hath  her  bower  at 
Charlcote,  where  the  knight  of  despite,  her 
father,  holdeth  his  court." 

"  To  horse,  for  Charlcote  ho!"  exclaimed 
his  young  companion,  rising  from  his  seat ' 


in  a  merry  manner,  as  if  impatient  to  be 
gone. 

':  But  let  me  advise  thee  of  sufficient  cau- 
tion," said  his  kinsman  with  an  admirable 
mock  gravity ;  great  dangers  beset  thy  path. 
Ogres,  giants,  basilisks,  and  dragons  await 
thee  on  every  side.  Horror  will  cross  thy 
steps ;  despair  dog  thy  heels  ;  revenge  com. 
eth  on  thy  right  hand,  and  cruelty  on  thy 
left.  By  my  valor,  sir  knight,  methinks 
thou  hadst  best  refrain  from  so  perilous  an 
adventure." 

"  Amor  vincit  omnia !"  replied  the  other 
after  the  same  pleasant  fashion;  and  thus 
jesting  and  bantering,  the  two  friends  a  few 
minutes  after,  left  our  young  scholar — who 
had  drunk  in  every  word  of  their  discourse 
to  pursue  his  studies  in  solitude.  Little 
more  of  the  book  before  .him  attempted  he 
acquaintance  with  for  some  time  before  and 
long  after  their  leaving  him.  He  thought, 
and  the  more  he  thought  the  more  thought- 
ful he  grew ;  but  his  thoughts  were  as  gos- 
samer webs  hovering  over  a  field,  that  catch 
nought  but  other  webs  of  a  like  sort ;  they 
appeared  moreover  to  have  no  purport ;  they 
went  in  no  direct  path ;  but  proceeded  over 
and  across,  around  and  about,  always  re- 
turning to  the  starting  point, — and  what 
should  that  be  biit  the  same  fair  creature  he 
had  seen  at  Kenilworth,  that  the  gay  knights 
had  talked  of  in  such  delicate  terms. 

In  the  meanwhile,  at  all  proper  intervals, 
he  assisted  his  father  as  far  as  in  him  lay  ;  at 
other  times  running  of  errands  with  an  alacri- 
ty and  cheerfulness  none  could  help  admiring. 
John  Shakspeare  strove  all  that  honest  man 
could  to  keep  his  family  in  comfort.  He 
would  seek  to  do  a  little  in  his  old  trade  of 
wool,  and  also  something  as  a  glover ;  but 
though  thrift  and  diligence  were  twin  com- 
panions with  him  at  all  times,  the  expenses 
of  a  family  would  often  run  him  down  at 
heel.  Perchance,  however  desirous  he 
might  be  to  pay  as  he  went,  and  no  man 
more  so,  it  might  happen  when  the  baker 
called  there  was  no  money.  Mortaging  a 
small  property  brought  him  by  his  wife  car- 
ried him  on  a  little  ;  but  this  could  not  last 
forever,  do  wlfat  he  would,  and  it  became  no 
uncommon  thing  when  he  was  ready  for 
his  dinner,  to  have  no  dinner  ready  for  him. 
His  neighbors  were  ever  ready  to  lend  him 
a  helping  hand  ;  but  having  experienced 
their  friendly  feeling  in  some  measure,  he 
liked  not  letting  them  know  he  required  il 
again,  fearing  to  exhaust  their  goodness. 
All  that  our  young  scholar  gained  by  friend- 
ly gifts  was  presented  to  his  parents  as 
speedily  as  he  could :  and  be  sure  he  felt 
more  exquisite  gratification  in  so  bestowing 


' 
THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


it,  than  he  experienced  in  any  other  thing 
whatsoever;  but  it  sometimes  happened 
when  he  was  at  Sir  Marmaduke's,  or 
other  bountiful  friends,  before  a  goodly 
meal,  the  thought  that  his  loving  parents 
had  at  that  time  nothing  of  the  sort  to  put 
before  them,  would  so  move  him  he  could 
not  touch  a  morsel  of  anything,  however 
tempting  it  might  be.  And  as  lor  his  good 
mother  and  father,  they  cared  more  their 
son  should  keep  a  decent  appearance,  so 
that  he  might  do  no  discredit  to  his  compa- 
ny, than  they  heeded  their  own  comforts. 

Methinks  there  cannot  be  in  nature  so 
truly  pitiful,  and  yet  a  sight  so  noble  withal, 
as  an  honest  man  struggling  with  adversity. 
Note  how  he  labors  to  be  ir  up  his  heart 
against  the  crushing  weight  of  his  stern 
necessities.  See  his  nature — a  proud  na- 
ture, perchance,  for  there  is  no  pride  like 
that  of  honesty — reduced  to  the  mean  re- 
sorts of  poverty's  most  absolute  rule.  Be- 
hold the  fallacious  smile  and  abortive  cheer- 
fulness under  which  he  would  strive  to  hide 
the  iron  entering  his  soul !  Want  winds 
her  serpent  folds  around  him,  and  eats  into 
his  vitals ;  Ruin  hovers  over  him  on  vul- 
ture's wings  to  seize  him  for  her  prey; 
Disgrace  points  at  him ;  Shame  follows  on 
his  steps ;  and  Fear  seeks  to  disturb  the 
pleasant  shelter  of  his  dreams  ;  but  the  hon- 
est man  holds  up  his  head  like  a  flag  upon 
a  wreck,  and  when  that  rude  villain  Death 
would  take  the  wall  of  him,  doffs  his  beaver 
with  a  natural  dignity  mere  gallantry  can 
have  no  example  of. 

Such  it  was  with  John  Shakspeare.  He 
did  his  best,  but  his  best  failed.  He  put 
forth  all  his  stength,  but  all  his  strength 
was  insufficient.  The  brand  of  poverty  ap- 
peared to  have  marked  him  for  her  own ; 
but  worse  than  that  to  him,  he  saw  his 
wife  pining,  and  his  children  wanting 
nourishment.  In  such  a  state  of  things  it 
might  have  been  thought  that  he  would 
have  made  application  to  some  of  the  per- 
sons of  worship  in  his  neighborhood,  whose 
xharacters  were  a  guarantee  it  would  not 
.  ave  been  made  in  vain  ;  but  worthy  per- 
sons when  they  fall  to  those  poor  shifts  as 
render  such  an  act  necessary,  are  found 
monstrous  loath  to  trouble  the  rich  and  pow- 
erful with  their  necessities.  Sir  Marma- 
duke  doubtless  would  have  very  readily 
done  him  such  service  ;  but  he  had  no  in- 
timation his  assistance  was  required  ;  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  always  making  such  an 
appearance,  by  means  already  spoken  of, 
which  prevented  him  from  entertaining  any 
suspicions  his  father  was  in  any  other  but 
comfortable  circumstances ;  and  the  poor 


glover,  however  meanly  off  he  might  be, 
could  never  bring  himself  to  hazard  his  son's 
prospects  with  so  great  a  friend,  by  impor- 
tuning of  the  latter  with  his  own  hapless 
condition. 

At  last,  after  a  protracted  struggle  with 
himself  on  the  matter,  and  things  getting  to 
wear  a  more  serious  aspect,  he  made  up  his 
mind  he  would  venture  to  move  his  old 
friend  John  a  Combe.  Strange  rumors  had 
been  afloat"  for  some  time  concerning  of  this 
good  gentleman.  On  a  sudden  he  had  been 
missed  from  Stratford,  and  after  some  years 
stay,  had  again  returned — but  oh,  how 
altered  a  man  !  Those  who  saw  him  scarce 
knew  him,  and  those  whom  he  saw  he  seem- 
ed determined  he  would  not  know.  It  was 
said  there  were  such  marked  lines  in  hi3 
pallid  countenance,  as  though  a  thousand 
cares  had  ploughed  their  furrows  in  the 
flesh,  and  that  when  he  walked  abroad, 
which  was  something  rare  in  him,  he 
would  mingle  with  none,  greet  none,  be 
known  of  none — but  move  .slowly  along, 
with  his  body  bent,  and  his  eyes  fixed  sul- 
lenly on  the  ground,  sometimes  moving  of 
his  lips — though  what  fell  from  them  none 
could  say.  It  was  also  reported  that  he  had 
become  an  usurer — lending  of  his  money  at 
exorbitant  charges,  and  being  exceeding 
strict  in.forcing  the  payment.  Not  a  wore 
of  this  would  John  Shakspeare  believe. 
What,  that  noble  heart  become  a  selfish  sol- 
itary, he  had  known  of  so  social  a  spirit — or 
that  generous  nature  debase  itself  with  ava- 
rice, he  had  seen  risking  the  horriblcst  death 
out  of  pure  philanthropy !  It  was  clean 
impossible.  They  must  most  grossly  belie 
him  who  reported  of  him  any  such  mean- 
ness. So  thought  the  poor  glover  of  his  old 
acquaintance,  and  with  these  thoughts  he 
one  morning  took  his  staff  in  his  hand  and  pro- 
ceeded to  his  dwelling. 

At  his  first  entrance  at  the  gate,  John 
Shakspeare  saw  there  was  at  least  a  nota- 
ble change  in  the  house  once  so  familiar  to 
him.  Everything  around  and  about  it  look- 
ed strange  and  desolate,  and  as  opposite  to 
the  state  in  which  it  used  to  be  kept,  as  any 
two  things  could  chance  to  be.  The  fair 
garden  that  once  was  the  pride  of  the  place 
for  its  order  and  trimness,  appeared  now  a 
mere  heap  of  weeds,  straggling  bushes,  and 
withered  plants.  The  goodly  trees  that 
were  wont  to  be  so  well  trailed  against  the 
wall,  had  broke  from  their  bindings,  and  lay 
with  their  straggling  branches  almost  leaf- 
less, with  the  unchecked  ravages  of  vermin 
and  neglect.  The  dwelling  seemed  no  less 
wretched.  A  broken  casement,  and  a  porch 
dirty  and  crumbling  with  decay,  spoke  how 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


little  outward  appearances  were  now  cared 
for  by  the  possessor.  John  Shakspeare 
shook  his  head  at  noting  of  these  things. 
It  then  occurred  to  him  that  some  fearful 
change  must  have  taken  place  in  John  a 
Combe,  else  John  a  Combe's  dwelling  could 
never  have  come  to  so  pitiful  a  condition. 

The  door  was  cautiously  opened  by  a 
sour  looking  slovenly  old  dame,  instead  of  a 
neat  pretty  handmaid,  and  active  young  ser- 
ving man, that  had  used  to  have  been  so 
ready  to  show  a  visitor  all  proper  courtesy, 
and  after  sharply  interrogating  him  on  his 
business,  she  led  him  through  the  hall — 
where  everything  spoke  a  similar  story  of 
indifferency  to  all  comfort  and  cleanliness, 
as  did  the  ruined  garden  and  delapidated 
porch — into  a  small  back  chamber  choking 
with  dust.  Here  before  a  heap  of  many  pa- 
pers and  parchments,  sat  his  worthy  and 
esteemed  friend  Master  Combe.  John 
Shakspeare  looked  with  greater  intentness 
ere  he  would  believe  his  own  eyes.  He 
saw  before  him  a  man  he  knew  to  be  in  the 
pride  of  manhood,  with  all  the  externals  of 
decrepit!  age.  The  grey  hair,  the  blanched 
cheek,  and  the  sunken  eye,  could  not  be 
mistaken  ;  but  besides  these  unwelcome 
signs,  there  was  in  his  aspect  a  mingled  ex- 
pression of  agony  and  distrust,  that  was 
more  moving  than  all.  John  Shakspeare's 
honest  heart  sunk  within  him,  as  he  beheld 
this  painful  spectacle  which  exhibited  the 
more  wretchedness,  by  the  mean  habiliments 
in  which  it  appeared, — for  he  who  had  used 
to  dress  in  so  becoming  a  fashion,  he  was 
admired  of  all,  was  now  attired  in  coarse 
clothes  and  uncleanly  linen,  unworthy  of  a 
person  even  of  the  lowest  quality. 

Master  Combe  stared  at  hrs  old  friend 
without  the  slightest  sign  of  cordiality,  or 
even  of  recognition  ;  and  seemed  as  though 
he  would  have  him  say  his  errand  without 
delay ;  whereupon  his  visitor  though  more 
distressed  at  such  a  moment  at  the  condi- 
tion of  one  he  had  known  to  be  so  good  a 
man,  than  his  own,  presently  gave  an  un- 
varnished tale  of  his  losses  and  sufferings, 
and  the  stern  necessity  which  had  compelled 
him  to  ask  a  loan  to  afford  him  some  pre- 
sent help.  Master  Comba  sat  the  tale  out 
with  a  stone-like  indifference. 

"  What  security  hast  got  ?"  said  he  at 
last,  rather  sharply. 

"  None,''  replied  his  visitor,  much  pained 
at  hearing  of  so  unexpected  a  question. 

"  What,  come  to  me  seeking  of  money 
without  security !"  exclaimed  Master  Combe, 
as  if  in  a  monstrous  surprise.''  Dost  not 
know  I  am  an  usurer,  and  dost  not  know 
usurers  lend  not,  save  on  sure  grounds  and 


profitable  terms  ?  I  must  have  ten  in  the 
hundred,  and  I  must  have  something  to  hold 
upon  of  such  value  as  will  ensure  the  safe- 
ty of  the  loan." 

"  Alack,  I  have  it  not,"  answered  John 
Shakspeare,  marvelling  the  generous  nature 
of  his  old  companion  should  have  taken  so 
ill  a  turn.  <:I  expected  not  you  were  so 
changed,  else  I  would  not  have  troubled 
you." 

"  Changed !"  cried  the  other  with  a  bitter 
emphasis.  "  Marry,  yes,  and  a  goodly 
change  it  must  needs  be.  What,  wouldst 
suppose  I  would  remain  all  my  days  the 
generous  confiding  fool  I  have  once  been  ? 
Have  I  not  given  without  stint — have  I  not 
endured  without  flinching  for  the  good  of 
my  fellows,  and  none  ends  else  ?  Lived  I 
not  in  the  strong  belief  of  the  excellence  of 
humanity,  and  sought  all  means  to  show  I 
was  mysef  a  parcel  of  the  whole  ?  What 
good  thing  have  I  left  undone  that  was  in 
my  power.  Whe . :  have  I  failed  in  the 
exercise  of  an  impar  :  :.i  benevolence '?  When 
gave  I  not  every  on;:  his  Uie,  c  kept  my- 
self back  when  one  unjust  ;..v  4  Squired  a 
defender  ?" 

"Never,  as  I  gladly  t*  .;\"y;:  sclaimed 
his  companion. 

"  And  what  hath  been  Tiy  \  fit  ?"  in- 
quired Master  Combe,  still  'lore  i.'tterly,  as 
he  rose  from  his  seat  in  a  '•  in?'"-  sing  ex- 
citement ;  "  hopes  blighted,  neaitn  ruined, 
and  happiness  destroyed !  Look  on  me — 
see  you  one  particle  of  what  I  was  !  Yet 
is  the  change  without,  in  no  comparison 
with  that  which  is  within.  My  whole  na- 
ture is  blasted,  riven  and  torn  up  by  the 
roots.  Not  a  green  leaf  shall  you  find  on 
it,  search  where  you  will.  Not  a  sign  of 
any  goodness  whatsoever.  An  earthquake 
hath  trampled  on  me — a  pestilence  hath 
eaten  up  all  the  pure  essence  of  my  being — 
•what  is  human  of  me  is  stifled,  poisoned, 
crushed,  and  cast  out  of  all  likeness  with 
humanity.  I  am  a  moving  desolation — a 
living  desert — a  well  that  the  scorching  air 
hath  left  dry  as  a  stone." 

John  Shakspeare  looked  on  and  listened, 
quite  forgetful  of  his  own  wretchedness. 

"  See  you- that  spider  in  the  crack  ?"  in- 
quired Master  Combe,  suddenly  taking  the 
other  by  the  arm. 

''  Ay,  I  see  it  plain,"  replied  he,  looking 
narrowly  to  the  spot  pointed  out. 

"  He  is  spinning  his  wreb  in .  the  ruin 
around  him,"  continued  his  companion,  aa 
if  in  some  sort  of  exultation.  "  He  means 
to  make  prey  of  all  he  can.  John  Shaka- 
peare,  I  am  intent  upon  a  like  thing,"  added 
he,  sinking  his  voice  to  a  mere  whisper. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  Take  heed  of  yourself,  else  you  will  find 
yourself  in  my  snare.  To  the  door  with 
what  speed  you  have." 

John  Shakspeare,  so  moved  lie  scarce  knew 
what  he  was  about,  took  up  his  cap ;  but, 
finding  it  feel  unusually  heavy,  looked  in  it 
with  some  narrowness,  and  there,  to  his 
great  surprise,  saw  a  purse  of  money. 

"  How  came  this  here  ?"  exclaimed  he, 
taking  ,it  in  his  hand.  "  As  I  live,  there 
was  nought  of  the  kind  in  my  cap  a  moment 
since,  when  I  laid  it  down." 

"  How  should  I  know,  i'faith  ?"  cried 
Master  Combe,  sharply. 

"  It  must  needs  belong  to  you,  worthy  sir, 
for  it  cannot  be  mine,"  said  his  companion, 
seeking  to  give  him  the  purse. 

"  Marry,  what  new  folly  is  this !"  exclaim- 
ed the  other,  putting  it  away.  "  Dost  think 
I  would  give  thee  such  ?  Doth  usurers 
pan  with  their  money  after  such  fashion  ? 
Fanciest  I  would  allow  of  thy  spreading  the 
rare  intelligence  amongst  thy  acquaintance, 
that  John  a  Combe  is  as  monstrous  a  fool  as 
ever  he  was,  and  liketh  nought  so  well  as 
helping  some  one  in  his  need  ?  Go  get  thee 
gone,  John  Shakspeare,"  added  he,  pushing 
his  companion  to  the  door,  "  thou  art  honest, 
and  must  needs  be  a  fool — thou  hast  no  lack 
of  virtue,  therefore  cannot  escape  being 
taken  for  a  knave ;"  and  in  the  next  moment 
the  door  was  closed  upon  him. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

Over  my  altars  hath  he  hung  his  lance, 

His  battered  shield,  his  uncontrolled  crest, 
And  for  my  sake  hath  learned  to  sport  and  dance, 

To  coy,  to  wanton,  dally,  smile,  and  jest. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Take  heed,  sweet  nymph,  try  not  thy  shaft, 

Each  little  touch  will  pierce  a  heart ; 
Alas !  thou  know'st  not  Cupid's  craft, 

Revenge  is  joy,  the  end  is  smart. 

DAVISON. 

But  what  on  earth  can  long  abide  in  state  1 
Or  who  can  him  assure  of  happy  day  ? 
Sith  morning  fair  may  bring  foul  evening  late, 
And  least  mishap  the  most  blessed  alter  may  ? 
For  thousand  perils  lie  in  close  await, 
About  us  daily  to  work  our  decay, 
That  none  except  a  god,  or  God  him  guide, 
May  them  avoid  or  remedy  provide. 

SPENSER. 

"  I  THINK  it  exceeding  improper  of  thee, 
Mabel !"  exclaimed  Dame  Lucy,  with  a 
countenance  of  more  than  ordinary  gravity, 
wbilst  she  walked  in  the  grounds  appertain- 


ing to  her  husband's  mansion  at  Charlcote, 
in  all  her  pride  of  farthingale  and  headtire. 

"  What  else  could  I  do,  I  pray  you,  dear 
mistress?"  said  the  fair  creature  in  a  de- 
precating tone,  following  of  her  closely. 
"  These  good  gentlemen  would  needs  speak 
with  me,  £nd  surely  there  was  no  offence  in 
their  speech." 

"  O,  monstrous  offence !  beyond  all  doubt- 
ing," replied  the  dame.  . "  Thou  canst  have 
no  conception,  child,  what  offence  may  be 
in  speech  without  it  being  visible.  There 
are  meaning  in  words  that  are  horrible  to 
think  of,  albeit  they  appear  of  ever  such  in- 
nocency." 

"  I  took  it  but  as  a  mere  greeting,"  added 
her  companion,  in  some  surprise  at  what 
had  fallen  from  the  other.*  "  They  were 
infinitely  kind  in  their  inquiries ;  and  so 
courteous  withal,  it  is  hard  to  believe  any- 
thing uncivil  of  them. 

"Trust  not  to  such  kindness,"  said  her 
mistress  somewhat  oracularly,  "  'tis  a  jxjor 
stale  to  catch  woodcocks.  I  marvel  what 
such  fine  fellows  should  want  of  so  poor  a 
person  !  No  good,  by  my  fay  !  Doubtless, 
would  they  seek  to  fill  thee  with  foolish  fan- 
tasiQs  improper  for  thy  humble  station,  and 
so  turn  it  to  their  advantages.  But  nie- 
thinks  I  have  given  them  a  right  proper  re- 
ception. I  showed  them  such  dignity  of 
behavior*  as  proved  how  little  I  thought  of 
them  and  their  fine  words.  They  will  not 
come  here  again,  I'll  warrant." 

"  Dost  not  think,  dear  mistress,  'twas 
marvellous  good  of  them  to  rescue  me  from 
the  hands  of  those  rude  persons  who  were 
for  taking  me  away,  I  know  not  where, 
whilst  we  were  at  Kenihvorth  ?" 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  I  know  "not,"  replied  the 
dame,  "  I  cannot  speak  of  that  of  which  I 
have  no  certain  knowledge.  Perchance,  if 
the  truth  should  be  come  at,  more  mischief 
would  be  found  in  those  who  stayed  thee, 
than  in  those  who  were  for  carrying  thee 
off.  I  liked  not  their  looks.  They  have  a 
horrible  suspicious  appearance  with  them." 

"  I  saw  it  not,  believe  me,"  said  her  young 
companion.  "  Indeed  they  did  appear  to 
me  the  noblest,  kindest,  hoiiorablest  young 
gentlemen,  it  hath  ever  been  my  good  hap 
to  meet." 

"  Tilly  vally,  stuff  o'nonsense,  child  !" 
exclaimed  Dame  Lucy,  with  some  sharp- 
ness. "  Marry,  how  shouldst  know  aught 
concerning  of  honorable  young  gentlemen ; 
and  what  dost  want  with  such  ?  Prithee 
hold  thy  silly 'prate.  Thou  wilt  have  enough 
to  do  to  get  thy  bread  with  an  honest  name, 
without  troubling  thyself  with  any  such  im- 
proper matters.  Honorable  young  gentle- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


87 


men,  forsooth  !  The  world  mnst  be  clean 
topsyturvy  when  persons  of  thy  quality  take 
to  such  notions." 

The  poor  foundling  was  silenced,  and  the 
two  continued  their  walk  without  ever  a 
word  more  ;  yet  though  her  tongue  was  at 
rest,  her  thoughts  were  right  busy.  Obedi- 
ent as  she  was,  and  yielding  as  was  her 
nature,  nothing  of  what  her  companion  had 
said,  had  convinced  her,  the  handsome  gal- 
lants who  had  so  bravely  rescued  her  from 
she  knew  not  what  peril,  and  that,  after  so 
long  a  time — hearing  where  she  lived,  had 
gone  on  purpose  to  inquire  how  she  had 
fared  after  her  great  alarm — had  treated  her 
with  such  extreme  courteousness,  were  any- 
thing but  truly  noble  gentlemen,  who  meant 
her  well.  Doubtless  it  was  something  new 
to  her  to  be  treated  with  delicate  respect  by 
persons  of  quality,  as  they  appeared  ;  for 
she  was  only  regarded  as  a  servant,  and  only 
associated  with  such,  save  at  those  times 
she  was  attending  of  her  mistress ;  therefore 
the  impression  they  made  upon  her  might 
hstve  been  the  more  powerful  than  could 
htive  been  produced  under  ordinary  circum- 
B«,nces.  Women  in  general,  and  especially 
of  the  younger  sort,  who  have  been  used  to 
kj  meanly  thought  of,  are  wonderfully  grate- 
ful for  any  slight  courtesy  from  a  superior, 
and  are  ready  to  give  all  their  hearts  for 
«ach  attentions,  should  tljpy  believe  them  to 
be  sincere  ;  and  Mabel,  whose  gentle  nature 
was  overflowing  with  gratitude  at  any  kind- 
ness, took,  at  the  most  liberal  appreciation, 
she  attentions  of  the  two  young  knights. 

Certes  Mabel  continued  to  think  very 
kindly  of  Sir  Valentine  and  his  friend,  and 
was  famously  glad  she  had  met  with  them 
agaifc ;  for  ever  since  she  had  first  formed 
their  acquaintance,  she  had  wished  she 
might  see  them  once  more,  and  now  she  had 
a  second  time  beheld  them,  she  hoped  it 
might  chance  they  would  again  meet.  She 
thought  not  one  whit  more  of  one  than  of 
the  other  ;  she  felt  she  should  desire  to  be 
well  esteemed  of  both.  In  accordance  with 
such  feelings,  whenever  she  could  get  away 
from  the  old  dame  for  a  walk  by  herself, 
she  would  direct  her  steps  towards  the  spot 
where  she  had  last  met  her  brave  deliverers. 
Mayhap  it  was  chance  which  led  her  that 
way ;  but  as  it  occurred  every  time  she  was 
Tor  a  stroll  in  the  park,  methinks  it  was  of 
that  order  of  chances  which  savor  marvel- 
lously of  design.  But  it  so  happened  these 
walks  of  hers  ended  as  they  commenced. 
She  met  not  those  whose  company  she  de- 
sired, and  she  began  to  think  such  great 
pleasure  could  never  be  hers  again. 

Some  months  after  the  interview  to  which 


allusion  hath  just  been  made,  she  was  re- 
turning homewards  from  her  ordinary  ram- 
ble, somewhat  out  of  heart  at  her  many 
disappointments,  when,  to  her  wonderful 
great  exultation,  she  suddenly  espied  Sir 
Valentine  wending  his  way  towards  her 
through  the  trees.  The  young  knight  made 
his  greeting  with  all  the  courtesy  of  a  true 
soldier,  gazing  with  most  admiring  glances 
on  the  fair  creature  before  him,  who,  to  his 
thinking,  had  grown  to  be  infinitely  more 
beautiful  even  than  when  he  had  last  had 
sight  of  her ;  but  the  truth  was,  she  was 
now  all  smiles,  gladness,  and  animation — 
happiness  was  beaming  in  her  sunny 
glances,  and  pleasure  basked  in  the  soft 
hollows  of  her  radiant  cheek.  Such  sweet 
simplicity,  such  genuine  truth, — so  artless 
and  unworldly  a  nature  Sir  Valentine  had 
had  no  knowledge  of ;  and  he,  whose  truly 
chivalrous  disposition  was  so  ready  to  take 
on  trust  the  admirable  qualities  of  woman, 
coijld  not  fail  to  appreciate  such  excellences 
as  he  had  now  held  in  his  personal  ac- 
quaintance. He  looked  as  though  he  could 
never  tire  of  such  exquisite  company.  His 
handsome  smiling  features  spoke  what  ab- 
solute satisfaction  he  was  then  and  there 
enjoying ;  and  the  longer  he  stayed  in  her 
bewitching  presence,  the  less  inclined  ap- 
peared he  to  take  himself  away  from  it. 

As  for  Mabel,  nought  in  this  world  co'uld 
equal  the  exceeding  pleasantness  ,she  ex- 
perienced in  listening  to  her  companion's 
soft  mellow  voice  and  polished  delivery,  de- 
scribing to  her  such  of  the  princely  pleasures 
of  Kehilworth  she  had  not  beheld.  She  en-  < 
tirely  forgot  she  was  a  poor  despised  found- 
ling, and  in  her  fantasy  accompanied  her 
eloquent  companion  through  all  the  glorious 
pageantries,  noble  banquets,  and  courtly 
recreations,  that  were  enjoyed  by  th'e  noble 
company  at  the  castle,  as  though  they  had 
been  her  customary  and  most  familiar  pas- 
times, from  the  beginning  of  her  earliest 
remembrances.  I  question  she  would  have 
been  as  properly  entertained  with  the  reality 
of  what  she  heard,  as  was  she  with  their 
mere  narration ;  but  when  the  narrator  di- 
gressed from  his  subject  in  any  manner,  to 
express,  with  winning  civilness,  his  great 
comfort  at  having  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  made  her  acquaintance — which  he 
thought  more  of  than  could  be  a  thousand 
Kenilworths — a  thrill  of  exquisite  rapture 
seemed  to  pass  through  her  whole  nature, 
and  she  would  return  her  thanks  for  such 
estimation  with  a  heartiness  that  showed 
clearly  whence  it  proceeded.  This  continu- 
ed as  they  remained  strolling  carelessly  along 
under  those  shady  trees,  without  taking  the 


88 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


slightest  heed  of  time,  till  the  thickening 
shadows  gave  them  warning  how  long  they 
had  dallied  with  the  hours.  Then  some  sign 
of  separation  became  manifest. 

"  Let  me  beg  one  favor  at  your  hands, 
ere  I  depart  from  your  sweet  presence," 
said  Sir  Valentine,  as  he  was  still  lingering 
by  her  sido  near  the  park  gate. 

"  In  truth,  good  sir,  I  would  grant  you 
anything  in  my  poor  power,"  answered  his 
fair  companion. 

"  It  is  but  to  know  your  name,"  added  he. 

"  O'  my  word  now,  good  sir,  have  you  not 
known  it  all  this  time  ?"  inquired  she,  as  if 
in  some  little  surprise.  "  Surely  I  am  no 
other  than  Mabel,  of  whom  all  persons,  me- 
thinks,  have  some  knowledge." 

"Mabel!"  repeated  the  young  knight, 
somewhat  to  himself  as  it  were,  yet  all  the 
time  gazing  on  the  ingenuous  countenance 
of  his  fair  partner,  as  though  he  was  conning 
it  for  some  pleasant  task, — then  added,  with 
a  deep  expression  in  the  words,  "  I  will  not 
forget  it." 

"  But  I  pray  you,  give  me  knowledge  of 
your  name!"  exclaimed  Mabel,  with  a  most 
pressing  earnestness,  "  an'  you  think  it  not 
over  bold  in  me  to  aslc  such  a  thing  of  you  ; 
for  in  very  truth,  I  should  be  exceeding  glad 
to  know  it." 

"  I  am  called  Valentine  de  Largesse,"  re- 
plied he,  charmed  with  the  exquisite  fashion 
in  which  the  question  had  been  put  to  him. 

"  How  good  a  creature  !"  said  the  gentle 
girl  to  herself,  as  she  was  returning  home 
after  he  had  left  her.  "  Valentine  de  Lar- 
gesse ?  'Tis  a  name  that  meaneth  all 
honorableness  and  true  valor,  I  will  be 
bound  for't." 

How  strange  of  Dame  Lucy  to  think  there 
could  bo  evil  intent  in  any  such  ! 

This  was  not  the  only  meeting  they  had 
under  those  shady  trees.  Sir  Valentine  was 
too  well  pleased  with  his  last  interview  not 
to  desire  to  repeat  his  visit,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  his  friend  Sir  Reginald  being  ab- 
sent in  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  he  had 
such  leisure  as  enabled  him,  when  all  other 
circumstances  concurred,  to  realise  his  own 
wishes  as  often  as  he  would.  His  behavior 
began  imperceptibly  to  take  upon  it  the  cha- 
racter of  that  tender  gallantry,  with  which 
it  was  customary  among  the  more  chivalrous 
sort  of  gentlemen,  to  address  their  sovereign 
lady.  His  homage  knew  no  bounds — his 
respect  was  equally  without  limits,  and  his 
admiration,  though  the  powerfulest  of  the 
three,  was  of  that  choice  sort  which  is 
shown  more  in  delicate  actions  than  in  a 
fair  commodity  of  terms.  These  attentions 
gave  the  gentle  Mabel  a  pride  in  herself  she 


had  never  experienced  before,  whicn  in- 
creased as  she  grew  more  familiar  with 
them.  As  it  made  progress  did  her  simpli- 
city diminish  ;  and  she  presently  took  such 
things,  albeit  they  had  once  been  so  new  to 
her,  as  if  they  were  what  she  looked  for, 
and  was  properly  entitled  to  receive. 

Yet  did  this  pride  sit  upon  her  as  grace- 
fully  as  it  might  upon  the  noblest  lady  in 
the  land.  When  at  her  humble  duties,  she 
was  no  more  to  all  appearance  than  a  poor 
foundling ;  but  after  tiring  of  herself  with 
such  genuine  taste  as  to  make  her  poor  ap- 
parel look  more  becomingly  on  her,  than  re- 
gal garments  would  on  many  others,  she 
stood  by  the  side  of  Sir  Valentine  receiving 
his  devotions,  with  so  courtly  an  air  as  made 
her  seem  quite  another  creature.  Her  step 
was  firm,  her  brow  erect,  her  carriage  state- 
ly, and  her  look  spoke  of  such  proud  happi- 
ness as  a  noble  maiden  might  experience  in 
attracting  to  herself  the  exclusive  attentions 
of  some  princely  gallant.  At  such  times  it 
was  evident  she  had  lost  all  knowledge  of 
her  humble  fortunes.  Indeed  her  behavior 
was  of  such  a  sort  her  companion  not  only 
had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  she  was  of 
so  low  a  station- — but  he  more  and  more 
marvelled  such  unmannerly  strange  per.<oiiri 
as  Sir  Thomas  and  Dame  Lucy  appeared  to 
him — could  have  so  noble  a  daughter.  Ma- 
bel never  gave  th%  matter  a  thought,  else, 
had  she  suspected  any  such  thing,  her  inge- 
nuous nature  would^  have  led  her  to  unde- 
ceive him  on  the  instant.  She  was  gratified 
with  his  company  out  of  all  doubt,  but  she 
saw  nothing  beyond  the  present  moment ; 
and  although  these  meetings  were  clandes- 
tine, and,  as  she  had  good  reason  for  believ- 
ing, against  the  consent  of  the  old  kHight 
and  his  lady,  as  there  appeared  no  oflence 
in  what  she  did,  she  could  not  see  she  had 
done  any. 

It  was  her  good  fortune  during  all  this 
time  to  escape  suspicion  at  home — for  her 
well-disposedness  was  so  familiar  to  them 
that  her  conduct  was  never  inquired  into, 
and  as  her  great  trouble  and  annoyance, 
young  Lucy,  was  at  college,  she  was  in  the 
enjoyment  of  more  happiness  than  she  had 
known  her  whole  life  long.  Pity  such  feli- 
city should  be  of  such  short  endurance.  But 
so  is  it  ever.— Nothing  is  certain  save  un- 
certainty, which  showeth  its  troublesome-* 
ness  just  at  those  times  we  are  least  pre- 
pared to  put  up  with  it.  Often  and  often  is 
it  we  see  in  the  sweet  spring-time  of  the 
year,  a  goodly  tree  almost  hid  beneath  its 
innumerable  fair  blossoms,  giving  such  prodi- 
gal promise  of  fruit  as  maketh  the  owner's 
heart  leap  with  joy — a  frost  cometh  in  th« 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


night,  the  blossoms  are  nipped,  shrivelled, 
and  cast  off,  and  the  tree  remaineth  with 
nothing  but  barren  brandies  for  all  that  sea- 
son. Methinks  the  knowledge  of  this  should 
keep  the  sanguine  from  too  steadfast  an  ex- 
pectation ;  but  what  availeth  all  knowledge 
against  disposition  ? — a  score  of  Times  shall 
such  meet  with  the  terri  blest  disappoint- 
ments, and  the  next  day  shall  tind  them  hop- 
ing, trusting,  and  anticipating,  with  greater 
earnestness  than  ever.  This,  however, 
could  not  be  said  of  Mabel,  for  she  antici- 
pated nothing ;  and,  as  hath  been  said, 
looked  only  upon  the  present  moment.  She 
•  was  scarce  of  an  age  to  trouble  herself 
much  about  the  future,  and  the  extreme  hu- 
mility of  her  fortunes  kept  her  from  any- 
thing that  savored  of  ambition.  This  inno- 
cency  of  her  heart  was  her  best  buckler  in 
this  apparent  lack  of  foresight.  Proud  she 
was  it  cannot  be  denied,  but  hers  was  the 
pure  essence  of  pride,  and  not  the  dross. 

As  she  was  returning  from  her  usual 
stroll,  though  without  meeting  with  her 
usual  gratification,  she  came  upon  a  sight 
which  fixed  her  attention  so  profoundly  she 
could  not  stir  from  the  place.  It  was  in  the 
pleasant  twilight  of  the  first  month  of  au- 
tumn when  the  heated  air  fanned  by  the 
seasonable  breeze  was  growing  to  a  pleasant 
coolness,  and  the  rustling  groves  were  don- 
ning their  embroidered  livery.  Over  head 
was  all  of  a  clear  grey  save  in  the  west  a 
rich  copper  hue  was  visible  at  the  verge, 
gradually  fading  till  it  took  the  color  of  the 
surrounding  sky.  The  herbage  was  crisp 
and  short,  and  the  flowers  had  got  to  be  of 
some  rareness.  Low  upon  the  mossy  lap 
of  the  venerablest  oak  in  the  whole  grove, 
lay  a  youth  in  the  most  absolute  perfection 
of  youthful  symmetry.  Surely  he  might 
without  any  great  stretch  of  fancy,  have 
been  taken  for  that  lovely  boy  who  playeth 
such  vagaries  with  our  humanity,  as  poets 
feign  ;  and  she,  who  crept  to  him  on  tiptoe 
with  such  a  marvelling,  pleased,  and  cautious 
look  upon  her  exquisite  fair  features,  would 
have  made  an  admirable  representative  of 
that  divine  creature  the  spiritual  Psyche  of 
the  same  ideal  world.  He  slept — one  arm 
supporting  his  head  from  which  the  hat 
had  fallen,  the  other  holding  an  open  book. 
And  who  could  this  be  but  the  youthful 
Shakspeare  wearied  out  with  the  long  deep 
studiousness  he  now,  more  than  ever  in- 
dulged in.  She  however  had  no  knowledge 
of  who  it  was,  but  could  not  help  gazing 
with  a  pleasant  wronder  upon  the  pale 
thoughtful  brow,  and  delicately  beautiful 
countenance  of  the  young  sleeper. 

All  at  once  the  expression  of  her  features 


changed  exceedingly.  She  now  looked  al) 
fear  and  terrible  anxiety.  The  cause  of 
this  was  she  beheld  a  hornet  hovering  over 
his  face,  seeming- every  moment  as  if  it 
would  alight  on  the  half  closed  lips,  whose 
luscious  richness  of  color  doubtless  tempted 
it  thereto.  Mabel  was  in  an  agony  of  dread 
that  the  touch  of  the  insect  would  cause  the 
young  student  to  start,  and  so  he  would  get 
stung  :  and  she  dared  not  seek  to  wake  him 
from  a  like  fear.  So  there  stood  she,  bend- 
ing with  extreme  anxiousness,  and  anon 
shrinking  back  with  horrible  affright.  This 
continued  for  some  moments,  with  increasing 
alarm  on  her  part,  when  with  such  a  lively 
sense  of  joy  as  had  visited  her  but  seldom, 
she  beheld  the  hornet  take  its  departure 
without  doing  of  any  misduef.  She  lingered 
a  moment  longer,  half  iijpncd  to  wake  the 
sleeper,  and  tell  him  of  ms  danger,  but  as 
she  could  not  bring  upon  herself  to  break 
such  sweet  slumbers  as  he  appeared  to  en- 
joy, she  presently  turned  awa/  and  contin- 
ued her  walk. 

She  knew  not  all  this  while  that  she  was 
narrowly  watched  by  two  persons,  who, 
creeping  from  tree  to  tree  with  such  cau- 
tiousness as  might  prevent  their  approach  be- 
•ing  noticed,  followed  her  closely  as  she  went. 

"  'Tis  her !"  whispered  one,  drawing 
close  to  the  other. 

"  Let  her  get  to  the  next  clump  of  trees, 
and  then  upon,"  answered  the  other,  in  the 
same  low  voice.  They  then  separated 
again,  and  crept  along  as  before  till  they 
had  passed  the  sleeper  some  paces,  and 
were  rapidly  but  cautiously  advancing  upon 
the  object  of  their  so  much  regard,  when 
Mabel  turning  round  to  take  a  last  glance 
at  the  sleeping  student,  to  her  monstrous 
surprise  and  alarm,  found  two  strange  men 
close  upon  her  foot-steps. 

"  I  pray  you  come  with  us,  sweet  dam- 
sel," said  one  of  them,  whom  she  immedi- 
ately recognized  as  her  treacherous  gallant 
at  Kenihvorth.  "  We  will  do  you  no  sort 
of  harm  should  you  come  quietly — for  we 
are  of  your  friends,  anxious  to  lead  you  to 
such  great  good  fortune  as  falleth  to  the  lot 
of  few.  But  if  you  show  any  unwilling- 
ness," added  he,  seizing  her  firmly  by  the 
wrist,  seeing  she  evinced  an  evident  reluc- 
tance to  be  of  his  company — "  Or  make  any 
outcry,  we  shall  be  forced  to  use  such  means 
to  compel  you,  as  you  would  find  of  the 
roughest." 

"Unhand  me,  sirrah!"  cried  Mabel,  in- 
dignantly, striving  to  free  her  from  his  hold. 
"  I  have  seen  enough  of  you  to  wish  for  no 
farther  acquaintance,  and  will  go  with  you 
on  no  account." 


90 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


"  Then  we  must  e'en  take  to  making  you, 
sweetest,"  replied  he,  catching' her  up  in  his 
arms,  as  though  he  would  carry  her  away, 
which  set  her  to  screaming  and  struggling 
with  all  her  might.  At  this  moment,  awaken- 
ed by  the  scream,  the  youthful  Shakspeare 
started  from  his  sleep,  and  to  his  extreme 
consternation  beheld  the  fair  object  of  his 
most  pleasant  dream  borne  away  from  him, 
struggling  in  the  arms  of  some  rude  villain. 

"Hold,  caitiff',  on  thy  life!"  shouted  he, 
starting  after  them,  with  such  speed  of  foot 
as  soon  brought  them  within  his  reach,  but 
just  as  he  had  bravely  seized  the  ravisher 
by  the  collar  of  his  doublet,  he  was  felled  to 
the  earth  by  a  blow  from  a  heavy  riding 
whip  the  other  villain  had  with  him.  The 
two  then  made  \U»t  haste  they  could  with 
their  burthen,  dttQPe  her  cries  and  resist- 
ance, till  they  camo  to  their  horses  under 
some  adjoining  trees.  The  gallant  got  on 
one  holding  Mabel  before  him,  then  when 
his  companion  was  mounted,  both  rode 
across  the  country,  at  a  pace  which  speedily 
took  them  out  of  sight  of  that  neighborhood. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

O  fortune,  now  my  wounds  redress, 

And  help  me  from  my  smart, 
It  cometh  well  of  gentleness, 
To  ease  a  mourning  hearte. 

OLD  SONG. 

Away  with  these  self-loving  lads, 
Whom  with  cupid's  arrow  never  glads  ! 
Away  poor  souls  that  sigh  and  weep 
In  love  of  those  that  lie  asleep  !        * 
For  Cupid  is  a  merry  god, 
And  forceth  none  to  kiss  the  rod. 

LORD  BROOKE. 

These  strange  and  sudden  injuries  have  fallen 

So  thick  upon  me,  that  I  lose  all  sense 

Of  what  they  are.  Methinks  I  am  not  wronged  ; 

Nor  is  it  aught,  if  from  the  censuring  world 

I  can  but  hide  it.     Reputation  ! 

Thou  art  a  word,  no  more. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

ON  recovering  consciousness,  the  youth- 
ful Shakspeare  found  himself  lying  stretched 
on  the  grass,  with  a  confused  sense  of  pain 
and  sickness,  which  prevented  him  from 
forming  any  distinct  idea  of  where  he  was. 
He  could  just  discern  divers  black  masses  of 
sundry  shapes,  moving  around  and  about 
him,  whilst  above,  myriads  of  stars  were 
twinkling  upon  the  surface  of  the  surround- 
ing sky  ;  a  thick  white  haze  floated  over  the 
grassy  earth  as  far  as  he  could  see ;  and 
not  a  sound,  save  the  rustling  of  the  leaves, 


— which  at  first  came  upon  his  ear  with  a 
most  unnatural  strangeness — could  be  heard. 
His  earliest  perception  was  that  the  ground 
was  wet  with  the  dews,  and  he  almost  im- 
mediately afterwards  discovered  that  his 
clothes  were  saturated  with  the  same  mois- 
ture. This  made  him  make  an  immediate 
attempt  to  rise,  whereupon  he  felt  that  his 
limbs  were  stiff  and  aching.  Sitting,  sup- 
porting himself  by  one  arm,  he  strove  to  as- 
certain where  he  was;  but  everything  upon 
which  he  turned  his  eyes  floated  in  such 
shadowy  outline  he  could  distinguish  no- 
thing ;  and  so  fearful  a  pain  was  in  his 
head,  he  was  forced  to  lean  it  upon  his  hand 
as  he  rested  his  elbow  on  his  lap.  He  then 
found  his  brows  covered  with  a  clammy 
moisture,  which  stuck  to  his  palm  with  a 
peculiar  unpleasantness,  and  an  overpower- 
ing sense  of  sickness  prevented  him  from 
attempting  to  regain  his  feet.  In  this  posi- 
tion, and  with  these  sensations,  he  remained 
for  some  time. 

Nature  appeared  in  the  rising  dews  be- 
neath the  starry  canopy,  like  to  some  mighty 
empress  lying  in  her  shroud  under  a  jeweled 
pall ;  but  this  awful  magnificence  was  now 
lost  upon  him,  who  at  any  other  time  would 
have  seen  and  felt  it  more  thoroughly  than 
could  any  other.  In  his  present  state  she 
might  have  put  on  herself  her  proudest 
apparelling,  and  he  would  have  paid  no  more 
heed  to  it  than  if  he  had  had  no  foreknow- 
ledge of  her  visible  existence  ;  and  for  the 
time  being,  in  his  comprehension  not  only 
all  this  glorious  garnishing  in  which  he  had 
oft  taken  such  exquisite  delight,  was  utterly 
done  away  with,  but  that  absolute  and  un- 
rivaled Beauty,  whose  infinite  attractions  so 
set  off,  had  bound  his  spirit  to  her  will, 
seemed  to  have  suffered  a  perfect  dissolu- 
tion into  the  elements  ^from  which  she 
sprung  ;  and  had  at  once  become  a  darkness 
— a  chaos — and  a  nothing.  This,  however, 
as  must  be  manifest  to  all,  was  a  mere  fan- 
tasy. The  chaos  lay  in  the  mind,  and  not 
in  Nature;  who,  however  funereally  she 
may  clwose  to  array  herself,  hath  a  per- 
petual life,  that  cannot  be  made  the  property 
either  of  Time  or  Death.  All  the  singular 
fine  faculties  and  curious  conceptions  of  the 
young  student,  in  the  state  of  half-con- 
sciousness in  which  he  now  existed,  were 
as  if  they  had  never-  been ;  a'nd  in  intelli- 
gence— alack  that  there  should  be  so  hu- 
miliating a  truth, — a  sudden  visitation  of 
physical  pain  had  reduced  the  promising 
scholar  below  the  level  of  the  most  unlettered 
hind. 

At  last  he  managed  to  raise  himself  upon 
his  feet,  and  leaned  against  the  trunk  of  a 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


91 


tree  close  by  which  he  had  fallen.  He 
looked  around,  and  it  appeared  as  though 
everything  wore  an  unfamiliar  and  unfriend- 
ly countenance  ;  helpless  and  faint  with 
pain,  he  turned  his  appalling  gaze  to  those 
fair  ministers  on  high,  who  at  such  num- 
berless occasions,  had  looked  down  so  invit- 
ingly on  his  meditations  ;  but  they  seemed 
at  this  present  to  regard  him  with  a  cold  in- 
difference which  struck  a  chill  to  his  heart. 
He  felt  weaker  and  weaker  every  moment ; 
the  mists  appeared  to  be  thickening  around 
him  so  that  he  could  scarce  breathe  ;  the 
tree  passed  away  ,from  his  touch ;  the 
ground  slipped  from  under  his  feet;  and 
with  a  look  of  anguish  that  was  a  most  deep 
reproach  unto  Nature  for  having  so  aban- 
doned him  in  his  extremity,  he  again  fell  out 
of  all  sign  of  existence. 

At  this  moment,  lights  were  seen  in  the 
distance,  and  a  confused  shouting  of  men 
and  barking  of  dogs  was  plainly  audible. 
Amid  this  the  name  of  Mabel  might  be  dis- 
tinguished, called  out  by  several  different 
voices,  and  other  cries,  which  proved  that 
the  party  were  in  search  of  the  poor  found- 
ling. 

"Mabel!"  shouted  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
some  yards  off,  as  loud  as  he  could  for  the 
wrapper  his  careful  dame 'had  put  around 
his  throat  to  protect  him  from  the  damp  mist. 
t;  Murrain  on  the  wench,  what  hath  become 
of  her  I  wonder." 

"  Hoy  !"  bawled  out  a  stout  old  game- 
keeper for  the  space  of  nigh  half  a  minute, 
carrying  of  a  lantern,  which  great  cry  of  his 
brought  on  such  a  fit  of  coughing  there 
seemed  to  be  no  end  of  it. 

"  Prithee  when  we  return,  good  Sampson, 
ask  some  of  my  julep  of  me,"  said  Dame 
Lucy,  who  prided  herself  hugely  on  her  skill 
in  medicaments,  and  was  ever  as  anxious  to 
lay  hold  of  a  patient  as  was  any  'pothecary  in 
the  land  ;  "  'tis  famous  for  the  cure  of  all 
manner  of  coughe,  asthmatics,  quinsies,  cold, 
hoarseness,  and  other  diseases  of  the  like 
sort, — so  if  thou  wilt  take  it  steadily  it  can- 
not help  to  be  a  sovereign  remedy  for  thy 
asthma." 

"  Ay,  mistress,  an'  it  please  you,"  replied 
Sampson,  although  he  knew  full  well  the 
virtues  of  that  same  julep,  having  had  it  put 
upon  him  for  a  good  score  years,  let  him 
have  whatever  complaint  he  might. 

"  A  rig  for'  such  villainous  stuff!"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Thomas;  "I'll  cure  thy  asth- 
matics, I'll  warrant  !  When  I  was  at 
college,  I  was  as  famous1  for  my  studies  in 
medicine  as  was  any  physician  of  them  all. 
Indeed  I  got  me  the  name  of  little  Escula- 
pius,  I  had  acquired  such  great  cunning  in 


it.  There  was  no  such  cures  evei  neard  of 
as  I  have  made.  But  it  led  me  so  into  the 
playing  of  tricks,  that  I  was  obliged  to  give 
it  up  or  I  should  have  been  expelled  for  my 
many  mischiefs.  Oh,  the  love  powders  I 
have  made  that  distressed  damsels  came  to 
me  for  !  Oh,  the  wonderful  charmed  phil- 
tres, and  magical  elixirs,  I  have  given  them 
for  bringing  back  their  stray  lovers.  By 
cock  and  pye,  I  tickled  them  so  with  my 
stuff,  that  if  a  man  of  any  kind,  whatever  he 
might  lack  in  handsomeness,  did  but  show 
himself  in  the  High  Street,  women  of  all 
ages,  sorts,  and  conditions,  rushed  from 
every  house  with  a  monstrous  uncontrollable 
eagerness,  intent  upon  the  having  him 
whether  he  would  or  no." 

"  By'r  lady,  I  never  heard  this,  before,  Sir 
Thomas  !"  cried  his  dame,  in  some  surprise, 
yet  in  the  fullest  conviction  here  was  an- 
other wonderful  proof  of  her  husband's  ex- 
traordinary rare  wisdom.  "  Believe  me, 
had  I  known  of  it,  I  would  have  asked  your 
advice  numberless  times  when  I  have  not." 

"  Mabel  !"  shouted  the  knight  again,  and 
again  Sampson  set  up  a  prolonged  cry,  and 
half  choked  himself  in  the  midst  of  it,  and 
two  dogs  they  had  with  them  recommenced 
barking,  as  if  they  thought  their  voices 
stood  as  good  a  chance  of  being  recognized 
by  their  kind  friend,  the  poor  foundling,  as 
any. 

"  Plague  on't !"  -exclaimed  Sir  Thomas  ; 
"  T  am  nigh  hoarse  with  bawling  ;  and  de- 
spite of  our  mufflers  and  other  covering,  I 
doubt  not  we  shall  have  terrible  colds  from 
wandering  about  here  when  the  dew  is  so 
thick." 

"  Ay,TVTaster  Justice,"  observed  the  game- 
keeper, scarce  ceasing  one  minute  to  give 
evidence  this  coming  out  agreed  not  with 
his  asthma. 

"  I  marvel  she  should  serve  us  this  way," 
added  the  knight,  after  another  call  from 
him,  another  broken-winded  cry  from  his 
man,  and  another  famous  howl  from  the  two 
dogs,  with  as  little  success  as  had  attended 
them  all  along  ;  "  I  hope  no  harm  hath  come 
to  her." 

"  By  my  troth  a  thought  strikes  me  !" 
cried  Dame  Lucy,  suddenly  coming  to  a 
full  stop  in  her  walk,  to  the  exceeding  as- 
tonishment of  the  justice  and  his  man. 

"  Marry,  I  hope  'twill  strike  thee  hard 
enough  to  tell  us  what  'tis  about,  dame," 
said  her  husband  merrily. 

"  Doubtless  that  pestilent  fine  fellow  hath 
!  run  away  with  her,"  added  she,  as  if  horror- 
1  struck  at  the  idea. 

"  Ey,  who  ?  What  fine  fellow  ?"  ex- 
claimed the  knight,  rapidly ;  "  run  away 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


with  a  servant  of  a  justice  o'  the  peace  ! 
'Slight !  'tis  as  heinous  a  matter  as  sheep- 
sfcealing  !  But  who's  the  villain  ?  'Fore 
George ;  if  he  be  a  low  person,  he  shall 
swing  for't ;  and  if  he  be  one  of  any  sort  of 
quality,  I'll  make  a  Star-Cbamber  matter 
on't.  I  will  be  no  rearer  of  coneys  for  other 
men's  catching,  I  promise  you."  And  there- 
upon he  thumped  the  ground  with  the  end 
of  his  stick  a  most  determined  blow. 

Nay,  good  heart,  be  not  in  so  deadly  a 
passion,"  cried  the  good  dame,  earnestly. 

"  Passion !"  bawled  the  justice,  in  a 
louder  voice,  and  seemingly  in  an  increased 
rage.  "  Wounds  !  but  methinks  here  is 
fine  occasion  for  it.  It  is  but  fitting  I  should 
be  in  a  passion — in  a  horrible,  tearing  pas- 
sion, at  such  a  villainous  affront  as  this. 
O'  my  life,  I  should  be  monstrous  glad  now 
to  do  some  deadly  mischief."  And  at  this 
he  pulled  his  rapier  a  little  out  of  the  sheath, 
and  then  sent  it  back  with  a  whang  that 
sounded  fearfully  to  his  alarmed  wife,  and 
astonished  game-keeper. 

"  I/pray  you,  take  not  on  so  murderously, 
Sir  Thomas,"  cried  the  good  dame. 

"  Valor  o'  me  !  tell  me  this  caitiff  on  the 
instant  !"  exclaimed  the  knight,  in  a  voice 
that  appeared  to  admit  of  no  dallying. 

"  He  was  one  »f  those  who  made  them- 
selves so  busy  with  Mabel  whilst  we  were 
at  Ke  nil  worth,"  replied  the  old  lady,  trem- 
blingly ;  "  but  he  cannot  be  a  fit  object  for 
the  receiving  of  your  just  indignation." 

"  Ha  !  Is  it  so  ?"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  in 
no  way  abating  the  terribleness  of  his  anger. 
"  O'  my  word,  I  did  suspect  them  of  no  good. 
'Twas  a  trick  I'll  wager  my  life  on't — a 
cozening  trick  to  get  them  into  my  good- 
will ;  but  I  go  not  so  easily  into  a  trap,  I 
promise  you.  I  saw  the  bait,  and  did  ima- 
gine the  mischief  on  the  instant.  How 
dost  feel  so  certain  one  of  them  hath  carried 
off  our  Mabel  ?"  asked  he,  and  at  this 
the  good  dame  up  and  told,  how  one  day 
she  was  walking  with  Mabel  in  the  park, 
and  they  were  accosted  by  these  same  fine 
fellows  with  a  marvellous  show  of  delicate 
behavior ;  but  she,  giving  them  instant  proof 
she  was  not  to  be  deceived  by  their  crafti- 
ness, they  departed  from  her  presence  with 
more  speed  than  they  had  come  in  it.  Then 
the  knight  became  more  brave  in  his  speech 
than  ever,  and  was  talking  very  largely  how 
he  would  have  driven  them  both  out  of  his 
grounds  at  the  very  point  of  his  rapier,  had 
he  been  in  her  company  at  that  time,  when 
his  attention  was  suddenly  diverted  from  the 
subject  in  hand,  by  a  strange  barking  of  the 
a  litt'e  in  advance  of  them.  Sampson 


made  haste  to  the  spot,  with  his  lantern  to 
see  what  it  meant. 

"  Perchance  the  dogs  have  found  her," 
observed  l)ame  Lucy ;  and  it  may  be  she 
hath  been  taken  wilfc  a  fit,  or  sudden  swoon- 
ing, and  so  could  get  no  further." 

"  Murder  !"  cried  Sampson  as  loud  as  he 
could,  upon  catching  a  glance,  by  aid  of  the 
light  he  carried,  of  what  appeared  to  be  a 
dead  body. 

"  Oh,  the  poor  wench !"  exclaimed  the  good 
dame  in  very  doleful  accents. 

"  What  dost  say,  knave  ?"  inquired  the 
knight,  in  somewhat  of  a  trepidation. 

"  Here's  a  horrid  mangle  !"  bawled  the 
serving-man,  gazing  with  real  terror  on  the 
blood-stained  face  of  the  youthful  Shak- 
speare. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  go,  Sir  Thomas  !"  cried 
his  dame  in  a  nervous  apprehension,  cling- 
ing tightly  to  his  arm.  "  Perchance  the 
murderers  may  not  be  far  away.  Keep 
down  thy  valor,  dear  heart,  1  prithee  !  Nay, 
sweet  life,  thou  shalt  go  on  no  account ! 
Thy  brave  spirit  will  lead  thee  to  some  hurt 

thou  hast  no  occasion  to  be  so  exceeding 
valiant.  Remember,  chuck !  thou  art  get- 
ting to  be  old,  and  no  fit  match,  for  I  know 
not  how  many  monstrous  horrible  cut-throat 
villains  who  may  be  lurking  about." 

"  Shall  a  justice  o'  the  peace  stand  play- 
ing of  mum-chance,  when  murder  stalks 
abroad  ?"  exclaimed  Sir  Thomas,  who,  be- 
lieving that  the  supposed  villains  must  by 
this  have  got  them  to  some  place  of  safety, 
had  drawn  his  rapier,  and  was  advancing 
with  a  marvellous  show  of  resolution  as  fast 
as  Dame  Lucy  would  allow  him.  "  Must 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  knight  of  the  shire,  and 
late  sheriff  of  the  county,  hide  his  valor, 
when  deadly  mischief  is  doing  on  his  own 
land]  Dame  !  dame  !  I  will  not  be  hinder- 
ed ;  I  feel  as  full  of  fight  Ss  a  drawn  badger 
— my  valor  must  spend  itself.  Where  are 
the  monstrous  pitiful  caitiffs  that  have  done 
this  mischief  ?  'Fore  George  !  I  will  slay 
them  every  man !" 

"  Hodge  !  Anthony  !  David  !"  cried  his 
dame  urgently  to  divers  of  the  serving-men 
and  keepers  who  were  at  a  little  distance 
behind.  "  Help  me  hold  thy  master.  Here 
is  a  foul  murder  done  upon  poor  Mabel,  and 
he  is  so  moved;  he  must  needs  be  attacking 
of  all  the  murderers  at  once."  The  men 
came  up  in  wonderful  tribulation  at  hearing 
of  the  fate  of  the  gentle  foundling  ;  and  with 
pressing  entreaties  to  their  master  he  would 
not  wilfully  seek  his  own  death.  They 
sought  to  hold  him  fast ;  but  the  more  he 
was  held,  the  more  boldly  he  threatened.  At 
last  they  all  'arrived  at  the  spot  where  Samp- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


son  ar.d  the  dogs  were  examining  with  ex- 
treme curiousness  the  body  of  our  young 
scholar. 

"  Ha  !  how  is  this  ?"  exclaimed  the  knight 
in  exceeding  astonishment,  as  soon  as  he  be- 
held the  young  Shakspeare,  by  the  aid  of  the 
lanterns.  "  This  is  no  Mabel ;  this  is  some 
boy  or  another." 

"  I  warrant  you,  master,  observed  one  of 
the  men  gladly,  "  our  Mabel  hath  darker 
hair." 

"  And  she  wore  not  jerkins  of  any  kind," 
said  another. 

"  Nor  trunks,  that  ever  I  saw,"  added  a 
.third. 

"  'Tis  not  our  Mabel,  out  of  all  doubt !" 
cried  Dame  Lucy,  'gazing  upon  the  motion-  ' 
less  body  with  mingled  feelings  of  awe  and 
curiousness.  "  I  never  gave  her  to  wear  any  j 
such  clothes  as  these  ;  and  such  as  she  had  ' 
of  me  for  her  apparelling  were  honest  gowns  ; 
of  a  sober  color,  with  petticoats  of  a  proper  j 
stuff,  blue  hose,  and  shoes  of  a  fair  strength, ' 
with  a  round  hat,  for  every  day  ;   and  then 
for  Sundays " 

"  Gog's  wouns  ! — he  lives,  master  !"  htir- 
riedly  exclaimed  Sampson,  who  had   lilted  j 
up  the  head  of  the  supposed  corpse,  and  feel- 1 
ing  him  move,  could  not  forbear  crying  out . 
— the  which  completely  put  a  stop  to  the 
dame's  account  of  her  handmaid's  wardrobe.  ; 

"  Mass  !  he  breathes,  sure  enough,"  ob-  ; 
served  Hodge  ;   "  and  that,  as  I  have  been 
tokl,  be  an  excellent  sign  of  Jife." 

"  Nay,  as  I  live,  he  openeth  his  eyes  !" 
cried  Anthony. 

"  And  no\y  he  be  a  moving  of  his  fingers  !" 
added  David  with  a  like  marvelling ;  and  then 
all  watched  with  a  famous  interest  the  symp- 
toms of  returning  consciousness  in  the 
wounded  youth.  The  justice  was  some-  j 
what  puzzled  what  to  do  in  so  strange  a 
case.  Here  was  a  murdered  person  coming 
to  life,  and  no  sign  of  Mabel  was  to  be  seen 
any  where.  He  thought  it  was  exceeding 
suspicious  ;  and  then  believing  he  had  given 
sufficient  evidence  of  his  valiant  spirit,  he 
sheathed  his  rapier,  took  his  stick  from  one 
of  the  men  who  had  picked  it  up  on  coming 
along,  and  leaning  on  it,  kept  considering 
how  he  should  behave.  In  the  meanwhile', 
William  Shakspeare,  with  all  the  lanterns 
bearing  upon  his  face,  was  looking  upon 
those  around  him,  greatly  bewildered,  yet 
beginning  to  have  some  confused  ideas  of 
where  he  was,  and  what  brought  him  there. 
Nevertheless,  the  faces,  as  far  as  he  could 
disting'iish,  were  unfamiliar  to  him.  He 
4  It  weak,  and  ever  and  anon  gave  a  strong 
shudder,  as  though  his  blood  was  chilled  by 
to  long  lying  in  the  dew  and  the  night  air. 


"  Methinks  he  hath  on  him  something  of 
an  ague,"  observed  Dame  Lucy.  "Could  we 
get  him  home  with  us,  now,  some  of  my  ju- 
lep would  do  him  famous  good  service,  1 
warrant  you." 

"  Humph  !"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  gazing  up- 
on the  stranger  with  a  terrible  penetrating 
look,  upon  hearing  of  this  hint  of  the  good 
dame,  backed  by  assurances  of  its  efficacy 
from  each  of  the  serving-men. 

"  An'  it  please  you,  sweet  lady,"  said  the 
youthful  Shakspeare,  faintly  addressing 
Dame  Lucy,  emboldened  to  it  by  the  evi- 
dence he  had  just  heard  of  her  considerate- 
ness  for  him, "  I  beseech  you  tell  me  am  I  not 
still  in  the  park  of  his  good  worship,  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  ?" 

"  That  are  you,  beyond  all  question,"  re- 
plied she  very  courteously,  for  she  was  well 
pleased  with  the  civilnes.s  with  which  the 
question  had  been  put  to  her. 

"  Ay,  you  be  just  upon  the  very  middle  of 
Fairmead  Grove,  my  young  master,"  added 
one  of  the  men. 

"  i  thought  I  could  not  help  being  at  the 
same  place,"  observed  the  youth. 

"  But  how  didst  come  to  that  place,  and 
what  dost  do  at  that  place  at  so  late  an 
hour  ?"  asked  the  justice,  in  a  style  that  sa- 
vored wondrously  of  a  disposition  in  him  to 
doubt  the  honesty  of  the  person  he  question- 
ed. Thereupon  William  Shakspeare,  with- 
out acquainting  any  with  the  reason  of  his 
visit  to  the  park,  told  the  knight  how  he  had 
been  a  witness  to  the  carrying  off  of  M'-ibel 
by  two  villains,  and  how  when  striving  to 
stop  one,  he  was  felled  to  the  earth  by  the 
other. 

"  So  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Thomas,  looking 
with  more  severity  than  ever,  "  Thou  hast 
got  a  fine  story  ;  but  I  doubt  'twill  do  thee 
any  good  at  assize."  Just  as  the  knight 
had  uttered  this,  the  youth  gave  a  sudden 
^turt  upon  noting  for  the  first  time  his  hands 
were  covered  with  blood,  which  discovery, 
and  the  manner  of  his  behavior  at  that  mo- 
ment, was  well  observed  by  the  justice. — 
"  Ha !"  cried  he,  "  How  didst  get  thyself  so 
dabbled  ?  Dost  tell  that  cozening  tale  to  me 
when  thy  hands  and  face  bear  evidence  thou 
hast  murdered  our  Mabel  !" 

"  Murdered  her  !"  exclaimed  William,  in 
extreme  astonishment.  "  Believe  me  I  would 
much  rather  have  died  in  her  rescue." 

"  1  believe  thee  fellow  !"  cried  the  justice, 
with  extreme  emphasis.  "  O'  my  life,  1  do 
believe  thee  to  be  a  most  notorious  horrible 
villain  !  But  how  didst  get  thyself  in  so  sus- 
picious a  way  ?  answer  me  that.  The  truth, 
fellow,  the  truth." 

"  As  for  what  I  see  on  my  hand,"  ob- 


94 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


served  the  youth,  "  I  am  as  much  surprised 
at  it  as  yourself  can  be  :  but  on  reflection, 
methinks  'tis  easy  to  be  accounted  for." 

" Is't,  indeed  ?"  replied  the  knight.  "  Mar- 
ry, I  doubt  it  hugely." 

"  Doubtless  the  blow  I  received  hath  made 
a  wound,"  continued  the  other.  "  And  hold- 
ing my  aching  head  awhile,  hath  brought  rny 
hand  to  the  state  you  see." 

"  Heart  o'  me  !  here  be  a  wound,  indeed, 
master,  cried  Sampson,  closely  examining 
the  head  of  the  suspected  person  by  the  aid  of 
his  lantern. 

"  By'r  lady,  and  so  there  is  !"  added 
Dame  Lucy.  "  I  would  he  were  where  I 
could  apply  to  it  some  of  my  famous  julep  ; 
'tis  the  sovereignest  thing  on  earth  for  a 
green  wound." 

With  the  friendly  assistance  of  the  serv- 
ing men,  with  whom  there  was  not  a  doubt 
remaining  of  his  perfect  innocency,  William 
Shakspeare  stood  upon  his  feet,  and  presently 
missed  the  book  he  had  been  studying  be- 
fore he  fell  asleep  under  the  tree.  The 
justice,  somewhat  perplexed  in  his  notions, 
stood  regarding  him  with  a  most  scrutiniz- 
ing look.  • 

"  What  dost  want  looking  about  so  ?"  in- 
quired he. 

"  A  book,  an'  it  please  your  worship," 
answered  the  other.  "  A  book  of  sweet  po- 
ems I  was  intent 'upon  studying,  before  I 
beheld  her  you  carlled  Mabel  being  carried 
away,  screaming  in  the  arms  of  a  villain." 

"  I  did  kick  my  foot  against  something 
not  a  moment  since,"  said  Dame  Lucy  ; 
"  Perchance  that  may  be  it."  Hearing  this, 
the  serving  men  and  keepers  looked  careful- 
ly about  with  their  lanterns. 

"  Thou  saidst  nought  about  her  screaming 
just  now,"  observed  the  justice  sternly,  upon 
whom  this  addition  came  with  a  very  mar- 
vellous suspiciousness.  "  But  tell  us  who 
thou  are — they  name,  fellow — they  name  ?" 

"  My  name  is  William  Shakspeare,"  an- 
swered the  youth. 

"  What,  John  Shakspeare's  son,  of  Strat- 
ford ?"  asked  Sir  Thomas  quickly. 

"  The  same,  an'  it  please  your  worship." 

"  Then  'tis  clear — 'tis  manifest — 'tis  most 
absolute  and  undeniable,  fellow  !"  exclaimed 
the  justice,  with  a  severity  greater  than  all 
he  had  yet  shown.  "  Mass,  I  thought  I  could 
not  suspect  thee  without  warrantable  assur- 
ance. Thy  name  proves  it.  If  thou  hast 
not  committed  this  foul  murder,  I  will  be 
sworn  an  ass  all  the  rest  of  my  days.  Thou 
hast  a  most  discreditable  name,  fellow.  I 
know  not  a  name  of  such  ill  repute  that  can 
be  found  anywhere.  'Tis  a  bad  name  ;  and 
being  a  bad  name  must  needs  be  an  ill  name ; 


ani  being  an  ill  name  cannot  help  being  a 
name  that  a  man  shall  chance  to  go  to  the 
hangman  with." 

"Here's  the  book,  sure  enough,"  cried  one 
of  the  serving-men. 

"  Book  rne  no  books,"  said  the  knight 
sharply,  whose  remembrance  of  what  had 
been  told  him  by  Master  Buzzard,  made  him 
careless  of  this  new  proof  of  the  youth's  in- 
nocence. "  Take  him  away  !  I  will  look 
into  this  matter  with  more  strictness.  God's 
precious,  so  notorious  a  name  no  man  ever 
had  !  But  let  me  examine  the  same  book  of 
which  he  hath  spoken  so  confidently."  Hav- 
ing got  it  in  his  hand,  the  justice  had  a  lan- 
tern held  to  him  and  scrutinized  it  very  nar- 
rowly. 

"  Ha  1    O'  my  life  I  thought  as  much  !"  A 
added  he,  looking  from  the  book  to  the 
posed  murderer.  "  Thou  hast  stolen  it.  Here 
is  in  it  the  name  of  Sir  Marmaduke  de  Lar- 
gesse." 

"  He  lent  it  me,  as  he  hath  done  many 
other,"  replied  William  Shakspeare. 

V  He  lend  thee,  fellow  !"  cried  the  knight 
I  disdainfully.  "  A  person  of  his  quality  lend 
books  to  so  horrible  low  a  person  as  the  son 
of  John  Shakspeare.  How  dost  dare  put  so 
i  impudent  an  assertion  on  a  justice  o'  the 
I  peace !  Mass,  'tis  manifest  thou  art  a  most 
;  thorough  villain  by  thy  name — 'tis  as  clear 
thou  hast  stolen  this  book,  and  doubtless 
many  others  by  thy  professions — and  there 
is  ho  doubt  thou  hast  done  a  foul  murder  by 
thy  being  in  ifie  neighborhood  at  the  time 
the  wench  was  missing,  and  found  here  un- 
der such  suspicious  circumstances."  Bring 
him  along,  Sampson.  Thou  "art  my  close 
prisoner.  I  charge  thee  escape  on  thy  peril." 
•  Our  young  student,  to  his  exceeding  as- 
tonishment, found  himself  taken  into  custo- 
dy ;  but  to  be  accused  of  destroying  that  ex- 
quisite fair  creature  who  had  so  long  been 
the  exclusive  subject  of  his  sweetest  medita- 
tions, appeared  to  him  so  unnatural  a  thing, 
he  could  scarce  believe  it  possible  it  could  be 
thought  of  for  a  single  moment.  Confused 
as  he  was  by  the  effects  of  the  blow,  and 
still  more  bewildered  by  the  behavior  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  his  apprehensions  for  the 
safety  of  the  gentle  Mabel  completely  thrust 
aside  everything  like  fear  for  himself,  and  all 
the  way  to  the  house  he  did  nothing  but 
think  of'  the  possible  dangers  she  might  be 
exposed  to  in  the  hands  of  those  desperate 
villains  he  had  beheld  carrying  of  her  off. 
When  ho  arrived  at  the  mansion,  he  was  led 
up  stairs  into  a  room  .where  there  \yas  no 
possibility  of  escaping ;  and  Dame  Lucy 
presently  came  and  washed  his  wound,  ap- 
plied to  it  some  of  her  famous  julep,  and  put 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


on  it  a  clean  bandage,  for  although,  as  a  wife 
she  would  not  for  a  moment  doubt  of  the 
correctaess  of  her  husband's  opinion,  she 
could  not  allow  such  an  opinion,  bad  as  it 
was,  to  ink  rfere  with  the  wounded  youth's 
receiving  tiie  advantage  of  her  skill  in  re- 
medies. 

It  was  a  small  chamber,  with  a  standing 
bed  in  it,  whereon  was  a  fair  coverlet  of  the 
dame's  needle  work.  A  little  table,  with 
materials  for  washing,  stood  close  at  hand, 
which  had  evidently  been  in  use  ;  and  be- 
side them  were  sundry  towels,  pieces  of 
cloth  for  bandage,  bottles,  scissors,  and  the 
like  necessary  sort  of  things  for  the  dress- 
ing of  a  wound.  The  dame  sat,  with  a  fa- 
mous serious  aspect,  in  an  arm  chair,  at  the 
side  of  the  table,  fastening  the  bandage  on 
the  head  of  her  patient,  who  knelt  down  at 
her  feet.  Close  by  the  suspected  murderer, 
holding  a  candle,  stood  a  comely  little  dam- 
sel, whose  bright  eyes  had  gradually  lost 
that  fearfulness  with  which  she  at  first  re- 
garded the  wicked  wretch  she  had  been  told 
he  was. 

Watching  these,  at  a  little  distance,  stood 
two  simple  looking  fellows — the  one  with 
a  long  sheepish  face,  surrounded  with  strag- 
gling lanky  locks,  which  was  Hodge  ;  and 
the  other,  with  a  head  as  round  as  an  apple, 
of  which  the  countenance  was  marked  out 
of  all  contradiction,  for  it  would  have  rivalled 
any  old  buckler  in  the  number  of  dents  it 
had  ;  and  he  wTas  David.  Each  was  leaning 
on  a  formidable  looking  harquebus,  and  be- 
side which  they  were  armed  with  sword  and 
dagger. 

"  Dost  feel  any  more  comfort  now  ?"  in- 
quired the  good  dame,  as  her  patient  stood 
up  before  her,  immediately  the  dressing  of 
his  wound  was  finished. 

"  Wonderful,  I  thank  you  very  heartily," 
exclaimed  the  youth,  leaning  of  himself 
against  a  chair — for  he  felt  exceeding  weak. 

"  I'm  glad  on't,"  added  his  physician, 
carefully  pouring  into  a  cup  some  of  her 
famous  julep ;  then  giving  the  bottle  to  the 
black-eyed  Kate,  with  an  injunction  to  be 
mindful  and  put  it  down  safely,  she  offered  the 
cup- and  its  contents  to  her  patient.  "  Drink 
this,  I  prithee,"  said  she,  "  and  be  assured 
'twill  do  thee  as  much  efficacy  taken  as  an 
inward  medicine,  as  thou  hast  already  found 
when  used  as  a  lotion  for  a  wound."  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  again  thanked  her  with  a 
like  sincerity,  and  cheerfully  swallowed  the 
draught  to  the  last  drop.  His  behavior  had 
already  pleased  her,  and  the  alacrity  with 
which  he  drank  what  she  had  given  him, 
delighted  her  still  more.  She  rose  from  her 
Beat,  ordering  the  handmaid  to  clear  the 


table,  and  get  a  bowl  of  milk  and  a  manchet 
for  the  youth's  supper ;  and  then  telling  the 
two  men  Sir  Thomas  desired  they  left  not  the 
room  on  any  account,  nor  once  took  their 
eyes  off  of  their  prisoner,  she  seemed  as  if 
about  to  take  her  departure.  Yet  still  she 
lingered. 

"  I  marvel  thou  dost  not  confess  thy  wick- 
edness," said  she,  at  last,  to  her  young  patient, 
manifestly  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 
"  Prithee  say  what  thou  hast  done  with  the 
body  ;  for  methinks  the  least  thou  canst  do 
is  to  let  her  have  Christian  burial." 

"  Whose  body,  dear  lady  ?"  inquired  he. 

"  Why,  poor  Mabel,  whom  thou  hast 
so  foully  murdered,  Answered  the  dame. 
"  Alack !  'tis  a  grievous  thing  one  so  young 
— and  so  well  behaved  too — should  do  so 
horrible  a  thing."  Kate  stood  still  a  mo- 
ment,.and  regarded  the  suspected  murderer 
with  a  \vonderful  searching  glance. 

"  I  beseech  you,  think  of  me  not  so  vilely !" 
exclaimed  the  youthful  Shakspeare,  with 
great  earnestness.  "  By  all  things  most 
sacred,  I  do  assure  you,  I  got  this  blow  in 
endeavoring  to  stay  the  villains  who  carried 
her  off."  Kate  returned  to  her  work  with  a 
look  of  infinite  satisfaction. 

'•'  Didst  not  hear  what  Sir  Thomas  said  ?" 
inquired  the  old  lady,  very  gravely ;  "  and 
dost  really  imagine  that  one  of  thy  years 
can  know  better  of  a  thing  than  a  justice 
o'  the  peace,  and  a  km'ght  o'  the  shire,  who 
owneth  lands  in  five  counties  ?"  There- 
upon the  good  dame  shook  her  head  with  a 
wonderful  solemnity,  and  walked,  in  her 
stateliest  manner,  out,  of  the  chamber. 

"  Prithee,  Kate,  bring  us  a  jug  of  small 
ale!"  exclaimed  the  man  with  the  indented 
lace,  as  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair, 
directly  his  mistress  had  closed  the  door. 
'•  I'm  horrible  thirsty  after  all  this  fruitless 
searching  for  poor  Mabel." 

"  Body  o'  me,  so  am  I,  David  !"  said  he 
with  the  sheepish*  countenance,  following 
;he  other's  example.  *"  1  feel  as  though  I 
:iad  lived  on  pickled  herrings  for  a  whole 
uonth  of  fast  days,  I  be  so  uncommon  dry. 
Jome  Kate,  bring  us  a  tankard." 

"  Wait  till  thy  betters  be  served,  Hodge," 
replied  the  girl,  quickly.  David  looked  hard 
at  Hodge,  and  Hodge  looked  hard  at  David ; 
and  then  both  looked  very  hard  at  their 
prisoner. 

"  I  pray  you,  good  sir,  to  seat  yourself," 
said  Kate  to  the  latter,  who  still  stood  lean- 
ing against  the  back  of  a. chair,  looking 
faint  and  pale ;  and  thereupon  she  moved 
lie  chair  round  for  him,  convenient  for  his 
sitting.  "  Methinks  you  must  want  rest 
xceedingly." 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEAEE. 


"  I  thank  you,"  replied  he,  taking  her  prof- 
fered kindness  very  courteously ;  I  am  in- 
deed somewhat  weary." 

"  O'  my  life  I  am  monstrous  Sorry,"  ob- 
served she,  regarding  him  with  an  evident 
sympathy ;  "  but  I  will  make  what  speed  I 
can  with  your  supper,  so  that  you  shall  to 
bed  quickly  and  get  you  a  good  slpep,  for 
which  I  doubt  not  you  shall  be  much  the 
better." 

"  I  have  no  stomach  for  anything,  I  thank 
you  all  the  same,"  said  the  patient  faintly. 

"  Nay,  but  you  go  not  to  bed  supperless, 
I  promise  you,"  exclaimed  Kate,  with  one 
of  her  pleasantest  smiles ;  "  such  light 
victual  must  needs  "be  what  would  do  you 
most  good;  and  I  will  take  care  it  shall 
be  greatly  to  your  liking."  As  soon  as 
she  had  left  the  room,  Hodge  again  looked 
at  David  and  David  looked  at  Hodge,  and 
both  looked  at  their  prisoner  harder  than 
before.  After  wlu'ch  the  former  laid  his 
piece  carefully  on  his  lap,  and  the  other 
did  the  same  immediately ;  then  he  of  the 
well-marked  countenance,  stooped  forward, 
poking  out  his  chin  and  his  lips  towards 
his  companion,  making  a  sort  of  half- 
stifled  whistling,  and  the  owner  of  the 
sheep-face  lost  no  time  in  following  his  ex- 
ample. 

"  I  beseech  you  tell  me,"  said  William 
Siiakspeare,  "  if  there  exists  any  evidence 
other  than  what  I  have  stated  for  suppos- 
ing the  gentle  Mabel  hath  come  to  any 
hurt  ?"  At  hearing  of  this  question  the 
two  men  lookc-d  at  each  other  a  little 
harder,  and  whistled  a  little  louder  than 
they  had  previously  done. 

"  I  would  gladly  hear  any  intelligence  of 
her  safety,"  added  he,  upon  rinding  he  got 
no  answer ;  but  these  words  merely  pro- 
duced an  accompaniment  to  the  whistling 
in  the  shape  of  the  drumming  of  three 
ringers  of  each  of  his  guard  upon  the  table 
before  them.  Observing  they  did  not  choose 
to  speak,  he  desisted  of  his  questions  till  the 
entrance  of  the  pretty  handmaid  with  his 
supper,  of  whom  he  inquired  in  a  like  man- 
ner, telling  her  also  he  could  get  no  answer 
of  any  kind  from  the  persons  she  had  left 
with  him. 

"  Why  so  churlish,  I  prithee  !"  exclaimed 
Kate  as  she  placed  close  to  the  wounded 
youth  a  bowl  of  hot  milk  spiced  with  nutmeg 
and  cinnamon,  and  a  fair  white  loaf,  knife 
and  spoon,  on  a  tray  covered  with  a  cloth 
that  seemed  to  rival  the  milk  in  whiteness. 
'  Methinks  'twill  do  you  no  great  harm  to 
open  your  mouths  a  bit,  the  which  you  are 
ready  enough  to  do  over  a  full  trencher." 

u  The  justice  hath  commanded  that  we 


have  no  communications  with  the  prisoner," 
observed  David  with  extreme  seriousr. 

"  And  moreover  hath  <i  •  we 

speak  to  him  at  our  peril,"  added  Hodge. 

"  A  fig's  end  for  the  justice !"  cried  tiieir 
pretty  companion,  to  the  infinite  a.~tonish- 
meht  of  the  serving  men  ;  "  art  so  weak  of 
conceit  as  to  suspect  this  good  youth  of  so 
improbable  a"  thing  as  the  killing  of  our 
Mabel  ?  Why  thou  hast  no  more  brains 
than  a  blighted  apple."  Then  turning  to 
the  supposed  murderer  with  an  increased 
kindness  of  manner,  assured  him  that  no- 
thing was  known  concerning  of  the  missing 
person  but  what  he  had  himself  told,  and 
pressed  him  urgently  to  partake  of  what  she 
brought,  so  that  he  could  not  refuse ;  and 
when  she  had  again  taken  herself  out  of  the 
room  David  and  Hodge  looked  at  each  other 
and  then  at  their  prisoner  so  terrible  hard, 
their  eyes  must  have  ached  for  some  minutes 
after.  Willi<yn  Shaksj,eare  took  no  notice 
of  them,  although  they  were  watching  of  him 
narrowly.  All  at  once  the  two  men  snatched 
up  their  harquebnsses  as  ;f  they  woultl  have 
them  in  readiness  for  immediate  use,  and 
put  all  the  valor  they  possessed  into  their 
looks.  They  had  ob.-;c:ved  he  had  taken  a 
knife  into  his  hand,  as  they  thought  with  no 
other  purpose  than  to  stab  them  and  then 
make  his  escape ;  but  he  merely  used  il  for 
the  cutting  of  a  slice  oiF  the  loaf  to  sop  in 
his  milk.  This  did  nor  ussure  them.  They 
kept  their  gaze  on  his  every  motion  with 
extreme  seriousness,  s :i\  e  when  he  happen- 
ed by  chance  to  ra  i-s  from  the  sup- 
per he  was*  languidly  tasting,  when  on  a 
sudden  they,  would  be  diligently  examining 
one  or  the  other  of  their  le<;S  they  were 
swinging  to  and  fro  on  the  chair,  with  as 
complete  a  carelessness  as  if  they  were 
thinking  of  nothing. 

Presently  Kate  returned  again,  bearing  a 
brimming  tunkard.  which  she  put  down  be- 
tween the  two  serving  ii:en. 

"  I  doubt  hugely  thou  dost  deserve  any- 
thing of  the  sort,"  said  she  to  them ;  "  thou 
showest  such  uncivil  behavior  towards  thia 
good  youth.  I  would  wager  my  life  on't 
he  knoweth  no  more  of  the  murder  than  a 
child  unborn." 

"  But  his  worship  declareth  he  doth  know 
of  it,  Kate,"  observed  David  with  more  than 
ordinary  solemnness. 

"  And  moreover  hath  determined  'twas 
done  by  this  person  and  no  other,"  added 
Hodge  after  the  like  fashion. 

"  1  care  not  for  iilty  worships,"  replied  she 
flashing  her  dark  eyes  very  prettily ;  "  or 
for  what  they  say.  or  for  what  they  do,  when 
they  show  such  marvellous  injustice.  Is't 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


97 


reasonable— is:t  natural — is't  credible,  one 
of  his  years,  with  a  countenance  too  as  in- 
nocent as  is  a  lambkin — should  take  to  such 
villainous  courses  ?  Why,  what  shallow- 
witted  poor  creatures  must  they  be  who 
would  entertain  such  intolerable  notions." 

The  rough- featured  serving-man,  as  she 
turned  her  back  to  approach  the  prisoner, 
shook  his  head  with  a  very  wonderful  so- 
lemnity ;  and  then,  not  knowing  what  better 
to  be  at,  put  his  mouth  to  the  tankard,  and 
whilst  he  drank,  kept  his  watchful  eyes 
squinting  ovor  the  rim  in  the  direction  of 
the  supposed  murderer.  After  a  time  had 
elapsed,  which  his  companion  thought  was 
considerable  longer  than  it  ought  to  have 
been,  he  handed  his  sheep-faced  companion 
the  tankard,  wiping  of  his  mouth  with  the 
cuff  of  his  jerkin  at  the  same  moment,  and 
looking  such  volumes  of  hidden  meaning  as 
it  is  utterly  impossible  to  express,  to  which 
the  other  responded  by  giving  a  hasty  glance 
at  the  roof  and  then  a  prodigious  long  one 
Into  the  tankard,  to  which  his  jaws  appeared 
to  be  fixed  with  such  firmness  there  was  no 
getting  of  them  apart. 

"  Now  a  fair  good  night  to  you  ;i  ex- 
claimed the  smiling  little  creature  finding, 
with  all  her  kind  persuading,  she  could  not 
|et  him  to  eat  more  of  tis  supper.  "  You 
fan  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  yon  have  a  mind ; 
yid  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  an  excellent  sweet 
rest.  Good  night."  repeated  she,  and  gave 
with  it  so  soft  a  glance  as  if  she  intended  to 
have  subdued  all  the  manhood  in  his  na- 
ture. 

"  Good  night !"  replied  William  Shak- 
speare  earnestly ;  and  a  million  of  thanks 
for  your  great  kindness." 

Directly  Kate  had  departed,  David  threw 
himself  back  in  the  chair  in  the  fullest  con- 
viction, from  what  he  had  observed,  that  she 
entertained  a  design  for  the  prisoner's  es- 
cape ;  and  doubtless  the  same  conclusions 
were  come  at  by  Hodge,  for  he  put  on  his 
countenance  much  the  same  sort  of  expres- 
sion, and,  seeing  the  supposed  murderer 
rising  from  his  seat,  both  his  guards  grasped 
their  arms  firmly  on  the  instant,  and  started 
to  their  feet,  manifestly  suspecting  he  was 
about  to  rush  upon  them.  This  movement 
of  his,  however,  was  merely  made  for  the 
purpose  of  throwing  himself  on  the  bed, 
which  he  soon  did  with  the  clothes  on,  for 
with  a  delicacy  suitable  to  his  years,  he 
liked  not  undressing  of  himself  before 
strangers.  In  truth,  he  was  thoroughly  ex- 
hausted by  pain,  anxiety,  and  weariness, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  was  in  as  deep  a  sleep 
as  ever  he  had  enjoyed  in  his  whole  life. 

•  The  two  serving  men  had  returned  to  their 
7 


i  seats.  Both  gazed  upon  the  young  student, 
and  then  at  each  other,  as  if  they  had  huge 
doubts  he  had  any  intention  of  sleeping.  In 
!  a  short  time  all  was  as  silent  you  might  have 
heard  a  pin  drop,  which  silence  seemed  ex- 
ceeding irksome  to  the  guard.  Each  looked 
to  see  his  weapons  were  in  good  order — each 
snuffed  the  candle — and  each  buried  his 
nose  in  the  tankard ;  but  the  prisoner  re- 
mained motionless,  and  the  silence  grew  all 
the  greater.  It  was  evident  from  a  number 
of  fidgetty  ways  they  were  continually  exhi- 
biting, that  they  could  not  longer  remain 
without  some  talking. 

"  Methinks  Sampson's  niece  grometh  hor- 
ribly bold,  -Hodge ;"  observed  David  at  last 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Ay,  that  does  she,"  answered  Hodge  in 
a  whisper.  "  I  never  heard  of  such  extreme 
impudency  in  any  wench." 

"  Heart  o'  me  !"  said  the  other ;  "  I  did 
myself  hear  her  cry  out, '  a  fig  for  the  jus- 
tice !'  which  seemeth  to  me  to  smack  abom- 
inably  of  a  wilful  rebelling  against  these  in 
authority." 

"  Ay,  David,"  added  his  companion  ;  "  and 
as  I  remember,  she  had  the  infamousness  to 
assert  she  cared  not  for  fifty  worships." 

"  My  hair  stood  on  an  end  at  hearing  it," 
said  David.  "  But  I  doubt  not  'twill  bring 
down  on  her  some  awful  judgment.'1  . 

"  It  cannot  help  doing  so."  replied  Hodge. 

"Nevertheless,  we  must  not  say  aught 
against  her  of  what  we  have  heard,"  ob- 
served he  of  the  marks.  "  For  she  has  some 
lusty  fellows  of  her  acquaintance,  who,  per- 
chance, might  not  take  it  civil  of  us." 

"  Ah,  that  she  hath !"  quoth  the  sheepish 
looking  one  with  a  famous  seriousness. 
"  One  of  whom  broke  my  head  at  the  last 
May  games,  because.  I  laughed  when  she 
slipped  down,  and  showed  somewhat  more 
of  her  ancle  than  is  customary." 

"  At  least,  we  will  take  good  heed  she 
shall  not  assist  the  prisoner  to  escape  ;"  ob- 
served David. 

"  I  warrant  you,"  said  Hodge.  Again 
there  was  so  dead  a  silence  it  seemed  to 
make  their  flesh  creep  ;  and  they  looked  on 
the  sleeping  youth  in  such  a  -manner  as 
proved  they  would  have  liked  any  other 
company.  They  turned  over  in  their  minds 
the  possibility  of  his  suddenly  "rising  and 
making  some  desperate  effort  at  their  des- 
truction, with  the  expectation  of  saving  his 
own  life  by  it ;  and  the  more  they  thought  of 
it,  the  more  convinced  they  were  it  would 
be  done  ere  they  could  be  aware.  This  state 
of  apprehension  at  last  became  insupportable, 
and  both  made  a  movement  at  the  same 
moment  to  turn  their  attention  to  another 


98 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


matter.  David  raised  the  tankard  to  his 
mouth  to  drown  his  fears  in  a  full  draught ; 
and  Hodge  snatched  up  the  snuffers,  despe- 
rately intent  on  lessening  the  wick  of  the 
candle,  which  he  had  been  screwing  up  his 
courage  to  do  for  the  last  half  hour.  Alack, 
the  trepidation  he  was  in,  caused  him  to  snuff 
it  out ;  and  then  they  were  in  total  darkness.' 
To  be  in  company  with  an  unfettered  mur- 
derer was  bad  enough  of  all  conscience,  but 
to  be  left  in  the  dark  with  him  was  more  than 
mortal  courage  would  allow  of.  David 
trembled  so  he  cculd  not  hold  the  tankard,  so 
down  it  went,  and  the  noise  it  made  so  fright- 
ened hiq^and  his  associate,  that  they  drop- 
ped theirharquebusses,  and  making  for  the 
door,  rushed  down  stairs  at  the  top  of  their 
speed,  crying  out,  "  murder !"  as  loud  as 
they  could  bawl. 

About  five  minutes  afterwards  a  most 
formidable  armament  composed  of  every 
male  in  the  house  armed  to  the  teeth,  some 
.•|!ialf  dressed,  and  here  and  there  a  nightcap 
to  show  they  had  been  disturbed  from  their 
sleep,  crept  cautiously  up  the  stairs.  They 
gained  the  landing — the  justice  having  plac- 
ed himself  in  the  centre  of  his  household,  in 
a  night-gown  and  slippers,  a  velvet  cap  on 
his  head,  a  drawn  sword  in  one  hand, 
and  a  pistol  in  the  other.  Before  him  were 
Sampscn  the  gamekeeper  and  two  of  his 
sons — all  stout  fellows,  in  foresters  frocks, 
carrying  loaded  pieces — then  came  Anthony, 
David  and  Hodge,  with  drawn  rapiers — the 
knight  next,  and  after  him  the  grooms  and 
scullions  with  lights  in  one  hand  and  some 
goodly  weapon  in  the  other.  Besides  which, 
from  open  doors  were  seen  divers  of  the 
women  in  their  night  dress,  taking  a  peep 
at  what  was  going  on,  with  a  scarce  repres- 
sible  inclination  for  a  good  scream.  When 
the  men  got  near  the  door,  npon  David  and 
Hodge  reminding  them  that  the  murderer 
had  with  him  two  loaded  harquebusses,  no  one 
seemed  inclined  to  go  in  before  his  fellows. 

"  How  know  you  not  he  may  be  this  very 
moment  behind  the  door,"  said  David  in  a 
terrible  frightened  way.  that  carried  convic- 
tion to  most  of  his  hearers.  "  Nay,  I  do 
believe  I  hear  him  now  levelling  of  his 
piece !"  This  occasioned  a  sudden  backing 
of  the  armed  party,  and  a  famous  scream 
from  the  women.  The  knight  said  nothing 
— for  an  indisputable  reason — he  had  no- 
thing to  say — but  he  felt  that  Ke  had  known 
the  murderer  had  been  so  terrible  a  fellow, 
he  would  have  been  hanged  ere  he  would 
have  meddled  with  him.  The  dispute  among 
the  leaders  still  raged  high.  Every  one 
seemed  desirous  of  giving  his  neighbor  the 
honor  of  going  first ;  but  not  one  of  all  that 


body  but  modestly  declined  having  to  do  with 
any  such  greatness.  At  last  the  argument 
was  put  a  stop  to  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  Kate  with  a  lighted  candle  in  her  hand. 

"  What  dost  want,  Kate  ?" 

"  What  dost  want,  Uncle  ?"  was  said  at 
the  same  moment  by  the  stout  Sampson  and 
his  pretty  niece. 

"  The  murderer  is  seeking  to  escape  us  ;" 
replied  Anthony. 

"  Prithee  get  thee  hence,  or  thou  wilt  be 
shot,"  exclaimed  one  of  her  cousins. 

"  I  marvel  there  should  be  such  foolish- 
ness !"  observed  Kate ;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment, to  the  infinite  horror  and  astonishment 
of  the  whole  party,  walked  deliberately  into 
the  formidable  chamber. 

"  I  prithee  come  here,  uncle  Sampson,  if 
thou  hast  not  lost  thy  wits  as  completely  as 
the  rest,"  added  she  from  the  interior. 
"  Thou  shall  see  a  sight  as  little  akin  to 
violence  as  can  be  seen  anywhere."  Samp- 
son creeped  cautiously — his  sons  followed 
their  father  with  the  like  heed — the  serving 
men  trod  in  the  steps  of  the  gamekeepers, 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  the  rest  of  his  de- 
pendants, half  curiousness  and  fear,  pushed 
forward  in  the  like  direction,  and  the  women 
with  what  they  had  hastily  put  on,  came  to 
take  a  peep  where  they  could.  To  the  great 
marvelling  of  all,  there  lay  the  supposed 
murderer  as  fast  asleep  as  ever  he  could  be  ; 
and  there  lay  the  broken  tankard  ;  and  there 
lay  the  fallen  harquebusses.  Now  who  was 
so  valorous  as  the  justice ;  he  seemed  as 
though  he  would  have  cut  his  cowardly 
serving-men  into  ribbons  for  having  woke 
up  the  whole  household  with  so  fabulous  a 
tale  as  they  had  told  of  the  sudden  and  out- 
rageous attack  upon  them  of  their  prisoner ; 
however,  he  contented  himself  with  ordering 
them  to  stay  where  they  were  and  keep 
better  watch ;  and  then  he,  with  the  rest, 
presently  retraced  their  steps  to  their  several 


•  In  the  morning  William  Shakespeare 
woke  up,  marvellously  refreshed  by  his 
night's  rest,  and  the  first  objects  that  met 
his  sight  were  his  guards  sound  asleep, 
snoring  loud  enough  to  wake  anybody. 
Inconceivable  was  the  consternation  of 
David  and  Hodge,  upon  opening  their  eyes, 
to  find  so  dreadful  a  j>erson  close  upon  them, 
but  taking  of  them  no  more  heed  than  if  they 
had  been  a  couple  of  drowned  puppies  left  in 
a  dry  pond.  Each  cautiously  sought  to  gain 
possession  of  his  fire-arms,  which  stood  at  a 
little  distance  from  them  upon  neighboring 
chairs,  and  to  their  great  joy  this  they  suc- 
ceeded in  doing.  Our  young  student,  in  his 
turn,  was  in  a  considerable  astonishment, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSEEARE. 


99 


when,  upon  turning  round,  with  his  face 
dripping  with  water,  to  get  to  the  towel,  he 
encountered  the  fixed  fearful  gaze  of  his 
guards,  whom  a  moment  since  he  had  beheld 
in  so  perfect  a  state  of  somnolency.  He 
could  not  avoid  standing  looking  at  them  for 
a  few  moments,  there  was  so  strange  an 
expression  in  their  countenances  ;  and  they 
gazed  as  though  he  had  such  power  in  his 
eyes  they  could  not  turn  their  own  aside. 
However,  directly  he -went  to  the  towel,  and 
was  rubbing  himself  with  it,  the  two  stared 
at  each  other  more  intently  than  they  had 
ever  done. 

He  had  just  got  himself  in  his  cleanest 
trim,  and  feeling  wonderfully  comfortable, 
when  his  pretty  little  friend  the  gamekeep- 
er's niece,  made  her  appearance  with  his 
breakfast,  in  a  kinder  mood  than  ever;  and 
he  was  sufficiently  improved  to  do  justice  to 
her  catering,  even  had  it  not  been  garnished 
with  such  winning  entre;tties  and  smiling 
looks  as  accompanied  it.  He  had  scarce 
made  a  finish  of  his  meal  when  Dame  Lucy 
entered,  bottle  in  hand,  and  finding  him  so 
much  better,  she  again  washed  his  wound 
with  her  infallible  julep,  and  then  made  him 
swallow  a  cup  of  the  same,  with  a  very  visi- 
ble satisfaction,  especially  when  he  grate- 
fully ascribed  his  better  health  to  her  vvon- 
derfuF  medicine.  The  old  dame  could  not 
forbear  sighing  at  the  thought  of  losing  so 
goodly  a  patient,  and  in  her  own  mind 
thought  it  monstrous  pitiful  one  so  tractable 
in  the  taking  of  medicine,  should  bo  turned 
over  to  so  disreputable  a  physician  as  the 
nangman. 

About  an  hour  after  this,  closely  escorted 
by  his  guards,  the  prisoner  entered  the 
justice's  room.  Sir  Thomas  sat  in  a  high- 
backed  cushioned  chair,  with  a  screen  at  his 
back  to  keep  off  the  wind,  and  a  table  be- 
fore him  to  hold  such  papers,  books,  and 
utensils  of  writing  as  he  needed.  Jemmy 
Catchpole  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  mend- 
ing of  a  pen,  for  he  was  sure  to  be  sent  for 
on  all  knotty  cases,  to  advise  with  the  jus- 


blubberly  fellows  of  clowns,  carrying  staves 
in  token  of  their  being  constables,  stood  in 
a  half  circle  at  a  yard  or  so  from  the  table. 
Justice  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  looking 
awfully  solemn  at  Jemmy  Catchpole,  the 
lawyer  leaned  forward  on  his  stool,  gazing 
with  equal  solemnity  at  his  worship ;  and 
the  constables,  gamekeepers,  and  serving- 
men,  stared  from  the  ground  to  the  ceiling, 
and  from  the  ceiling  to  the  ground,  with  a 
solemnness  more  awful  than  either.  This 
was  the  moment  of  the  prisoner's  appearance. 

"  Call  William  Shakespeare  !"  exclaimed 
Sir  Thomas,  as  soon  as  he  noticed  that  there 
was  no  occasion  to  do  anything  of  the  sort. 

"  Call  William  Shakespeare,"  repeated 
the  lawyer  to  one  of  the  constables. 

"  WilPm  Shuk — spur  !"  hoarsely  bawled 
out  a  short,  thick,  bandy-legged  man,  with 
a  face  that  would  have  out-blushed  a  poppy. 

The  youth  was  just  before  him,  and  an- 
swered readily  to  his  name. 

"  William  Shakespeare !"  said  the  justice, 
in  his  gravest  voice ;  "  you  are  brought 
before  me,  her  Majesty's  justice  o'  the 
peace,  on  a  charge — that  is  to  say,  you  are 
here  before  me  accused  of — yes,  accused  of 
and  charged  with — charged  with  divers 
horrible  offences — that  is  to  say,  criminally 
charged  with,  or  I  might  say,  accused  of,  all 
manner  of  misdemeanors,  and  with  perpe- 
trating and  committing  divers  horrible  of- 
fences against  the  peace  of  our  sovereign 
'  lady  Queen  Elizabeth ;  whereof  the  first 
against  you  is  no  less  a  crime  than  to  be 
accused  of,  or  otherwise  charged  with,  the 
horrible  offence  of  stealing — against  the^ 
peace  of  our  sovereign  lady  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, as  aforesaid." 

Having  made  so  imposing  a  display  of 
his  judicial  oratory,  his  worship  cried  out — 
"  Call  Anthony  Gosling  !"  Jemmy  Catchpole 
repeated  the  command  to  the  hoarse  man 
with  the  bandy  legs. 


We. 


"  Ant'ny  Gos — lin  !"  bawled  the  consta- 


"  Here  !"  replied  a  voice  from  the  bull- 


tice,  and  see   that  the  law   was   properly  i  headed  serving  man,  and  the  thin  legs  made 


administered.  There  were  several  persons 
— farmers  and  yeomen  they  looked  to  be — 
setting  on  a  longr  settle  at  the  farther  end  of 


two  steps  out  of  the  half  circle  towards  the 
table. 
"  Swear  him  !"  exclaimed  the  justice,  and 


the  chamber,  perchance  on  some  business  the  lawyer,  laying  hold  of  a  little  book, 
with  his  worship,  gnawing  their  sticks,  fidd- 1  mumbled  a  few  sentences  in  a  quick  low 
ling  their  hats,  and  staring  about  them,  as  !  tone,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  Anthony 
men  do  who  are  kept  waiting  in  a  strange  made  a  bob  with  his  head  towards  the  book, 
place,  when  they  would  rather  be  elsewhere,  and  then  held  up  his  head  again  very  stiff, 
Sampson,  the  stout  gamekeeper,  and  his  two  '  and  looked  very  desperate.  Just  as  this 
stout  sons,  with  Anthony,  a  bull-headed,  |  was  done,  an  interruption  appeared  in  the 
pig's-eyed  serving-man,  having  remarkable  j  person  of  the  pretty  gamekeeper's  niece 
thin  legs,  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  a  who  presented  a  letter  to  the  justice,  the 
pair  of  nut-crackers,  and  two  or  three  stupid :  sight  of  which  set  him  making  of  another 


100 


TIIE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


famous  speech,  accusing  the  prisoner  of 
stealing  sundry  books  belonging  to  Sir 
Marmacluke  de  Largesse  ;  and  then  putting 
forth  the  letter  as  one  just  received  from  Sir 
Mannaduke  in  answer  to  a  communication 
sent  that  morning  by  himself,  concerning  of 
the  charges  against  William  Shakspeare, 
he  bade  Jemmy  Catchpole  read  it,  as  it 
doubtless  contained  decisive  evidence  of  the 
prisoner's  guilt.  Jemmy  Catchpole  read  it 
very  carefully,  and  the  farther  he  read  the 
more  astonished  was  the  justice,  for  it  not 
only  contained  a  clear  acknowledgment 
that  the  book  had  been  lent  by  the  writer  to 
the  prisoner,  but  spoke  in  the  highest  terms 
of  eulogy  of  this  identical  William  Shak- 
speare as  a  youth  of  admirable  character, 
whom  he  had  long  known  and  respected, 
and  begging  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  as  a  partic- 
ular favor,  to  treat  that  person  honorably,  to 
let  him  retain  the  book  which  he  had  false- 
ly been  accused  of  stealing,  and  allow  him 
to  return  to  his  house  immediately,  on  a 
horse  lie  had  sent  by  tine  of  his  serving-men. 
Sir  Thomas  would  not  believe  his  ears, 
and  could  scarce  believe  his  eyes,  even 
when  he  had  himself  closely  examined  the 
hand-writing  and  the  seal ;  but  he  could  not 
so  easily  be  brought  to  part  with  his  prison- 
er. There  was  the  charge  of  murder  yet 
to  be  entered  into  ;  and  he  was  proceeding 
in  his  usual  rambling  manner  to  state  the 
accusation,  when  one  of  the  yeomen  on  the 
settle  started  up  on  a  sudden,  and  stated  he 
Ud  seen,  when  returning  from  work  the 
Bight  before,  the  said  Mabel  carried  in  the 
^irms  of  a  strange  gallant,  accompanied  by  a 
companion,  and  both  were  riding  at  so  great 
a  pace,  they  were  quickly  lost  sight  of.  No 
sooner  did  his  worship  hear  this  statement, 
than  sharply  ordering  Jemmy  Catchpole  to 
return  the  book  to  the  prisoner  and  dismiss 
him,  he  stalked  indignantly  out  of  the  cham- 
ber, and  could  not  be  brought  to  do  any 
more  justice  business  all  that  day. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Ah,  my  swete  swetyng  ! 
My  lytyl  prety  swetyng, 

My  swetyng  wyl  i  love  wherever  I  go  ; 
She  is  so  proper  and  pure, 
Full  stedfast,  stabill  and  demure, 
There  is  none  such  ye  may  be  sure, 

As  my  swete  swetyng. 

OLD  SONG. 

MABEL  awoke  in  a  feverish  uneasy  state 
the  morning  after  her  abduction,  and  found 


herself  in  a  strange  bed,  having  to  it  hang- 
ings of  the  costliest  description.  By  de- 
grees, the  adventures  of  the  preceding  night 
came  upon  her  memory.  She  could  dis- 
tinctly remember  .the  treacherous  gallant 
of  her  former  acquaintance,  and  the  forbid- 
ding features  of  his  servile  companion  ;  and 
then  she  had  some  faint  remembrance  of  a 
courteous  lady,  who  had  assured  her  of  her 
safety,  and  after  a  wondrous  show  of  kind- 
ness and  protection, had  made  her  take  such 
refreshment  as  she  needed,  and  then  con- 
ducted her,  as  she  said,  to  her  own  chamber, 
that  she  might  sleep  with  a  full  sense  of  se- 
curity.' Sometime  passed  whilst  the  poor 
foundling  endeavored  to  collect  her  scattered 
thoughts,  to  find  out  the  reason  she  had  been 
forcibly  taken  from  her  home. 

After  wandering  from  one  topic  to  another 
with  no  other  result  than  to  get  more  be- 
wildered than  she  was  at  first,  she  resolved 
to  dress  herself  forthwith,  believing  it  to  be 
far  beyond  her  usual  hour  for  so  doing ;  but 
when  she  sought  her  clothes,  not  a  vestige 
was  to  be  seen  in  any  part  of  the  chamber. 
This  seemed  stranger  than  all.  She  re- 
membered the  kind  lady  helping  her  to  un- 
dress with  manifold  assurances  of  her  per- 
fect safety  ;  and  she  recollected  also  placing 
of  her  things  upon  a  chair  that  stood  within 
a  few  paces  of  the  bed ;  but  there  was  the 
chair  with  its  tapestry  cushion  uncovered 
by  so  much  as  a  single  thread.  As  she  was 
marvelling  at  so  unaccountable  a  disappear- 
ance, the  door  of  her  chamber  opened,  and 
there  entered  a  lady  of  considerable  attrac- 
tions, both  in  form  and  figure,  yet  a  close 
observer  might  have  detected,  despite  the 
artful  bloom  on  her  cheek,  that  she  had  pas- 
sed her  youth.  Her  head  was  dressed  in 
the  latest  Venetian  tire ;  an  open  collar  of 
the  newest  fashion  disclosed  the  whiteness 
of  her  neck,  and  a  dress  of  orange  tawney 
silk,  fairly  trimmed  with  the  whitest  lace,  set 
off  the  proportions  of  her  figure  to  the  com- 
pletest  advantage.  She  was  followed  by  a 
female,  who  seemed  by  her  dress  to  be  a 
servant,  carrying  on  her  arm  what  appeared 
to  be  sundry  articles  of  wearing  apparel. 

Doubtless  the  first  of  these  two  was  the  kind 
lady  of  whom  Mabel  had  been  thinking,  for 
she  came  sm}ling  to  the  bedside,  kissed  the 
fair  foundling  with  an  amazing  affectionate- 
ness,  asked  a  thousand  questions  in  a  breath 
how  she  had  fared,  how  she  had  slept,  whether 
she  would  rise,  and  what  she  would  choose 
to  break  her  fast  with  ;  and  then  scarce  al- 
lowing the  other  opportunity  to  give  a  single 
answer,  she  informed  her  she  had  brought 
her  servant  to  tire  her  in  such  apparelling 
as  she  had  considered  fittest  for  her  wear, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


101 


as  the  things  her  young  friend  wore  were 
of  far  too  mean  a  sort  for  a  person  she  loved 
so  dearly.  Mabel  was  not  suffered  to  make 
any  objection.  The  rich  beauty  of  her  new 
attire  was  temptingly  displayed  before  her 
admiring  eyes,  and  jewels  jjmbe  fairest  wa- 
ter lay  dazzlingly  beside  Wr  She  thought 
them  a  rare  sight  indeed  ;  but  'twas  all  in 
v*ain  she  declared  them  to  be  much  too 
fine  for  her  wearing,  the  kind  lady  would 
hear  nothing  of  the  sort,  stopped  her  mouth 
with  all  sorts  of  endearing  expressions,  and 
fairly  pulled  her  from  the  bed,  entreating 
she  would  allow  her  sweet  lovely  person  to 
be  attired  without  a  word  more. 

As  she  was  being  dressed,  she  could  not 
help  observing  the  exquisite  work  in  the  ar- 
ras that  surrounded  the  chamber,  upon 
which  was  depicted,-  in  the  most  glowing 
colors  the  loves  of  Venus  and  Adonis.  No- 
thing could  be  so  beautiful  she  thought, 
save  the  carved  corners  of  the  bedstead,  each 
of  which  represented  a  naked  Cupid,  fig- 
ured to  the  life,  grasping  the  stem  of  a  palm 
tree  with  one  arm,  holding  back  the  silken 
curtains  with  the  other,  and  looking  under 
them  with  an  expression  that  seemed  to  say 
there  was  in  the  bed  something  beyond  con- 
ception admirable.  At  e^ch  corner  of  the 
chamber  were  fair  statues  of  marble,  the 
very  loveliest  and  lovingest  objects  that  had 
ever  been  produced  by  the  sculptor's  art, 
and  there  was  scarce  any  one  thing  about 
her  that  did  not  bear  on  it  such  forms  of 
beauty  as  are  most  enticing  to  the  young 
and  imaginative  mind.  Certes,  for  all  such 
cunning  was  displayed  in  these  figures, 
whereon  whatever  art  could  do  in  fashioning 
what  was  most  graceful  had  been  essayed, 
a  piece  of  nature's  more  perfect  handiwork 
there  present  outstripped  them  all. 

"  O'  my  life,  sweetest  creature !  how  ex- 
ceeding beautiful  thou  art !"  exclaimed  the 
lady,  gazing  on  Mabel,  as  if  in  absolute 
wonder. 

"  Dost  think  so,  indeed  !"  replied  the  half- 
dressed  beauty,  blushing  somewhat,  to  the 
great  heightening  of  her  most  moving 
graces. 

"Think  so  ?  O,  thou  dear  rogue!"  said 
the  lady  in  an  arch  way  ;  "  wouldst  have 
me  believe  thou  knowest  nothing  of  the  mat- 
ter !  Hast  never  looked  on  those  unrivalled 
features  ?  Hast  never  beheld  those  exquis- 
ite limbs?  Fie!  fie!  Thou  canst  help 
knowing  it  better  than  any,  and  thinking  of 
it  too." 

"  Believe  me,  I  have  thought  of  it  but  lit- 
tle," answered  the  pretty  foundling. 

"  Nay  I  will  believe  nothing  of  the  sort," 
responded  the  other  :  "there  was  never. a 


woman  yet  that  knew  not  her  own  attrac- 
tiveness, and  it  is  said  some  do  occasionally 
see*  and  think  more  of  it  than  other  folks ; 
but  that  there  should  exist  in  this  world  a 
creature  of  the  most  ravishing  loveliness 
ever  beheld,  who  knoweth,  and  thinketh  but 
little  of  her  own  rare  perfections,  is  clean 
out  of  all  credibility." 

"  I  assure  you,  it  is  as  I  have  said,"  ob- 
served Mabel. 

"  Heaven  forgive  thee  !"  exclaimed  the 
lady,  shaking  her  head,  and  laughing  very 
prettily ;  "  never  met  1  so  undeniable  a  story 
teller,  and  yet  coming  from  so  fair  a  source, 
no  truth  could  appear  half  so  winningly. 
Prithee,  take  my  word  then,  since  thou  hast 
such  lack  of  proper  acquaintance  with  the 
subject ;  and  be  assured,  one  more  semely 
featured,  and  gracefully  limbed  withal,  is 
not  to  be  met  with,  search  the  whole  king- 
dom through."  Then  turning  to  the  tire- 
woman, whose  large  eyes  and  full  round 
face,  expressed  somewhat  of  wantonness, 
she  added,  "  What  dost  think  of  it,  Abigail  ?" 

"  An'  it  please  you,  my  Lady  Comfit,  me- 
thinks  there  needs  no  questioning,"  replied 
the  tirewoman,  then  on  the  floor  fitting  on  an 
embroidered  shoe,  seemingly  of  the  smallest 
size,  as  Mabel  sat  on  a  chair  with  the  lady 
leaning  over  her.  "  Touching  the  face,  if 
ever  any  man  gazed  on  features  so  moving, 
beauty  hath  gone  out  of  my  knowledge  ;  and  « 
as  for  the  person — who  hath  ever  looked  on 
so  neat  a  foct,  so  delicate  an  ankle — or  so 
exquisite  a  leg  as  there  are  here  ?"  Mabel 
blushing  deeper  than  ever,  because  of  there 
being  at  that  moment  a  greater  display  of  hei 
symmetry  of  limb  than  she  thought  becom- 
ing, drew  away  her  foot  hastily,  and  rose 
from  her  seat. 

"  Oh,  the  pretty  rogue,  how  rosily  she 
blushes  !"  exclaimed  Lady  Comfit,  laugh- 
ingly drawing  the  abashed  maiden  towards 
a  large  mirror.  "  Now,  if  thou  wilt  not  be- 
lieve other  evidence,  deny  thyself  if  thou 
canst.'1  And  thereupon  her  companion 
pointed  to  the  reflection.  Mabel  saw  before 
her  a  form  and  figure  such  as  hath  been  de- 
scribed, arrayed  with  all  the  choiceness 
which  skill  in  dress  could  give  to  them,  for- 
she  wore  a  velvet  suit  of  a  plum  color,  worn 
low,  and  delicately  powdered  with  gold  and 
pearl,  her  fair  neck  embraced  with  a  neck- 
lace of  blushing  rubies,  and  jewels  of  greater 
rarity  in  her  hair,  ears,  and  stomacher.  Tne 
poor" foundling  could  hardly  believe  she  was 
the  admirable  creature  she  saw  in  all  that 
bravery,  and  Lady  Comfit  and  Abigail  look- 
ed at  each  other,  as  if  they  mightily  enjoyed 
her  astonishment 

"  Methinks  I  have    never  appeared   so 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


comely  in  all  my  life  before,"  observed  the 
simple  girl. 

"  Thou  art  right  I  doubt  not,"  replied-  the 
lady,  with  a  smile ;  "  but  thou  shalt  no 
longer  hide  so  bright  a  light.  Come  along, 
I  prithee,  my  sweet  creature.  Such  rare 
attractions  should  be  rarely  appreciated,  or 


the  other  secretes  deadly  intoxicating  juices, 
which  give  an  unnatural  stimulus  to  those 
who  take  it  for  their  enjoyment,  fevers  the 
blood,  poisons  the  nature, and  kills  the  soul. 
Lady,  Comfit  ..allowed  the  simple  girl  to 


admire  as 
terruption,  t 


wronjr  would  be  done  thee.     Thou   of  the  severa 

o 


shalt  have  choice  worshipping.  This  way, 
dear  sweet  rogue,  and  I  will  tell  thee  more 
anon."  So  saying,  with  her  arm  round  the 
waist  of  the  gentle  Mabel,  Lady  Comfit  en- 
tered an  adjoining  chamber. 

If  the  humble  foundling  had  been  dazzled 
by  the  costly  furnishing  of  the  bed-chamber, 
how  much  more  reason  had  she  to  be  simi- 
larly influenced,  when  she  beheld  the  great 
splendor  of  the  chamber  she  had  just  enter- 
ed. The  arras  was  more  gorgeous,  and  on 
it  was  depicted,  in  the  very  richest  color- 
ing, the  loves  of  Jupiter,  and  others  of  the 
heathen  deities.  In  one  place  was  Danae, 
yielding  her  enamored  nature  to  the  golden 
shower — a  type  of  that  species  of  affection- 
ateness  still  met  with  in  woman,  that  can 
be  easily  procured  by  the  like  means. 
There,  Leda  caressing  of  the  stately  swan, 
whose  graceful  movements  and  fair  apparel- 
ing, had  so  won  upon  her  admiration — sym- 
Jolical  of  that  sort  of  loving  amongst  the 
lex,  which  hath  no  better  origin  than  mere 
outward  appearances ;  and  elsewhere,  Eu- 
ropa,  borne  over  the  yielding  waves  by  the 
bull,  whose  lustiness  of  limb  had  provoked 
her  to  such  hardihood  as  lost  her-  to  her 
company — a  right  true  picture  of  that  sort 
of  feeling  in  women  occasionally  met  with, 
miscalled  love,  which  doth  so  conspicuously 
savor  of  the  mere  animal.  Besides  these, 
were  subjects  out  of  all  number  of  a  like 
description,  so  movingly  delineated,  that  it 
was  scarce  possible  for  any  that  gazed  on 
them,  not  to  find  their  dispositions  softened 
into  a  similar  tendency. 

But  every  object  in  both  chambers  seemed 
studiously  fashioned  so  as  to  breathe  of  love 
— not  that  love  which  is  the  pure  offspring 
of  the  affections,  and  can  only  live  in  the 
rare  atmosphere  of  intellectual  beauty  ;  but 
that,  more  gorgeous  blossom  often  mistaken 
for  tde  modest  flower  of  the  same  name, — 
that  springs  from  rank  rich  soils,  and  thrives 
bt_vt  in  the  stifling  air  of  luxurious  indul- 
gence. Both  apparently  are  warmed  by  the 
same  sun,  so  are  the  rose  and  the  poppy — 
and  oft  appear  of  the  same  glowing  com- 
plexion, as  shall  be  found  in  the  flower  and 
the  weed  just  named  ;  but  the  one  hath  in 
it  so  sweet  an  essence,  that  ever  so  small  a 
particle  delighteth  the  senses  by  its  exqui- 
siteness,  and  can  do  harm  to  none — whilst 


as  she  would,  without  in- 
>stly  and  subduing  beauty 
ornaments  of  the  chamber, 


and  then  led  her  to  a  table  prodigally  gar- 
nished with  all  manner  of  spicy  viands  and 
stimulating  wines.  Meats  and  pasties,  di- 
vided the  space  with  glass  bottles  tilled  with 
the  products  of  the  choicest  vineyards,  rich 
silver  cups  and  platters,  china  dishes,  and 
embroidered  napery.  Mabel  who  had  all 
her  life  eat  her  simple  meal  of  cold  meat 
and  bread,  off  a  wooden  trencher,  accompa- 
nied with  a  draught  of  small  ale  from  a 
horn  cup,  looked  in.  some  amazement  at 
such  store  of  tempting  delicacies  displayed 
in  vessels  of  such  extreme  value  as  here 
presented  themselves  for  her  accommoda- 
tion. Lady  Comfit  pressed  her  to  name  her 
choice,  and  she  seemed  so  sore  puzzled  that 
the  lady  kindly  recommended  such  dishes 
as  she  herself  most  approved  of,  portions  of 
which  the  poor  foundling  thankfully  ac- 
cepted, and  found  of  a'marvellous  delectable 
flavor. 

"  And  now  what  wine  dost  prefer,  sweet- 
est ?"  inquired  the  lady  lovingly. 

"  An'  it  please  you  I  would  rather  a  cup 
of  small  ale,"  replied  Mabel,  at  which  the 
lady  and  her  tirewoman  laughed  very  plea- 
santly. 

"  Small  ale,  dear  heart !"  exclaimed  Lady 
Comfit.  "  Such  drink  is  never  for  ladies — 
'tis  fit  only  for  serving  men,  and  such  low 
persons." 

"  Then  perchance,  a  draught  of  spring 
water  might  be  had  readily '?"  asked  her 
companion,  at  which  the  other  two  laughed 
more  pleasantly  than  before. 

"  Water  !"  cried  the  lady  at  last.  "  Ffaith 
I  should  be  much  to  blame  were  I  to  let  thee 
swallow  such  unwholesome  stuff.  Here  is 
wine  for  thee,  and  plenty — the  choicest 
withal  that  ever  came  of  the  grape." 

"  But  I  am  monstrous  thirsty,"  observed 
Mabel,  "  and  wine  is  of  too  great  a  strength 
for  one  so  unused  to  it  as  am  I,  to  quench 
their  thirst  with." 

"  Tush,  my  sweet  creature,"  replied  Lady 
Comfit ;  "  this  wine  is  not  so  strong  as  small 
ale,  be  assured  of  it.  Is  it,  Abagail  ?"  asked 
she  of  her  attendant. 

"  'Tis  made  expressly  for  ladies'  drink- 
ing, an'  it  please  you,  my  ladv,"  answered 
Abigail,  very  readily.  "A  child  might 
drink  a  bottle  of  it  with  as  much  innocence 
as  though  it  was  mere  water." 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


103 


"  Without  doubt/'  added  his  mistress,  ta- 
Ki^g  one  of  tin  bottles  and  pouring  part  of 
its  rich  contents  into  a  silver  goblet.  "  I 
will  myself  show  thee  how  harmless  a  beve- 
rage it  is."  So  saying  she  raised  the  brim- 
ming vessel  to  her  lips  and  swallowed  it  at 
a  draught.  Assured  by  this  that  there  could 
be  no  harm  in  it,  the  unsuspicious  Mabel  al- 
jowed  herself  to  take  a  moderate  draught, 
seeing  which  her  companions  looked  at  each 
other  with  a  peculiar  smile,  and  presently,  as 
she  found  the  spicy  nature  of  what  she  had 
eat  so  plentifully,  made  her  mouth  hot  and 
dry.,  aftar  the  same  pressing  entreaties  and 
earnest  assurances,  she  repeated  it.  At  last 
finding  the  simple  girl  could  not  be  persuaded 
to  eat  or  drink  a  mouthful  more,  the  attend- 
ant cleared  away  the  things,  and  Mabel  was 
left  alone  with  the  lady. 

Directly  they  were  alone  the  latter  drew 
her  chair  close  to  that  of  her  companion, 
and  with  an  irresistible  air  of  sincerity  and 
friendliness,  took  one  of  the  poor  foundling's 
hands  in  her  own. 

"What  a  happy  woman  thou  art!"  ex- 
claimed Lady  Comfit,  with  wonderful  em- 
phasis, and  observing  Mabel  looked  as 
though  she  could  not  comprehend  what 
should  make  her  so  very  happy,  added  with 
increasing  earnestness, "  What  a  proud  wo- 
man thou  art  !"  This  exclamation  appeared 
to  be  less  understood  than  the  preceding. 
"  At  least  thou  shouldst  be,"  added  the  lady, 
in  a  marked  manner.  "  I  doubt  not  there  arc 
thousands  of  women  would  give  all  they  are 
worth  in  the  world  to  have  thy  good  fortune." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  Mabel,  in  a  famous  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Ay,  that  would  they,  my  sweet  crea- 
ture,'' cried  her  companion,  pressing  her 
hand  very  affectionately.  "  But  who  of 
them  all  hath  thy  desert?  Art  thou  not 
formed  to  be  loved  as  no  woman  was  ever 
loved  before  ?"  At  hearing  this  the  poor 
foundling  appeared  to  marvel  too  greatly  to 
say  anything. 

"  O'  my  word,  thou  art  like  to  become  the 
envy  of  all  women,"  continued  Lady  Com- 
fit. ''Methinks  'twould  be  a  most  pitiful 
shame  to  allow  of  such  perfections  as  thou 
hast,  to  be  shut  up  in  an  obscure  place 
where  they  can  be  seen  of  none  who  would 
hold  them  in  proper  appreciation,  whilst  the 
powerfulest  noble  in  the  land  is  sighing  of 
his  heart  away  with  a  sweet  hoping  so  fair 
a  creature  might  be  esteemed  of  him,  cher- 
ished by  him,  and  caressed  by  him  in  such 
fashion  as  she  is  most  worthy  of.  But  I 
will  wager  my  life  on't  thou  hast  too  noble 
a  spirit  to  be  of  such  poor  commodity ;  and 
art  of  too  kindly  a  disposedness  to  let  a 


princely  gentleman,  anxious  to  gratify  thy 
every  wish,  linger  out  his  days  in  hopeless 
misery,  for  lack  of  that  happiness  thou  alone 
art  capable  of  bestowing." 

"  I  ?"  exclaimed  Mabel,  incredulously. 
"  Believe  me,  I  know  of  no  such  person  ; 
have  seen  no  such  person.  Surely  there  is 
some  huge  mistake  in  this." 

"  Never  did  truer  thing  occur,"  replied  the 
lady.  "  It  matters  not  that  thou  shouldst 
never  have  beheld  him — be  assured  he  hath 
seen  thee,  and,  as  it  could  not  help  being,  at 
the  first  sight  of  so  much  ravishing  beauty, 
his  noble  heart  was .  taken  close  prisoner, 
and  he  hath  ever  since  been  in  a  passionate 
phrenzy  of  impatience  for  the  gaining  of  thy 
dear  love." 

"  Methinks  'tis  a  strange  way  of  showing 
such,  to  tear  me  from  my  friends,"  observed 
the  poor  foundling. 

"  'Tis  the  way  .of  these  great  ones,  sweet- 
est," answered  her  companion.  "But  'tis 
done  out  of  no  disrespect,  be  assured  ;  for 
he  hath  ordered  thou  shall  be  treated  with  as 
much  honor  as  though  thou  wert  a  crowned 
queen." 

"  'Tis  exceeding  strange  !"  said  Mabel, 
marvelling  the  more,  the  more  she  heard. 

"  Thou  wilt  see  him  anon,"  added  the 
other.  "  And  doubt  not  he  will  love  thee 
with  so  deep  a  fondness,  he  will  leave  thee 
no  cause  for  one  moment's  disquietude. 
Thou  wilt  be  made  happy  straight — and 
such  happiness  shalt  thou  enjoy  as  thou 
hast  never  had  experience  of.  All  that  di- 
vinest  love  and-  boundless  magnificence  can 
effect,  shall  crown  thy  wishes — never  end- 
ing pleasures  shall  entice  thy  inclinations 
the  whole  day  long — the  splendid  pageant- 
ries of  state— the  homage  bestowed  on  ab- 
solute power — the  observances  and  ceremo- 
nials of  highest  rank  shall  be  for  thy  par- 
ticular honor  on  all  occasions  ;  and  wherever 
thou  art  inclined  to  turn  thy  steps,  thou  shalt 
meet  with  some  new  delight  of  infinite  ex- 
quisiteness  provided  for  no  other  end  than  to 
assist  in  making  perpetual  thy  inconceivable 
felicity." 

"  Indeed  I  know  not  what  to  say  on  such 
a  matter,"  observed  her  young  companion, 
somewhat  bewildered  at  so  magnificent  a 
perspective.  "  I  am  so  very  humble  a  per- 
son, I  cannot  think  myself  fit  to  be  raised  to 
so  proud  a  station  ;  and  in  all  sincerity  I 
say  it,  I  would  rather  back  to  my  friends,  to. 
give  place  to  some  one  more  worthy." 

"  I  will  neve*  allow  of  thy  doing  so  fool- 
ish a  thing,"  exclaimed  Lady  Cornfit,  ill 
some  seeming  astonishment.  "  Thou  must 
needs  be  the  worst  possible  judge  of  the 
matter  that  exists;  and  I  am  thy  friend, 


104 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


sweetest,  and  therefore  the  very  properest 
to  advise  thee  in  such  a  case."  And  there- 
upon the  lady  squeezed  the  foundling's  hand, 
and  gazed  on  h,er  more  affectionately  than 
ever. 

"  I  should  foel  extremely  bounded  to  you, 
would  you  counsel  me  what  to  do,"  said  the 
simple  girl.  "  In  very  truth,  my  humble- 
ness seemetli  to  me  utterly  inconsistent  with 
such  grandeur  as  you  have  spoken  of. 

"  Nay,  rtis  thy  modesty  maketh  thee  think 
so,"  replied  the  other.  "  None  can  be  so  fit 
as  thou  art.  Didst  not  note  how  famously 
thou  didst  become  these  costly  vestments  ? 
Just  so  admirably  wilt  thou  become  the  love 
of  that  princely  gentleman  who  commanded 
them  for  'thy  wearing.  Trouble  thyself 
nothing  concerning  of  thine  own  thoughts. 
Thou  art  too  young,  sweetheart,  to  see  these 
things  in  the  properest  light.  Let  it  suffice, 
that  the  proud  noble  whofloveth  thee  with 
such  infiniteness,  in  his  heart  alloweth  of 
none  being  so  exalted  ;  and  to  convince  thee 
how  great-is  his  respect,  hath  required  me, 
Lady  Arabella  Comh't,  an  earl's  daughter, 
to  be  thy  companion  and  friend,  and  show 
thee  such  prodigal  kindness  as  I  would  show 
to  no  other  living." 

The  poor  foundling  could  scarce  express 
her  estimation  of  being  treated  with  such 
handsomeness  as  to  have  an  earl's  daugh- 
ter for  her  companion,  and  the  latter  having 
at  last  managed  to  allay  her  doubts  and  ex- 
cite iior  curiousness,  bade  her  amuse  herself 
as  she  chose  for  a  short  time ;  and  then  ca- 
ressing her  with  extreme  aftectionateness, 
left  the  chamber.  Mabel  felt  in  a  strange 
state  of  excitement.  Not  a  thought  of  ex- 
treme unsuspiciousness  which  exists  only 
in  perfect  innocency  and  genuine  truthful- 
ness— a  nature  which,  like  a  clear  mirror 
in  the  fair  sunshine,  is  made  to  throw  o'er 
what  it  looks  on,  the  light  shining  upon 
itself. 

In  the  meanwhile  the/  Lady  Arabella  pro- 
ceeded to  a  distant  chamber,  with  an  expres- 
sion on  her  countenance  very  unlike  what 
she  had  put  on  before  the  gentle  Mabel,  and 
as  soon  as  she  had  opened  the  door,  she 
gave  way  to  a  most  unequivocal  satirical 
sort  of  laugh.  There  was  no  one  present 
but  a  gallant  of  a  middle  age,  dressed  in  the 
foppery  of  the  times,  who  had  the  look  of 
confirmed  dissoluteness  which  a  long  course 
of  prodigal  living  usually  bestows,  and  he 
was  idling  the  time  away  by  picking  of  his 
teeth,  with  the  remnants  of  *his  recent  meal 
before  him.  The  room  was  nothing  like  so 
choicely  furnished  as  those  the  lady  had  left, 
yet  it  had  sufficient  comfort  in  it  to  content 
any  ordinary  person. 


"  Ha  !  how  flyeth  the  game,  Moll  ?"  ex- 
claimed the  gallant,  on  noticing  the  en- 
trance of  his  visitor.  "  Doth  she  take  the 
lure  bravely  ?  Cometh  she  fairly  into  the 
decoy  ?  But  I  see  by  thy  laughing  she  hath 
been,  so  prettily  mewed,  that  she  careth  not 
to  ruffle  her  feathers  against  the  golden 
wires  of  her  cage." 

"  O,  my  life,  thou  hast  hit  it,"  replied  the 
lady,  as  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair. 
"  The  pretty  fool  is  in  such  conceit  of  her 
splendid  prison,  she  seemeth  well  content  to 
stay  in  it  all  her  days."  I 

"  She  hath  more  wit  than  I  have  seen  in 
her,  if  she  can  get  it  to  last  beyond  a  month 
or  so,"  observed  her  companion ;  "  then  she 
may  fly  where  she  lists.  But  hast  taken 
care  to  fill  her  sufficiently  with  my  lord  ?" 
inquired  he. 

"  To  the  very  throat,"  answered  the  other. 
"  Indeed,  I  have  so  crammed  her  with  him, 
that  it  must  needs  take  some  hours  ere  she 
can  require  another  meal." 

"  Nay,  keep  up  her  stomach,  I  prithee, 
Moll,"  cried  the  gallant,  laughingly.  "  When 
my  lord  comes  she  may  carve  for  herself. 
I  shall  start  off  on  the  instant,  to  acquaint 
him  with  the  joyful  intelligence,  and  ride 
like  a  post  all  the  way ;  and  I  hope  he  will 
bountifully  remember  my  monstrous  pains 
to  provide  him  with  so  dainty  a  leman  ;  for 
in  sober  truth,-  my  long  ill  luck  at  the 
cards,  a  murrain  on  them !  hath  left  me  as 
near  bare  of  coin  as  a  pig's  tail  is  of  feath- 
ers." So  saying,  with  a  laugh  half  stifled 
with  a  yawn,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  stretch- 
ing his  arms  out  to  the  near  bursting  of  his 
doublet. 

"  As  I  live,  I  do  look  for  some  famous  re- 
ward myself,  or  I  would  not  be  so  intent 
upon  the  matter !"  observed  the  lady  ;  "  and 
yet  I  marvel  he  should  get  so  desperately 
enamored  of  a  raw  chit,  that  hath  scarce 
sense  enough  to  know  that  she  walks  upon  . 
two  legs." 

"  Methirtks  he  had  better  have  taken  to 
thee,  Moll,  eh  ?"  inquired  he,  somewhat  in  a 
sarcastic  manner,  "  Mass  !  there  is  exceed- 
ing little  of  the  raw  chit  about  thee,  I'll  war- 
rant ;  and  as  for  knowing,  I  would  wager  a 
dozen  marks  thou  couldst  spare  a  goodly 
share  of  thy  knowledge,  and  yet  be  all  the 
better  for't." 

"  For  which  I  have  to  thank  thee,  thou 
thrice  accursed  villain  !"  fiercely  exclaimed  ' 
his  companion,  starting  into  a  sudden  rage 
at  the  taunt.     "I  was  well  enough  ere  I 
listened  to  thy  beguiling." 

"  Doubtless,"  coolly  replied  the  other ; 
"  well  enough  for  one  that  is  no  better.  And 
as  for  beguiling,  thou  took  it  so  readily,  it 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


105 


was  clear  'twas  an  exceeding  familiar  ac- 
quaintance with  thee." 

"  Thou  lyest,  thou  paltry  cozening  knave  !" 
cried  the  lady,  looking  monstrous  black  at 
him.  "  There  could  not  be  one  more  virtu- 
ous in  this  world  ere  I  had  srich  ill  hap  as 
to  meet  with  thee." 

"  Marry,  but  I  have  huge  doubts  of  that, 
Moll,"  said  the  gallant,  quietly  putting  on 
his  hat ;  "  virtuousness  such  as  thine  must 
needs  have  been  wonderfully  cheap  to  the 
haver,  for,  as  I  well  remember,  I  did  but 
give  thee  a  few  pretty  trinkets,  a  few  pretty 
words,  and  a  few  pretty  caresses,  and  thy 
virtue  went  to  pieces,  like  a  rotten  apple  un- 
der a  cart-wheel." 

"  Why  thou  infamous  pitiful  wretch,  how 
dost  dare  say  such  things  of  me  !"  exclaim- 
ed the  Lady  Arabella,  looking  as  terribly  in- 
dignant, and  as  horribly  enraged,  as  a  bad 
woman  could,  who  is  taunted  with  her  infa- 
my. "  Thou  hast  had  the  villainy  19  plot 
my  undoing" — thou  hast  sought  me,  flattered, 
fondled,  and  betrayed  me  to  ruin — day  after 
day  thou  hast  sworn  thy  hcnorableness  and 
thy  undying  affection  into  my  deluded  ears, 
and  I  believing — poor  fond  fool ! — thy  pro- 
digal oaths  and  protestations,  left  a  worthy 
gentleman  who  loved  me  as  his  life — left 
home,  friends,  all  things  that  were  most 
worthy  of  my  caring  for.  to  cling  to  such 
baseness  as  I  have  here  before  me  !" 

"  Well  said.  Moll,  o'  my  life  well  said  !" 
he  observed,  as  if  applauding  her  to  the 
echo.  "  I  read  the  same  notable  speech, 
word  for  word,  in  a  book  of  jests  I  had 
t'other  day  of  one  of  my  lord's  players.  I 
should  not  have  credited  thy  memory  was  so 


"  Get  thee  gone,  thou  -pestilent  jackal,  to 
the  lion  thy  master,"  cried  his  companion, 
with  no  little  bitterness  ;  "  thy  riotous  ill-liv- 
ing hath  brought  thee  to  such  a  pass,  that 
thou  art  a  disgrace  to  thy  family,  and  a 
shame  to  thy  friends,  and  can  only  continue 
thy  discreditable  existence  by  coney-catch- 
ing for  some  more  prodigal  villain  than 
thyself."  At  hearing  this  the  other  took  to 
whistling,  yet  he  did  it  with  so  ill  a  grace, 
'twas  evident  he  was  in  no  humor  for  mu- 
sic. "  Out  on  thee,  thou  cozening  rascal !" 
continued  she,  with  increasing  emphasis  ; 
"  away,  thou  contemptible  cheat  !  What 
new  trick  hast  learned  to  take  gulls  by  ? 
Art  not  in  a  brave  humor  for  stealing  ? 
Wouldstcuta  purse— -wouldst  cog— wouldst 
foist — wouldst  forswear  thyself  a  thousand 
times  ?  Go  get  thee  a  rope  for  thine  own 
hanging,  and  thou  wilt  £ave  the  constables 
the  trouble  of  carrying  thee  to  the  gallows  !" 

w  Hold  thy  cursed  prate,  thou  foul-mouth- 


ed ronyon !"  said  the  gallant,  in  that  deep 
sort  of  voice  which  usually  heralds  a  mon- 
strous passion. 

"  Thou  art  a  scurvy  knave  that  wbuld 
willingly,  do  such  dirty  work  as  other  men 
would  scorn,"  replied  the  lady  with  infinite 
disgust. 

"  Away,  thou  callet  !"  exclaimed  tho 
other  contemptuously.  "  Thou  wouldst 
needs  pass*  for  a  lady,  forsooth,  and  hast  a 
monstrous  hankering  after  gentility.  Fine 
o'  my  life  !  Moll  Crupper  a  lady  !  Alack, 
for  good  manners  !  The  saddler's  daughter 
transformed  into  Lady  •  Arabella  Comfit. 
Here's  goodly  coney-catching  !  A  fine 
morning  t«  you,  an'  it  please  you,  my  lady  ! 
I  commend  myself  very  heartily  to  your 
ladyship's  excellent  consideration.  Believe 
me  I .  am  infinitely  bound  to  you  for  your 
ladyship's  exquisite  sweet  condescension, 
and  very  dumbly  take  my  leave  of  your 
ladyship's  most  absolute  and  very  admirable 
noble  nature." 

So  saying  her  companion,  with  a  profu- 
sion of  mock  respect,  was  making  his  way 
towards  the  door,  when  Moll  Crupper,  who 
liked  so  little  to  be  minded  of  her  bad  dis- 
posedness,  evidently  liked  less  to  be  told  of 
her  low  origin,  for  she  darted  from  her 
chair  with  a  violent  execration,  and  sprung 
upon  her  accuser  with  the  fury  of  a  tigress, 
pulling  him  by  the  hair  with  one  hand, 
whilst  she  curried  his  'face  famously  with 
the  other.  But  this  was  borne  with  any- 
thing save  patience  by  the  gallant.  No  lack 
of  coarse  abuse  mingled  with  the  common- 
est oaths  accompanied  her  endeavors  to  do 
him  hurt,  till  after  twisting  her  wrists  till 
she  desisted  of  her  attack,  and  cried  out  with 
the  pain,  he  pushed  her  away  from  him  with 
such  force,  that  she  fell  on  the  floor  as  if 
every  sign  of  life  had  fled.  This  put  the 
gallant  in  some  sort  of  fear,  for  he  had  many 
reasons  for  at  that  moment  no  great  harm 
should  happen  to  her,  so  he  ran  and  lifted 
her  up  with  an  extraordinary  show  of  affec- 
tion. But  the  pretended  lady  was  far  from 
being  dead.  She  knew  what  was  going 
forward,  and  was  disposed  to  take  advan- 
tage of  it,  for  she  was  well  aware  she  could 
not  exist  without  the  assistance  of  her  com- 
panion. She  remained  motionless  as  a 
stone,  till  her  associate  in  villainy  had  ex- 
hausted every  epithet  of  affection  upon  her 
and  every  species  of  execration  upon  him- 
self. And  then  she  gradually  opened  her 
eyes,  gradually  employed  her  limbs,  and  gra- 
dually found  the  use  of  her  tongue,  as  she 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  during  a  long 
series  of  similar  conflicts. 

"  What  a  wretch  have  I  been  to  use  thee 


106 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


so  uncivilly,  my  sweet  life,"  said  he,  with 
all  a  lover's  fondness,  as  she  rose  from  the 
floor,  half  reclining  in  his  arms,  drawing 
her  hands  over  her  face  with  a  "look  that  be- 
spoke a  perfect  unconsciousness  of  what 
had  been  going  forward.  "  1  know  not 
what  devilish  spirit  possesseth  me.  "  'Slight, 
I  could  go  and  beat  out  my  brains  against  a 
post,  I  feel  sucli  hatred  of  myself;  for  never 
truer  woman  lived  than  thou  art,  my  dear 
Moll,  and  so  exquisite  a  creature  to  love,  I 
shall  never  meet  anywhere." 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  have  been  to  blame,  sweet 
heart,''  replied  the  fictitious  Lady  Arabella 
very  kindly.  "  I  had  no  need  to  have  an- 
gered thee,  for  thou  hast  ever  be$n  a  mon- 
strous deal  more  good  to  me  than  I  have  de- 
served." 

"  Say  not  so,  my  wanton,"  exclaimed  her 
companion  with  increased  affectionateness. 
"  Thy  deserts  are'beyond  all  reckoning,  and 
I  hold  thee  in  such  absolute  love  as  cannot 
cease  unless  my  life  be  extinguished." 

"  Dear  heart,  how  I  love  thee  for  saying 
that,"  cried  she,  in  a  perfect  ecstacy. 
"  Thou  art  a  noble,  bountiful,  brave  gentle- 
man as  ever  breathed,  and  I  care  not  a  rush 
for  the  finest  fellow  that  wears  a  head,  for 
te  can  be  nought  in  comparison  with  thy 
inestimable  sweet  goodness." 

What  followed  may  be  readily  imagined. 
Each  of  these  two  worthies,  who  a  moment 
since  joined  so  soundly  in  mutual  abuse,  and 
were  desperate  to  do  some  mischief,  now 
held  up  each  other's  qualities,  as  beyond  all 
parallel,  and  would  have  gone  through  all 
manner  of  dangers  to  have  saved  the  other 
from  hurt.  But  these  sort  of  scenes  had 
been  common  with  them  for  a  long  time 
past.  They  caressed,  abused,  and  drubbed 
one  another  with  infinite  heartiness — and 
the  next  moment  caressed,  abused,  and 
drubbed,  and  with  more  heartiness  than 
ever.  But  it  so  happened  on  this  occasion, 
•  having  gone  through  the  regular  series,  they 
left  oil'  at  the  iirst  stage  of  the  next,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  gallant  being  forced  to  take 
his  departure  without  further  delay. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

And  then  THE  LOVER, 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress's  eyebrow. 

•  SHAKSPEARE. 

He  coude  songes  make  and  wel  endite, 
Juste  and  eke  dance,  and  wel  pourtraie  and 

write. 

So  hole  he  loved  that  by  nightertale 
He  slep  no  more  than  doth  the  nightingale. 
Curteis  he  was,  lowly,  and  servisable, 
And  carf  before  his  fader  at  the  table. 

CHAUCER. 

If  I  had  wytt  for  to  endyte 
Off  my  lady  both  fayre  and  free, 
Of  her  goodnesse  then  wolde  I  write — 
Shall  no  man  know  her  name  for  me. 

OLD  SONG. 

SIR  MAI?MADUKE  DE  LAKGESSE,  his  wor- 
thy chaplain,  and  his  old  acquaintance  the 
Antiquary,  were  sitting  round  a  table  in  the 
library  seemingly  wonderfully  intent  upon 
something.  The  good  old  knight  sat  back 
in  his  seat  with  one  hand  upon  the  handle  of 
his  rapier,  and  the  other  resting  upon  the 
arm  of  his  high-backed  chair,  his  benevolent 
cheerful  countenance  impressed  with  a  sort 
of  curious  pleasure,  and  his  white  beard  and 
hair  looking  more  silvery  than  ever  they 
had.  At  a  little  distance  from  him  sat  Sir 
Johan,  getting  to  be  almost  as  lustily  limbed 
as  his  patron,  his  plump  sleek  features  prov- 
ing he  had  as  much  reason  to  be  as  prodi- 
gally grateful  to  Providence  as  he  had  been 
at  any  time;  and  also  "exhibiting  in. his 
countenance  a  pleasant  mingling  of  curious- 
ness  and  satisfaction.  Both  of  these  gazed 
upon  Master  Peregrine,  who,  with  as  much 
of  the  pantaloon  in  his  appearance  as  ever, 
sat  forward  leaning  of  his  elbows  on  a  large 
book  open  upon  the  table,  his  hands  holding 
a  paper,  and  his  eyes  peering  through  his 
spectacles  with  a  marvellous  gratification, 
sometimes  at  his  companions,  and  anon  at 
what  he  held  in  his  hands. 

"  Never  read  I  anything  so  sweetly  fash- 
ioned 1"  exclaimed  he.  "  I  remember  with 
what  singular  exquisite  satisfaction  I  first 
read  the  most  choice  ballads  of  Fair  Marga- 
ret and  Sweet  William,  Lord  Thomas  and 
Fair  Eleanor,  and  Little  Musgrave  and  Lady 
Barnard,  but  the  pleasure  was  nought  in 
comparison  with  what  I  felt  on  perusing 
this  most  rare  writing." 

"  Marry,  give  me  Cherry  Chace,  or  the 
Battle  of  Otterborne!"  cried  Sir  Marma- 
duke.  "  I  never  hear  a  verse  of  either  but 
it  stirreth  me  like  a  very  trumpet." 

"  I  deny  nothing  of  their  excellence,"  ob- 
served the  chaplain ;  "  but  who  could  for  a 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


107 


moment  compare  them  with  the  inestimable 
sublimity  of  Pindar,  the  luscious  sweetness 
of  Anacreon,  or  the  moving  melodiousness 
of  MUSJESUS  ?  I  do  assure  you,  that  among 
the  Greeks — to  say  nought  of  the  Romans 
— there  is  such  brave  store  of  odes,  songs, 
and  elegies  of  the  very  choicest  sort,  as  doth 
exceed  all  possible  comprehension." 

''•  Tut,  tut!"  replied  the  antiquary,  impa- 
tiently ;  "  vvouldst  make  me  believe  there 
hath  ever  been  anything  writ,  or  thought  of, 
more  gallant  than  Havelok  the  Dane,  more 
pastoral  than  Harpalus,  or  more  touching 
than  Lady  Greensleeves  ?" 

"  Beyond  the  possibility  of  doubting,  wor- 
thy sir,"  answered  Sir  Johan  ; — "  there 
shall  easily  be  found  in  Homer  things  more 
martial,  in  Theocritus  things  more  natural, 
and  in  Sappho  things  more  tender." 

4i  Passion  o!  my  heart !  what  Hfeh  become 
of  thy  wits,  I  wonder !"  exclaimed  Master 
Peregrine,  in  a  manner  between  astonish- 
ment and  indignation ;  "  I  marvel  that  thou 
shouldst  essay  to  prove  thyself  such  an  addle 
brain. 

"  Nay,  if  any  brains  be  addled,  Master 
Peregrine,  it  must  needs  be  your  own,"  re- 
plied the  chaplain  ;  for  'tis  out  of  all  sense 
ind  reason  to  slight  the  infinite  choicer  beau- 
ies  of  classic  song  for  a  parcel  of  silly  old 
littles." 

"  Silly  old  ditties !"  echoed  the  enraged 
antiquary,  looking  over  his  spectacles,  as 
though  he  had  a  mind  to  do  Sir  Johan  some 
grievous  harm.  '^Is  '  Lustely,  lustely  let 
us  saile  forthe  !'  a  silly  old  ditty  ?  Is  '  Kytt 
hathe  4ost  hur  key,'  a  silly  old  ditty  ?  Is 
'  Jolly  good  Ale  !'  a  silly  old  ditty  ?  Is  Guy 
of  Colbronde,  or  Sir  Tristrem,  or  John  Dory, 
or  a  thousand  others  of  the  like  unmatchable 
perfectness.  silly  old  ditties  ?  thou  shallow- 
\vitted,  ignorant,  poor  goose,  thou  !" 

"  I  cry  you  mercy,  my  masters,"  exclaim- 
ed Sir  Marmaduke,  good-humorediy,  as  he 
had  oft  done  on  many  similar  occasions. 
"  When  you  get  to  talk  of  these  matters, 
you  are  like  unto  two  lusty  bulls,  who  can- 
not enter  the  same  pasture  without  going 
to  loggerheads.  Surely,  in  advocating  the 
excellency  of  a  thing,  there  is  no  argument 
in  squabbling." 

"  Silly  old  ditties !"  repeated  Master  Per- 
egrine, with  considerable  emphasis. 

"  For  mine  own  part,"  continued  the 
knight.  "  though  I  will  in  no  way  seek  to 
lessen  the  estimableness  of  the  ancient  wri- 
ters, either  Greek  or  Latin,  some  how  or  other 
these  same  old  ballads  afford  me  that  rare 
pleasure  I  have  never  found  in  songs  of  a 
more  classic  sort." 
"Perchance,  I  am  somewhat  to  blame,  in < 


having  expressed  myself  so  slightingly  of 
such  things,"  observed  Sir  Johan,  whose  or- 
thodoxy nevei  led  him  to  oppose  his  patron's 
opinion;  "I  meant  no  offence,  believe  me. 
Indeed,  I  do  opine  some 'of  these  excellent 
fine  ballads,  so  liked  of  my 'esteemed  friend 
here,  are  of  a  wonderful  delicate  concep- 
tion ;  but  Providence,  who  is  ever  so  ex- 
ceeding bountiful,  hath  wisely  ordained  us 
different  tastes,  that  one  liking  one  thing,  and 
another  liking  something  different,  no  one 
thing  should  exist  without  •being  held  in 
some  estimation." 

"  Silly  old  ditties !"  Master  Peregrine 
icould  have  said  again,  but  his  better  nature 
prevailed,  and  he  swallowed  the  muttered 
words  ;  yet,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  as  if  he 
thought  himself  on  a  par  with  one  of  his 
beloved  heroes  of  the  Round  table. 

"  And  now  for  that  sweet  song  you  have 
promised  us,"  exclaimed  Sir  Marmaduke; 
you  have  spoken  of  it  so  fairly  I  am  aH  im- 
patient to  be  hearing  it." 

"  O'  my  word  and  so  am  I,"  replied  his 
chaplain,  eagerly ;  "  and  as  Master  Peregrine 
hath  such  famous  judgment  in  these  matters, 
I  doubt  not  he  hath  a  rare  treat  in  store  for 
us."  At  this  compliment  to  his  judgment, 
all  trace  of  displeasure  vanished  from  the  fea- 
tures of  the  antiquary ;  and  he  said  some  civil 
speech,  in  modest  denial  of  having  more  judg- 
ment than  so  learned  a  person  as  Sir  Johan, 
took  off  his  spectacles,  wiped  them  carefully, 
replaced  them,  hemmed  some  twice  or  thrice, 
brought  the  paper  somewhat  closer  to  his 
nose,  and  with  an  appropriate  serious  man- 
ner read  what  is  here  set  down : 

THE   POET'S   SONG    OF   HIS    SECRET 
LOVE. 

"  Upon  the  dainty  grass  I  lay  me  down 
When  tired  of  labor  on  mine  eyelids  rest, 

And  then  such  glad  solace  I  make  my  own; 
As  none   can  know,  for  none   can   be   so 
blessed. 

For  then  my  sweeting  comes  so  gallantlie, 

I  cannot  but  conceive  she  loveth  me. 

I  prythee  tell  me  not  of  such  bright  fires 
As  burn  by  day  or  night  in  yon  fair  skies ; 

For  when  I  bring  her  to  my  chaste  desires 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  are  shining  in  her  eyes. 

For  then  my  sweeting,  so  well-favoredlie, 

With  Heaven-like  gaze  declares  she  loveth  me  ! 

The  tender  blossoms  blush  upon  their  bowers, 
The  luscious  fruit  hangs  trembling  by  the 
leaf: 

But  her  rose-tinted  cheek  out:glows  all  flowera, 
Her  cherry  lips  of  fruits  I  prize  the  chief. 

For  then  my  sweeting  so  delightsomelie, 

Doth  take  her  oath  upon't,  she  loveth  me ! 


108 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ATack,  what  pity  'tis,  such  moving  sight 

Should  cheat  my  heart  within  an  idle  dream ! 

'Tis  fantasy  that  brings  such  loving  light — 
The  fruit  I  never  taste — but  only  seem  : 

Oh,  would  my  sweeting  in  all  honestie, 

Vouchsafe  to  give  some  sign  she  loveth  me  ! 

I  take  no  pleasure  now  in  pleasant  sports, 
I  find  no  profit  in  books  old  or  new ; 

I  hie  me  where  my  life's  fair  queen  resorts, 
For  she's  my  pastime  and  my  study  too : 

And  of  my  sweeting,  say  1  urgentlie — 

What  would  I  give  to  know  she  loveth  me  ! 

Yet  though  my  heart  with  her  so  long  hath 

'   been, 

I  know  not  she  takes  heed  of  my  behoof, 
I  gaze  on  her,  yet'care  not  to  be  seen — 
I  long  to  speak,  and  yet  I  keep  aloof. 
And  whilst  my  sweeting  fills  my  thoughts — 

Perdie  ! 
How  oft  I  think — perchance  she  loveth  me. 

Wher'er  I  turn  methinks  I  see  her  face, 
If  any  lovely  thing  can  there  be  found  ; 

The  air  I  breathe  is  haunted  with  her  grace, 
And  with  her  looks  the  flowers  peep  from  the 
ground. 

I  pray  my  sweeting,  very  earnestlie, 

She  may  incline  to  say  she  loveth  ine. 

But  when  from  all  fair  things  I  travel  far, 
Enwrapped  within  the  shroud  of  darkest 
night ; 

She  rises  through  the  shadows  like  a  star, 
And  with  her  beauty  maketh  the  place  bright. 

And  of  my  sweeting  breathe  I  tenderlie, 

Fortune  be  kind,  and  prove  she  loveth  me  !" 

"  Indeed,  'tis  a  sweet  ballad  and  a  simple !" 
exclaimed  Sir  Marmadnke,  who  had  listened 
with  a  famous  attentiveness. 

"  And  of  a  most  chaste  and  delicate  fancy," 
added  his  chaplain,  who  seemed  not  a  whit 
less  pleased.  "  O'  my  word,  it  is  long  since 
I  have  heard  verses  writ  with  so  natural  a 
grace,  or  of  so  truly  dainty  a  conceit.  It 
remindeth  me  of  those  exquisite  simple,  ten- 
der poems,  that  are  to  be  found  here  and 
there  scattered  amongst  productions  of  the 
minor  Greek  poets." 

"  Dost  not  know  by  whom  it  is  written, 
Master  Peregrine,"  inquired  the  old  knight, 
seemingly  to  prevent  the  scornful  reply  the 
antiquary  was  about  making  to  Sir  Johan's 
allusion  to  the  superiority  of  the  classic 
writers. 

"  No,  nor  can  I  guess,"  answered  Master 
Peregrine  ;  "  I  have  never  seen  nor  heard  of 
it  before,  and  I  am  in  some  doubt  as  to  its 
exact  age.  yet  I  could  venture  to  make  a 
guess  from  certain  marks  it  hath,  that  it 
cannot  be  later  than  the  time  of  Henry  the 
Eighth." 


"  'Tis  like  enough,"  observed  Sir  Marma 
duke.  "  Perchance,  it  may  be  one  of  thoso 
same  ballads  our  young  scholar  hath  learned 
of  his  mother,  and  hath  copied  for  your  ex- 
press delectation,  left  it  in  the  book,  and  so 
forgot  it." 

"Nay,  that  can  scarce  be,"  replied  the 
antiquary;  for  he  hath  oft  times  told  me  he 
knew  of  no  more  than  such  as  he  had  already 
given." 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  conversation  was 
stopped  by  a  knocking  at  the  door,  and  the 
entrance  of  the  very  person  they  were  speak- 
ing of,  who  received  a  hearty  welcome  from 
all,  but  particularly  from  the  good  old  knight. 
William  Shakspeare  glanced  around  as  if  in 
search  of  some  one,  but  evidently  by  his 
looks,  he  saw  not  the  one  he  wanted. 

"  Wha^Jw-st  had  a  bout  at  cudgel  play  ?" 
exclaimed  nBi  r  Marmaduke,  merrily,  as  he 
noticed  the  bandage  that  still  remained  upon 
William  Shakspeare's  wounded  head.  There- 
upon, he  presently  told  how  he  had  got  it, 
which  seemed  to  set  them  marvelling  great- 
ly, and  the  old  knight  was  much  moved  at 
hearing  that  the  fair  creature  he  had  helped 
to  save  from  villains  at  Kenilworth  was  now 
completely  in  their  power.  He  kept  asking 
of  questions  about  which  way  they  went, 
and  what  sort  of  persons  were  they,  inter- 
mingled with  expressions  of  grief  for  the 
fate  of  the  pretty  damsel,  and  of  hostility 
against  her  betrayers.  He  got,  however, 
but  indifferent  answers,  for  in  truth  the  youth 
knew  a  very  little  more  than  himself.  Mas- 
ter Peregrine,  whose  appreciation  of  ballads 
was  much  higher  than  that  of  wome*,  man- 
ifested no  inconsiderable  impatience  at  this 
turn  in  the  conversation. 

"Will  Shakspeare!"  cried  he,  at  last; 
"Prithee  come  here;  I'want  thee  awhile." 
The  young  student  left  Sir  Marmaduke,  and 
approached  close  to  the  antiquary.  "  Thou 
wilt  do  me  a  service,  if  thou  wilt  tell  me 
where  gottest  thou  this  ballad."  William 
Shakspeare  glanced  his  eye  at  the  paper, 
and  on  the  instant,  a  very  perceptible  blush 
mantled  his  fair  features.  "  Where  didst 
have  it  from  ?" 

"  I  wrote  it,  an'  it  please  you,  worthy  sir," 
answered  the  young  student,  somewhat  fal- 
teringly. 

"  Ay,  'tis  in  thy  hand,  I  see  ;  but  whence 
came  it '?"  inquired  the  other,  more  urgently. 
.  "  By'r  lady,  I  do  suspect  the  young  rogue 
hath  made  it  of  his  own  invention,"  exclaim- 
ed the  old  knight. 

"  So  think  I,"  added  the  chaplain. 

"  Ey ;  dost  mean  to  say  these  delicate 
verses  are  out  of  thine  own  head  ?"  cried 
the  antiquary,  in  exceeding  astonishment. 


1HE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


09 


*  fndeed,  they  are  truly  of  my  poor  indit- 
t*g/'  replied  the  young  poet,  modestly. 
Scarce  were  the  words  well  out  of  his  mouth 
when  Master  Peregrine,  in  an  ecstacy  of 
admiration,  threw  his  arms  round  his  neck, 
and  hugged  him  as  though  he  were  a  prodi- 
gal son  returned  to  his  old  father  after  a  long 
absence. 

li  Why  thou  delectable  sweet  rogue  !"  ex- 
claimed he,  "  where  didst  get  such  admira- 
ble choice  ideas  ?" 

"  Methinks  'tis  plain  enough  whence  they 
proceeded,"  observed  Sir  Johan,  with  mar- 
vellous satisfaction.  "  I  have  taken  huge 
pains,  for  some  length  of  time  our  young 
friend  should  have  a  proper  acquaintance 
with  the  treasures  of  classic  song,  both  Greek 
and  'tis  an  easy  matter  to  see  how  much  my 
scholar  hath  profited  by  my  instruction  :  for, 
as  I  said  when  I  first  heard  th'6se  verses, 
they  do  remind  me  powerfully  of  some  spe- 
cimens of  the-  minor  Greek  poets." 

"  Remind  thee  of  a  fig's  end  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Peregrine,  contemptuously.  Cannot 
any  ono  see  %\vitii  Jialf  an  eye — save  those 
ignorant  poor  coxcombs  who  are  blind  as 
bats — that  this  is  a  true  ballad  of  the  choice 
dd  school ;  and  it  is  not  well  known  what 
"pctreme  pains-taking  I  have  had  with  this 
|ny  scholar  from  the  first,  that  he  should  be 
well-grounded  in  'ballad  lore  ;  and  lo  !  here 
is  my  reward — which  in  rery^truth,  exceed- 
eth  my  most  sanguine  expectations." 

"  Nay,  I  will  be  bound  by  his  answer," 
said  the  chaplain,  not  at  all  disposed  to  give 
up  the  honor  of  having  produced  so  credi-1 
table  a  scholar.  "Prithee  declare,  my  ex- 
cellent young  friend,  whether  I  have  not,  at 
all  convenient  tirrlfes,  bespoke  thy  commen- 
dation of  all  that  was  most  admirable  'in 
classic  song  ?" 

';  That  have  you,  honored  sir,  and  I  thank 
you  very  heartily,"  replied  the  youthful 
Shakspeare.  Sir  Johan  looked  satisfied. 

"  And  tell  me  this,  my  king  of  nightin- 
gales," cried  Master  Peregrine,  too  confident 
of  his  own  right  to  allow  of  being  deprived 
of  them.  "  Have  I  not  taken  opportunity  by 
the  hand  with  thee,  to  make  thee  familiar 
with  the  rarest  ballads  that  ever  were  writ  ?" 

"  Indeed  you  have,  worthy  sir,  and  I  shall 
feel  beholden  to  you  all  my  life  long,"  an- 
swered the  young  poet.  Sir  Guy  never 
looked  so  triumphant  as  did  our  antiquary. 

"  I  will  maintain,  those  verses  are  of  the 
true  lyric  fashion,"  observed  Sir  Johan,  "  and 
therefore  they  cannot  help  being  the  result 
of  an  acquaintance  with  their  classic  pro- 
totype." 

"  Classic  pudding !"  exclaimed  Master 
Peregrine,  getting  to  be  somewhat  in  a  rage. 


"  If  any  will  prove  to  me  these  verses  are 
Greek  verses,  or  Latin  verses  either,  then 
will  I  allow  they  came  of  such  teaching ; 
but  since  it  is  plain  to  common  sense,  that 
what  I  here  hold  is  a  ballad,  and,  moreover, 
an  English  ballad  of  the  true,  simple,  grace- 
ful, chaste  style  of  English  ballad  writing, 
metljinks  it  shall  want  no  conjuror  to  say  it 
had  its  origin  in  that  inimitable  famous 
school,  and  oweth  not  one  jot  to  Greek  or 
Latin,  or  any  such  pitiful,  poor,  weak,  dull, 
shallow,  unprofitable  rubbish." 

Rubbish!"  cried  the  chaplain,  astonished 
and  indignant  in  no  small  measure  ;  and  he 
would  doubtless  have  expressed  himself  with 
some  force  to  that  effect,  had  not  Sir  Mar- 
maduke  at  that  moment  stopped  him,  by 
asking  William  Shakspeare  if  he  had 
written  anything  of  the  sort  before.  To 
which  he  replied  it  was  his  first  attempt ; 
and  to  further  questions  answered,  he  had 
been  reading  of  some  choice  love  songs,  and 
ah1  at  once  he  had  a  great  desire  to  essay 
something  of  a  like  kind.  Thereupon  he 
got  paper,  and  with  a  pen  wrote  those  lines, 
which,  not  thinking  much  of,  he  had  left  in 
the  book,  intending  to  try  jind  do  something 
better  at  another  time.  This  made  all 
marvel  greatly. 

Certes,  it  was  far  out  of  ordinary  things  to 
find  one,  still  a  boy  as  it  might  be  said, 
wooing  of  the  Muses  in  such  proper  style. 
Yet,  though  none  saw  it,  there  had  been 
gradual  preparation  of  this  for  some  time. 
The  youthful  poet  had  held  communion  with 
the  philosophy  of  nature  for  years  past, 
through  that  spirit  of  intelligence  which 
breathes  o'er  all  which  belongeth  to  the 
beautiful  and  the  good.  He  had  laid  down 
to  dream  of  it;  he  had  woke  up  to  worship 
it.  .  Wherever  he  went  he  be"held  its  pre- 
sence. In  all  seasons  he  h%d  felt  its  influ- 
ence. The  voices  of  the  murmuring  river 
called  to  him  in  his  solitude — the  shadows 
of  the  deep  dark  woods  fell  upon  his  thoughts 
— the  opening  glade,  the  far-off  hills,  and 
the  fair  skies,  in  all  their  glorious  pageantry, 
haunted  his  hours  of  rest — the  silent  night 
rung  with  the  echoes  of  a  thousand  songs 
tuned  by  the  rarest  band  of  forest  choristers, 
and  even  in  the  dullest  winter,  when  the 
trees  bear  naught  but  icicles,  and  the  hard 
ground  is  smothered  with  frost  and  snow, 
where'er  he  walked  the  choicest  flowers 
bloomed  in  their  most  fragrant  robes — the 
sun  smiled  lovingly  before  his  eyes ;  and 
verdure,  sweetness,  and  beauty,  made  for 
him,  all  around,  a  garden  of  the  very  ex- 
quisitest  delight. 

But  of  late  he  had  felt  a  something  more 
than  this  ;  all  the  lovingest  things  of  nature 


110 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


he  had  made  of  his  familiar  aeqitaintance, 
and  had  found  in  thorn  such  wisdom  as 
nature  never  hath  bestowed  elsewhere  ;  but 
to  comprehend  this  wisdom  in  its  fullest 
meaning  required  the  assistance  of  an  in- 
terpreter. This  interpreter  was  Love.  This 
Love  though,  let  it  be  known,  as  yet  he  was 
content  with  knowing  at  a  distance. »  He 
had  seen  of  him  but  little,  just  enough  to 
know  him  by,  and  liked  not  appearing  too 
bold  a  visitor,  but  rather  a  respectful  ac- 
quaintance or  humble  poor  friend,  that  would 
be  glad  of  some  help,  but  dare  not,  out  of 
reverence,  attempt  any  such  familiarity  as 
the  acquainting  him  with  his  wants.  Never- 
theless he  had  managed  in  this  slight  com- 
panionship to  acquire  at  his  hands  some 
small  portion  of  that  power  which  argueth 
a  knowledge  of  all  natural  wisdom — and 
that  was  poetry.  It  had  made  its  appear- 
ance like  a  fresh  pure  spring  trickling  in 
the  delicatest,  clearest  drops  down  a  fair 
hill  covered  with  verdure  and  studded  with 
all  manner  of  sweet  blossoms ;  and  now 
having  it  at  its  source,  all  that  is  to  be  done 
is  to  trace  the  progress  of  the  stream,  till  it 
rushed  a  mighty  river  into  the  great  ocean 
of  immortality. 

Finding  that  Sir  Valentine  had  gone  to 
join  a  hunting  party  some  miles  off,  the 
young  poet  bont  his  steps  homewards  in 
great  trouble  of  mind,  because  he  knew  not 
what  to  do  regarding  the  poor  foundling. 
As  he  was  crossing  the  field,  so  lost  in  his 
musings  as  to  be  perfectly  regardless  of  all 
other  things,  on  a  sudden  a  pair  of  hands 
from  some  one  behind  caught  him  round  the 
head  and  blindfolded  him,  and  a  loud  laugh 
burst  from  several  voices,  after  that  fashion 
used  by  boys  when  they  have  succeeded  in 
playing  off  any  famous  drollery. 

"  Now  Will  !*  cried  one,  "  use  thy  wits, 
I  prithee,  and  tell  us  who  hath  hold  of  thee  ?" 

•'  Nay,  let  me  hear  the  voice,"  replied 
William  Shakspeare,  taking  their  pleas- 
antry in  very  good  part,  though  he  felt  not 
in  the  humor  to  join  in  it  as  heartily  as  he 
was  wont. 

"  Odds  codlings,  that  thou  shall,  I'll  war- 
rant," answered  a  trembling  old  woman's 
voice  close  behind  him  ;  "  for  as  I  was  a 
saying  no  later  than  the  week  before  last 
Martlemas,  over  a  brave  fire  in  the  chimney 
corner  of  Neighbor  Bavins >." 

"  Why,  Mother  Flytrap  !"  exclaimed  the 
youthful  Shakspeare,  who  had  listened  in 
exceeding  astonishment,  "  how  didst  get  so 
close  to  me  and  I  not  know  it  ?"  At  this 
the  laugh  was  louder  than  before. 

"  Here  is  a  vile  world  !"  cried  some  one 
in  the  dismalest  tones  ever  heard  ;  "  here  is 


a  monstrous  villainy  !  How  da  rest  thou  to 
do  such  intolerable  wickedness  as  to  play 
the  infamous  game  of  hot-cockles  in  so  holy 
a  place  as  the  church-yard  ?" 

"I,  Oliver  Dumps !"  exclaimed  the  blinded 
youth  in  huge  consternation  :  "  believe  me, 
I  have  not  played  at  hot-cockles  this  many  a 
day/'  Whereupon  the  young  rogues  ap- 
peared as  though  they  would  have  rolled 
themselves  in  the  grass  they  enjoyed  them- 
selves to  such  excess. 

"  An'  it  pul-pul-pul-pul  please  you,"  stut- 
tered another  familiar  voice,  "mum-mum- 
mum-mum  master  says,  he  wer-wer-wer-wer 
wants  you  to  send  him  word — wer-wer-wer- 
wer  what  sixpenny  gloves  are  a  pair  !" 

"  Why,  sixpence,  to  be  sure,  Dickon," 
replied  the  other.  "  But  I  have  a  monstrous 
suspicion  thou  hast  been  sent  on  a  fool's 
errand."  Upon  this  all  laughed  so  long  and 
loudly,  it  looked  as  if  there  would  bS  no  end 
to  their  mirth. 

"  O'  my  life,  now  here  is  Tom  Greene  at 
his  tricks  again !"  said  William  Shaks- 
peare all  at  once,  for  the  ether  .had  betrayed 
himself  by  vainly  attempting  to  stifle  his 
laughter,  and  at  this  the  hands  were  taken 
off  his  eyes  amidst  the  uproarious  shouting 
of  the  whole  party,  and  turning  round,  fa 
beheld  his  old  schoolfellows,  Greene,  Bui 
bage,  Condell,  and  Hemings,  staggering 
about  with  all  sorts  of  strange  motions,  an\ 
filling  the  air  with  peal  after  peal  of  laughing. 

"  f  was  thinking  of  another  matter,  Tom," 
said  the  youthful  Shakspeare,  *'  else  should 
I  have  foufld  thee  out  much  sooner,  for  all 
thou  art  so  famous  a  mimic." 

"Was  ever  so  rare  a  Jest  played!"  ex- 
claimed one  with  a  mmdsome  cheerful 
countenance.  "  No  hungry  luce  ever  took 
a  hooked  gudgeon  more  unsuspiciously  than 
did  Will  Tom's  well-managed  baits.  Mother 
Flytrap,  Oliver  Dumps,  and  stuttering  Die-, 
kon,  he  would  have  sworn  were  behind  him 
with  as  little  remorse  as  a  pig  eats  chesnuts ; 
yet  I  will  forswear  pippins  and  marchpane 
if  any  other  spoke  save  Tom  Greene." 

"  I'faith !  the  cheat  was  well  managed, 
Dick,  I  will  allow,"  answered  young  Will ; 
"  but  Tom  is  so  Proteus  a  varlet,  'tis  an 
easy  matter  for  him  to  play  the  old  woman, 
or  perchance  make  such  a  wittol  of  himself 
as  Dickon,  or  even  take  off  the  melancholv 
constable  till  such  time  as  the  melancholy 
constable  may  choose  to  take  off  him." 

"  What,  wouldst  have  mo  in  the  stocks, 
thou  rogue  !"  exclaimed  Torn  very  merrily. 
"  Marry !  I  like  not  such  hose  to  my  legs. 
But  come,  let  us  play  a  play,  Will ;  wo 
have  not  had  that  pleasant  pastime  of  ours 
for  weeks  oast " 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


Ill 


w  A  play,  Will— a  play,  I  prithee !"  cried 
Dick  Burbage.  "  We  have  been  looking  for 
thee  far  and  near,  for  I  have  got  me  a  right 
mirthful  interlude  which  my  father  hath  left 
behind  him,  and  if  thou  wilt  take  a  part,  we 
will  do  it  in  brave  style,  I  warrant." 

"  Nay,  let  us  have  Gammer  Gurton 
again !"  said  a  stout  sturdy  little  fellow, 
rather  urgently. 

"  Thou  art  ever  for  play  ing  Gammer  Gur- 
ton, Condell,"  observed  a  tall,  sharp-looking 
boy.  '•  Let  us  have  that  goodly  play  of  the 
Four  P's.  Will  Shakspeare  can  do  the 
Poticary,  Dick  Burbage  the  Pedlar,  Tom 
Greene  the  Pardoner,  and  I  the  Palmer." 

"  And  prithee,  what  shall  I  do  in  it,  Hem- 
ings  ?'*  asked  Condell. 

"  As  I  live,  thou  shalt  have  enough  to  do !" 
replied  his  companion  ;  "  for  thou  shalt  play 
the  part  of  all  the  spectators."  At  hearing 
this  there  was  another  good  laugh  amongst 
them.  • 

"  A;  present  I  have  neither  time  nor  hu- 
mor for  playing,"  answered  William  Shaks- 
peare ;  "  nor  can  I  tarry  a  moment  longer, 
for  pressing  matters  hurry  me  away."  This 
answer  was  evidently  but  little  relished  by 
any  of  the  party,  and  they  tried  no  lack  of 
entreaties  and  persuasion  to  get  him  to  join 
in  their  sports.  Nevertheless  they  could  not 
prevail  in  any  way  and  finding  such  to  be 
the  case,  they  parted  with  him  at  the  top  of 
Henley-street,  and  straightway  made  for  a 
field  called  Salisbury-piece  to  have  a  play  by 
themselves. 

John  Shakspeare  had  been  enquiring  of 
the  neighbors  the  whole  morning  long  ;  but 
getting  no  intelligence  of  his  son,  he  had 
returned  with  a  little  misgiving  10  his  anxi- 
ous wife.  With  her  he  found  tLe  Widow 
Pippins,  in  as  merry  a  mood  as  ever,  and 
Mistress  Malmsey  and  Mistress  Dowlas 
looking  with  such  kindness  and  comeliness 
as  if  they  never  intended  to  lessen  the 
pleasantness  of  their  features  or  behavior  ; 
and  they  had  stepped  in,  hearing  that  Wil- 
liam was  not  to  be  found,  to  offer  their  ad- 
vice and  sympathy,  and  hopes  for  the  best, 
to  their  somewhat  desponding  neighbor. 
The  widow  had  just  described  an  exquisite 
jest  she  had  played  upon  a  drunken  falconer, 
by  abstracting  the  game  from  his  bag,  and 
putting  therein  a  litter  of  kittens  she  had 


though  they  spoke  very  forcible  their  con- 
victions, he  was  in  this  place  or  in  that, 
beyond  all .  contradiction,  they  marvelled 
exceedingly  where  he  could  have  got  to. 

"  It  is  so  little  like  him  to  play  the  tru- 
ant with  us,"  observed  Dame  Shakspeare, 
striving  to  appear  more  satisfied  with  the 
matter  than  she  was.  "  Indeed,  he  givetli 
me  but  small  cause  of  blame,  save  that  he 
will  sometimes  be  poring  over  a  book  when 
he  should  be  taking  of  his  proper  rest." 

"  Well,  it  doth  puzzle  me  famously  to 
know  what  some  folks  see  in  books,"  said 
the  merry  widow.  "  For  mine  own  part,  I 
care  not  for  the  best  that  ever  was  writ, 
unles.s  it  be  a  book  of  jests  or  riddles,  and 
then  I  must  have  some  one  to  read  them,  for 
reading  never  took  to  me,  and  therefore  'tis 
natural  I  never  took  to  reading.  By  my 
troth,  now  I  do  remember  a  fine  jest  as  ever 
was  played  upon  Sir  Nathaniel,  with  a  cer- 
tain book  of  riddles  that  was  left  at  my  house 
by  a  strolling  minstrel." 

The  widow  Pippins  had  scarce  com- 
menced her  narrative,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  he  whom  they  had  been  in  such  travail 
about,  made  his  appearance.  All  manner  of 
exclamations  saluted  his  entrance ;  some 
began  to  scold,  and  some  to  question,  but  he 
took  no  heed  of  them  till  he  had  received  his 
mother's  caresses,  and  then  very  readily 
made  them  acquainted  with  all  that  had 
happened  to  him.  Here  was  famous  matter 
for  marvelling,  and  none  of  the  gossips  al- 
lowed it  to  lie  idle  on  their  hands.  The 
aldermen's  wives,  who  knew  every  body  and 
everything,  entered  into  a  famous  history 
of  Mabel.  As  for  the  forcible  abduction, 
some  considered  it  done  by  the  parents  to 
recover  their  child  secretly,  others  suspected 
it  was  a  scheme  of  Tom  Lucy,  assisted  by 
some  of  his  college  companions  as  wild  as 
himself,  with  no  honest  intention,  but  the 
widow  stuck  out  it  was  nothing  more  than 
a  jest  of  Sir  Thomas'  to  afford  himself  a  new 
subject  for  boasting  of  his  marvellous  clever- 
ness in  the  playing  of  tricks. 

Having  exhausted  all  they  -had  to  say 
upon  the  subject,  the  gossips  took  their  de- 
parture, and  John  Shakspoare  was  left  to  the 
society  of  his  wife  and  children.  Of  him  it 
may  be  necessary  here  to  say,  he  had  gone 
on  struggling,  but  the  same  reverses  met  all 


drowned  the  day  before,  and  the  aldermen's   his  exertions.     He  could  scarce  get  a  living 
wives  were  laughing  heartily  to  induce  their  )  even  in  the  humblest  manner,  and  he  was 


sad  hearted  gossip  to  follow  their  goodly 
example.  At  this  moment  returned  John 
Shakspeare  from  his  fruitless  errand,  who 


often"  red  need  to  the  saddest  shifts  that  pov- 
erty can  endure,  but  he  went  on  with  the 
same  resolution,  making  no  complaint  to  any. 


was  assailed  by  a  whole  succession  of  ques-  !  and  striving  to  appear  as  contented  as  the 
tions  from  all  the  women,  to  which  his  an-  j  rest.  As  for  John  a  Combe,  he  proceeded 
awers  appeared  in  no  way  satisfactory,  for  '  much  in  the  same  way — unsocial,  uncharita- 


112 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ble,  careless  of  his  own  comforts,  and  heed- 
less of  that  of  others — never  opening  his 
mouth  to  any  person,  save  in  the  way  of  bu- 
siness, unless  to  breathe  such  bitterness  of 
he£Kl  as  showed  the  fearful  change  that  had 
come  over  his  once  noble  and  generous  na- 
ture. But  what  had  worked  this  fearful 
change  none  knew.  The  effects  were  ter- 
ribly conspicuous.  Every  one  beheld  them 
and  grieved  at  them ;  and  put  up  with  his 
uncivilness  out  of  respect  for  the  honorable- 
ness  of  his  behavior  at  an  earlier  time.  Yet 
of  the  cause  the  most  knowing  of  the  gossips 
of  the  town  knew  nothing  whatever. .  They 
marvelled  more  and  more  every  day,  till  its 
commonness  took  off  the  edge  of  their  won- 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  subject  of  all  verse 
Sydney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother. 

BEN  JONSON. 

Give  place ,  ye  lovers,  here  before 

That  spent  your  boasts  and  brags  in  vain  ; 

My  lady's  beauty  passeth  more 

The  best  of  you*,  I  dare  well  faine, 

Than  doth  the  sun  the  candle  light, 

Or  brightest  day  the  darkest  night, 

LORD  SURREY. 

Art  thou  my  son,  that  miracle  of  wit, 

Who  once,  within  these  three  months,  wert  es- 
teemed 

A  wonder  of  thine  age  throughout  Bononia  ? 

How  did  the  university  applaud 

Thy  government,  behavior,  learning,  speech, 

Sweetness,-and  all  that  could  make  up  a  man  !" 

FORD. 

Both  flowers  and  weeds  spring  when  the  sun  is 
warm, 

And  great  men  do  great  good  or  else  great  harm. 

WEBSTER. 

IN  an  ante-room  adjoining  of  the  Queen's 
presence-chamber,  in  her  highness's  palace 
of  Nonsuch,  there  was  a  famous  company 
of  lords  and  ladies  in  different  groups.  Here 
would  be  a  famous  party  of  gallants  paying 
of  their  court  to  the  fairest  of  the  throng, 
whereof  the  greater  number  were  exceeding 
fair,  and  she  was.no  other  than  Lady  Rich, 
usually  styled  "  The  beautiful  Lady  Rich," 
and  well  she  deserved  so  admirable  a  title, 
for  nought  could  exceed  the  sweet  exquisite- 
ness  with  which  the  lily  and  the  rose  united 
their  choicest  graces  to  deck  her  delicate 
cheek  ;  or  the  soft  subduing  light  that  shone 
so  delightsomely  within  the  fountains  of  her 
radiant  looks.  All  her  features  were  of  the 


same  unrivalled  perfectness,  and  over  them 
the  spirit  of  beauty  breathed  so  wooingly, 
that  such  as  gazed  upon  the  temple  were  ir- 
resistibly drawn  there  to  pay  their  devotions. 
Foremost  in  the  circle  of  her  admirers  was 
one  who,  by  the  choiceness  of  his  dress,  the 
neatness  of  his  speech, and  the  studied  court- 
liness of  his  manner,  was  manifestly  horn 
only  to  shine  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  court. 
Every  thing  about  him  spoke  the  desire  to 
please,  and  the  ready  smile  that  accompa- 
nied the  delicate  flattery,  appeared  to  prove 
how  aptly  he  could  receive  pleasure  of  ano- 
ther. This  was  Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  the 
very  mirror  of  courtesy  and  text-book  of  com- 
pliment,  and  the  most  finished  courtier  of  his 
day.  His  apparel  was  not  more  dainty  than 
his  phrases,  and  his  behavior  was  of  a  kind 
fittest  to  accord  with  both.  He  moved  as 
though  he  thought  himself  under  the  eyes 
of  the  graces,  having  every  gesture  so  prop- 
erly prod*oed,  it  went  not  a  hair's  breadth 
from  the  most  graceful  position  that  could 
be  accomplished  under  the  circumstances. 
His  features  were  so  fashioned  as  to  make 
all  fair  weather  in  his  calendar.  The  sun 
shone  every  day  in  the  week.  There  was 
no  winter,  no  clouds,  no  eclipses.  He  would 
as  soon  have  hanged  himself  as  frowned. — 
He  would  sooner  have  thrown  himself  into 
the  Thames  river  than  allowed  an  uncivil 
word  to  escape* him.  What  was  his  age^k 
would  be  difficult  to  guess  with  any  exact- 
ness, for  as  he  had  been  heard  to  say  he  con- 
sidered age  to  be  an  exceeding  vulgar  fellow 
with  whom  he  would  hold  no  acriaintance, 
it  is  possible  he  disguised  himself  as  much 
as  he  could  to  prevent  his  being  known  by 
so  rude  a  person. 

But  Sir  Christopher  was  not  without  pos- 
sessing something  of  other  talent  beside  the 
courtly  accomplishments  of  fencing,  danc- 
ing, and  compliment,  nevertheless  his  whole 
ambition  was  to  apply  such  gift  as  part  of 
the  necessary  appliances  of  a  courtier,  and 
he  never  made  use  of  it,  save  only  to  help 
him  at  a  pinch  to  exhibit  his  continual  de- 
sire to  please.  About  him  were  divers  gal- 
lants and  young  gentlemen  of  the  palace, 
who  looked  up  to  him  as  their  model,  and 
framed  their  speech,  their  apparel,  and  their 
behavior  as  nigh  as  might  be  to  their  great 
original.  His  last  phrase  by  their  means 
travelled  quickly  to  all  persons  choice  in 
their  speech ;  and  it  was  by  the  same  as- 
sistance the  last  new  step  of  his  came  into 
use  amongst  such  as  wished  to  be  consi- 
dered the  very  fashionablest  dancers  of  the 
time. 

In  the  recess  of  a  window  that  looked  out 
upon  the  grounds  were  another  group,  the 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSFEARE. 


113 


cynosure  of  which  appeared  to  be  a  lady  of  a 
most  delectable  presence,  whose  ample  deli- 
cate forehead  and  intelligent  gaze,  gS^e  to- 
ken of  as  rare  a  mind  as  ever  was  worthy 
of  the  choicest  and  beautifulest  framing. — 
She  w.i  -  a  notable  instance  of  woman's  per- 
fectness — whose  moving  graces  created  the 
exquisitest  thoughts  in  the  minds  of  those 
gifted  ones  who  came  within  their  influence  ; 
but  the  poetry  of  her  own  nature  was  full  as 
exquisite  as  any  that  she  called  into  being. 
Her  voice  breathed  its  very  atmosphere — 
and  her  eyes  were  such  bright  casements, 
within  which  it  hath  ever  loved  to  find  its 
home.  It  is  no  marvel  then  she  should  be 
so  much  the  admiration  of  all  irue  lovers  of 
excellence — that  her  good  opinion  should  be 
so  much  coveted  of  such  as  sought  after 
praise  that  is  the  most  valuable,  or  that  her 
smiles  made  wherever  she  went  a  midsQm- 
mer  garden  of  the  mind's  unfading  flowers. 
Methinks  'tis  scarce  necessary  to 'add  that 
her  perfect  modesty  kept  worthy  companion- 
ship with  her  noble  mind,  for  it  may  be  ta- 
ken as  an  indisputable  truth  that  high  intelli- 
gence doth  ever  signify  the  presence  of  mo- 
ral feelings  equally  exalted.  Be  •  sure  that 
where  the  mind  displays  itself  in  its  most 
sterling  character,  there  is  no  alloy  of  any 
baseness.  It  is  clean  impossible  it  can  be 
otherwise,  for  however  it  may  sometimes 
seem,  nature  alloweth  of  no  such  unnatural 
alliances.  Signs  of  great  intellect  may  ap- 
pear where  want  of  goodness  is  equally  ma- 
nifest, but  the  former  of  these  signs  on  close 
scrutiny,  turn  out  to  be  not  so  admirable  as 
they  look — in  fact,  instead  of  being  the  ster- 
ling gold  in  its  native  purity,  they  are  only 
such  ores  as  require  so  much  cleansing  to 
put  them  into  use,  as  will  hardly  repay  the 
labor.  It  may  perchance  have  been  found, 
that  this  preciousness  hath  had  a  bad  look 
with  it,  but  it  only  followeth  of  the  rubs  it 
may  get  of  such  base  things  as  it  may  come 
in  contact  with.  It  is  still  as  sterling  as 
ever,  despite  appearances ;  and  fair  usage 
will  keep  it  in  that  brightness  it  ought  al- 
ways to  wear. 

Leaning  affectionately  over  the  countess's 
chair,  was  a  young  gallant  of  a  like  noble 
brow,  and  of  an  aspect  somewhat  similar  in 
its  intelligent  expression.  There  was  some- 
thing more  of  gravity,  and  there  was  some- 
thing less  of  sweetness  in  the  countenance,yet 
there  were  the  same  highmindedness  beam- 
ing out  of  the  sparkling  eyes,  and  a  similar 
thoughtful  eloquence  smiling  around  the 
corners  of  the  delicate  mouth.  It  was  easy 
to  be  seen  by  this  likeness  and  by  the  tender 
familiarity  with  which  one  behaved  to  the 
other,  that  they  stood  in  some  relationship. 
8 


They  were  brother  and  sister.  Such  a  bro- 
ther and  sister  as  the  world  sees  not  in  many 
ages, — perchance,  may  never  see  again,  for 
they  were  not  more  alike  in  the  admirable- 
j  ness  of  their  outward  lineaments,  than  they 
were  in  all  manner  of  moral  and  mental 
:  qualities. 

Where  shall  we  meet  with  another  Count- 
ess of  Pembroke, — the  ready  patroness  of 
;  merit,  yet  outshining  all  merit  with  her  own 
•  — ever  ready  to  pay  her  homage  to  virtue, 
!  yet  in  herself  possessing  such  virtue  as  ex- 
ceeded all  other  examples  ?  And  where 
shall  we  look  for  another  Sir  Philip  Sydney 
— the  soul  of  honor,  the  spirit  of  chivalry, 
j  the  courtliest  among  the  courtly,  and  the 
bravest  among  the  brave — though  scarcely 
|  in  the  full  dawning  of  his  manhood,  his  wis- 
dom went  beyond  that  of  the  most  experi- 
enced counsellors,  and  though  formed  by  the 
choicest  gifts  of  nature  to  rill  the  proudest 
seats  in  the  chiefest  places  of  greatness,  his 
ambition  never  went  beyond  the  performing 
of  valiant  and  generous  deeds,  writing  wor- 
thily on  honorable  subjects,  living  with  a 
proper  respect,  and  dying  with  a  becoming 
nobleness.  In  him  knighthood  possessed  its 
last  and  rarest  ornament,  and  manhood  one 
of  its  most  admirable  examples.  Genius  ac- 
knowledged him  as  her  son,  and  honor 
claimed  him  as  her  champion  ;  and  every 
virtue  that  could  grace  humanity,  where  all 
in  him  that  was  human  was  of  so  gracious 
a  nature,  might  justly  have'put  forth  a  boast, 
that  in  him  they  showed  to  the  world  how 
well  they  could  adorn  a  man. 

It  may  readily  be  imagined  that  this  truly 
gallant  gentleman  was  the  love,  the  model, 
and  the  admiration  of  all  the  gallant  hearts 
of  his  age.  Indeed,  by  such  as  possessed 
the  genuine  chivalrous  spirit,  he  was  re- 
garded as  a  sort  of  deity.  They  considered 
no  station  so  great  as  to  be  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, and  no  honor  so  estimable  as  to  have 
his  praise.  It  therefore  followeth  very  na- 
turally that  Sir  Reginald  and  Sir  Valentine 
should  have  eagerly  sought  his  friendship, 
the  which  their  valor  and  honorable  conduct 
had  gained  for  them  ;  and  this  known,  it  is 
in  no  way  surprising  the  former  of  these 
young  knights  should  now  be  standing  at 
his  elbow,  joining  in  the  conversation  with 
Master  Arthur  Gorges,  a  young  gallant  of 
great  worthiness, — my  Lord  Buckhurst,  a 
nobleman  favorably  known  to  the  muses,  and 
divers  other  knights  and  nobles,  whose  love 
of  song  went  hand  in  hand  with  their  admira- 
tion of  true  valor. 

Besides  these  there  were  a  great  crowd  of 
nobles,  knights,  and  ladies,  gallants,  courti- 
ers, officers  of  the  queen's  household,  com- 


114 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


manders  by  sea  and  land,  learned  judges, 
grave  prelates,  and  others  of  her  highness's 
loving  subjects  of  different  ranks  and  condi- 
tions, intent  upon  paying  of  their  court  to 
their  sovereign,  as  soon  as  she  concluded 
her  audience  with  certain  ambassadors  with 
whom  she  was  now  closetod.  There  was  a 
great  variety  in  the  colors  of  the  different 
rich  stuffs,  but  with  the  exception  of  some 
few  in  their  robes,  every  gallant  wore  the 
same  fashioned  doublet,  trunks,  hose,  and 
shoe-roses,  and  every  lady  the  same  long- 
stomached  dress  with  a  stiff  poking-out  far- 
thingale. Some  were  whiling  the  time  by 
admiring  the  figures  on  the  cloth  of  tissue. 
The  commanders  were  conversing  of  the 
famous  good  fortune  of  Sir  Francis  Drake, 
in  his  last  voyage.  The  ministers  were  spe- 
culating on  the  probability  of  the  queen's 
marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  The 
courtiers  amused  themselves  with  tales  con- 
cerning of  the  differences  between  my  Lord 
of  Leicester  and  the  Earl  of  Sussex.  The 
gallants  were  putting  off  their  last  learned 
graces  .of  behavior  on  such  of  the  fair  dames 
they  could  get  to  heed  them.  The  ladies 
were  conversing  either  of  the  newest  Ve- 
netian fashion,  "or  the  latest  jest  of  Master 
Tarleton,  her  highjiess's  jester.  And  the 
judges  and  prelates  were  lamenting  together 
the  intolerable  evils  of  witchcraft  and  pa- 
pistry ;  but  the  circle  around  the  Countess  of 
Pembroke  and  Sir  Philip  Sydney  were  be- 
wilin  <?  tne  nour  *n  a  manner  more  profitable 
to  themJ^freB  than  did  any  of  the  others,  as 
I  will  here  endeavor  to  show, 

"  Touching  the  capabilities  of  our  nature," 
observed  that  illustrious  scholar,  "  I  am  in- 
clined to  believe  there  is  no  greatness  it 
may.  not  aim  at.  But  there  can  be  no  true 
greatness  independent  of  the  affections,  for 
these  are  the  springs  that  do  refresh  the 
ground,  and  make  it  bear  the  noblest  and 
choicest  plants  at  all  proper  seasons." 

"  I  cannot  help  thinking  the  same  thing, ' 
added  his  sister.  "  Perchance  there  have 
been  philosophers  to  whom  all  such  feeling 
as  love  appeared  utterly  unknown ;  they 
might  have  scoffed  at  it  m  themselves  and 
ridiculed  it  in  others ;  but  such  examples 
should  be  looked  upon  as  the  result  of  unnatu- 
ral circumstances — like  unto  flowers  that  lose 
their  color  by  growing  in  the  dark — or  fruits 
that  part  with  their  flavor  by  being  planted 
in  an  improper  climate.  That  is  sure  to  be 
the  truest  wisdom  that  cometh  of  the  most 
benevolent  mind,  for  it  embraces  the  whole 
world  with  some  everlasting  truth  which 
hath  universal  happiness  for  its  object  ; 
whilst  the  philosophy  of  such  as  have  no 
such  feeling  in  their  hearts  can  be  born  only 


of  books  ;  they  are  mere  scholars  that  have 
no  betor  object  in  view  than  raising  thern- 
selves^lbove  their  fellows,  instead  of  striv- 
ing to  raise  themselves  up  to  them.  Such  a 
philosopher  attains  celebrity  only  by  feedingr 
on  those  who  went  before  him  : — his  cm 
is  of  a  like  kind  with  that  <>['  the  serpent  of 
Moses,  which  swallowed  up  all  the  rest." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Sir  Philip  Sydney  ;  "  for 
if  we  notice  how  love  works  upon  the  mind, 
we  shall  readily  come  at  the  philosophy  of 
the  affections.  Taking  the  two  examples 
of  this  feeling  in  ordinary  acceptance,  to  wit, 
the  lover  and  the  philanthropist,  we  imme- 
diately see  how  generous  love  hath  made 
them  in  their  notions, — the  one  is  ready  to 
undertake  any  danger  in  the  conviction  of 
his  mistress's  superiority  to  all  her  sex  ;  the 
other  would  make  any  sacrifice  to  benefit 
those  who  required  his  assistance,  in  the 
express  belief  of  the  worthiness  of  the  whole 
human  race.  The  valor  of  love  is  equal  to 
its  generosity  ;  and  methinks  these  twins  of 
comeliness  will  be  found  together  in  every 
example  of  a  true  knight  and  complete 
gentleman.  Nothing  can  be  so  valiant  as 
love,  which  makes  so  undeniable  the  Latin 
adage  which  declareth  that  love  conquereth 
all  things, — for  love  hath  achieved  the 
brightest  deeds  that  are  the  glory  of  chivalry. 
But  as  love  granteth  whatever  is  most  ad- 
mirable to  the  object  of  its  regard,  it  seeketh 
by  all  honorable  means  to  make  itself  of  a 
like  perfectness  ;  and  is  thus  by  degrees  led 
to  the  attainment  of  the  noblest  offices,  and 
to  the  possession  of  the  most  honorable  ac- 
compli shments  that  can  be  acquired." 

"  So  I  have  thought,  though,  as  must 
needs  be  not  in  so  excellent  a  fashion  !"  ob- 
served Sir  Reginald. 

"  But  surely  there  is  a  vast  distinction 
between  what  is  called  gallantry  and  genu- 
ine affection  ?"  exclaimed  Lord  Buckhurst. 
"  There  are  hundreds  of  fine  popinjays  to  be 
met  with,  protesting  a  monstrous  affection- 
ateness  for  every  woman  they  meet,  and  I 
never  saw  in  them  any  of  the  virtues  of 
which  you  spoke." 

"  So  there  are  hundreds  that  affect  great 
religiousness,"  observed  Sir  Philip  Sydney, 
"  which  is  done  not  out  of  any  true  reve- 
rence, but  merely  because  it  is  the  fashion. 
But  genuine  gallantry  is  of  an  exceeding 
different  nature.  It  is  of  a  kin  with  that 
ancient  worship  that  honored  all  deities 
alike.  Nevertheless,  even  in  these  instances 
there  will  be  found  a  niche  in  the  temple  of 
the  heart  dedicated  to  the  service  of  some 
unknown  god;  and  througnout  the  whole 
nature  there  exists  a  continual  anxiousness 
to  have  that  place  worthily  supplied.  ID 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


115 


good  time  such  desire  is  accomplished  ;  and  > 
be  assured,  the  idol  there  placed  hath  more 
worship  than  all  the  rest  together." 

"  The  true  worship  of  love  is  goodness."  ! 
added  the  Count  \-.- ;  ?'  and  it  is  a  sign  by  ! 
which  genuine  affection  may  always  be  dis-  j 
tinguished   from   m^re   profession.        True  j 
love  is  purity,  honesty,  truth,  honor,  cour- 
tesy, and  bravery  confessed  in  action.  Where 
there'is  any  meanness,  where  there  is  any  sel- 
fishness, \vherethere  is  ought  of  falsehood,  im- 
modesty, uncivilness,  cowardice,  or  villainy, 
love  never  abideth.     Doubtless  some  may  as- 
sert this  sweetener  of  life  hath  been  found  with 
some  such  base  accompaniments  as  I  have 
just  named  ;  but  out  of  all  doubt  the  latter  is 
entirely  different,  and  should  be  avoided  for 
its  unwholesomeness.     It  is  like  unto  such 
honey  as  divers  sorts  of  wild  bees  have  been 
known  to  make  from  poisonous  flowers." 

"  But  how  rarely  shall  we  find  this  IQVC 
in  all  its  perfectness  and  purity  !"  exclaimed 
Lord  Buckhurst. 

"  Xay.  my  good  lord,  it  is  none  so  rare  !" 
replied  Sir  Reginald,  with  some  earnestness. 
"  Wherever  woman  hath  a  fair  field  for  the 
development  of  her  infinite  perfections,  such 
love  will  follow,  as  naturally  as  light  springs 
from  the  sun  ;  and  to  a  knowledge  of  these 
absolute  graces  originated  that  proud  sense 
of  honor,  and  true  nobleness  of  feeling  in 
man,  which  hath  done  such  famous  achieve- 
ments throughout  Christendom,  under  the 
estimable  name  of  chivalry." 

"  True,  Sir  Reginald,"  observed  Sir 
Philip  Sydney,  with  a  glance  of  approbation 
at  his  young  friend.  "  There  are  two  states 
of  society,  in  all  outward  appearance  as  far 
asunder  as  are  the  poles — where  true  love 
is  ever  to  be  met  with.  The  one  is  the 
courtly  empire  of  knights  and  ladies,  which 
produceth  the  gallantest  deeds  and  the 
honorablest  behavior — the  other  is  the  sim- 
^ple  republic  of  shepherds  and  sheperd- 
esses,  where  innocence  is  crowned  with  a 
garland  of  the  freshest  flowers  of  the  field, 
and  honesty  jogs  merrily  along,  enjoying  the 
pleasant  minstrelsy  of  the  pipe  and  tabour." 

"  Which  think  you,  is  the  happiest  state  ?" 
inquired  Master  Arthur  Gorges. 

"  That  in  which  the'  wants  are  the  fewest, 
and  the  desires  of  easiest  attainment."  re- 
plied the  other.  "  It  is  doubtful  to  which 
we  ought  to  give  the  preference.  Happiness 
may  exist  indifferently  in  either  state ; 
but  according  to  what  we  know  of  Arca- 
dian manners,  these  same  swains  and 
.  nymphs  must  have  enjoyed  the  .most  blame- 
less sweet  life  ever  heard  of.  I  cannot  ima- 
gine any  more  moving  picture  than  a  choice 
company  of  such,  tending  of  the*r  woolly 


flocks  in  the  fresh  pastures — or  in  the  cool 
eventide  dancing  away  the  joyous  hours, 
with  their  sweet  music  ;  whilst  in  some 
green  arbor  nigh  at  hand,  the  enamored 
Colin  whispers  a  love  tale  to  his  blushing 
Daphne,  and  the  seniors  of  the  village  sit 
under  the  shadow  of  the  friendly  trees, 
quaffing  the  rich  juices  of  their  vineyards,  and 
tell  ing  of  marvellous  stories  and  merry  jests." 

"  Ha  !  cousin  Philip,  art  there  again !" 
exclaimed  the  Earl  of  Leicester  in  a  plea- 
sant manner,  as  he  entered  the  circle,  cloth- 
ed with  such  gorgeousness  as  far  exceeded 
all  the  tiring  around.  "  Why  thy  moving ' 
descriptions  of  Arcadian  life  will  presently 
make  all  persons  of  worship  in  a  frenzy  to 
attain  the  like  happiness.  My  Lord  Burgh- 
ley  sweareth  he  hath  serious  thoughts  of 
retiring  from  court,  and  keeping  sheep  at 
Theobalds.  Sir  Christopher  Hatton  hath 
been  heard,  for  hours  together,  practising  on 
a  small  pipe,  in  hopes  of  getting  the  queen's 
ladies  to  dance  to  his  piping  in  the  true 
rural  style  ;  and  as  for  myself,  I  have  been 
looking  for  weeks  past  for  a  crook  and  a 
shepherdess,  that  I  may  in  the  very  proper- 
est  manner  sit  me  down  in  some  enamelled 
plain,  and  there  happily  live  out  the  re- 
mainder of  my  days,  dividing  of  my  cares 
betwixt  my  lambs  and  my  love." 

"  Methinks,  my  lord,  you  would  soon  pine 
for  the  pleasant  pageantries  you  had  left 
behind,"  observed  the  countess,  with  a 
smile. 

"  The  gentle  shepherd  would  be  ever  a 
sighing  to  be  once  again  the  most  accom- 
plished knight  in  the  tourney,"  added  Sir 
Philip  Sydney  with  a  like  pleasantness.  "He 
would  be  right  glad  to  change  his  seat  on 
the  enamelled  plain  for  the  saddle  of  his 
good  steed — his  crook  for  a  spear — his  flock 
for  a  company  of  valiant  knights — and  his 
faithful  shepherdess  for  as  many  fair  ladies 
as  he  could  get  to  witness  his  admirable 
matchless  prowess." 

"  Nay,  prithee  try  me  ere  I  am  condemn- 
ed," answered  the  earl,  laughingly.  "  I 
doubt  hugely  I  should  be  so  easily  tired. 
For  is  there  not  a  famous  variety  of  amuse- 
ments ?  Could  I  not  delight  myself  by  carv- 
ing of  my  true  love's  name  wherever  I  could, 
till  there  should  be  found  more  Chloes  on  a 
tree  than  acorns  ?  and  then  would  I  not  sing 
such  songs  against  the  rival  swains  of  her 
unmatchable  rare  beauties,  that  they  should 
be  dumb  ever  after ;  and  play  on  rny  pipe 
till  the  feathered  choristers  of  the  grove 
would  hold  themselves  silent  to  learn  of  my 
wondrous  skill." 

"  Perchance  it  may  be  so,  my  good  lord," 
said  the  countess  in  the  same  good  humor ; 


116 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  but  take  it  not  as  a  want  of  courtesy  in 
me,  if  I  doubt  the  possibility  of  so  great  a 
marvel." 

"  Now,  without  flattery,  never  met  I  so 
perfect  a  disbeliever,"  exclaimed  Leicester, 
gallantly.  "  I  would  the  fates  had  so  or- 
dered it  as  to  have  made  the  Countess  of 
Pembroke  an  Arcadian  shepherdess,  and  I 
her  scarce  worthy,  yet  too  happy  swain. 
Methinks  so  enviable  a  lot  exceedeth  all 
honor  of  chivalry ;  and  whether  in  the  valley 
or  the  grove,  at  the  dance,  or  tending  of  my 
flock,  believe  me  the  enjoyment  of  such 
rare  happiness  would  put  out  of  mind,  as 
things  only  to  be  despised,  such  poor  plea- 
sures and  distinctions  as  I  have  now  in  my 
possession." 

"  I  am  bound  to  you,  my  lord,  for  enter- 
taining of  such  thoughts,"  replied  his  ac- 
complished companion,  courteously ;  "  yet  am 
I  still  of  opinion,  the  noble  place  you  now 
occupy  would  content  you,  more  than  the 
most  perfect  state  of  shepherd  life  that  is  to 
be  found.  For  as  it  is,  you  have  in  your 
power  infinite  opportunities  of  doing  good, 
by  affording  your  counsel  and  assistance  to 
all  such  worthy  objects  a's  may  require  it; 
whilst  by  your  prominence  in  the'pnblic  eye, 
you  can,  by  acting  as  becomes  your  dignity, 
be  an  example  of  honor  that  ever  honorable 
nature  would  be  glad  to  copy." 

"  Such  I  will  strive  to  be  with  all  my 
heart,"  exclaimed  the  Earl,  with  a  seeming 
great  sincerity.  "  Indeed  the  most  pleasur- 
able part  of  the  high  station  in  which  for- 
tune, rather  than  my  poor  ability,  hath  plac- 
ed me,  I  find  to  consist  in  the  benefits  I  am 
enabled  to  confer  on  deserving  persons. 
Nothing  delighteth  me  more  than  to  honor 
merit  as  it  deserves  ;  and  I  would  gladly  go 
out  of  my  way  any  distance  to  meet  with 
some  worthy  creature  whom  I  could  make 
happy." 

Every  one  was  famously  pleased  at  hear- 
ing of  so  proper  a  speech  from  the'  Queenss 
favorite ;  but  such  was  his  usual  manner, 
and  such  his  customary  words. 

"  Finding  you,  my  good  lord,  in  this 
happy  mood,"  observed  Sir  Philip  Sydney, 
"  I  would  crave  your  countenance  in  behalf 
of  a  worthy  friend  of  mine,  who  would  be 
right  proud  of  possessing  it." 

"  Say  who  he  is,  and  be  assured  of  his 
merits  receiving  proper  attention  at  my 
hands,"  said  Leicester. 

"  His  name  is  Edmund  Spenser,"  replied 
the  other;  "  and  I  look  upon  him  to  be  as 
true  a  poet  as  ever  w»ote  verse." 

"Prithee  bring  him  to  me  whenever  it 
suits  you,"  said  the  Earl,  in  his  most  win- 
ning manner.  "  I  am  all  impatient  to  be 


acquainted  with  one  who  hath  acquired  sucl 
high  honor  as  to  be  so  lauded  of  Sir  Philip 
Sydney." 

"  Believe  me,  my  brother  hath  said  no 
more  than  the  worthiness  of  Master  Spen- 
ser gives  him  title  to,"  added  the  Countess. 
"  As  far  as  I  am  capable  of  judging,  he  is 
one  whom  future  ages  will  delight  to  rever- 
ence." 

"  I'faith,  this  Master  Spenser  hath  great 
good  fortune,  methinks,  to  have  his  merits 
so  approved  by  two  such  absolute  judges," 
cried  Leicester.  "  O'  me  life,  I  shall  not  be 
content  till  he  number  me  among  his  friends. 
But  though  I  am  exceeding  loth  to  leave 
such  delectable  society,  I  must  fain  hie  me 
hence." 

He  had  scarce  uttered  these  words  when 
he  felt  a  nudge  at  his  elbow,  and,  looking 
round,  his  eyes  evidently  met  a  familiar 
face,  for,  with  a  cheerful  countenance,  he 
called  out,  "  Ha !  Tarleton,  what  news  ?" 
The  person  he  had  so  addressed,  had  a  merry 
eye  and  a  ruddy  countenance  ;  and  in  figure 
stood  rather  under  the  middle  size — the 
which  was  neatly  garmented  in  a  suit  of 
Lincoln  green.  This  was  no  other  than 
Tarleton  the  player,  who  was  in  such  es- 
teem of  the  Queen  for  his  many  witty  jests, 
that  it  was  thought  of  some  he  had  as  much 
influence  with  her  as  any  man  living.  Be- 
ing so  great  a  favorite,  he  was  allowed  to  do 
much  as  he  pleased  ;  and  if  his  wit  smacked 
of  some  sharpness,  few  were  so  unwise  as 
outwardly  to  take  offence  at  it.  Then  he 
had  with  him  so  odd  a  way  of  saying  his 
drolleries,  that  he  forced  many  to  laugh  who 
liked  not  being  trifled  with. 

"  News,  quotha !"  replied  the  jester,  after 
his  comicalest  manrier ;  "  ay,  great  news,  I 
warrant.  An  honest  intelligencer  of  my  ac- 
quaintance told  me,  my  Lord  of  Leicester 
was  about  going  on  an  embassy  to  Prester 
John,  with  a  suit  of  motley  for  his  wear, 
and  a  case  of  toothpicks  to  hide  in  his 
beard." 

"  Marry,  that  is  news  indeed,"  answered 
Leicester,  somewhat  seriously  ;  "  and  per- 
adventure  it  came  of  the  same  honest  intelli- 
gencer who  assured  me  that  one  Tarleton, 
a  player,  stood  in  greaf  likelihood  of  being 
committed  to  Bridewell  for  allowing  of  his 
wit  to  run  foul  of  his  discretion." 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  that  is  no  news !"  ex- 
claimed the  undaunted  jester, "  I  have  heard 
it  this  ten  year ;  and  the  last  time  it  was 
said  in  my  hearing,  there  was  added  to  it 
that  my  Lord  of  Leicester  migU  have  taken 
offence  at  the  'merry  player,  only  the  gener- 
ousness  of  his  nature  put  him  above  such 
1  ungraciousness. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


117 


w  I  tell  thee  what,  Master  Tarleton,"  said 
the  Earl,  taking  the  other's  humor  very  pleas- 
antly, "  there  seemeth  to  be  what  learned 
mediciners  call  sympathy,  in  the  effects  of 
thy  wit — for  the  weapon  that  makes  the 
wound  can  as  readily  perform  the  cure." 

"  O'  my  life,  yes,  an'  it  please  you,  my 
lord,"  replied  the  jester,  making  of  a  mock 
doleful  face  exceeding  ludicrous.  "  But  my 
curing  hath  in  it  more  of  the  cook  than  the 
chirurgeon — for  it  seemeth  to  be  ever  a  get- 


accomplished  gallant  of  them  all.  The 
compliments  of  others  were  insipid,  in  com- 
parison with  such  as  he  offered,  and  the 
lovely  object  of  them  appeared  to  appreciate 
the  distinction,  for  he  received  her  most  win- 
ning smiles. 

"  Many  take  me  to  be  of  some  wealth," 
observed  he  to  her,  in  that  resistless  sweet 
passion  he  was  so  famed  for;  "  but  when  I 
make  comparisons,  I  cannot  help  thinking 
myself  in  a  very  monstrous  poverty.  It  is 


ting  me  into  a  famous  pickle."     Thereupon  |  long  since  I  have  beheld  the  poorness  of  my 
there  was  a  manifest  sign  of  laughing  in  !  state,  and  envied  some  their  greater  fortune  ; 


every  face  that  stood  within  ear-shot. 

"  Peradventure  that  accounteth  for  the 
attic  saltness  of  thy  josts,"  observed  Sir 
Philip  Sydney. 

"  Ay,  and  if  he  selleth  his  wit  he  must 
needs  be  a  salt-cellar,"  added  Lord  Buck- 
hurst. 

Troth,  then,  let  those  who  are  below  the 


salt  look 
Tarleton. 


to  their  manners,"  said  Master 
"  But  touching  this  conceit  of 


the  salt,  if  it  is  so,  I  shall  be  forced  to  keep 
me  a  respectful  distance,  else  will  every 
lewd  fellow  be  talcing  a  pinch  of  me  with 
which  to  savor  his  porridge." 

"  Then  will  he  have  more  wit  in  his  por- 
ridge than  ever  he  had  in  his  head,"  said 
Leicester,  good  humoredly.  "  Take  such 
pinches  as  lovingly  as  thou  canst,  Master 
Jester,  for  methinks  'tis  this  very  saltness 
which  keepeth  thy  wit  so  long  good." 

"  I  promise  you,"  replied  Master  Tarle- 
ton. "  But  peradventure  too  much  of  that 
savor  is  like  to  get  me  the  reputation  of  a 
dry  wit." 

"  Nay,  before  thou  canst  ba  properly  dried, 
thou  must  stand  a  good  hanging,"  re- 
joined the  Earl,  with  a  laugh  in  which  all 
joined. 

"  O'  my  life,  I  would  as  soon  be  put  to  the 
rack  at  once,"  said  the  Jester, "  and,  in  truth, 
I  protest  against  being  used  so  piggishly." 

"  Truly,  thou  art  hard  to  please  !"  rejoined 
the  Earl,  and  then  graciously  taking  his 
farewell  of  the  Countess  and  her  party,  he 
sauntered  along  on  his  way  to  the  Queen's 


yet  I  can  say,  in  all  honesty,  were  I  Rich 
now,  I  should  be  rich  indeed." 

"  Truly,  I  know  not  who  should  thank 
you  most  for  that  pretty  speech  of  yours,  my 
lord  oi*myself,"  replied  the  beautiful  crea- 
ture, with  one  of  her  exquisitest  looks. 

"  I  protest  'tis  a  very  delicate  choice  con- 
ceit," said  Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  with  his 
customary  elegance  of  manner,  as  he  raised 
a  gold  pouncet  box  to  his  nose  ;  "  infinitely 
worthy  of  my  Lord  of  Leicester,  his  extreme 
sufficiency  of  wit ;  and  absolutely  corre- 
sponding with  my  Lady  Rich,  her  rare  pro- 
digalness  of  merit."  Whilst  the  young  gal- 
lants around  were  endeavoring  to  impress 
this  fine  sentence  on  their  memories,  Tarle- 
ton the  jester  approached,  and  spying  of  Sir 
Christopher  Hatton,  he  suddenly  turned 
round  and  advanced  backwards  towards  him, 
with  every  sign  of  a  most  serious  courtesy, 
making  a  profusion  of  becks  to  a  half  blind 
old  courtier  in  the  distance,  whereof  the  con- 
sequence was  he  presently  stumbled  against 
Sir  Christopher,  and  trod  on  his  toes.  Now  if 
anything  would  ruffle  a  man's  temper,  me- 
thinks it  should  be  when  he  is  essaying  to 
make  himself  excessively  agreeable  to  the 
loveliest  woman  of  her  age,  one  should  drive 
against  him  awkwardly,  and  tread  with  some 
heaviness  on  his  feet.  All  expected  Sir 
Christopher  would  have  been  famously  ruf- 
fled ;  but  the  accomplished  courtier  smiled 
upon  the  Queen's  jester, — as  Tarleton  turned 
round  with  a  grave  indifferent  face,  on  the 
instant  he  had  done  what  there  is  but  small 


chamber.     The  courtiers  thronged  to  pay   doubt  he  intended — and  witli  a  most  winning 
their  respects,  and   commanders,   prelates,   graciousness  apologised  for  having  been  in 
judges,  and  other   dignitaries,  seemed   all  j  his  way. 
alike  anxious  to  gain  his  attention.     Some       "  Nay,  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  you,  sweet 


were  petitioners  for  his  influence,  others 
came  to  thank  him  for  some  favor  con- 
ferred, and  to  all  he  was  alike  courteous  ; — 
listening  patiently  and  answering  gracious- 
ly ;  and  as  he  wont,  took  with  him  the  good 


Sir  Christopher !"  exclaimed  the  merry  play- 
er;  "I  was  but  of  paying  a  proper  courtesy 
to  my  Lord  Bumble,  and  could  not  guess 
your  worship  was  so  nigh." 

"  I  return  you  a  bountiful  load  of  thank- 


wishes  of  those  he  left  behind.  Spying  the  fulness  for  the  Wonderful  friendliness  of 
beautiful  Lady  Rich,  encircled  by  her  usual  j  your  inquiries,  worthy  Master  Tarleton,"  re- 
throng  of  admirers,  he  quickly  made  his  way  j  plied  the  text-book  of  compliment;  I  will 
to  her  side,  and  soon  proved  himself  the  most '  entomb  such  preciousness  in  my  heart.  Let 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SI  AKSPEARE. 


your  excess  of  goodness  be  gratified  in  the 
conviction  that  I  am  in  no  way  hurt." 

"  O'  my  life,  I  did  think  I  trod  on  your 
toes  somewhat  heavily,"  said  the  jester,  with 
extreme  seriousness. 

"  Toes,  worthy  Master  Tarleton,"  added 
the  mirror  of  courtesy  with  one  of  his  bland- 
est smiles,  "  belong  only  to  vulgar  persons. 
A  gentleman  hath  no  such  pedal  appurte- 
nances. It  may  be  said  of  such  a  one  that 
he  hath  a  handsome  foot,"  continued  he, 
looking  at,  and  moving  one  of  his  feet  into 
the  gracefullest  positions ;  "  but  to  say  he 
hath  feet,  is  no  sort  of  phrase  for  the  politer 
sort ;  and  toes  are  altogether  banished  from 
courtly  language." 

"  Nay,  if  you  are  for  depriving  me  of  my 
toes,  I  must  e'en  take  to  my  heets,"  an- 
swered the  other,  and  thereupon  made  off 
from  the  circle  'with  all  speed. 

In  the  meantime  the  Earl  of  Leicester 
had  whispered  a  quick  succession  of  the 
delicatest  flatteries  into  the  ear  of  the  smil- 
ing beauty  he  was  addressing,  which  she 
Beemed  to  receive,  more  as  a  homage  long 
usage  bad  accustomed  her  to,  than  from  any 
particular  excess  of  vanity  in  her  nature. 
Thence  he  went  to  other  lovely  dames, 
where  it  was  evident  he  was  no  less  wel- 
come ;  and  finally  departed  to  the  Queen's 
chamber,  beyond  all  contradiction  the  most 
admired,  the  most  courted,  and  the  most 
honored  of  all  the  gallant  company  assem- 
bled in  that  goodly  chamber. 

It  was  evening  of  the  same  day,  when  in 
a  thick  grove,  at  a  bow-shot  from  the  palace, 
a  gallant,  in  a  large  horseman's  cloak  and  a 
broad  slouched  hat,  which  completely  con- 
cealed him  from  observation,  was  seen  walk- 
ing from  tree  to  tree,  backwards  and  for- 
wards ;  sometimes  whistling,  sometimes 
humming  a  tune,  but  continually  looking  in 
one  particular  direction,  as  if  he  was  in  ex- 
pectation of  some  person  coming  that  way. 
Anon,  he  would  grow  impatient,  and  utter 
something  that  smacked  of  an  oath;  then 
he  would  wrap  his  cloak  closer  round  him, 
lean  against  a  tree,  and  amuse  himself 
awhile  by  digging  of  his  heels  into  the  soil. 
In  those  pursuits  he  had  been  engaged  for 
some  length  of  time,  when  he  became  aware 
of  the  approach  of  some  person,  disguised 
after  a  like  fashion  as  himself.  It  was  evi- 
dent, these  were  the  same  two  persons  that 
had  stood  together  under  the  shadow  upon 
the  terrace  of  Kenilworth  Castle.  They 
exhibited  a  similar  caution,  and  they  behaved 
with  a  like  mystery. 

"  What  news '?"  inquired  the  new  comer, 
in  a  low  voice ;  "  hast  secured  the  prize  ? 


Hast  not  let  her  slip  through  thy  fingers  a 
second  time  ?" 

"  Never  was  prize  so  secure,  my  lord," 
answered  the  other. 

"  Good  !  Exceeding  good  !"  exclaimed 
the  noble,  as  if  with  a  wonderful  excess  of 
gratification. 

"  The  former  plot  failed  not  from  any  lack 
of  cunning  in  the  planning,"  added  his  com- 
panion ;  "  I  was  baulked  of  my  success,  just 
when  I  had  made  secure  of  it — a  murrain 
on  the  pitiful  fools  who  were  so  meddle- 
some !  But,  in  this  instance,  fortune  hath 
teen  more  kind ;  and,  though  not  without 
exceeding  painstaking,  I  have  been  free  from 
all  possibility  of  any  such  pestilent  inter- 
ference." 

"  Then  make  sure,  fortune  shall  be 
thy  friend  from  this  time  forward,"  replied 
the  one  addressed  as  my  lord.  "  But  art 
sure  none  know  into  whose  hands  she  hath 
fallen !" 

"  They  could  not  have  the  slightest  guess 
of  it,  I  have  managed  matters  so  well,"  an- 
swered the  other.  "None  saw  her  taken, 
none  know  where  she  is  gone ;  and  I  have 
given  her  in  charge  to  one,  who  is  too  per>- 
feet  in  her  lesson,  to  allow  of  her  prisoner's 
having  knowledge  of  at  whose  suit  she  hath 
been  arrested." 

"  I  approve  thy  discretion  infinitely,"  ob- 
served the  nobleman  ;  "  I  would  not  be  known 
in  the  business,  on  any  account,  either  to  her 
or  any  other.  But  how  doth  she  look,  and 
how  takes  she  her  sudden  removal  from  her 
friends  ?" 

'"Tis  beyond  all  art  of  mine  to  express 
her  looks,  my  lord,"  replied  his  associate ; 
"  nought  but  your  own  eyes  can  do  her  ex- 
quisite perfections  justice.  Beautiful  as  she 
was,  she  hath  made  such  progress  in  come- 
liness, that  her  present  appearance  putteth 
clean  out  of  memory  the  graces  she  was 
then  possessed  of." 

"  O'  my  life,  then  she  must  be  of  a  most 
rare  creature,"  exclaimed  the  other  delight- 
edly. 

"  Truly,  she  is,  my  lord,  and  were  I  in 
any  way  richer  than  I  am,  I  would  wager  a 
dozen  marks  you  will  readily  acknowledge 
on  beholding  here,  there  lives  not  her  peer 
in  this  world." 

"Well,  here  is  something  for  thy  dili- 
gence," said  his  companion,  giving  him  a 
well  filled  purse,  which  he  took  very  readily. 
"  But  'tis  only  a  token  of  what  shaH  follow, 
find  I  the  original  to  come  up  to  thy  lim- 
ning." 

"  Would  I  were  as  sure  of  all  other 
things,"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  But  I  pray 
you  take  good  speed  in  your  coming,  for  she 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


119 


hath  been  made  so  curious  about  yon,  that ! 
if  you  come  not  straight,  I  know  not  what 
her  impatience  may  lead  her  to." 

"  Be  .sure  the  first  moment  I  can  without 
suspicion  absent  myself  from  court,  I  will 
fly  like  a  hawk,"  replied  the  noble.  "But 
in  the  meanwhile  let  her  lack  nothing  by 
way  of  amusement  to  make  her  content  with 
ACT  condition.  The  players  may  be  had  to 
entertain  her,  or  any  other  pastime  she  is 
likely  to  take  pleasure  in.  Spare  neither 
expense  nor  trouble.  Have  ever  ready  such 
variety  of  enjoyments  that  she  can  get  tired 
of  none ;  and  so  possess  no  time  to  reflect 
on  any  other  matter,  save  the  bountifulness 
of  the  provider." 

"  Jt  shall  be  done,  my  lord,  without  de- 
lay." 

"  Ana  mark  me,"  continued  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Ay,  my  lord,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Let  Mistress  Crupper  take  proper  heed 
that  this  sweet  angel  of  mine  firmly  be- 
lieveth  herself  to  be  amongst  persons  of 
worship.  Let  her  manners  be  in  accor- 
dance with  her  assumed  station,  at  the 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

I  have  been  readie  at  you  hand 

To  grant  whatever  you  might  crave, 
I  have  both  waged  life  and  land 

Your  love  and  good  will  for  to  have. 
I  bought  thee  kerchers  to  thy  head 

That  were  wrought  fine  and  gallantly, 
I  kept  thee  booth  at  boord  and  bed, 

Which  cost  my  purse  well  favoredly. 
I  bought  thee  peticotes  of  the  best, 

The  cloth  as  fine  as  might  be  ; 
I  gave  thee  jewels  for  thy  chest, 

And  all  this  cost  I  spent  on  thee. 

-    BALLAD  OF  LADY  GREENSLEEVES. 

v  Thou  art  a  shameless  villain  ! 

A  thing  out  of  the  overcharge  of  nature ; 
Sent  like  a  thick  cloud  to  disperse  a  plague 
Upon  weak  catching  woman  !    Such  a  tyrant 
That  for  his  lust  would  sell  away  his  subjects, 
Ay,  all  his  heaven  hereafter. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER 

MABEL  was  left  in  as  bad  hands  as  it 
could  be  possible  for  her  to  fall  into.  It  is 
a  question  whether  so  vile  a  pair  could  else- 
where have  been  met  with — a  matter  of 


same  time  that  in  every  point  she  behaveth  j  huge,  congratulation  to  all  virtuous  minds. 


with  the  most  delicate  respect  to  her  fair 
prisoner." 

"  I  have  already  so  ordered  it,"  replied  his 
associate  ;  ':  and  Moll  knoweth  her  own  in- 
terests too  well  to  mar  them  by  any  misbe- 
having. I  do  assure  you,  my  lord,  she  play- 
eth  her  part  in  the  choicest  fashion — never 
a  lady  in  the  land  could  do  it  better." 

"  Provided  that  be  the  case,  she  shall 
have  a  suitable  reward,"  said  the  nobleman. 
"  But  I  nrast  be  gone.  Haste  back,  and 
keep  her  in  continual  impatience  of  my  com- 
ing. But  above  ah1  things  be  cautious  my 
name  be  not  dropped  on  any  consideration, 
nor  ought  done  which  might  in  any  manner 
point  to  me  as  holding  the  slightest  share  in 
such  proceedings. 

"  Rely  on  it,  my  lord,"  answered  his  com- 
panion, and  so  saying  both  departed  their 
several  ways,  the  one  chuckling  at  the 
weight  of  the  purse,  which  had  rewarded 
his  infamous  proceedings,  and  the  other 
congratulating  himself  on  the  apparent  suc- 
cess of  his  villainous  a°;ent. 


These  two  were  thoroughly  heartless,  be- 
cause thoroughly  selfish — lost  to  all  sense 
of  shame  from  being  deaf  to  every  murmur 
of  conscience — careless  of  report,  knowing 
they  had  no  character  to  lose,  and  wishing 
only  to  live,  out  of  extreme  disinclination  to 
die.  They  had  been  in  companionship  with 
each  other  for  years,  believing  such  villainy 
as  they  possessed  would  only  be  tolerated  by 
those  who  were  most  familiar  with  it ;  but 
their  bad  passions  were  ever  breaking  forth, 
and  it  appeared  as  if  they  were  allowed  to 
live,  the  better  to  remind  each  other  of  the 
monstrous  baseness  of  their  behavior. 

All  that  such  wretches  could  do,  aided  by 
the  most  consummate  hypocrisy,  and  with 
every  help  unbounded  wealth  could  procure, 
was  essayed  to  render  the  pure  mind  of  the 
poor  foundling  accessible  to  the  villainy  that 
had  been  devised  against  her.  Turn  where 
she  w'ould  her  eyes  met  images  of  voluptu- 
ousness—  and  at  all  times  her  ears  were 
invaded  with  meanings  of  opposition  to  all 
honorable  notions  ;  but  the  extreme  craft  of 
this,  overthrew  itself.  The  mind  of  the  gen- 
tle Mabel  was  so  essentially  pure,  that  al- 
though it  would  admit  readily  every  image 
of  beauty,  such  characters  came  there  com-, 
pletely  divested  of  ought  of  an  objectionable 
shape,  and  her  nature  was  so  perfectly  in- 
nocent, that  indelicacy  of  any  sort  was  to 
her  a  foreign  language,  which  she  heard  but 
could  not  understand.  Whereof  the  conse- 


120 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


quence  was  she  remained  despite  of  all  this 
great  expenditure  of  subtlety,  as  chaste  in 
heart  as  the  day  she  fast  entered  those  pol- 
luted walls. 

If  anything  could  lead  a  woman  from  her 
own  integrity,  the  incense  which  was  con- 
tinually being  offered  to  her  vanity,  in  artful 
praises  of  her  person,  and  in  the  constantly 
varying  costliness  of  its  decorations,  might 
have  sufficed ;  but  the  vanity  of  the  poor 
foundling  seemed  so  remotely  seated,  that 
this  precious  artillery  never  touched  it. — 
She  took  the  flattery  as  said  out  of  good- 
ness ;  and  wore  the  apparel  as  sent  out  of 
kindness. 

Many  days  had  passed  and  Mabel  still 
remained  unconscious  of  her  danger,  and 
in  less  anxiousness  concerning  of  the  old 
knight  and  the  good  dame,  than  she  was  at 
lirst,  because  her  assumed  friend,  the  fictiti- 
ous Lady  Comfit,  had  assured  her  she  had 
informed  them  of  her  safety  and  comfort. 
Her  only  desire  was  that  the  youthful  sleep- 
er, who  had  got  himself  so  roughly  used  for 
her  sake,  might  not  have  been  much  hurt, 
and  that  she  sjiould  be  allowed  some  early 
opportunity  of  thanking  him  for  his  extreme 
readiness  to  help  her  in  her  need.  She  was 
rarely  left  alone,  and  scarce  a  moment  was 
allowed  her  for  reflection :  and  the  conver- 
sation of  her  crafty  companion  kept  her  in 
a  constant  state  of  marvel,  admiration,  and 
curiousness  concerning  of  the  princely  gen- 
tleman who  had,  as  she  thought,  taken  such 
strange  means  to  show  his  love  for  her. 
Oue  day,  as  it  were  by  accident,  she  had 
been  left  by  herself,  and  naturally  fell  to 
musing  on  the  mystery  of  those  transactions 
in  which  shs  had  been  made  so  prominent  a 
feature.  She  sat  clothed  in  all  the  splendor 
of  Venice  and  Milan — and  it  might  be  truly 
said  her  beauty  more  became  her  tiring  than 
her  tiring  improved  her  beauty — her  arm 
rested  on  the  side  of  the  richly  carved  chair, 
with  the  full  sleeve  falling  back  disclosing 
its  perfect  whiteness  and  symmetry,  clasped 
by  a  bracelet  of  purest  gold  and  jewels,  and 
her  fair  face  was  supported  by  her  hand,  of 
which  the  delicate  fingers  were  half  lost  in 
the  meshes  of  her  glossy  hair.  Her  radiant 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  fresh  rushes  at 
her  feet,  but  their  long  silken  lashes  gave 
so  soft  an  expression  to  the  deep  sweet 
;  thoughtf  ulness  of  her  exquisite  countenance, 
'  that  it  is  doubtful  their  full  gaze  could  have 
appeared  more  admirable. 

Thus  she  thought  over  the  recent  events, 
bewildered  with  their  strangeness,  and  per- 
plexed as  to  their  purport,  till  she  was  sud- 
denly startled  from  her  reverie. 

"  Heavens  !  how  exquisitely  beautiful !" 


exclaimed  a  deep-toned  voice;  and,  looking  up 
to  her  exceeding  astonishment,  she  observ- 
ed a  tall  person,  enveloped  in  a  huge  cloak, 
and  his  head  covered  with  a  broad  beaver 
hat,  consequently  she  could  see  of  him  noth- 
ing but  his  face,  which  seemed  nobly  fea- 
tured, and  the  eyes  lustrous  with  a  very 
passionate  adoration.  She  had  scarce  had 
a  moment  for  thinking  who  this  stranger 
could  be,  and  what  he  wanted,  when  the 
cloak  and  hat  fell  at  his  feet,  and  she  beheld 
a  stately  figure,  clad  in  such  magnificence 
as  she  had  had  no  imagination  of.  The  de- 
licatest  white  silk,  daintily  embroidered  with 
gold,  formed  his  hose ;  and  his  doublet  was  of 
a  light  pink,  fancifully  ornamented  with  the 
choicest  pearls,  having  the  sleeves  quaintly 
trimmed  and  slashed  with  amber  satin,  like 
unto  the  round  full  part  of  his  trunks.  His 
ribbon  garters  and  shoe  roses  were  of  a  cor- 
responding costliness  ;  and  as  some  sign  of 
his  nobility,  he  wore  the  order  of  the  garter 
round  his  leg,  and  a  St.  George  gold  chain, 
of  the  costliest  character,  pendant  frou  his 
neck. 

It  might  be  imagined  that  before  such  ex- 
cessive splendor  the  poor  foundling  would 
have  been  somewhat  abashed,  and  that  her 
gentle  nature  would  have  sunk  before  the 
ardor  of  his  gaze ;  but  this  was  far  from  the 
case.  The  look,  the  manner,  the  appear- 
ance of  the  stranger,  convinced  her  that  he 
was  no  other  than  her  princely  lover,  of 
whom  she  had  heard  so  much ;  and  the  only 
sign  she  gave  of  his  presence  was  rising 
from  her  seat  the  moment  his  nobility  stood 
confessed.  No  royal  queen  could  ever  have 
received  the  homage  of  her  courtiers  with  a 
truer  majesty,  than  did  the  gentle  Mabel 
stand  before  the  enamored  glances  of  this 
magnificent  noble. 

"  Nay,  I  beseech  thee,  do  not  stir !"  mur- 
mured he  in  a  most  passionate  gallant  man- 
ner, as  he  took  her  hand,  and  pressed  it 
tenderly  in  his  own.  "  I  regret  having  dis- 
turbed such  a  miracle  of  loveliness,  and  yet 
I  could  not,  had  I  strove  ever  so,  have  re- 
frained from  expressing  in  some  measure 
the  intenseness  of  my  admiral  ion.  Much  as 
I  had  heard  of  thy  marvellous  beauty,  and 
deeply  as  I  had  been  impressed  with  the 
glimpse  I  had  of  it  in  the  garden  of  Kenil- 
worth,  I  was  totally  unprepared  for  such 
ravishing  perfections  as  I  beheld  when,  on- 
noticed,  I  softly  entered  this  chamber.  He 
who  held  the  apple  when  the  three  god- 
desses disclosed  their  rival  graces  to  his  ad- 
miring eye,  could  have  seen,  in  all  their 
moving  loveliness,  nought  half  so  worthy  of 
pre-eminence  as  then  met  my  wondering 
and  most  enamored  gaze." 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


121 


a  My  lord,  for  such  I  believe  you  are  styl- 
ed," replied  Mabel,  with  a  simple  courtesy 
that  became  her  better  than  all  art  of  com- 
pliment ;  "  you  are  pleased  to  say  this,  as 
you  have  been  pleased  to  show  me  other 
signs  of  a  like  civilness  in  you ;  and  for 
these,  believe  me,  I  am  as  truly  grateful  as 
*ever  heart  was." 

"  O'  my  life,  it  delighteth  me  infinitely  to 
hear  thee  express  thyself  so  well  disposed 
towards  me,"  answered  her  companion  rap- 
turously kissing  of  her  fair  hand.  "  But 
what  I  have  done  is  nought  to  what  the 
greatness  of  my  love  shall  lead  me  to.  But 
prithee  tell  me  the  happy  subject  of  fliy  deep 
study." 

"  Indeed  it  was  no  other  than  yourself,  my 
lord,"  answered  the  poor  foundling  very 
readily. 

"  How  proud  am  I  of  having  so  rare  a 
student !"  exclaimed  the  other,  looking  fondly 
in  her  face,  and  pressing  her  hands  witli  a 
similar  affectionateness.  "  How  dost  like 
the  volume  ?  wilt  get  it  by  heart  ?" 

"  In  my  then  thinking,  I  was  seeking  the 
cause  for  my  having-  been  put  by  you  in  this 
place,"  answered  Mabel. 

"  The  cause,  my  sweet  life  !"  cried  the 
gallant,  as  if  in  some  extreme  astonishment; 
"  why,  what  else  cause  can  there  be  than 
thy  most  exquisite  self?  Look  on  those 
lustrous  eyes,  observe  that  delicate  cheek, 
regard  that  eloquent  and  delicious  mouth,  or 
take  the  perfectness  of  those  matchless  fea- 
tures and  peerless  shape  combined,  and  note 
if  they  contain  not  such  prodigal  cause  of 
love  as  might  warrant  any  such  behavior  in 
a  lover,  as  that  I  have  been  forced  to  take 
advantage  of." 

"  Methinks,  my  lord,  love  might  be  better 
shown,"  observed  the  gentle  foundling. 

"  In  some  cases,  doubtless,"  replied  her 
companion ;  "  but  not  where  the  lover  is  so 
circumstanced  as  am  I.  I  have  essayed  in 
all  manner  of  things  thou  shouldst  meet 
such  respect  as  true  love  delighteth  to  show. 
Thy  tiring  is  of  the  noblest,  thy  lodging  the 
most  sumptuous  that  could  be  had,  and  thy 
fare  the  delicatest  that  wealth  and  skill  could 
unite  in  producing.  Thou  hast  been  waited 
on  as  became  the  guest  of  a  prince  ;  and  so 
gallantly  entertained  as  might  be  shown  to 
an  enthroned  queen !" 

"  Truly  I  have,  and  I  thank  you  right 
heartily,  my  lord — yet " 

"  Dost  lack  anything  ?  Hast  any  desire  ? 
Hast  -aught  proper  been  forgotten  ?"  con- 
tinued the  noble,  with  increasing  earnest- 
ness. 

"  Indeed  no,  I  have  store  of  things  of 
every  sort, — but — — " 


"  Dost  not  like  the  dwelling  ?  thou  shall 
be  removed  to  a  palace,"  added  her  com- 
panion without  allowing  her  to  finish  her 
sentence.  "  Dost  not  approve  of  thy  tiring, 
all  Italy  shall  be  searched  for  costiler  stuffs  ? 
Hast  fault  to  find  with  thy  attendants,  thou 
shalt  have  such  honorable  persons  as  thou 
cannot  help  approving  of?  Or  is  anything 
amiss  with  thy  fare,  the  skilfullest  cooks, 
and  the  daintiest  cates  shall  be  fetched  from 
all  parts  of  Christendom,  to  give  thee  better 
entertainment  ?" 

"  Truly  there  is  no  need,"  she  replied ; 
"  methinks  I  should  be  wondrous  discontent 
seemed  I  not  satisfied  with  the  bountiful 
great  splendor  with  which  I  am  surrounded ; 
still  there  is  one  thing  I  would  have  you  do, 
which  surely  you  cannot  avoid  doing,  if  you 
have  for  me  the  exceeding  love  you  have 
just  expressed." 

"  Name  it,"  said  her  companion,  in  an 
impassioned  manner.  "  If  it  taketh  up  my 
whole  fortune — which  is  considered  to  be  in 
some  excess — or  requireth  all  my  influence 
— which  is  said  to  be  second  to  none  in  the 
kingdom — whatever  thou  dost  require  shall 
be  done  on  the  instant." 

"  Return  me  to  my  friends,"  answered 
Mabel. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  gallant,  evidently 
having  expected  from  her  something  very 
different,  "  wouldst  have  me,  ere  I  have 
scarce  had  an  hour's  acquaintance  with  so 
inestimable  a  treasure,  to  send  it  away  where 
perchance  I  may  never  see  it  again  ?" 

"  I  doubt  not  you  could  see  me  at  all  pro- 
per times,  with  worthy  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's 
permission,"  said  the  poor  foundling. 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  life,  there  is  no 
possibility  of  such  a  thing,  else  should  I 
have  preferred  doing  so,"  observed  her  com- 
panion, with  a  famous  earnestness.  "  There 
is  such  absolute  reason  for  what  has  been 
done,  as  would  convince  any,  were  I  allow- 
ed to  say  it ;  but  at  the  present  I  must  needs 
be  dumb  on  the  matter.  Give  me  but  fair 
trial,  and  if,  after  some  time,  thou  shouldst 
desire  again  to  see  thy  friends,  thou  shalt 
go,  and  willingly." 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  assurance,  my  lord," 
replied  Mabel,  somewhat  comforted.  "  In 
very  truth  I  am  most  anxious  to  return  home, 
with  as  little  tarrying  as  possible,  and  you 
will  make  me  more  bound  to  you,  by  help- 
ing me  in  my  wish,  than  could  you  by  de- 
taining me,  though  you  furnished  my  stay 
with  the  honorablest  entertainment  in  your 
power." 

"  I  beseech  thee,  my  fair  queen,  move  me 
not  to  it  at  this  present,"  continued  her 
noble  gallant,  very  passionately.  "  Thou 


122 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


knowest  net  what  great  travail  hath  been 
mine  for  thy  sweet  sake,  since  I  iirst  had 
glimpse  of  thy  enchanting  graces.  Allow 
me  some  solace  after  my  so  long  trouble ; 
balieve  me  night  or  day  hath  been  one  con- 
tinual darkness  with  me,  in  which  my  hopes 
would  appear  like  stars,  in  bright  assurance 
the  sunrise  of  my  happiness  was  nigh  at 
hand;  and  yet  it  came  not,  till  my  heart 
was  nigh  upon  being  weary  with  so  much 
longing.  Nought  but  the  remembrance  of 
those  dazzling  beauties,  as  they  came  upon 
me,  like  a  sudden  flash  of  heaven  to  a  poor 
heathen,  kept  me  in  countenance  with  my- 
self; for  that  remembrance  brought  \vith  it 
such  good  warrant  of  gentle  treatment,  of 
excellent  kind  sympathy,  and  of  generous 
sweet  affection,  as  a  nature  well  disposed  to 
reward  the  infinite  sufferings  of  unbounded 
love,  is  ever  possessed  of.  Let  it  not  be  I 
have  rested  on  a  broken  reed." 

"  I  should  be  loath  to  deal  harshly  with 
you,  my  lord,"  replied  the  simple  foundling ; 
"  nor  am  I  in  any  way  so  given  towards 
any  one.  Yet  I  see  not  I  could  give  you 
any  relief  stayed  I  here  ever  so." 

"  Be  assured,  sweetest,  nothing  is  so 
easy,"  observed  her  companion,  gazing  on 
tier  as  enamoredly  as  though  he  had  put  his 
whole  heart  and  soul  into  a  glance.  "  Let 
those  entrancing  eyes  discourse  with  mine 
the  true  language  they  were  made  to  ex- 
press, till  volumes  of  loving  meaning  beam 
in  every  look ;  twine  those  delicate  arms 
around  me  as  I  would  use  mine  own,  till 
heart  throb  fondly  against  heart  in  natural 
unison,  and  every  nerve  throughout  our  en- 
amored natures  thrill  with  the  same  soft 
ecstacy — and  bring  me  hither  those  delici- 
ous lips  that  make  the  ruby  pale,  and  look 
more  tempting  than  the  ripest  ruddiest  cher- 
ry, to  refresh  my  thirsty  soul  with  the  pre- 
cious rapturous,  exquisite  sweet  balm  with 
which  they  are  bedewed." 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  I " 

"  Behold  me  here  thy  poor  petitioner," 
continued  the  enamored  nobleman,  kneeling 
on  one  knee  at  the  feet  of  the  gentle  Mabel, 
with  such  a  look  and  with  such  a  manner 
few  women  could  have  resisted.  "  Note  to 
how  mean  a  strait  my  greatness  is  reduced — 
see  the  equal  of  princes,  the  very  humblest 
of  slaves.  D^ar,  excellent  fair  creature!  My 
whole  being  is  bound  up  in  the  gaining  of 
thy  choice  affections.  Show  me  some  sign — 
a  smile,  a  word,  .a  look — my  case  is  not  en- 
tirely desperate  and  I  will  till  the  air  thou 
makest  holy  with  thy  presence,  with  my  un- 
ceasing love  and  very  earnest  thankful- 
ness." 

Thus  proceeded  this  accomplished  gallant 


with  the  innocent  gentle  Mabel — now  ap- 
pealing to  her  sympathies, — now  endeavor- 
ing to  awaken  her  pride  a  moment  after 
striving  with  equal  earnestness  to  excite  her 
vanity,  and  anon  straining  every  nerve  to 
move  her  ambition  ;  and  thus  he  continued 
with  the  most  passionate  assiduity  for  several 
days,  breathing  into  her  ear  the  most  delicata 
flattery,  and  exhausting  every  source  of  en- 
tertainment likely  to  dazzle  or  captivate  an 
inexperienced  tender  woman.  Save  witk 
her  sympathies  he  scarce  made  any  advance, 
which  made  him  marvel  infinitely,  for  he  was 
the  most  irresistable  lover  that  ever  sought  a 
fair  lady's  affections,  and  had  achieved  more 
triumphs  over  the  sex  than  had  any  half 
dozen  of  his  acquaintance.  There  was  not 
a  turn  of  their  hearts  with  which  he  seemed 
not  familar,  and  he  appeared  to  know  the 
cunningest  baits  to  draw  up  their  desires. 
But  this  exceeding  knowledge  was  derived 
from  the  court  circles,  or  those  who  took 
after  them  in  manner,  where  such  gifts  as  he 
possessed  could  scarce  fail  of  having  a  most 
absolute  influence.  The  mere  fine  ladies, 
or  those  eager  to  be  thought  so,  readily  gave 
way  to  his  many  fascinations,  but  the  poor 
foundling  was  of  a  very  different  sort.  There 
was  in  her  nature  a  marvellous  combination 
of  simplicity  and  pride — the  one  kept  her 
ignorant  of  the  treachery  of  her  companion 
— the  other  received  his  delusive  attentions 
as  though  they  were  her  just  right  and  title. 
Something  of  this  she  had  shown  when  in 
company  with  Sir  Valentine,  when  the 
modesty  of  her  apparel  seemed  out  of  place 
with  the  air  of  graceful  dignity  and  easy 
self-possession  with  which  she  shared  in  the 
court-like  converse  of  the  young  knight ; — 
but  now,  clothed  in  all  the  delicate  splendor 
of  the  times,  she  listened  to  the  dangerous 
homage  of  her  princely  gallant,  with  a  man- 
ner so  noble  as  must  have  convinced  any 
spectator  she  took  them  rrore  as  proper  res- 
pect than  as  a  matter  for  gratification. 

Her  noble  lover's  ecstacies  availed  him 
nothing — the  fondness  of  his  behavior  and 
discourse  made  as  little  impression — but  his 
unceasing  efforts  to  afford  her  by  the  most 
lavish  expenditure,  signs  of  the  unbounded 
estimation  in  which  she  was  held  by  him, 
were  accepted  with  gratitude  ;  and  the  seem- 
ing terribleness  of  his  sufferii  gs  when  her 
behavior  put  him  into  a  despairing  moodj 
were  regarded  with  a  natural  sympathy. 
Here  she  was  in  some  danger,  for  there  is 
no  such  nigh  relations  to  love  as  gratitude 
and  pity. 

In  the  meanwhile  William  Shakspeare 
having  at  last  met  with  Sir  Valentine,  in- 
stant proceedings  were  taken  to  endeavor  to 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEA&E. 


193 


I  uce  out  the  place  to  which  the  gentle  Mabe 
had  been  carried.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
mainer  in  which  the  young  knight  was 
moved  at  the  relation  of  his  lair  mistress's 
abduptiou.  All  the  chivalry  of  his  nature 
was  up  in  arms  in  a  moment,  and  he  was  for 
chasing  the  villains  to  the  uttermost  corner; 
of  the  earth.  With  the  feelings  with  which 
he  had  regarded  her  many  moving  graces, 
so  that  she  had  become  to  him  the  sovereign 
of  his  heart's  wishes,  he  felt  bound  by  every 
principle  of  knighthood  to  peril  life  and  limb 
in  her  service,  and  mounting  his  palfrey  he 
rode  in  every  direction  to  find  some  traces  ol 
her  flight.  He  was  at  last  so  fortunate  as  to 
meet  with  the  man  elsewhere  spoken  of,  who 
had  seen  her  borne  past  him,  and  had  watched 
her  direction,  whilst  he  could  keep  her  in 
sight ;  and  with  this  intelligence  he  sat  off  as 
soon  as  he  could  from  his  kinsman's  house, 
accompanied  only  by  his  favorite  companion, 
the  youthful  ishakspeare,  riding  of  a  grey 
gelding,  who  was  quite  as  eager  as  himself 
to  go  on  such  an  errand. 

The  feelings  of  these  two  were  as  different 
as  their  different  natures  could  make  them. 
The  young  knight  in  the  frosh  bloom  of  his 
manhood,  saw  beauty  only  as  it  was  expected 
a  soldier  should  see  it — as  something  worthy 
of  being  honored  by  the  honorablest  achieve- 
ments. The  young  student  in  the  first  soft 
glow  of  youth,  saw  beauty  only  as  in  such 
cases  it  might  be  seen  of  a  student — as  some- 
thing to  worship  at  a  humble  distance  with 
the  purest  and  noblest  thoughts.  The  one 
believing  it  to  be  his  duty,  would  have  boldly 
proclaimed  the  name  of  Mabel  as  first  in  his 
e.-Uviii  wherever  he  went, — the  other  feeling 
it  to  be  his  natule,  would  have  thought  it  sa- 
crilege to  have  mentioned  her  name  in  idle 
company,  although  his  estimation  o!  her  was 
not  a  whit  less  than  was  that  of  his  compa- 
nion. 

They  proceeded  on  in  the  course  directed, 
at  all  reasonable  opportunities  Sir  Valentine 
entertaining  of  his  young  associate  with  a 
very  gallant  discourse  concerning  the  doings 
of  certain  famous  knights  4n  love  with  no- 
table fair  ladies,  and  ever  and  anon,  season- 
ing it  with  divers  pretty  passages  out  of  Pe- 
trarcha,  his  sonnets  of  love,  to  which  the 
youthful  post  would  seriously  incline  his  ear, 
get  explaineJ  to  him  whatever  he  knew  not 
tlie  meaning  of,  and  observe,  question,  and 
reply  upon  all  he  heard,  with  such  spright- 
liness  of  wit  and  ingenuity  of  learning,  as 
both  astonished  and  delighted  his  fellow 
traveller. 

They  passed  all  manner  of  pleasant  man- 
sions, with  excellent  parks  of  deer,  and  beheld 
the  country  round  showing  a  thousand  signs 


of  the  decay  of  summer,  yet  still  possessing 
so  much  of  greenness  as  gave  it  a  semely 
aspect.  Occasionally,  they  would  meet  with 
a  brave  company  going  a  hawking,  each  with 
a  favorite  bird  on  the  wrist,  and  riding  on  an 
ambling  palfrey,  accompanied  by  attendants 
carrying  of  other  hawks  together,  perched  in 
a  circle,  all  hooded  in  their  fairest  gesses  and 
Milan  bells,  ready  to  be  cast  off  at  a  moment's 
notice.  Anon,  they  would  hear  the  loud 
"  Soho  !"  of  some  eager  huntsman,  and  they 
would  rein  in  their  steeds  awhile  to  see  the 
goodly  sight  of  the  hounds  in  full  chase,  and 
the  gallant  assemblage  of  men  and  horses 
speeding  after  them  over  hedge  and  ditch, 
hill  and  hollow,  with  some  a  tumbling  in  this 
place,  others  leaping  in  that,  here  a  steed  gal- 
lopping  without  his  rider,  and  there  a  rider 
running  to  catch  his  steed  :  and  a  little  way 
further,  they  would  come  upon  divers  honest 
anglers,  pursuing  of  their  delicate  sport  by 
the  sedgy  margin  of  the  brook,  to  the  manifest 
catching  of  sundry  luce,  greyling,  perch, 
jream,  and  dace,  then  uselessly  flapping  of 
their  tails  in  the  angler's  basket. 

The  partridges  hid  their  heads  among  the 
stubble — the  snipe  lurked  unseen  in  the 
water-courses — the  wild-ducks  floated  in 
locks  over  the  broad  ponds  and  marshy  lakes, 
and  the  great  heron  lay  in  her  haunt,  amid 
he  thick  reeds  of  the  same  waters.  On  a 
)ranch  of  a  withered  old  tree  upon  the  banks, 
he  gaudy  kingfisher  was  making  a  choice 
repast,  and  in  his  hole  deep  in  the  sandy  soil 
jeneath,  the  greedy  otter  was  busying  him- 
self with  a  like  occupation.  Great  companies 
of  small  birds  seemed  pursuing  of  each  other 
over  the  open  fields,  and  far  over  head  the 
noisy  rooks  gathered  their  black  bands  to 
ravage  the  distant  country.  As  the  travelers 
skirted  a  wood,  they  observed  the  nimble 
conies  running  into  their  holes,  or  a  stray 
leveret  rushing  hither  and  thither,  without 
knowing  where,  scared  by  the  sound  of  the 
horses  feet.  Presently,  a  young  pigeon  was 
noticed  plying  of  her  wings  with  the  desperate 
eagerness  of  despair,  as  she  left  the  wood  for 
the  open  country  ;  but  a  murderous  hawk  fol- 
lowed in  her  track,  and  as  she  sank  panting 
with  agony  behind  a  tree,  he  swept  down 
upon  her  swrifter  than  the  wind,  and  in  the 
same  minute  fixed  his  sharp  talons  in  her 
heart. 

Having  from  many  of  the  laboring  coun- 
try-people continued,  as  they  proceeded,  to 
gain  such  intelligence  as  still  led  them  on, 
they  had  gone  a  famous  distance,  but  full  of 
ardor  to  accomplish  their  adventure,  they 
pushed  forward,  regardless  of  all  else,  save 
the  rescue  of  the  gentle  Mabel.  It  so  hap 
pened,  that  at  last,  to  their  constant  inqui- 


124 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ries,  nothing  profitable  was  gained.     No  on 
had   seen  any  such  persons  as  were  des 
cribed  to  them.    Finding  this  to  be  the  case 
they  retraced  their  steps  towards  the   place 
where  they  obtained  the  latest  information 
with  the  idea,  that  if  any  house  lay  'conve 
nient,  it  was  probable  there  she  had  been 
carried.     They  now  rode  slowly,  and  took 
close  scrutiny  of  the  neighborhood.     After 
so  doing   for  some  time,  they  spied  a  fair 
house  down  in  a  hollow,  almost  hid  up  with 
trees,  and  completely  surrounded  with  a  high 
wall.     Within  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
of  it  was  a  small  village,  of  some  half-dozen 
houses,  most  distinguishable  of  which  was 
the  open  smithy,  the  little  inn,   and  a  shop 
for  the  sale  of  all  manner  of  things   needed 
in  such  a  place.     It  was  thought  advisable 
to  make  for  this  village  at  once,  as  being  the 
likeliest  spot  to  gain  the  necessary  intelli- 
gence,  and  where  they  could  get  refresh- 
ments for  themselves  and  beasts,  whilst  they 
made  their  inquiries. 

As  they  rode  into  the  yard,  William  Shaks- 
peare  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man,  in  whose 
unpleasing  features  he  immediately  recog- 
nized the  villain  who  had  struck  him  when 
he  seized  his  companion.  The  fellow  saw 
not  who  had  observed  him,  for  he  was  busy- 
playing  at  bowls  under  a  shed  with  divers 
other  persons.  The  youthful  poet  resolved 
on  saying  nothing  of  this  discovery  till  a 
more  fitting  opportunity  presented  itself, 
therefore  quietly  followed  the  example  of  the 
young  knight,  in  dismounting,  giving  his 
palfrey  in  charge  to  the  landlord,  and  enter- 
ing the  inn.  Upon  sitting  himself  in  a 
chamber  to  which  he  and  Sir  Valentine  were 
shown,  he  observed  a  decent  sort  of  a  man, 
of  a  middle  age,  seated  on  a  settle,  with  a 
book  in  his  hand,  and  a  jug  of  ale  on  the 
table  before  him.  As  William  Shakspeare 
took  himself  to  make  a  hearty  meal  of  what 
was  set  before  him,  he  gave  another  glance 
at  the  person  with  the  book,  and  another 
after  that,  and  he  still  thought,  as  he  had  ima- 
gined when  he  first  came  into  the  room,  that 
the  countenance  was  familiar  to  him.  Sir 
Valentine,  finding  a  stranger  with  them,  was 
pondering  with  himself  whether  he  should 
abstain  from  seeming  curious,  which  might 
perchance  defeat  his  object,  or  attempt  cau- 
tiously to  make  the  necessary  inquiries  of  this 
very  person.  However,  it  so  fell  out,  that 
the  stranger  raised  his  eyes  from  the  book, 
on  which  he  seemed  as  intent  as  though  he 
were  the  most  scholarly  person  that  had  ever 
lived,  and  thereupon  encountered  the  some- 
what earnest  gaze  of  the  youthful  Shaks- 
peare. 
"  Why,  surely !"  exclaimed  the  stranger, 


in  a  pleased  surprise — "  yes,  it  must  be.  O 
my  life,  'tis  either  Will  Shakspeare  or  hia 
ghost."  • 

"  'Tis  myself,  worthy  Master  Burbage, 
replied  the  young  poet,  proceeding  quickly 
to  take  the  proffered  hand  of  the  father  of 
his  friend  and  school-fellow. 

"  Glad  to  see  thee,  by'r  lady  !"  said  the 
other,  giving  his  young  acquaintance  a 
hearty  shake  of  the  hand. 

"  And  how  do  thy  excellent  parents — and 
how  is  Dick,  my  son — and  how  are  all  my 
honest  friends  at  Stratford  ?"  The  youthful 
Shakspeare  quickly  gave  him  the  intelli- 
gence he  required ;  Sir  Valentine  remaining 
silent,  yet  glad  they  were  known  to  each 
other. 

"  But  what  hath  brought  you  here,  worthy 
Master  Burbage  ?"  inquired  the  young  poet 
at  last. 

"  Ey,  what,  indeed !"  replied  the  player, 
somewhat  dolefully.  "  'Sprecious  !  I  would 
[  had  never  come  nigh  the  place.  Methinks 
[  cannot  help  getting  myself  into  a  famous 
trouble  on  account  of  it,  which  may  spoil 
my  fortune  ever  after." 

"  Alack,  that  is  woeful  news !"  observed 
William  Shakspeare.  •'  But,  I  pray  you, 
ell  me  how  that  is  so  like  to  be  ?" 

'•  Why,  this  is  it,"  answered  Master  Bur- 
>age  :  "I  have  been  sent  down  with  my 
company  to  play  stage  plays  and  interludes 
of  the  entertainment  of  some  ladies  living  in 

house  hard  by." 

"  I  pray  you,  tell  me  if  the  fellow  in  green, 
now  playing  at  bowls,  belongeth  to  that 
louse  ?"  inquired  the  young  poet,  very 
;arnestly. 

"  Out  of  all  doubt,  he  doth,"  replied  the 
>layer.  "  He  is  the  serving-man  of  my 
'  ady  Arabella  Comfit." 

"  The  house  hath  an  ancient  look  with  it, 
and  lieth  hid  among  trees  somewhat  to  the 
eft  of  this  ?"  observed  his  youthful  friend  ; 
and  at  hearing  this,  Sir  Valentine  listened 

ith  a  very  singular  curiousness. 

"  Ay,  that  is  the  place,"  said  Master  Bur- 
age,  a  little  impatiently.     "  Now,  we  have 
>een  ordered  to  get  ourselves  perfect  in  a 
new  play  by  the  next  day  after  to-morrow  at 
noon,  to  play  before  this  noble  lady  and  her 
riends,  at  her  own  house ;  and  as  we  are 
all  intent  upon  studying  our  parts,  a  certain 
x»y  of  our  company  who  playeth  principal 
voman,  hath  the  ill  hap  to  be  taken  with  a 
esperate  illness ;  and  we  know  not  what 
o  do  on  account  of  it,  for  we  cannot  play 
without  him ;  and  it  is  impossible  for  him  to 
issist  us  in  any  manner,  he  is  in  BO  bad  a 
tate." 

William  Shakspeare  mused  on  their  in- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


126 


telligence  for  some  minutes,  then  asked 
sundry  questions  concerning  the  part  the 
sick  boy  was  to  have  played,  which  Master 
Burbage  showed  him  by  the  book  he  had  in 
his  hand  ;  and  afterwards,  both  to  the  sur- 
prise of  Sir  Valentine  and  the  other,  offered, 
on  condition  Master  Burbage  should  pass 
off  himself  and  his  companion  as  of  his  com- 
pany, he  would  himself  diligently  essay  the 
playing  of  the  part  the  sick  boy  ought  to 
have  played.  Drowning  men  catch  at  straws ; 
and  just  so  eagerly  did  Master  Burbage  avail 
himself  of  this  offer — promised  what  was  re- 
quired, and,  moreover,  offered  to  give  the 
volunteer  such  instructions  in  the  playing 
of  the  part  as  might  be  necessary  for  him  to 
know.  Upon  the  first  opportunity,  William 
Shakspeare  told  Sir  Valentine  his  reasons 
for  having  done  as  he  had  ;  with  the  which 
the  latter  was  so  greatly  satisfied,  that  he 
became  a  player  on  the  sudden,  with  as 
much  willingness  as  he  would  have  entered 
a  battle  field. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

Come,  I'll  be  out  of  this  ague, 
For  to  live  thus  is  not  indeed  to  live  ; 
It  is  a  mockery  and  abuse  of  life  ; 
I  will  not  henceforth  save  myself  by  halves  ; 
Loose  all  or  nothing. 

»       WEBSTER. 

Paul.  Thou  shall  not  go  in  liberty  to  thy  grave, 

For  one  night  a  sultana  is  my  slave. 
Mustapha.  A  terrible  little  tyranness. 

MASSIXGER. 

But  though  this  mayden  tendre  were  of  age. 
Yet  in  the  brest  of  hire  virginitee 
There  was  enclosed  sad  and  ripe  corage. 

CHAUCER. 

MASTER  BURBAGE  was  delighted  at  a  re- 
hearsal at  finding  not  only  how  well  his 
young  friend  became  his  petticoats,  but  how 
truly  and  gracefully  he  enacted  the  different 
scenes  in  which  he  was  to  play.  Certes 
William  Shakspeare  was  not  a  player  for 
the  first  time,  as  witness  his  early  playing 
of  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,  and  divers  oth° 
er  interludes  with  his  schoolfellows  Green, 
Burbage,  Hemings,  Condell  ;  but  he  felt 
there  was  a  monstrous  difference  betwixt 
doing  of  such  things  in  the  manner  of  school- 
boys, for  their  own  amusement  only,  and  at- 
tempting it  in  the  fashion  of  real  players  for 
the  entertainment  of  a  gallant  company. 
But  by  the  aid  of  Master  Burbage  he  got 
over  much  of  the  difficulty. 

The  play  appeared  cunningly  writ  with 


no  other  end  than  to  lead  to  the  undoing  of 
the  gentle  Mabel.  At  least  so  thought  Sir 
Valentine  and  his  youthful  friend ;  and  it 
was  agreed  between  them  the  young  knight 
should  play  one  of  the  minor  characters  in 
the  wbieh  there  was  little  to  say  or  do,  but 
excellent  opportunity  of  Sir  Valentine's  no- 
ting who  were  of  the  company,  and  if  such 
persons  as  they  expected  should  be  among 
them,  it  afforded  a  mean  for  her  recognizing 
him,  and  so  knowing  friends  were  near. 
This  was  done  in  case  she  should  not  know 
again  the  features  of  William  Shakspeare, 
as  he  thought  it  possible  she  might  not. 
There  was  another  incident  in  the  plot,  but 
this  the  young  player  kept  to  himself. 

The  time  •  arrived,  and  the  players  were 
ready.  Master  Burbage  was  encouraging 
his  youthful  companion  with  great  store  of 
praise,  who,  dressed  in  feminine  apparel, 
was  to  personate  a  young  country  girl.  In 
the  first  scene  a  noble  lover  appears,  ac- 
quainting his  confidant  how  he  had  seen 
such  perfection  in  womanhood,  as  he  must 
sigh  his  heart  away  for,  was  he  not  allowed 
her  sweet  society  to  ease  his  pain,  where- 
upon in  pity  of  his  lord's  dolorous  moan,  the 
other  is  made  to  offer  to  carry  her  off  on  the 
instant,  to  the  which,  seeing  no  other  way 
of  having  her,  the  passionate  lover  gives 
his  reluctant  consent.  Then  followed  an 
attempt  to  carry  off  the  damsel,  with  her 
rescue  by  the  interference  of  her  friends. 
Here  the  young  player  came  upon  the  stage, 
which  was  one  end  of  a  large  chamber,  the 
players  coming  in  by  a  door  at  each  side. 
At  the  other  end  he  observed  four  persons 
sitting,  but  to  his  amazement  they  were  all 
masked,  as  persons  of  quality  often  were. 
The  first  near  him  was  a  lady  of  a  most 
graceful  figure,  dressed  in  as  great  magnifi- 
cence as  he  had  seen  Queen  Elizabeth  at 
Kenilworth.  The  next  was  a  gallant,  in 
apparel  equally  gorgeous,  who  occasionally 
turned  from  the  lady  to  speak  to  another 
gallant  less  nobly  clad,  sitting  on  the  other 
side  of  him,  and  beyond  him  was  another 
lady  very  richly  garmented,  but  in  no  com- 
parison with  the  first. 

Whether  the  lady  so  bountifully  attired 
was  the  fair  creature  of  whom  they  were  in 
search  he  had  no  means  of  knowing,  for  she 
gave  no  sign  of  recognition  at  his  appear- 
ance. When  Sir  Valentine  came  on  the 
stage  she  started  somewhat,  and  asked  some 
questions  of  her  companion,  and  appeared 
to  take  greater  interest  in  the  play.  Then 
was  enacted  her  being  carried  off  from  her 
home,  to  the  house  of  a  kinswoman  to  the 
noble  gallant's  confidant.  Here  the  coun- 
try maid  was  seen  clothed  in  the  richest 


126 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


stuffs  and  jewels,  and  paid  all  manner  of 
honorable  attention.  At  the  sight  of  Sir 
Valentine,  again  the  youthful  lady  gazed  on 
him  with  more  earnestness  than  she  did  be- 
fore, and  her  interest  in  the  play  evidently 
gresv  deeper  and  deeper.  After  ftiis  the 
princely  lover  entered,  and  with  the  fondest 
rhetoric  impiered  the  love  of  the  seeming 
Mabel,  till  he  so  moved  her,  as  it  appeared, 
she  was  content  to  promise  him  all  manner 
of  happiness,  to  his  infinite  contentation. 
-To  end  all,  there  was  to  be  a  soliloquy  to  be 
spoken  by  the  heroine,  in  which  she  was  to 
applaud  herself  to  the  echo  for  her  gener- 
ousness  in  behalf  of  a  gentleman  who  had 
shown  towards  her  such  extreme  honor,  and 
vow  to  be  his  true  love,  and  his  alone  ever 
after,  till  death  should  put  asunder  their 
mutual  loving  hearts. 

This  the  players  considered  the  difficult- 
est  passage  of  the  whole,  to  be  done  with 
proper  effect.  As  yet  their  new  companion 
had  conducted  himself  beyond  their  expec- 
tations ;  but  this  long  soliloquy  was  a  diffi- 
cult part  for  the  ablest ;  and  fears  were  en- 
tertained he  might  lose  himself  in  it,  and  so 
break  down.  To  prevent  this  as  much  as 
possible,  Master  Burbage  stationed  himself 
at  one  of  the  open  doors,  so  as  not  to  be  in 
fight  of  the  audience,  to  prompt  him  in  case 
he  was  at  a  loss.  There  was  the  fictitious 
Mabel,  in  all  the  splendor  of  her  supposed 
greatness,  and  there  stood  the  anxious 
prompter  with  book  in  hand,  hoping  with  all 
his  might  the  play  would  end  as  well  as  it 
had  proceeded.  The  prompter  gave  the 
cue,  but  to  his  extreme  astonishment  the 
young  player  spoke  words  clean  different. 
The  prompter  in  an  agony  of  dread  that  all 
would  be  marred,  gave  out  the  cue  again 
somewhat  louder,  but  still  the  young  player 
proceeded  with  a  speech  as  opposite  to  that 
he  ought  to  have  said  as  two  different  things 
could  be.  Horror-struck,  the  poor  player 
cast  down  his  book,  and  began  pulling  of 
his  hair,  kicking  the  ground,  and  muttering 
imprecations  against  the  author  of  his  ruin, 
as  he  imagined  the  youthful  Shakspeare  to 
be,  that  all  the  players  came  marvelling  to 
see  what  had  produced  such  strange  effects. 

But  if  Master  Burbage  was  so  moved, 
not  less  so  was  the  lady  nighest  to  the  stage. 
Her  three  companions  were  engaged  in 
earnest  converse,  without  paying  the  slight- 
est attention  to  whnt  was  passing  elsewhere. 
The  intentness  of  the  three  to  the  subject 
of  their  converse,  did  not  escape  the  notice 
of  the  young  player ;  and  though  he  sus- 
pected the  fair  deity  of  his  dreams  was  the 
lady  who  paid  such  unceasing  attention  to 
the  play,  he  essayed  to^have  some  certain 


knowledge  of  it  by  a  device  of  his  own. 
Therefore  instead  of  speaking  the  proper 
soliloquy,  he  spoke  the  following  passage, 
which  he  had  written  to  say  in  its  place,  if 
circumstances  served : — 

"  Now  with  my  heart  let  me  hold  conference. 
This  lord,  he  speaks  me  fair,  he  clothes  me  fine, 
He  entertains  me  honorably  and  well ; 
But  how  know  I  his  purport  in  all  this  ? 
Is  it  in  honesty,  is  it  in  respect  i 
Doth  it  mean  well  or  ill,  or  good  or  bad  ? 
His  words  are  cups  that  brim  all  o'er  with  love, 
But  is  there  sign  of  wedding  in  this  cheer  ? 
Perchance  the  love  he  proffers  comes  to  me 
In  some  polluted  vessel,  that  hath  been 
Lipped  by  dishonored'maids  in  wantonness, 
Or  drained   by   thoughtless   women   in   their 

shame  ? 

These  gaudy  trappings,  are  they  meant  to  be 
The  tire  of  marriage  sent  by  honest  love, 
Or  the  more  tawdry  livery  of  guilt  ? 
And  all  this  splendor,  all  this  bounteous  state, 
This  worship,  travail,  reverence,  and  respect — 
'Tis  prodigal,  'tis  admirable,  'tis  rare, 
Most  choice,  most  noble,  delicate,  and  sweet— 
But  doth  it  cover  any  meaner  thing  ? 
A  thing  so  base,  so  vile,  so  infamous, 
It  doth  require  to  be  thus  thickly  gilt 
To  make  the  metal  take  a  sterling  shape  ? 
I'll  think  of  this." 

The  lady  appeared  somewhat  agitated 
during  the  delivery  of  these  passages,  and 
leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  drinking  in 
every  word,  evidently  with  the  most  intense 
interest.  The  young  player  noticing  these 
signs,  and  observing  too  that  her  companions 
were  still  paying  no  heed  to  him,  proceeded 
with  these  words : — 

"  Alack,  I  cannot  doubt 
Tnese    words   mean   villainy,  these    garments 

shame, 

This  entertainment  mischiefs  of  the  worst. 
Methinks  the  very  air  I  breathe,  feels  thick 
With  craft  and  malice,  treachery  and  crime  ! 
And  I  am  here  alone — far  from  all  help — 
Close  watched,  well  guarded,  providently  kept. 
But  hush  !  there  needs  great  caution.     Not  a 

word, 

A  sound,  a  gesture,  dare  I  give  to  show 
I  look  suspiciously  upon  these  schemes. 
And  yet  there  might  be  present  even  here     . 
Friends  \«ho  would  strain  their  hearts  for  my 

escape, 

Showed  I  some  sign  I  would  assay  their  aid. 
At  least  I'll  let  them  see  I  wear  a  face 
That  needs  no  mask — for  I  can  truly  swear 
As  yet  it  holds  no  intercourse  with  shame." 

In  an  instant  the  mask  was  taken  off  the 
lady  so  deeply  interested  in  the  play,  and, 
as  the  youthful  Shakspeare  had  for  some 
minutes  anticipated,  he  beheld  the  guileless, 
beautiful  countenance  of  the  gentle  Mabel, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


127 


flashed  with  excitement,  and  gazed  upon 
him  with  so  imploring  anxious  a  look,  it  w;i> 
plain  she  had  felt  every  word  he  had  uttered. 
The  face  was  again  masked,  quite  unob- 
served by  her  companions.  The  young 
player  made  a  sign  of  recognition,  and  con- 
cluded with  these  lines : — • 

"  These  friends  I'll  trust,  I  know  they  may  be 

found 

Out  by  the  gate  that  ends  the  garden  wall. 
There  will  I  seek  them  with  what  speed  I  may  ; 
Having  assurance,  by  their  means  to  'scape 
The  living  hell  that  holds  me  round  about ; 
And  back  return  to  innocence  and  peace, 
An  honored  dwelling,  and  a  spotless  name." 

"  Come,  sweetest,  the  play  is  ended," 
whispered  her  noble  gallant.  Mabel  me- 
chanically rose,  and  accompanied  her  to 
his  own  chamber.  Her  feelings  were  in 
such  a  state  of  tumult  she  dared  not  speak. 
She  repeated  to  herself  the  lines — 

"  1  know  they  may  be  found 
Out  by  the  gate  that  ends  the  garden  wall," 

as  if  she  would  impress  them  so  firmly  on 
her  memory,  there  could  be  no  chance  of  her 
forgetting  them :  she  also  remembered  the 
hint  that  had  been  given  her  to  be  cautious, 
but  she  had  been  so  little  accustomed  to  dis- 
guise, that  here  she  somewhat  feared  for 
herself.  The  revulsion  of  feeling  had  been 
so  deep,  so  strong,  and  so  sudden  from  a  sense 
of  security  and  gratitude  to  a  sense  of  dis- 
gust and  abhorrence,  that  it  left  her  for 
some  minutes  so  greatly  bewildered,  she 
scarce  knew  what  she  was  about.  Present- 
ly, her  lover  and  herself  unmasked.  The 
signs  of  a  disturbed  nature  so  visible  in  her, 
he  seemed  to  expect  as  a  natural  conse- 
quence of  his  craftily-devised  play,  and  he 
had  not  the  slightest  doubt  it  had  produced 
all  the  effect  he  had  desired.  It  was  time 
now,  he  thought,  to  follow  up  his  advantage 
before  the  simple  girl  could  have  opportunity 
for  reflection,  and  he  made  himself  ready, 
with  the  desperate  earnestness  of  a  deter- 
mined profligate,  to  conclude  the  plot  against 
her,  as  it  had  been  settled  by  his  companions 
in  iniquity,  during  the  delivery  of  the  con- 
cluding soliloquy.  He  came  close  to  her, 
and  wound  his  arm  fondly  round  her  waist, 
as  she  was  endeavoring  to  put  her  disorder- 
ed thoughts  into  something  resembling  pur- 
pose, bringing  his  face  as  near  to  hers  as  he 
might,  and  gazing  into  her  eyes  with  the  most 
fond  and  passionate  glances. 

"  My  sweet  life,"  murmured  he,  in  such 
soft  and  thrilling  tones  as  he  fancied  would 
be  most  effective,  "  We  dally  with  opportu- 
nity. The  happiness  I  have  so  long  coveted 
and  so  thoroughly  strove  to  deserve,  should 


now,  methinks,  be  my  just  reward.     Love 
beckons  us  to  mutual  bliss.     Hither  with  me 
i  awhile,  upon  those  balmy  lips  to  breathe  new 
i  life,  and  taste  such  joy  as  the  enamored  soul 
|  alone  can  know.     Prithee,  come  this  way, 
I  my  heart  ! — my  queen  ! — my  treasure  !" — 
j  The  gentle  Mabel  allowed  herself  to  be  borne 
I  unresistingly  towards  the  nexfc  chamber — 
seemingly  as  if  stupefied  by  the  fascinating 
gaze  of  her  licentious  companion,  who  hung 
over  her  exquisite  countenance  as  he  drew 
her  along,  like  a  gloating  serpent — but  the 
noble  pride  of  her  nature  at  last  made  itself 
manifest,  for  as  she  came  near  the  door,  on  a 
sudden  she  burst  from  his  hold,  and  retreat- 
ing back  a  pace  or  two,  fixed  on  him  a  look 
of  such  utter  scorn  as  would  have  crushed  a 
meaner  wretch  to  the  earth. 

"  Thou  shameless  villain !"  exciaimed 
she,  her  voice  half  choked  with  the  fulness 
of  her  emotions.  "  Thou  pitiful  traitor  to 
all  true  love  and  honesty !  Dost  call  this 
nobleness  ?  Dost  style  this  honor  ?  How 
darest  thou  attempt  to  pass  off  such  base- 
ness for  the  behavior  of  a  princely  person  ?" 
"  Why,  how  now  ?"  cried  the  gallant  in 
real  astonishment.  "  What  meaneth  this 
unworthy  language  and  these  terrible  indig- 
nant looks  ?" 

"  What  mean  they  ?"  replied  the  poor 
foundling,  her  lustrous  eyes  flashing  with 
scorn,  and  her  whole  countenance,  as  he 
had  justly  observed,  looking  terribly  indig- 
nant. "  They  mean  that  thou  hast  been 
hugely  mistaken  in  me,  as  hitherto  have  I 
been  in  thee.  I  am  not  of  such  worthless 
stuff  as  thou  hast  supposed.  I  did  believe 
thee  all  thou  didst  assume,  and  therefore, 
felt  no  fear.  Thou  didst  seem  honorable. 
I  thought  thee  so." 

"  Prithee,  let  us  have  no  more  of  this," 
observed  the  gallant,  impatiently.     "  I  mar- 
vel thou  shouldst  get  into  so  famous  a  pas- 
sion about  nothing,  after  having  enjoyed  at 
my  expense  such  bounteous  entertainment." 
"  I  needed  it  not — I  asked  it  not,"  answer- 
ed Mabel.   "  It  was  forced  on  me  under  color 
|  of  honorable  intents  ;  but  now  I  know  the 
baseness  of  its  ends,  I  will  not  be  a  partaker 
of  it  another  minute  of  my  life." 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  pretty  tyrantess  !"  ex- 
claimed her  companion.  "  I  cannot  part 
with  thee  so  soon,  or  lessen  the  splendor 
of  which  thou  hast  so  liberally  partaken. — • 
Nor  can  I  believe  thou  wouldst  play  so  ill 
a  part  as  this  thoa  art  about.  Come,  come, 
sweetest !  this  humor  becomes  thee  not  at 
all." 

"  Away — I  am  not  to  be  beguiled  !"  cried 
the  fair  foundling,  eluding  his  approaches. 
"  Nay,  'tis  too  hard  a  thing — I  cannot  think 


128 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


of  it,"  replied  the  other,  standing  before  the 
ioor  she  sought  to  make  her  exit  out  of.  "  I 
must  not  see  my  full  great  pains  and  cost 
all  come  to  nought — 'tis  out  of  justice  and 
against  all  right.  Marry,  wouldst  take  thy 
pleasure  and  not  pay  the  price !" 

"  I  tell  thee  once  again,  I  took  it,  thinking 
it  was  honorably  given,"  said  Mabel.  "  Thou 
didst  not  mention  price,  thou  talked  of  honor  ! 
Didst  think  that  I  would  barter  away  my  own 
respect  to  lie  in  costly  lodging  and  be  clothed 
in  delicate  attire  ?  Take  back  thy  pitiful 
bribes,"  continued  she,  as  she  tore  from  her 
person  her  jewels,  her  chains  of  gold,  and 
sparkling  rings,  and  dashed  them  at  his  feet. 
"  I  loathe  all  I  have  had  of  thee — I  loathe 
still  more  the  villain  who  could  put  them  to 
so  base  a  purpose." 

"Ha,  dost,  indeed!"  exclaimed  her  gal- 
lant, his  face  now  assuming  some  anger. — 
"  O'  my  life,  I  will  not  be  so  easily  thrust 
aside.  I  have  done  what  ough't  to  satisfy 
any  reasonable  woman.  Indeed,  I  have  had 
more  cost  and  pains  taken  with  thee  than 
with  any  half  dozen  others  I  have  fancied  ; 
but  if  fair  words  will  not  do  with  thee,  foul 
deeds  shall.  Thou  art  so  completely  in  my 
power  that  resistance  is  useless.  'Tis  vain 
struggling.  Thou  must  needs  submit." 

"  Oh,  I  beseech  thee,  have  some  pity  !" 
cried  the  poor  foundling,  falling  on^her  knees 
at  his  feet  with  a  look  so  moving,  the  sa- 
vagest  beast  must  have  been  tamed  at  the 
sight  of  it.  "  Surely,  thou  meanest  not 
such  evil  as  thou  speakest ;  I  cannot  think 
so  ill  of  thee.  Thou  art,  indeed,  that  princely 
'person  I  once  thought,  and  knowest  and  feel- 
est  in  thy  inmost  heart,  it  is  no  part  of  no- 
bleness to  wrong  a  poor  maid.  Let  me  go 
in  honor  from  thy  house,  Til  pray  for  thee 
all  my  days.  I'll  hold  thee  ever  alter  a  true 
good  "friend — a  bountiful  sweet  lord,  the  very 
noblest  gentleman  that  breathes.  My  lord — 
my  worthy  lord — my  honorable,  good  lord — 
as  (jod  shall  pity  thee,  so  pity  my  poor  state." 

She  might  have  implored  a  stone.  The 
licentious  noble,  with  his  looks  burning  with 
his  dishonest  passions,  drew  her  in  his  arms 
towards  the  adjoining  chamber,  though  she 
clung  to  his  limbs  with  desperate  grasp,  and 
continued  withstrainingeyeballsand  hoarse- 
thick  voice,  to  pray  his  mercy.  As  he  held 
her  before  him,  her  hands,  clutching  him 
wildly  as  she  was  borne  along,  at  one  time 
fell  upon  the  jewelled  pommel  of  his  dagger. 
In  a  moment  the  blade  was  out  of  its  sheath 
• — in  the  next  she  had  twisted  herself  free  of 
his  grasp,  and  stood  at  some  distance  from 
him,  \vith  one  hand  striving  to  stay  the  throb- 
bing of  her  heart,  and  the  other,  holding  out 
the  weapon  threateningly  before  her.  The 


beauty  of  her  countenance  was  now  abso- 
lutely sublime.  There  was  in  it  a  lofty 
grandeur  of  expression  that  can  scarce  be 
conceived.  Her  eyes  seemed  fountains  of 
living  lightning,  and  her  beautiful  lips  ap- 
peared to  curl  with  an  unutterable  sense  of 
outraged  majesty  no  language  can  give  the 
remotest  idea  of. 

"  Touch  me  at  thy  peril !"  exclaimed  she, 
as  audible  as  her  perturbed  state  would  al- 
low. Her  companion  seemed  so  completely 
taken  by  astonishment,  that  for  a  moment  he 
stared  at  her  as  if  uncertain  what  to  be  about. 
At  last  he  made  a  movement  as  if  he  would 
approach  her,  and  on  the  instant,  her  left 
arm  was  pointed  towards  him  as  stiffly  as 
though  it  had  been  iron,  whilst  her  right 
clutched  the  dagger  a  little  behind  her. — 
She  elevated  herself  to  her  full  height,  and 
threw  her  head  somewhat  back,  with  a  look 
and  a  manner  that  showed  a  stern  determi- 
nation. 

"  I  warn  thee !"  muttered  the  poor  found- 
ling, in  a  terrible  earnestness  ;  "  if  thou 
dost  but  come  within  arm's  length  of  me  to 
follow  up  thy  villainous  intentions,  as  Jesu 
shall  save  my  soul,  I'll  cleave  thy  heart  in 
twain !" 

The  profligate  drew  back.  He  dared  not 
battle  with  the  fierce  storm  lie  had  raised ; 
so,  saying  he  would  send  to  her  those  who 
would  soon  have  her  out  of  her  tragedy  hu- 
mor, he  turned  on  his  heel  to  seek  the  as- 
sistance of  his  vile  associates.  Mabel,  in 
the  same  attitude,  and  with  the  same  look, 
followed  him  step  by  step  to  the  door.  When 
she  heard  his  departing  foot,  she  looked  to 
the  fastenings,  there  were  none  inside  the 
chamber — she  dropped  her  dagger  and  clasp- 
ed her  hands  in  despair.  On  a  sudden,  a 
thought  struck  her.  She  ran  to  the  case- 
ment and  threw  it  open.  It  looked  into  the 
garden,  above  which  it  shxxl  some  ten  feet. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  she  leaped 
out,  and  muling  herself  safe  when  she  came 
to  the  ground,  tiew  down  the  garde:i  like  an 
escaped  bird.  Keeping  the  wall  in  view,  she 
came,  out  of  breath,  to  a  door  at  its  extremi- 
ty. It  was  partly  open.  She  dashed  through 
it,  staggered  forward,  and  fell,  with  a  wild 
hysterical  laugh,  into  the  ready  arms  of  Sir 
Valentine. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


129 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Forth  goeth  all  the  court,  both  most  and  lest, 
To  fetch  the  floures  fresh, and  branch  and  blome, 
And  namely  hauthorn  brought  both  page  and 

grome 

And  then  rejoysen  in  their  great  delite  : 
Eke  ech  at  other  throw  the  floures  bright, 
The  primrose,  the  violete,  and  the  gold, 
With  fresh  garlants  party  blew  and  white. 

CHAUCER. 

There's  not  a  budding  boy  or  girl,  this  dny 
But  is  got  up,  and  gone  to  bring  in  May. 
A  deaie  of  youth,  ere  this,  is  come 
Back,  and  with  white-thorn  laden  home. 

HERRICK. 

In  this  our  spacious  isle  I  think  there  is  not  one, 
But  he  hath  heard  some  talk  of  him  and  eke  of 

Little  John, 
Of  TUCK  the  merry  friar,  which  many  a  sermon 

made  [trade, 

In  praise  of  Robin  Hood,  his  outlaws,  and  their 
And  of  his  mistress  dear,  his  loved  Marian. 

DRAYTON. 

Shall  the  hobby  horse  be  forgot  then  ? 
The  hopeful  hobby  horse,  shall  he  lie  foundered? 
BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

THE  feeling  with  which  the  youthful  poet 
regarded  the  fair  object  of  his  recent  adven- 
ture, if  it  should  be  called  love,  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  passion  which  goeth  under 
that  name.  In  fact,  it  was  more  a  senti- 
ment than  a  passion — rather  the  offspring  of 
the  intellect  than  of  the  affections.  It  was 
the  first  rosy  hues  of  light  which  ushereth 
in  the  sunshine  of  the  soul,  producing  the 
fairest  glimpses  of  heaven,  before  the  atmos- 
phere hath  heat  enough  to  warm  the  blood. 
Love  it  was  beyond  all  doubt,  but  it  was  that 
peculiar  species  which  is  found  only  to  visit 
the  very  young  and  very  imaginative.  It  is 
true  it  hatii  a  natural  source,  but  it  is  equal- 
ly undeniable,  it  dwolleth  in  the  fairy  regions 
of  the  ideal.  Where  there  is  early  sign  of 
great  intellect,  there  will  also  be  found  a 
lite  early  sign  of  deep  feeling.  The  one  is 
supported  by  the  other,  fostered,  encouraged, 
and  fed  by  it.  Beauty  is  indeed  the  air  it 
breathes,  but  imagination  is  the  soil  from 
which  it  draws  its  nourishment.  The  boy 
genius  is  ever  the  boy  lover,  and  having 
found  some  gentle  being  worthy  to  be  en- 
shrined in  the  sanctuary  of  his  hopes,  he 
proceeds  not  only  to  invest  her  image  with 
all  loveable  .attributes,  but  with  such  loveable 
behavior  as  seemeth  most  proper  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  his  fantasy. 

He  finds  a  spirit  rising  over  his  thoughts, 

which  gives  them  a  sort  of  softened  halo, 

that  at  some  favorable  opportunity  taketh  the 

shape  of  song  or  sonnet  delicately  fashioned 

9 


— a  sensible  adoration — an  inspiration  be 
ginning  and  ending  in  a  spiritual  heaven  of 
its  own.  Ideas  take  to  themselves  wings, 
and  fly  east  and  west,  and  north  and  south, 
!  bringing  back  the  riches,  rarities,  and  per- 
j  fections  of  the  whole  globe  with  which  to 
I  deck  this  favored  deity.  He  ransacks  the 
deepest  hollows  of  the  sea— ^ie  snatches 
glory  from  the  shining  stars — he  makes  the 
enamelled  earth  show  all  her  bravest  tapestry 
that  he  may  choose  the  daintiest  piece  of  all 
— and  far  above,  beneath,  arounjj,  and  about, 
where  splendor  shines,  or  modest  beauty 
hides,  he  bears  away  their  gifts,  as  offerings 
worthiest  of  so  pure  a  shrine. 

Truly,  as  hath  just  been  said,  this  is  the 

!  love  of  the  cool  morning  of  life,  that  differ- 

eth  as  much  in  its  nature  from  the  blushing 

sunrise   of   youth,   as   from   the    noon-tide 

heats  of  manhood ;  and  like  unto  that  early 

season  of  the   day,  it   soon   glides  into  a 

.  warmer  atmosphere.     Love,  such  as  this, 

will  always  be  found  to  have  no  purpose, 

save  the  deification  of  its  object,  which  it 

loves  to,,  worship,  rather  than  worships  to 

love.     This  way  it  goeth  on,  like  the  silk- 

i  worm  in    its    cocoon,  only  known  by  the 

pleasing  mantle  it  weaves  around  itself;  and 

;  having  at  last  spent  all  its  energies,  it  comes 

I  forth,  some  brief  space  after  its  labors,  as 

i  different  in  character  and  appearance  as  any 

i  two  things  can  be. 

This  love,  though,  let  it  be  remembered, 
made  William  Shakspeare  a  poet,  some  sign 
of  which,  albeit,  it  must  be  thought  of  all 
judges,  one  of  no  particular  greatness,  may 
be  seen  in  the  simple  ballad  found  by  the 
antiquary  in  the  book  of  songs,  which  did 
;  so  much  delight  the  good  old  knight  and  his 
companions  ;  but  it  should  aLso  be  borne  in 
mind,  such  are  ever  first  efforts.     The  ma- 
terials of  poetry  may  lie  in  prodigal  heaps 
i  within  the  brain,  but  the  fashioning  them 
i  into  the  properest  shape  comes   but  after 
j  many  trials.     The  soliloquy  the  young  poet 
spoke  in  the  place  of  the  one  intended  to  end 
the  play,  deserveth  praise  only  for  the  readi- 
ness with  which  it  was  written,  and  aptness 
for  the  occasion  which  wrought  it  into  ex- 
i  istence.     It  cannot  bo  expected  the  finish  of 
an  experienced  writer,  or  the  sufficiency  of 
i  a  mature  genius  should  be  found  in  such 
I  things.     They  should  be  taken  merely  for 
|  what  they  appear.      Nevertheless,  if  it  be 
i  thought  the  poet  was  but  in  his  pot-hooks,  1 
doubt  not  in  good  time  to  show  such  craft  of 
j  penmanship  in  him,  as  shall  be  all  men's  ad- 
I  miration  unto  the  end  of  time. 

Still  was  he  as  diligent  a  student  as  ever ; 
and  never  could  scholar  have  more  careful 
teachers  than  William  Shakspeare  had  in 


130 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


Master  Peregrine,  the  antiquary,  and  Sir 
Johan,  the  chaplain.  Ever  since  the  affair 
of  the  ballad,  each  of  these  two  watched  till 
they  could  find  the  young  student  alone,  and 
then  they  would  strive  as  never  thay  strove 
before  he  should  profit  by  their  instructions, 
in  full  belief  all  the  whilst,  that  from  his 
teaching  alone,  the  youth  had  gained  all  the 
knowledge  he  possessed.  By  their  means 
he  obtained  such  an  acquaintance  with  what 
was  worthiest  of  note  in  ancient  English 
literature,  and  Greek  and  Latin  classic  lore, 
as  it  was  scarce  possible  he  could  have  ob- 
tained by  any  other  means.  But  about  this 
time  he  began  more  to  observe  than  he  had 
hitherto  done.  He  mado  comparisons — he 
judged — he  looked  into  the  meanings  of 
things — he  commenced  studying  the  appli- 
cation of  words,  and  he  analyzed  and  weigh- 
ed, and  sifted  what  he  read,  and  what  he 
saw,  till  he  could  point  out  where  lay  the 
good  and  where  the  bad — how  they  might 
be  distinguished,  and  what  was  the  differ- 
ence between  any  two  particular  matters 
that  looked  to  be  alike.  This  study  was  not 
confined  to  books :  he  pursued  it  wherever 
he  went,  and  found  no  lack  of  subjects  in 
the  common  phenomena  of  nature.  £Jven  a 
drop  of  rain  was  some  object  for  speculation 
— the  shooting  of  a  star,  the  fructification  of 
a  plant,  and  the  falling  of  a  leaf  seemed  as 
worthy  of  inquiry.  A  storm  never  rolled 
over  him  but  the  lightning  flashed  some  new 
meaning  into  his  mind — and  he  never  wit- 
nessed the  rising  of  the  sun,  but  with  it 
came  some  fresh  light  into  his  thoughts.  As 
he  saw  the  emmets  crowding  to  and  fro 
among  the  grass,  he  would  say,  "  Wherefore 
is  this  ?"  and  whilst  he  watched  the  builders 
of  the  grove  making  their  delicate  dwellings 
in  the  forked  branches  of  the  tree,  he  would 
exclaim, (i  How  is  this  done  ?"  High  or  low 
he  sent  his  curious  mind  seeking  intelli- 
gence. Nothing  escaped  him,  and  to  his 
eager  questionings,  all  things  in  nature  gave 
him  ready  answers. 

The  gentle  Mabel  he  saw  not  again  all 
this  time.  He  frequented  her  favorite  haunts, 
but  she  was  nowhere  visible.  Day  after  day 
found  him  stealing  among  the  trees  where 
he  had  so  oft  watched  her  graceful  progress, 
but  his  anxious  gaze  was  never  blessed  with 
the  slightest  sign  of  her  presence.  He 
changed  the  time.  He  took  the  early  morn- 
ing by  the  hand  and  roamed  the  park  before 
the  hind  had  left  his  bed  of  rushes ;  but 
though  nature  rose  wooingly  to  meet  his 
glance,  lie  looked  upon  her  graces  only  as  a 
sort  of  faint  cold  picturing  of  those  he  de- 
sired to  meet  in  all  their  living  freshness  in 
a  much  fairer  original.  He  made  himself 


familiar  with  the  moon,  and  still  did  nature 
court  him  with  her  lovingest  looks,  and  still 
did  she  receive  -such  attentions  as  proved 
she  was  merely  regarded  as  the  ambassador 
of  the  fair  sovereign  of  his  thoughts.  And 
he  lingered  out  the  hours  with  twilight,  till 
she  was  lost  in  the  embraces  of  the  shadowy 
eve,  but  with  no  other  result  than  had  ac- 
companied his  earlier  seeking.  Thus  passed 
the  winter,  till  the  frost  was  gone,  the  hearth- 
side  tales  forgotten,  the  Christmas  sports  but 
faintly  remembered,  and  everything  around 
was  full  of  green  promise  and  blooming  ex- 
pectation. 

The  chief  companions  of  his  own  age 
had  long  been  the  four"  schoolfellows  before 
described — of  whom  Tom  Greene  was  such  a 
compound  of  oddness  and  drollery  as  was 
not  to  be  met  with  elsewhere.  None  like 
him  could  play  the  Hobby-horse  in  Friar 
Tuck,  or  the  Fool  in  the  May  Games,  or  tiie 
Lord  of  Misrule  in  a  Twelfth  Night  revel,  or 
the  Vice  of  a  Moral  Play.  At  plough  Mon- 
day none  was  so  much  in  request,  and  not 
less  so  was  he  at  Candlemas  eve,  or  Shrove- 
tide, or  Hocktide,  or  at  Witsun-ales,  at  a 
sheep-shearing,  or  a  harvest  home.  Dick 
Burbage  was  more  for  the  playing  of  inge- 
nious tricks,  which  he  carried  off  with  such 
a  careless  happy  impudence,  that  its  pleas- 
antry often  took  away  all  offence.  Hemings 
had  none  of  this  humor,  though  he  could 
enjoy  it  in  others  ;  yet  when  he  joined  his 
companions,  he  choose  to  play  a  courtly  part, 
if  such  could  be  had.  As  for  Condell  he 
was  ready  enough  to  do  whatever  the  others 
did.  He  would  play  with  them  at  shuffle 
board,  or  shove-groat,  in  a  mumming,  or  an 
interlude,  as  eagerly  as  he  would  join  them 
in  running  at  the  quintain,  or  assist  them  in 
the  threshing  of  a  shrove-tide  hen.  In  fact 
he  seemed  to  care  not  what  it  was,  so  he 
was  one  of  the  party,  but  if  he  might  be 
allowed  a  preference  he  would  gladly  stand 
out  for  the  playing  of  Gammer  Gurton's 
Needle. 

During  the  time  his  thoughts  were  so  busy 
feeding  of  his  fantasy  for  the  fair  maid  of 
Charlcote,  William  Shakspeare  had  joined 
his  companions  but  seldom.  In  very  truth 
he  somewhat  shrunk  from  their  boisterous 
mirth,  for  he  liked  best  to  be  alone ;  but 
seeing  nought  of  Mabel,  his  mind  for  want 
of  that  necessary  .  nourishment,  relaxed 
something  in  the  earnestness  of  its  worship 
At  such  an  age  and  with  such  a  nature  this 
ideal  idolatry  requireth  at  least  the  frequent 
presence  of  the  object,  before  it  can  take 
upon  itself  that  warmer  devotion  which  alon« 
is  lasting  and  natural ;  and  without  sight  ol 
the  idol,  the  mere  imaginative  existence  of 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


131 


this  boyish  love  soon  becomes  manifest. 
Gradually  the  thoughts  relax  in  their  search- 
ing after  admirable  things  with  which  to 
tire  their  gentle  deity.  They  go  not  so  far 
— they  stay  not  so  long — they  bring  home 
less  and  less  every  day  ;  and  thus  it  goeth 
on,  the  circuit  of  their  visits  lessening  by 
degrees,  and  their  labor  becoming  corres- 
pondingly unprofitable,  till  at  last  they  cease 
altogether  going  on  any  such  errands.  Now 
it  may  be  considered,  the  idolatry  is  at  an 
end,  though  some  faint  vestige  of  it  may 
linger  about  the  mind ;  but  it  is  a  bygone 
superstition  belonging  to  an  ideal  world,  that 
will  only  be  remembered  by  some  beautiful 
presence  in  nature  with  which  it  was  wont 
to  be  accompanied,  as  some  will  still  believe 
they  see  the  dryad  in  the  tree  and  the  nymph 
in  the  fountain.  This  was  the  time  for  en- 
tertaining that  deeper  worship  to  which  al- 
lusion has  just  been  made,  and  the  young 
poet  was  not  long  without,  meeting  with  a 
suitable  deity  willing  to  excite  and  to  re- 
ceive it. 

Hemings'  friends  lived  at  Shottery.  a  vil- 
lage at  a  little  distance  from  Stratford,  to 
which  William  Shakspeare  and  others  of 
his  companions  occasionally  resorted,  and 
one  pleasant  afternoon  as  the  young  poet 
was  returning  from  a  visit  he  had  been  pay" 
ing  to  his  schoolfellow,  he  was  aroused  from 
his  customary  meditations  when  alone,  by  a 
sweet  voice  singing  these  words  : — 

THE  SPINSTER'S  SONG. 

"  Damon  came  a  praising  me, 

Vowing  that  he  loved  me  too — 
None  like  I  so  fair  could  be, 

None  like  him  «ould  be  so  true. 
I  meant  to  chide,  but  spoke  no  sound — 
And  still  my  wheel  went  round  and  round. 

"  Damon,  somewhat  bolder  grown, 
In  his  hand  mine  fondly  placed, 
Pressed  it  gently  in  his  own, 

Then  his  arm  twined  round  my  waist. 
Somehow  I  smiled  instead  of  frowned, 
And  still  my  wheel  went  round  and  round. 

"  Damon  brought  his  face  nigh  mine, 

Though  he  knows  I  kisses  hate  ; 
I  would  baulk  his  base  desisrn — 

But,  the  wretch,  he  did  it  straight ! 
And  then  again  ! — and  still  I  found 
That  still  my  wheel  went  round  and  round." 

During  the  singing  of  these  verses,  the 
young  poet  was  engaged  in  observing  the 
singer.  At  a  little  distance  from  the  road, 
running  between  Shottery  and  Stratford,  was 
a  neat  cottage,  trailed  all  over  with  a  goodly 
pear  tree,  then  in  full  blossom,  with  a  grass 


plat  before  it.  It  was  not  one  of  the  com- 
mon sort  of  cottages,  for  it  possessed  an  ap- 
pearance of  comfort  and  respectability  which 
showed  it  belonged  to  some  person  at  least 
of  the  rank  of  a  yeoman.  There  was  in 
one  place  a  famous  brood  of  poultry,  and  in 
another  a  good  fat  sow,  with  a  litter  of  pigs, 
wandering  about  at  their  will.  A  fair  gar- 
den and  orchard  stood  beyond  the  house, 
and  in  a  neat  paddock  at  the  side  were  a  cow 
and  a  favorite  pony.  At  the  open  door, 
through  which  might  be  seen  notable  signs 
of  the  solid  comfort  that  prevailed  within, 
some  two  or  three  very  young  children  were 
taking  of  their  supper  of  porridge  in  wooden 
bowls,  occasionally  throwing  a  spoonful  to 
the  fowls,  to  the  monstrous  gratification  of 
both  parties ;  whilst  farther  off  a  boy,  of  some 
eight  or  ten  years  was  amusing  himself  with 
a  tame  rabbit.  The  singer,  however,  was 
none  of  these.  At  a  spinning  wheel,  placed 
close  to  the  house  at  a  few  yards  from  the 
door,  there  sat  a  blooming  girl,  attired  with 
that  sort  of  daintiness  with  which  such  fair 
creatures  do  love  to  set  off  their  comeliness. 
She  was  the  singer.  There  was  a  laughing 
careless  air  with  her  as  she  sung  the  words, 
that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  spectator,  much 
heightened  the  provocation  of  her  pointing 
lips,  and  large,  soft,  languishing  eyes,  her 
rich  dark  complexion,  and  the  budding  full- 
ness of  her  figure. 

William  Shakspeare  had  crept  unseen  be- 
hind a  large  walnut  tree  that  stood  in  front 
of  the  cottage,  where  he  stood  like  one  spell- 
bound, drinking  in  at  his  eyes  such  intoxi- 
cating draughts  of  beauty,  that  they  put  him 
into  a  steep  forgetfulness  of  all  other  mat- 
ters in  a  presently;  and  here  doubtless  he 
would  have  stood,  I  know  not  how  long,  had 
not  the  singer  made  some  sign  she  was  aware 
of  his  vicinity — perchance  she  knew  it  all 
the  time — however,  spying  of  a  handsome 
youth  gazing  on  her  in  a  manner  she  could 
not  misinterpret,  she  rose  from  her  seat  in  a 
seeming  great  surprise,  and  as  she  did  so 
the  young  poet,  in  voluntary  homage  to  the 
power  he  had  so  well  inclined  to  honor,  un- 
covered his  head.  There  they  stood,  notic- 
ing of  nothing  but  each  other,  and  neither 
saying  a  word.  All  at  once  the  little  chil- 
dren dropped  their  bowls,  and  with  infantile 
exclamations  of  delight  ran  as  fast  as  they 
could  to  a  tall,  honest-looking,  manly  sort  of 
a  man,  who  with  a  keg  slung  across  his 
shoulders,  and  in  a  wo'rking  dress,  seemed  as 
if  he  had  just  come  from  his  labor  in  the 
fields.  The  young  poet  turned  and  beheld 
this  person  close  behind  him,  with  the  chil- 
dren clinging  to  his  legs  with  every  appear- 
ance of  exquisite  sweet  pleasure. 


132 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  Hallo,  young  sir  !  what  dost  want  ?"  ]  himself  in  the  chimney  corner,  where  thero 
inquired  he,  eyeing  the   youthful    Shaks- !  were  seats  on  each  side.     William  Shaks- 


peare  with  some  curiousness. 

"  Truly,  I  want  nothing,"  replied  the  latter, 
a  little  taken  by  surprise,  as  it  were ;  "  I 
was  but  attracted  here  by  some  sweet  sing- 
ing, and  did  not  imagine  I  was  doing  of  any 
wrong  by  listening." 

"  Humph  !"  exclaimed  the  elder,  perfectly 
conscious  that  this  was  the  truth ;  for  he, 
having  been  behind  the  youth  from  the  first, 
had  witnessed  the  whole  affair.  "  What's 
thy  name?"  added  he. 

"  William  Shakspeare,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Thought  so,  give's  thee  hand,"  said  the 
other  frankly,  and  in  the  next  moment  the 
young  poet  found  his  palm  grasped  by  his 
new  acquaintance  with  a  friendliness  that 
quite  astonished  him.  "  Thy  father  and  I 
are  old  friends  from  boys.  Ask  of  him  if  he 
know  not  Jolm  Hathaway.  Many  a  time 
hath  he  been  in  my  house,  and  as  oft  have  I 


peare  did  as  he  was  bid,  nothing  loath,  and 
presently  the  two  fell  into  conversing  about 
ordinary  matters,  and  from  these  to  other 
topics  of  more  interest.  The  young  visitor 
appeared  desirous  of  making  a  favorable 
impression  upon  his  host,  for  he  endeavored 
to  make  all  his  talk  turn  upon  what  the 
other  was  most  familiar  with,  and  spoke  so 
learnedly  upon  the  state  of  the  crops,  the 
best  system  of  tillage,  the  prospects  of  the 
lambing  season,  and  the  breed  of  live  stock, 
that  he  not  only  won  the  honest  yeoman's 
heart,  but  he  astonished  him  monstrously 
into  the  bargain.  All  the  whilst  he  failed 
not  to  give  an  occasional  admiring  glance  at 
the  movements  of  his  new  friend's  buxom 
daughter,  who  for  her  part  seemed  to  give 
back  his  looks  with  some  interest. 

"How  dost  like  our  Anne's  singing?1' 
inquired  John  Hathaway,  when  his  daughter 


been  in  his  ;  and  famous  sport  have  we  had   had  left  the  chamber  to  put  the  children  to 

together,  I'll  warrant.     But  some  how  I  have  their  beds. 

seen  nought  of  him  of  late.     As  for  thyself,       "  Very  exceedingly  I  do  assure  you," 


I  have  heard  very  creditable  report  of  thee,' 
and  therefore  say,  with  all  heartiness,  I  am 
glad  to  see  thee  here — so  thou  must  needs 
come  in  and  take  a  bit  of  supper  with  us." 
William  Shakspeare  was  in  no  mood  for 


replied  the  youth,  with  a  notable  sincerity. 

"  Humph !"  exclaimed  the  father,  as 
though  he  were  a  thinking  of  something  he 
cared  not  to  give  speech  to.  "  Indeed  she 
nath  a  sweet  throat."  Nothing  more  was 


refusing  of  such  a  request ;  he  accepted  the  said  on  that  head  at  that  moment ;  and  they 
invitation  as  freely  as  it  was"  given,  and  both  |  again  talked  of  country  matters,  till  his  host 
entered  the  cottage  together.  There  the  j  cound  not  any  longer  contain  his  great  won- 
rack  filled  with  bacon — the  logs  blazing  i  dering  at  his  guest's  marvellous  insight  into 
comfortably  in  the  deep  chimney,  with  the  such  things,  and  inquired  how  he  acquired 


gun  hanging  above,  and  the  store  of  platters, 
bowls,  trenchers,  and  other  household  things 
that  surrounded  him  on  every  side,  were 
most  convincing  proof  to  the  visitor  that  the 
owner  lived  in  no  sort  of  want. 

"  Here,  Anne,  take  these  things,  and  draw 
us  a  jug  of  ale,"  cried  John  Hathaway,  put- 
ting down  on  the  table  what  he  had  carried 
on  his  shoulder,  as  the  singer  hastened  to- 
w.irds  him,  and  would  have  a  kiss  with  the 
resV— a  proceeding  by  the  way,  which  his 
guest  regarded  with  something  of  envy. 
"  Then  put  these  young  ones  to  their  beds, 
and  afterwards  cut  us  a  delicate  rasher,  with 
such  other  things  as  thou  hast  for  eating ; 
for  here  is  the  son  of  an  honest  friend  of 
mine  who  meaneth  to  sup  with  us." 

"  You  shall  have  a  most  dainty  supper 
anon,  father,"  replied  his  daughter,  busying 
herself  without  dela^  to  do  as  she  was  re- 
quired. In  the  meanwhile  the  youthful 
Shakspeare  was  making  friends  with  the 
children,  and  by  the  kind  affectionateness  of 


it ;  whereupon  the  other  truly  answered  he 
got  it  questioning  of  those  whose  business 
it  was.  In  good  time  the  yeoman's  bloom- 
ing daughter  returned,  ajid  busied  herself 
with  preparations  for  supper,  taking  care 
whenever  she  could  to  have  her  share  in 
the  discourse  which  she  did  with  a  pretty 
sprightliness  exceedingly  agreeable  to  her 
young  admirer.  Seeing  her  attempting  to 
move  the  great  table  nearer  to  the  fire,  he 
must  needs  jump  up,  and  ,vith  a  graceful 
officiousness,  geek  to  do  it  himself,  the 
which  she  appeared  to  object  to  in  some 
manner,  and  there  was  a  little  arguing  ot 
the  matter  betwixt  them — the  father  looking 
on  with  a  glimmering  smile,  as  if  he  could 
see  in  it  something  •exceeding  pleasant. 
The  end  was,  that  the  two  young  people 
carried  the  table  together,  manifestly  to 
their  extreme  satisfaction. 

This  John  Hathaway  was  one  of  the  most 
industrious  yeomen  in  the  country,  and  had 
been  sometime  a  widower.  He  was  of  a 


his  manner  quickly  von  their  little  hearts.     I  famous  pleasant  temper,  but  was  far  from 
"  Come,  draw  up  *liy  chair,  friend  Will,  i  making  a  boisterous  show  of  it.     He  delight- 
and  take  a  drink,"  said  his  host,  seating  j  ed  greatly  to  assist  in  the  honest  pleasures  ot 


THE  YOUTH  OF  .SHAKSPEARE. 


133 


any  other,  yet  few  could  guess  from  his 
manner  on  such  occasions,  that  he  took  the 
interest  in  it  he  did.  Imbed  he  was  some- 
what of  a  sly  humor,  and  liked  none  to  know 
when  he  was  most  pleased.  His  honest, 
well-embrowned  countenance,  set  off  with 
hair  and  beard,  getting  to  be  grey,  never 
ventured  on  such  occasions  beyond  a  lurking 
smile,  and  even  then  he  seemed  to  take  care 
the  parties  who  had  excited  it,  should  not 
see.  Doubtless  -he  was  in  a  rare  humor 
with  his  new  acquaintance,  but  though  he 
lacked  nothing  in  hospitality,  he  appeared  to 
hear  him  and  regard  him  with  so  staid  an 
aspect,  it  was  difficult  for  the  latter  to  know 
whether  he  was  satisfied  with  him  or  other- 
wise. Still  the  youth  continued  seeking  to 
entertain  his  host  with  his  converse/having 
sufficient  reward  in  the  approving  glances  of 
the  other's  sprightly  daughter,  who  was  well 
enough  acquainted  with  such  things  to  take 
a  singular  pleasure  in  observing  the  skill 
with  which  heryonng  admirer  spoke  of  them. 
In  dae  time  the  rashers  were  done,  and 
with  a  store  of  other  wholesome  victual, 
were  put  on  a  fair  white  cloth,  that  covered 
the  table,  and  William  Shak*peare  was 
pressed  with  blunt  courtesy  by  the  father, 
and  a  more  winning  persuasiveness  by  the 
daughter,  lo  partake  of  the  fare  set  before 


iis  daughter  relished  it  there  could  be  no 
questioning,  for  her  smiles  were  full  as  evi- 
dent as  her  praises. 

"  Now  friend  Will,  thee  must  be  a  going," 
ixclaimed  John  Hathaway  at  last,  in  his 
usual  plain  countryman  sort  of  manner. 
'  'Tis  my  custom  to  go  to  bed  with  the  lamb, 
and  rise  with  the  lark — an  excellent  good 
custom  I'll  warrant — so  I'll  e'en  bid  thee  a 
fair  good  night — nevertheless  I  will  add  to  it 
I  shall  be  happy  to  see  thee  at  all  times — 
and  if  I  be  not  at  home,  perchance  Anne  will 
be  as  happy  to  see  thee  as  myself."  He 
•aid  this  with  a  look  of  humor  that  shone 
through  all  the  staidness  of  his  aspect,  and 
shaking  his  visitor  heartily  by  the  hand,  he 
opened  the  door  for  his  exit.  His  daughter 
denied  not  a  word  of  what  her  father  had 
said.  Indeed,  her  glances,  as  she  bade  the 
youth  good  night,  as  plainly  said — "  Come 
again,"  as  ever  was  expressed  by  a  pair  of 
bright  eyes  since  the  world  began. 

William  Shakspeare  returned  home  with 
his  feelings  in  a  sort  of  delicious  pleasure, 
perfectly  new  to  him.  Be  sure  he  would 
have  hastened  to  the  cottage  next  day,  only 


him. 
good 


This  he  essayed  to  do  with  a  notable 
will.     After  this  the  blooming  Anne 


brewed  a  goodly  posset,  and  whilst  they 
were  enjoying  it,  her  father  called  on  her  to 
sing  him  a  song,  the  which  she  seemed  a 
little, — a  very  little  to  hesitate  upon,  with  a 
sort  of  pretty  coyness  time  out  of  mind  cus- 
tomary under  similar  circumstances,  but 
after  the  handsome  youth  had  pressed  her 
with  an  excellent  show  of  rhetoric,  she  sung 
a  dainty  ditty,  then  popular,  concerning  of 
"  The  little  pretty  Nightingale,"  and  at  least 
one  of  the  listeners  thought  it  most  exqui- 
site sweet  singing.  Then  John  Hathaway 
would  needs  have  a  song  of  his  guest,  to 
the  which  his  daughter  added  her  entreaties 
so  prettily,  the  youthful  Shakspeare  found  it 
impossible  to  resist,  whereupon  he  com- 
menced the  singing  of  a  favorite  love-song 
of  the  time,  beginning  "  If  I  had  wytt  for  to 
endyte.*'  The  words  were  of  a  pleasant 
conceit  which  gained  considerably  in  ad- 
mirableness  by  the  manner  of  his  singing, 
and  the  tune,  by  means  of  his  rich,  clear 
voice,  came  upon  the  air  a  very  river  of 
melody.  Whether  the  yeomen  liked  the 
song  could  only  be  told  by  the  pleasure 
lurking  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and 
shining  quaintly  in  his  half-closed  eye-lids, 
which  might  ba  interpreted  he  saw  more  in 


he 


was  forced  to  be  at  Sir  Marmaduke's 
to  promise.     The  old  knight  took 


rding 
idglii 


huge  delight  in  having  all  festivals  and  holi- 
days kept  with  due  ceremony  at  his  mansion. 
He  would  not  have  omitted  the  slightest 
things  savored  of  the  old  times.  Knowing 
this,  the  antiquary  called  his  young  scholar 
to  his  counsels,  for  the  express  purpose  of 
getting  up  the  festival  of  the  M-ay  in  such  a 
manner  as  should  outdo  all  former  things  of 
the  like  sort,  and  the  youth  had  been  com- 
missioned to  press  into  his  service  whoever 
he  thought  could  afford  him  proper  assist- 
ance. -These  he  had  to  make  familiar  with 
their  duties.  But  if  he  did  not  visit  the  fair 
singer  that  day,  be  sure  he  did  the  day  fol- 
lowing, invested  with  extraordinary  powers 
by  his  friend  Master  Peregrine,  with  which 
he  acquainted  his  new  acquaintance  John 
Hathaway,  and  to  his  exceeding  satisfac- 
tion found  they  were  favorably  entertained 
of  him :  the  purport  of  which  will  be  seen  anon. 
Scarce  had  the  last  day  of  April  closed, 
when,  by  the  sweet  moonlight,  William 
Shakspeare,  with  a  famous  company  of  both 
sexes — friends,  tenants,  servants,  and  others, 
started  to  a  neighboring  wood,  where  they 
searched  about  for  all  manner  of  flowers  then 
in  season,  which  they  gathered  into  nosq- 
gays  and  garlands  ;  and  broke  down  blos- 
soming boughs  of  trees,  chiefly  of  birch, 
green  sycamore,  and  hawthorn,  to  carry  home 
with  them  to  deck  the  doors  and  porches 
withal,  and  make  a  goodly  Maypole.  Fa- 


it than  the  singer  imagined — however,  that  I  mous  sport  had  they  all  the  while,  laughing 


134 


THE  YOUTH  -OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


tnd  shouting,  frolicking  in  the  'grass,  and 
wandering  about  dispersedly,  making  the 
whole  country  ring  with  their  mirth.  About 
sunrise  they  again  joined  company — men, 
women,  and  children — each  laden  with  the 
spoil  of  the  Spring.  A  tall  elm  had  been 
cut  down,  and  a  straight  and  taper  pole  fitted 
to  the  end  of  it,  and  painted  in  spiral  lines  of 
yellow  and  black.  It  was  then  prodigally 
adorned  with  garlands  of  fresh  flowers  and 
new  ribbon  of  the  gayest  colors.  Some 
forty  yoke  of  oxen  belonging  to  Sir  Marma- 
duke,  with  each  a  sweet  posey  at  the  tip  of 
his  horns  had  then  to  draw  it  home,  acconfr 
panied  on  its  slow  march  with  the  whole  of 
the  company,  bearing  their  green  boughs, 
savory  herbs,  and  odorous  blossoms. — sing- 
ing,  .leaping,  and  dancing,  as  if  nothing  could 
exceed  their  pleasure. 

The  Maypole  having  been  drawn  to  an 
open  place  in  the  park,  convenient  to  the 
house,  was  raised  up  on  high  with  a  great 
shouting  and  glee  ;  and  it  was  a  right  dainty 
sight  to  note  the  streamers  dancing  merrily 
in  the  breeze,  and  the  various  colors  of  the 
delicate  blossoms.  Having  done  this,  the 
principals  of  the  festival  had  other  prepara- 
tions to  make,  which  they  set  abouj,with  a 
proper  earnestness.  All  the  armor  in  the 
old  hall  was  presently  hid  under  boughs  and 
flowers,  and  the  like  decorations  were  pro- 
digally bestowed  in  every  direction  about  the 
"house.  On  the  floor  the  long  tables  were 
spread  with  cakes  and  other  choice  cates 
for  whoever  chose  to  come.  The  whole 
neighborhood  looked  like  a  fairy  bower,  and 
crowds  of  persons  in  strange  garments  came 
thronging  in  and  out,  looking  as  joyful  as 
ever  they  had  been  in  their  days. 

After  this,  wholesome  viands,  and  ale  of 
the  best  might  be  had  in  different  bowers 
made  of  branches  of  trees  in  the  park ;  and 
at  dinner  there  was  a  most  prodigal  banquet 
of  everything  for  to  eat  and  to  drink  that 
could  be  procured.  Here  was  a  gammon  of 
bacon-pie,  there  a  lamb  dressed  whole — in 
one  place  a  venison  pasty,  in  another  a  great 
lish,  a  shield  of  brawn  with  mustard,  a  chine 
of  beef  rpasted,  baked  chewets,  a  kid  with  a 
pudding  in  the  belly,  and  all  manner  of 
poultry,  made  but  a  small  stock  of  the  won- 
derful load  of  victual  under  which  the  table 
groaned.  Even  the  lower  messes  had  most 
handsome  entertainment,  and  every  place 
bore  sign  of  most  sumptuous  feasting.  The 
great  variety  of  dresses  then  worn,  and  the 
happy  joyous  faces  there  visible,  made  the 
whole  scene  as  pleasant  a  one  as  could  be 
imagined  ;  but  the  goodliest  feature  of  it  all 
was  old  Sir  Marmaduke  in  his  customary 
place  at  the  top  of  the  table,  regarding  every 


one  with  the  same  graciousness,  and  only 
looking  around  him  to  see  that  all  present 
were  as  happy  as  he  thought  they  ought  to 
be.  Of  the  jests  that  flew  about,  or  of  the 
tricks- that  were  played,  I  can  make  scarce 
any  mention.  The  strangeness,  however,  of 
some  groups,  methinks  should  not  escape 
notice ; — for  in  one  place  St.  George  and 
the  dragon,  forgetful  of  their  deadly  enmity, 
were  shaking  hands  introductory  to  drinking 
eacli  other's  health  ;  in  another,  Robin  Hood 
and  little  John,  as  regardless  of  their  mutual 
love,  were  seeking  which  could  lay  fastest 
hold  of  a  tankard  each  had  got  a  hand  upon ; 
here  the  fool  was  cunningly  emptying  of 
Friar  Tuck's  full  trencher  into  his  own 
empty  one,  whilst  the  other  was  turning  a 
moment  on  one  side  in  amorous  gossip  with 
his  acquaintance,  maid  Marian ;  and  then 
the  hobby-horse  was  knocking  together 
the  heads  of  Will  Stukely  and  Much,  the 
miller's  son,  who  were  leaning  over  each 
other,  laughingly  regarding  the  proceedings 
of  their  friend  in  motley. 

After  this,  by  the  great  exertions  of  young 
Shakspeare,  this  goodly  company  returned 
to  the  park  in  the  following  order  : — first, 
went  one  playing  on  the  bagpipes,  and 
another  on  the  tabor,  making  as  much  noise 
as  they  could ;  then  followed  the  Morris- 
dancers,  with  their  faces  blackened,  their 
coats  of  white  spangled  fustian,  with  scarfs, 
ribbons,  and  laces  Hying  from  every  part, 
holding  rich  handkerchiefs  in  their  hands, 
and  wearing  purses  at  their  girdles,  garters 
to  their  knees,  with  some  thirty  or  forty  lit- 
tle bells  attached  to  them,  and  feathers  at 
their  hats,  with  other  bells  at  their  wrists 
and  elbows.  They  danced  as  they  went, 
and  flaunted  their  handkerchiefs  very  brave- 
ly. Then  came  six  comely  damsels,  dressed 
in  blue  kirtles,  and  wearing  garlan'ds  of 
primroses.  After  them,  as  many  foresters 
in  tunics,  hoods,  and  hose,  all  of  grass  green, 
and  each  of  them  with  a  bugle  at  his  side, 
a  sheaf  of  arrows  at  his  girdle,  and  a  bent 
bow  in  his  hand. 

After  them  walked  William  Shakspeare, 
equipped  as  Robin  Hood,  in  a  bright  grass 
green  tunic,  fringed  with  gold  ;  his  hood 
and  hose  part-colored  blue  and  white  ;  his . 
handsome  head  was  crowned  with  a  garland 
of  rose-buds  ;  he  bore  a  bow  in  his  hand,  a 
sheaf  of  arrows  in  his  girdle,  and  a  bugle- 
horn  suspended  from  a  baldrick  of  light  blue 
tarantinb,  embroidered  with  silver,  worn  from 
hisjshonlder.  A  handsome  sword  and  dag- 
ger formed  also  part  of  his  equipments.  On 
one  side  of  him  walked  Hemings,  as  JLittle 
John  ;  on  the  other  Condell,  as  Will  Stuke- 
ly ;  and  divers  others  of  the  merry  outlaw's 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


135 


.companions  followed,  two  by  two,  all  in  their 
suits  of  green,  and  each  with  a  sheaf  of  ar- 
rows at  his  girdle,  and  a  bent  bow  in  his 
hand.  Then  came  two  fair  damsels,  in  or- 
ange colored  kirtles,  with  white'  court-pies 
or  vests,  preceding  Anne  Hathaway,  as  Maid 
Marian,  attired  in  a  watchet-colored  tunic 
reaching  to  the  ground,  with  a  white  linen 
rochet,  with  loose  sleeves  fringed  with  silver, 
and  neatly  plaited,  worn  over  it,  her  girdle 
of  silver  baudeken  fastened  with  a  double 
row  on  the  left  side ;  her  long  silken  hair, 
divided  in  many  ringlets,  flowed  down  upon 
her  fair  shoulders  ;  the  top  of  her  head  or- 
namented with  a  net-work  caul  of  gold  with 
a  garland  of  silver,  decked  with  fresh  blue 
violets  above :  truly  as  tempting  a  Maid 
Marian  as  ever  seduced  outlaw  to  the'merry 
green  wood.  After  her  came  a  company  of 
her  maidens:  some  in  sky-colored  rochets 
girt  with  crimson  girdles,  with  garlands  of 
blue  and  white  violets ;  and  others  with 
green  court-pies,  with  garlands  of  violets 
and  cowslips. 

Then  came  Sir  Marmaduke's  fat  butler, 
as  Friar  Tuck,  carrying  a  huge  quarter  staff 
on  his  shoulder;  and  with  him  Oliver  Dumps, 
the  constable,  as  Much,  the  miller's  son, 
bearing  a  long  pole  with  an  inflated  bladder 
attached  to  one  end  of  it.  Who  should  j 
come  next  but  Tom  Green,  as  the  hobby- 
horse, frisking  up  and  down,  gallopping, 
curvetting,  ambling  and  trotting  after  so 
moving  a  style,  it  naturally  forced  a  horse- 
laugh from  a  great  portion  of  the  spectators. 
It  should  be  remembered,  that  this  ancient 
feature  in  a  May-day  festival,  was  a  horse 
of  pasteboard,  having  false  legs  for  the  rider 
outside,  whilst  the  real  legs  stood  on  the 
ground,  concealed  from  the  spectators  by  the 
saddle-cloth  which  enveloped  the  hobby-horse 
all  around  ;  and  great  art  was  required  to 
make  a  proper  exhibition  of  horsemanship, 
by  the  person  appearing  to  be  its  rider. 
Then  came  our  old  acquaintance  Humphrey, 
in  the  form  of  a  dragon, — hissing,  yelling 
£.nd  shaking  his  wings  in  a  most  horrid 
manner ;  and  after  him  Dick  Burbage,  as 
St.  George,  in  full  armor,  ever  and  anon, 
giving  his  enemy  a  poke  behind,  with  his 
jvooden  spear,  that  made  him  roar  again. 
Following  these  were  a  motley  assemblage 
of  villagers  and  guests,  and  Sir  Marmaduke, 
with  his  chaplain,  in  the  midst. 

When  they  came  to  that  open  part  of  the 
park  before  described,  the  sports  recom- 
menced with  the  spirit  they  had  not  known 
all  the  day  before.  .  The  foresters  shot  at 
the  target,  and  Robin  and  his  Maid  Marian 
were  of  course  the  chiefest  of  all  for  skill. 
Some  danced  round  the  Maypole ;  but  the 


dragon,  who  had  drank  more  of  the  knight's 
good  ale  than  became  any  dragon  of  gentil- 
ity, must  needs  be  after  kissing  divers  of  the 
maidens — married  man  though  he  was,  and 
this  got  him  some  whacks  from  Much,  the 
miller's  son,  besides  a  decent  cudgelling 
from  Will  Stukely  and  Little  John.  •  Master 
Robin,  Sir  Marmaduke's  fat  butler,  made  a 
most  jolly  Friar  Tuck ;  for  with  an  irresist- 
able  droll  humor  in  his  roguish  eyes,  he 
would  walk  among  the  people  propping  of 
his  heavy  quarter-staff  upon  their  toes, 
whereupon  if  any  cried  out,  he  would  very 
gravely  preach  them  a  famous  sermon  on 
patience  under  pain  and  affliction  ;  and  bid- 
ding them  count  their  beads  and  say  their 
paternosters,  he  would  go  his  way. 

Many  persons  had  come  to  see  these 
sports  from  the  neighboring  villages,  and 
these  formed  a  crowd  nearly  all  round  the 
place.  Sir  Marmaduke  and  his  guests  had 
placed  themselves  on  a  piece  of  rising 
ground  in  front  of  the  house,  some  lying 
of  their  lengths  on  the  grass,  some  leaning 
against  trees,  some  sitting,  and  some  stand- 
ing. Sir  Johan  kept  by  the  side  of  his  pa- 
tron with  a  pleasant  gravity,  making  a  most 
admirable  choice  thanksgiving  for  the  boun- 
ties all  had  received  that  day.  Sir  Reginald, 
who  had  only  returned  to  the  mansion  the 
same  morning,  was  with  his  friend  Sir  Val- 
entine, gallantly  attending  upon  a  bevy  of 
fair  ladies  who  had  come  to  witness  the 
sports  ;  and  Master  Peregrine  was  bustling 
about  in  a  sort  of  fidgetty  delight,  explaining 
to  every  listener  he  could  lay  hold  of,  the 
history  and  antiquity  of  every  part  of  the 
festival.  It  so  happened  that  whilst  St. 
George  was  stalking  round  the  place,  armed 
with  spear  and  buckler,  striving  to  look  as 
heroic  as  ever  could  have  done  that  renown- 
ed champion,  he  spied  the  dragon  playing  at 
bo-peep  among  the  Morris-dancers,  and 
almost  at  the  same  instant  the  dragon  spied 
him.  At  which  the  latter  commenced  ad- 
vancing into  the  middle  of  the  open  space 
betwixt  the  Maypole  and  the  guests,  shaking 
of  his  wings,  yelling,  and  hissing  enough  to 
frighten  all  the  champions  in  Christendom. 

St.  George,  however,  was  after  him  witli 
long  strides,  till  they  met  in  a  very  choice 
place  for  fighting,  when  he  addressed  him  in 
these  words : — 

"  Hullo,  thou  pitiful  villain,  art  them  for  turning- 
tail  ? 

Stay  here,  I  prithee,  a  moment,  and  I  will 
make  thee  wail !" 

Whereupon  the   dragon  answered  in  a 
monstrous  fustian  voice — 
"  Out  on  thee,  Jack  Pudding  !  or  if  thou  need* 
must  stay, 


136 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


Til  swallow  thee — bones  and  all— and  leave  the 

rest  for  another  day." 

Then  exclaimed  the  champion  very  val- 
iantly, as  became  him —          , 
"  Peace,  knave  !  have  done  with  thy  humming 

and  -hawing." 

And  thereupon  the  monster  replied,  in  an 
equally  tearing  humor — • 
"  Gogs  zounds,  if  thou  comest  anigh  me  I'll 

give  thee  a  famous  clawing !" 

After  a  little  more  such  brave  language, 
in  which  each  got  famously  abused  by  the 
other,  they  seemed  intent  upon  a  desperate 
combat  of  life  and  death.  The  dragon  made 
more  noise  than  ever  he  had ;  and  came  up- 
on his  'adversary  with  his  claws  extended, 
and  his  mouth  wide  open,  as  though  he 
meant  to  make  of  him  but  a  mere  mouthful : 
but  St.  George  seemed  quite  up  to  his  tricks, 
for  he  presently  clenched  his  spear  and 
braced  his  buckler,  and  gave  the  monster  so 
sore  a  poke,  he  yelled  till  the  place  echoed 
with  him.  Then  cried  he  out  very  lustily — 
"  Wounds !  thou  caitiff  vile  !  thou  hast  broken  a 

joint  of  my  tail — 

I  die  !  I'm  dead  !  Oh  for  a  drop  of  small  ale  !" 
At  this  moment  up  comes  Much,  the  mil- 
ler's son  with  his  pole  and  bladder,  exclaim- 
ing to  the  deceased  monster  : — 
"  What  ho,  Sir  Dragon  !  hast  indeed  ceased  thy 

snubbing  ? 
Mayhap  thou  wouldst  be  the  better  for  a  decent 

drubbing." 

Upon  which  he  began  to  lay  upon  the  mon- 
ster with  his  bladder  with  such  force  the 
other  started  to  life  roaring  like  a  town  bull, 
crying  out,  as  he  rubbed  himself,  very  piti- 
fully— 

"  Go, hang  for  a  knave,  and  thy  thumping  cease, 
Canst  not  let  a  poor  dragon  die  in  peace  ?" 

But  as  the  miller's  son  evidently  had  no 
bowels  for  the  monster,  the  dragon  would 
not  stay  any  longer  to  be  drubbed,  and  rose 
to  take  himself  off  with  what  speed  he 
might ;  but  just  at  this  moment  up  came  the 
hobbyTlrorsc,  capering  away  in  the  most  del- 
ica.tc4  fashion,  and  he  thus  addressed  the 
other  : — 

"  List,  lordlings  list !  I  am  here  in  my  best  graces 
With  my  ambles,  my  trots,  and  my  Canterbury 

paces. 
Is  not  my  tail  fresh  frizzled,  and  my  mane  new 

shorn, 
And  my  bells  and  my  plumes  are  they  not 

bravely  worn  ? 

Stand  up  Sir  Dragon,  and  swear  me  sans  remorse 
There  never  was  seen  so  rare  a  hobby  horse." 

Upon  saying  which  he  neighed  like  a  young 
filiy,  and  cantered  and  careered  round  the 


monster,  so  that  he  could  not  move  in  any . 
way.  Others  of  the  characters  came  up, 
and  they  all  had  some  droll  thing  or  another 
to  say ;  and  it  ended  with  the  whole  party 
joining  hands  for  a  dance  round  a  Maypole, 
which  seeing,  Master  Peregrine,  who  had 
for  the  last  hour  fidgetted  about  as  if  he 
knew  not  what  to  do  with  himself,  suddenly 
started  from  his  place  at  the  top  of  his 
speed,  and  in  the  next  minute  had  got  the 
dragon  by  one  hand  and  the  hobby-horse  by 
the  other,  dancing  round  the  Maypole,  to  the 
infinite  delight  of  the  spectators,  with  as 
prodigal  signs  of  glee  as  though  he  were  the 
merriest  of  the  lot. 

The  youthful  Shakspeare  played  the  part 
of  king  of  the  festival,  and  in  princely  sort 
he  did  it  too  :  for  it  was  remarked  of  many, 
so  choice  a  Robin  Hood  and  Maid  Marian 
they  had  never  seen.  Doubtless  he  had 
famous  opportunities  for  increasing  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  blooming  daughter  of 
John  Hathaway,  and  there  is  every  reason 
for  supposing  he  turned  them  to  good  ac- 
count. In  due  time  the  sports  ended,  and 
he  walked  home  with  her  and  her  father—- 
who with  his  family  had  purposely  enjoyed 
a  holiday,  induced  to  it  by  the  representa- 
tions of  his  new  acquaintance — if  not  per- 
fectly in  love,  as  nigh  to  it  as  was  possible 
for  him  to  be. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day 
when  Sir  Reginald,  for  the  first  time,  found 
himself  alone  with  his  friend  Sir  Valentine, 
he  having  managed  to  draw  the  latter  to  walk 
with  him  in  the  park,  convenient  to  the 
house.  The  *  sounds  of  revelry  had  ceased, 
and  both  actors  and  spectators  had  retired  to 
their  homes.  The  two  young  knights 
strolled  together  silently  in  the  shadow  of 
the  trees,  Sir  Valentine  thinking  it  would 
be  a  favorable  opportunity  for  him  to  ac- 
quaint his  friend  with  what  had  taken  place 
betwixt  him  and  the  sovereign  of  his  heart's" 
affections,  and  ask  his  advice  and  assistance 
to  carry  on  his  suit  to  her  to  an  honorable 
conclusion. 

"Dost  remember  that  exquisite  sweet 
creature  we  rescued  from  villains  at  Kenil- 
worth  ?"  inquired  Sir  Reginald. 

"  Indeed  do  I,  marvellously  well,"  replied 
Sir  Valentine,  somewhat  wondering  his 
friend  should  begin  to  speak  of  the  very  sub- 
ject of  his  own  thoughts. 

"  I  tell  thee,  Sir  Valentine,"  continued  the 
other,  with  exceeding  earnestness,  "  all  the 
whilst  I  was  at  court,  even  amongst  the 
choicest  damsels  of  the  chiefest  families  of 
the  kingdom,  I  could  think  of  none  other  but 
her  ;  for  each  did  but  remind  me  of  her  in- 
finite superiority  in  all  loveable  delectable 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


137 


mjje.19  His  young  companion  walked  on, 
listening  with  a  pale  cheek  and  a  throbbing 
heart.  "  The  first  thing  I  did  on  approach- 
this  neighborhood,"  continued .  the  other, 
"  was  to  hie  me  to  Charlcote,  in  the  hope  of 
delighting  mine  eyes  with  a  glimpse  of  her 
fair  beauty  once  again.  I  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  meet  with  her.  She  appeared  lovelier 
than  ever,  and  a  sort  of  sadness  was  mani- 
fest in  her  dainty  fair  countenance, '  that 
made  its  attractiveness  infinitely  more  touch- 
ing. She  seemed  glad  to  see  me.  I  assure 
thee  I  lingered  in  her  delightsome  society, 
utterly  incapable  of  tearing  myself  away. 
Never  met  I  a  maiden  of  such  moving 
graces,  or  of  such  delicate  behavior.  In 
brief,  I  love  her — as  absolutely  as  ever  fond 
heart  can."  Sir  Valentine  felt  as  though  he 
could  scarce  breathe. 


he  had  done,  though  at  that  moment  his  own 
heart  was  more  forcibly  wrung  by  the  fierce 
trial  he  was  undergoing,  and  left  him  to 
school  his  nature  into  the  doing  of  what  he 
had  undertaken. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Come,  my  Celia,  let  us  prove, 
Whilst  we  can  the  joys  of  love  ! 
Time  will  not  be  ours  forever  : 
He  at  length  our  good  will  sever. 
Spend  not  then  his  gifts  in  vain 
Suns  that  set  may  rise  again  ; 
But  if  once  we  lose  this  light, 
'Tis  with  us  perpetual  night. 

BEN  JONSOJC. 


«  I  have  sought  thee  here  to  tell  thee  of    I  Wish  to  breathe  m^Tast; 'upon  thy  lips 
this  '  added  Sir  Reginald,  "knowing  thou    Those  equal  twms  of  comeliness,  I  seal 
art  the  truest  friend  that  ever  knight  had.   The  testament  of  honorable  vows. 
And  I  would  make  such  trial  of  thy  friend-  |  Whoever  be  that  man  that  shall  unkiss 


ship  as  I  would  of  none  other  living.  My 
entire  happiness  is  in  the  keeping  of  this 
most  divine  creature ;  and  I  would  give 
worlds  could  I  sigh  at  her  feet,  or  bask  in 
her  smiles  as  often  as  I  desire.  But  I  have 
plighted  my  word  to  my  honorable  good 
friend,  that  notable  brave  gentleman,  Sir 
Philip  Sydney,  to  accompany  him  in  a  cer- 
tain expedition  he  is  preparing  for,  and 
therefore  it  must  needs  be  I  can  have  but 
small  occasion  for  carrying  on  my  suit.  Be- 
ing in  this  strait,  and  knowing  of  thy  ex- 
treme trust-worthiness,  and  exceeding  love 
for  me,  I  would  obtain  at  thy  hands  such 
true  service,  as  for  thee  to  seek  out  my 


The  sacred  print  next,  may  he  prove  more  thrifty 
In  this  world's  just  applause,  not  more  desertful. 

FORD. 

THE  behavior  of  the  youthful  Shakspeare 
to  the  yeoman's  blooming  daughter,  might, 
perchance,  be  to  the  marvel  of  some  who 
have  it  in  their  remembrance  the  infinite 
delicacy  and  retiringness  of  his  conduct  to- 
wards the  beautiful  foundling  at  Charlcote, 
but  these  things  are  to  be  considered — to 
wit,  that  he  had  in  a  manner  outlived  that 
age  of  boyish  shyness  which  so  manifestly 
appeared  in  him,  and  with  it  that  mere  iden.1 
adoration  with  which  it  was  accompanied. 


soul's  idol  on  all  warrantable  occasions,  and  i  His  love  for  Mabel  was  but  a  sentiment, 
with  such  affectionate  rhetoric  as  thou  canst  born  in  the  mind  and  dying  there,  yet  her- 
alding the  coming  of  another  love,  partaking 
more  of  passion  than  of  sentiment,  engross- 
ing both  the  heart  and  the  mind  in  all  their 
entireness,  and  showing  such  a  vigorous  ex- 
istence as  plainly  proved  how  firm  a  hold  it 
had  on  the  powerfullest  energies  of  life. 


master  for  so  loving  a  purpose,  urge  her  on 
my  behalf.     Give  her  no  cause  to  mark  my 


absence. 

tunities. 

tion  to  her,  and  thy  manner  of  such  a  sort 

as  should  convince  her  of  its  earnestness." 


Press  her  with  passionate  impor- 
Let  thy  talk  be  ever  of  my  devo- 


Sir  Valentine  essayed  to  speak,  but  the  Anne  Hathaway  was  altogether  different 
words  died  unuttered  in  his  throat.  i  from  the  foundling.  Her  rich  rosy  com- 

"  Can  I  have  such  important  service  ren- 1  plexion — her  careless  free  glance,  and  her 
dered  me  ?"  inquired  Sir  Reginald.  "  But  |  eloquent  soft  smiles  expressed  quite  another 
I  am  assured  I  cannot  appeal  to  so  true  a  j  character.  Her  manners  were  equally  op- 
friend  unprofitably.  I  know  enough  of  that  posite — being  of  that  heedless  enticing  sort, 
honorable  worthy  nature  to  convince  me  no-  wrhich  draweth  all  eyes  admiringly,  and  soon 
thing  will  be  left  undone  that  these  circum-  suns  them  into  a  social  delightsome  warmth, 
stances  require."  ;  But  this  was  nothing  more  than  the  outward 

Sir  Valentine  managed  at  last  to  utter  his  display  of  a  natural  fond  •  temperament, 
Consent  to  do  what  was  required  of  him ;  and  where  the  heart  was  overflowing  with  gen- 
then  fearful  he  should  betray  his  own  feel-  j  erous  sweet  feelings,  and  was  anxious  for 
ings  if  he  stopped  where  he  was,  he  made  j  an  object  on  whom  to  display  its  exceeding 
an  excuse  for  hurrying  away,  wrung  his  bountifulness.  Such  a  one,  clothed  with 
friend's  hand  more  affectionately  than  ever  such  resistless  fascinations,  was  sure  to 


138 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


produce  an  extraordinary  impression  on  the 
ardent  nature  of  the  young  poet.  Her  ap- 
proving glance — her  seductive  smile — or 
her  slightest  touch,  filled  him  with  a  sense 
of  joyousness  no  language  could  express. 

These  were  unequivocal  signs  of  love  in 
its  riper  stage.  At  this  period  of  youth  the 
imprisoned  affections  burst  from  their  womh, 
and  start  into  life  with  impulses  that  will 
allow  of  no  controlling.  Everything  wear- 
eth  a  new  aspect.  A  rosier  light  shines 
through  the  atmosphere.  A  warmer  breath 
is  felt  upon  the  breeze.  A  multitude  of  new 
feelings  seem  struggling  in  the  breast  to 
have  free  development,  and  in  fact  the  whole 
humanity  appeareth  to  take  on  itself  a  char- 
acter perfectly  distinct  from  that  which  it 
had  previously  worn.  Nature  now  whis- 
pereth  in  the  ear  a  secret  unthought  of 
hitherto ;  and  all  the  man  riseth  at  the  intel* 
ligence,  filled  with  a  mysterious  influence — 
a  sense  of  happiness  and  power — and  a 
knowledge  of  that  sweet  philosophy  whose 
right  use  maketh  a  very  Eden  of  delight  to 
the  Adams  and  Eves  of  every  passing  gen- 
eration. 

Anne  Hathaway  received  the  advances 
of  her  youthful  lover  so  welcomingly,  that 
he  lacked  nothing  of  inducement  to  proceed. 
Indeed,  hers  was  not  a  disposition  to  with- 
stand the  passionate  ardor  of  so  prepossess- 
ing a  wooer,  and  from  the  first  hour  of  their 
meeting,  she  had  regarded  him  with  most 
favorable  sentiments.  It  was  sometime  af- 
ter the  May-day  festival  that  the  blooming 
Anne,  as  was  customary  with  her,  sat  ply- 
ing of  her  wheel  in  her  old  place,  whilst  her 
youthful  lover,  as  was  usual  with  him,  had 
drawn  a  seat  close  to  hers,  having  his  arm 
resting  on  the  back  of  her  chair.  Some  ex- 
quisite speeches  and  passionate  admiring 
looks  from  him,  were  followed  by  a  suffi- 
ciency of  sprightly  answers  and  bright  pro- 
voking glances  from  her.  Thus  had  their 
mutual  passion  advanced  and  no  further, 
but  it  was  soon  to  show  more  endearing  signs. 

"  Canst  affect  verses,  Anne  ?"  inquired 
the, young  poet. 

"  Ay,  a  sweet  love  song,  of  all  things," 
replied  the  village  beauty,  in  her  ordinary 
free-hearted  way. 

"  Wouldst  approve  of  them  any  the  more 
if  thou  wert  their  subject  ?"  asked  he. 

"Should  I  not?"  answered  she,  archly. 
"  Marry,  1  must  needs  think  them  the  finest 
sweetest  verses  ever  writ." 

"  I  have  essayed  the  writing  of  some," 
continued  her  youthful  lover  in  a  more  ten- 
der manner.  "  But  I  am  rather  out  of  heart 
I  have  not  produced  a  poem  more  worthy  of 
thy  exceeding  merit." 


"  Hast,  indeed,  written  something  of  me  ?." 
exclaimed  the  yeoman's  buxom  daughter, 
glancing  at  him  a  look  of  infinite  curiosity 
and  pleasure.  "  O'  my  word,  now,  I  should 
be  right  glad  to  see  it.  ' 

"  If  thou  wilt  promise  to  pardon  my  too 
great  boldness,  I  will  here  read  these,  my 
poor  verses,"  said  the  young  poet.  His 
companion  was  too  eager  to  know  what 
could  he  have  written  about  her,  to  care 
much  what  she  promised:  so,  whilst  she 
sent  her  wheel  round  very  diligently,  her 
youthful  lover  drew  a  paper  from  beneath 
his  doublet,  and  soon,  with  an  exquisite  im- 
passioned manner,  and  soft  mellow  voice — 
somewhat  tremulous  here  and  there — he 
commenced  reading  what  is  here  set  down. 

LOVE'S  ARGOSIE. 

"  Awhile  ago  I  passed  an  idle  life 

Like  as  a  leaf  that's  borne  upon  the  breeze  ; 

Thoughtless  of  love  as  lambkin  of  the  knife, 
Or  the  young  bird  of  hawk,  among  the  trees. 

I  knew  not,  thought  not,  cared  not  for  the  mor- 
row, 

And  took  unblessed  my  daily  joy  or  sorrow. 

I  saw  the  bounteous  hand  of  Nature  fling 
Her  princely  largess  over  each  green  place  ; 

I  saw  the«blushes  of  the  tender  Spring 

Hiding  within  the  summer's  warm  embrace 

I  saw  the  burthened  Autumn  fast  expiring, 

And  Winter,  in  the  year's  grave,  make  a  cheer- 
ful firing. 

"  Yet  all  the  time  was  I  as  blind  as  mole 

Who  digs  his  habitation  in  the  dark, 
Though  light  there  was,  it  fell  not  on  my  soul, 
A  fire  burned  bravely  that  showed  me  no 

spark ;  > 
Whilst   all  owned   Nature's  spells,   I  saw  no 

charming, 

And  still  kept  cold  whilst  others  were  a  wann- 
ing. 

"  When  suddenly  my  eyes  threw  ope  their  doors. 

And  sunny  looks  flashed  in  their  fond  desires  ; 

The  chambers  of  my  heart  found  glowing  floors 

For  there  each  hearth  blazed  with  continual 

iires  : 

I  saw  the  magic,  felt  the  bliss  'twas  bringing,    . 
And  knew  the  source   whence  these   delights 
were  springing. 

"  For  then  it  was  indifference  met  its  death, 
And  my  new  life  new   climates  seemed  to 

seek ; 

The  sweet  south  flung  its  odors  from  thy  breath, 
And  the  warm  East  came  blushing  o'er  thy 

cheek. 

Thy  sin  fles  were  endless  Summer's  rosy  dances. 
And  the  soft  zone  shone  ip  thy  torrid  glances, 

"  And  as  thy  wondrous  beauty  I  beheld, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


139 


A  thousand  unknown  raptures  on  me  came  ; 
The  flood  of  life  by  some  strange  power  im- 
pelled, 
Rushed  through  its  channels,  turned  to  liquid 

flame  ; 
And  then  with  me  there  seemed  such  blooming 

weather, 

As  though  all  seasons  showered  their  flowers 
together. 

"  And  as  I  basked  in  thy  subduing  guze, 

And  caught  the  thrilling  spirit  of  thy  smile  ; 

I  marvelled  I  had  lived  so  many  days 
So  blind,  so  cold,  so  ignorant  the  while  ; 

'  Certes,'  quoth  I,  '  I've  been  in  far  off  places, 

Else  had  I  sooner  known  such  moving  graces. 

"  Ay — in  strange  latitudes  and  unknown  waves, 
Having  no  compass,  aid  of  chart  denie'd, 

There  rose  before  me  mountains,  plains,  and 

caves, 
And  a  new  world  my  curious  vision  spied  : 

And  then  it  was  that  fair  country,  thy  beauty, 

Brought  me  to  anchor — a  most  welcome  duty. 

"  To  turn  discovery  to  best  account, 

I  studied  every  feature  of  the  land  ; 
I   scanned     where'er   the   highest   fruit  could 

mount, 

I  touched  the  tender  produce  of  thy  hand  ; 
And  every  where  such  heaps  of  sweets  were 

growing, 

No  place  011  earth  could  be  so  worth  the  know- 
ing. 

"  Then  having  this  bright  world  so  newly  found, 
And  learned  its  fitness  for  an  honest  home, 

Must  I  be  now  on  a  fresh  voyage  bound, 
Again  in  unknown  latitudes  to  roam  ? 

Oh  might  I  name  it,  hold  it,  own  it,  rather, 

And  from  its  spoil  a  matchless  fortune  gather ! 

'•'  Dear  heart !  sweet  life  !  most  admirable  fair 

saint ! 

To  thee  my  soul  its  fond  devotion  brings, 
Like  a  poor  pilgrim  weary,  worn,  and  faint 

To  taste  the  comfort  which  thy  beauty  brings  : 
Hear  how  thy  praise  all  excellence  excelleth  ! 
Hear  how  my  prayer  within  my  worship  dwel- 
leth  ! 

"  Believe  me  the  fond  charm  thou  dost  possess, 
Is  not  a  gift  meant  to  be  idly  used, 

But  a  kind  solace  that  should  come  to  bless 
That  heart  whose  blessings  thou  hast  not  re- 
fused. 

I  see  it  in  a  promise  and  a  token 

Of  flowery  bands  that  never  can  be  broken. 

"  And  now  like  those  bold  mariners  of  ships, 
That  from  all  ports  do  take  their  merchan- 
dize 
My  bark  would  I  unlaid  upon  thy  lips, 


Which  awhile  since  I  freight^Pt  thine  eyes, 
Yet  e'er  from  such  kind  port  my  sails  are  fad- 
ing, 
Doubt  not  I  bear  away  a  richer  lading. 

"  Bring  here  the  ivory  of  thy  fair  arms, 

And  lustrous   jewels    which   thine    eyelids 

hold, 

Bring  here  the  crowning  of  thy  store  of  charms, 

The  silky  treasures  which  thy  brows  enfold  ; 

Bring  here  the  luscious  fruits  thy  soft  cheek 

beareth, 

And  those  rare  pearls  and  rubies  thy  mouth 
weareth  ! 

"  But  that   which  doth  them  all  in  rareness 

beat — 
The   choicest    traffic    brought    from  loving 

isles — 
Bring  me  the  dainty  balm  and  odorous  sweet, 

That  fills  thy  tempting  treasury  of  smiles  : 
That  whilst  I'm  filled  with  beauty's  precious 

blisses, 
Thou  makest  me — an  argosie  of  kisses  !" 

It  was  scarce  possible  to  have  met  with  a 
prettier  sight  than  the  yeoman's  blooming 
daughter  listening  with  her  eyes  sparkling 
unutterable  pleasure,  as  the  young  poet  read 
to  her  her  tuneful  praises.  The  wheel  went 
round,  but  she  spoke  not  a  word.  Indeed 
she  would  not  hazard  so  much  as  a  syllable, 
fearful  she  might  by  it  lose  some  part  of 
those,  to  her,  exquisite  verses.  At  the  con- 
clusion, wherein  his  voice  sunk  to  a  tremu- 
lous soft  murmur,  he  lifted  his  gaze  from 
the  paper  to  the  flushed  countenance  of  his 
fair  companion,  and  received  a  glance 
he  could,  not  fail  to  understand.  Upon  a 
sudden,  his  arm  fell  from  -the  back  of  her 
chair,  and  encircled  her  girdle,  and — and — 
and  the  wheel  stopped  for  a  full  minute. 

"Humph!"  exclaimed  a  familiar  voice, 
close  at  hand,  and  starting  from  their  affec- 
tionate embrace,  they  beheld  John  Hatha- 
way witli  that  peculiar  expression  peeping 
from  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  mouth, 
which  marked  the  more  than  ordinary  plea- 
sure he  took  in  anything.  In  a  moment 
the  blushing  Anne  was  diligently  looking 
on  the  ground  for  something  she  had  never 
lost ;  and  her  youthful  lover,  in  quite  as 
rosy  a  confusion,  was  gallantly  assisting  her 
to  find  it.  To  the  father's  sly  question  the 
daughter  answered  a  little  from  the  purpose  ; 
and  as  for  the  young  poet  he  all  at  once  re- 
membered some  pressing  duty  that  called 
him  thence,  took  a  hurried  leave  of  his 
friend  the  yeoman,  who  was  evidently 
laughing  in  his  sleeve  the  whilst,  and  with 
a  quick  fond  glance,  repaid  with  interest,  to 


140 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


his  fair  mSKss — whose  sprightliness  had 
somehow  forsalcen  her — he  wended  his  way 
back  to  Stratford. 

In  very  truth,  he  was  in  far  too  happy  a 
state  to  have  stayed  where  he  was,  and  a 
third  person  by.  His  feelings  were  in  a 
complete  tumult ;  his  thoughts  in  a  deliciou 
confusion.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  have 
taken  the  whole  world  in  his  arms,  he  was 
on  such  friendly  terms  with  every  one.  He 
experienced  the  delightful  consciousness  of 
being  loved — to  him  a  new  and  rare  enjoy- 
ment— and  his  was  a  disposition  fitted  to  re- 
ceive it  with  a  sense  of  such  extreme  plea- 
sure as  humanity  hath  seldom  known. 
What  were  his  thoughts  when  he  could  get 
to  any  reasonable  thinking — or  his  feelings, 
when  he  returned  to  his  ordinary  sensations, 
I  cannot  take  upon  me  to  say  ;  but  all  point- 
ed to  one  subject,  and  rose  from  one  subject ; 
and  whether  he  regarded  Himself  or  the 
world  around  him,  it  came  to  the  same  matter. 
To  him  everything  was  Anne  Hathaway ; 
but  especially  all  wisdom,  goodness,  beauty, 
and  delight,  took  from  her  their  existence, 
and  gave  to  her  their  qualities.  She  was,  in 
brief,  the  sun  round  which  the  rest  of  crea- 
tion must  needs  take  its  course.  In  this 
excitement  of  mind  and  heart  he  proceeded 
on  his  path,  only  brought  to  a  more  sober 
state  as  he  neared  home.  It  so  happened, 
at  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  his  attention 
was  forcibly  attracted  by  the  riotous  shout- 
ing of  a  crowd  round  the  horse  pond. 

"  Prithee  tell  me,  what  meaneth  this  huge 
disturbance  ?"  inquired  he  of  one  of  the 
knot  of  old  women,  who  beating  the  end  of 
her  stick  furiously  on  the  ground,  knocked 
together  her  pointed  nose,  and  chin,  as  she 
poked  her  head  towards  one,  and  then  to- 
wards another,  with  all  the  thorough  earn- 
estness of  a  confirmed  gossip. 

"Meaneth  it?"  replied  Mother  Flytrap, 
in  her  cracked  treble,  as  she  rested  her  two 
ffands  upon  her  stick,  and  thrust  her  ancient 
visage  close  to  the  face  of  the  querist.  "  By 
my  fackings,  it  meaneth  the  very  horriblest, 
infamousness  that  ever  was  seen  in  this 
mortal  world.  But  it's  what  we  must  all 
come  to." 

"  Ay,  marry — flesh  is  grass  !"  said  an- 
other old  beldame. 

"But  I  have  my  doubts — I  have  my  doubts, 
gossip,"  mumbled  out  another  of  the  tribe  ; 
"  it  hath  been  credibly  said  strange  lights 
and  unchristian  noises  have  appeared  in  her 
cottage  ;  and  I  did  myself  see,  standing  at 
her  door,  the  very  broom  some  do  say  she 
flies  through  the  air  upon." 

"  Odds  codlings,  hast  though,  indeed  !"  in- 


quired Mother  Flytrap,  with  something  like 
horror  muffled  up  in  the  hues  of  her  parch- 
ment skin.  "Well,  if  she  be  a  witch,  she 
must  either  drown  or  swim — that's  one  com- 
fort." 

"  Who's  a  witch  ?"  asked  William  Shak- 
speare,  who  had  turned  from  one  to  the 
other  of  his  companions,  in  a  vain  hope  of 
getting  the  intelligence  he  required. 

"  God's  precious  !  who  but  Nurse  Cicely, 
that  hath  bewitched  Farmer  Clodpole's 
cows,"  replied  one  of-  the  women;  and 
scarce  were  the  words  out  of  her  mouth, 
when  the  young  poet,  with  an  infinite  small 
show  of  gallantry,  pushed  his  way  through 
them,  and  rushed  with  all  his  force  into  the 
crowd.  The  outcries  he  heard  seemed  to 
him  the  yells  of  savage  beasts  eager  for 
blood.  Shouts  of  "  In  with  her!" — "Drown 
the  old  witch  !"  and  all  sorts  of  oaths  and 
ribald  expressions  came  to  his  ears,  with  the 
half-choked  screaming  of  their  victim.  He 
thrust  himself  forward,  pushing  the  crowd 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  till  he  stood  upon 
the  brink  of  the  pond  ;  and  just  beheld  his 
faithful  old  nurse  emerging  from  the  water, 
gasping  for  breath,  while  some  dozen  or  so 
of  rude  ploughboys,  butchers,  and  the  like 
characters,  kept  encouraging  one  another  in 
helping  to  drown  the  poor  creature.  With- 
out a  word  said,  William  Shakspeare  sprung 
upon  the  busiest  of  the  lot,  and  tumbled  him 
into  the  pond,  evidently  to  the  exceeding 
pleasure  of  the  majority  of  the  spectators. 
Perchance,  his  companions  would  have  re- 
sented this,  but  directly  young  Shakspeare 
made  his  appearance,  a  throng  of  his  old 
associates  hurried  from  all  parts  of  the 
crowd,  and  made  a  simultaneous  rush  upon 
the  tormentors  of  the  poor  nurse,  by  which 
help,  divers  of  them  were  presently  sent 
floundering  alongside  of  their  fellow,  the 
which  the  lookers  on  seemed  to  enjoy  above 
all  things. 

Whilst  Humphrey,  now  growing  to  be 
monstrous  valiant,  Green,  Burbage,  Hem- 
ings,  and  Condell  were,  with  others  of  a  like 
spirit,  putting  to  flight  such  of  the  lewd 
villains  as  seemed  inclined  to  stand  out  upon 
the  matter,  William  Shakspeare  carefully 
drew  Nurse  Cicely  out  of  the  pond,  untied 
tier  bonds,  and  bore  her,  all  dripping  as  she 
was,  to  her  own  cottage,  where,  with  the 
assistance  of  some  humane  neighbors,  he  at 
ast  succeeded  in  rescuing  her  from  the 
death  with  which  she  had  been  threatened. 
The  gratitude  of  the  poor  creature  was  be- 
yond all  conceiving  ;  and  at  last  the  object 
of  it  felt  obliged  to  take  himself  out  of  hear- 


tliE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


141 


ing  of  her  earnest  prodigal  thankfulness  and  |  them  no  more  merey  than  a  hungry  wolf  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  tilings,"  replied 


praise. 

Among  the  observers  of  the  scene  just  de- 
scribed, regarding  the  chief  personage  in  it 
with  more  intentness  than  any  there,  was  a 
somewhat  crabbed-looking  man,  meanly  clad, 
who,  from  beside  a  tree  a  little  above  the 
pond,  had  witnessed  the  whole  transaction. 
When  the  woman  was  rescued,  he  followed 
her  deliverer  at  some  distance,  accosting 
none,  and  replying  to  such  as  were  hardy 
enough  to  speak  to  him,  in  so  rough  unman- 
nerly a  manner  few  sought  acquaintance 
with  him.  Whilst  William  Shakspeara  was 
in  the  cottage,  this  person  loitered  at  a  little 
way  from  it,  occasionally  leaning  on  his 
staff,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground — then 
glancing  at  the  cottage-door,  and  strolling 
leisurely  about  without  losing  sight  of  it. 

As  the  young  poet  was  hastening  from  his 
old  nurse's  dwelling,  in  a  famous  pleasure 
with  the  result  of  his  exertions,  he  heard 
some  one  close  at  his  heels.  Presently,  a 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  turn- 
ing round,  he  beheld  John  a  Combe,  the 
usurer.  He  had  long  been  familiar  with  his 
person,  having  met  with  him  before  fre- 
quently, and  had  imbibed  a  respect  for  his 
character  from  the  favorable  opinions  of  him 
expressed  by  his  parents.  Such  portion  of 
his  history  as  was  known  he  had  been  made 
acquainted  with  from  many  sources,  but  the 
mystery  which  had  enveloped  him  since  his 
extraordinary  change,  he  never  had  acquired 
anv  more  knowledge  of  than  the  rest  of  his 
townsfolk. 

"  Dost  shrink  from  me,  boy  ?"  inquired 
John  a  Combe,  in  a  sharp  thick  voice,  as  he 
noticed  a  sudden  start  of  surprise  in  the 
youth  when  he  recognized  the  usurer.  "  Art 
ashamed  of  being  seen  with  Old  Ten  in  the 
Hundred  ?  Wouldst  desire  no  acquain- 
tance with  one  whose  heart  clingeth  to  his 
gold,  and  shutteth  his  soul  against  all  sym- 
pathy with  humanity  ?" 

"  I  think  not  of  you  in  that  way,  Master 
Combe,  believe  me,"  replied  his  young  com- 
panion, with  his  usual  gentle  courtesy. 

"  Then  thou  art  a  fool,  Will  Shakspeare  !" 
gruffly  exclaimed  the  other ;  heed  thou  the 
general  voice.  Ask  of  whomsoever  thou 
wilt  concerning  of  John  a  Combe,  the  usurer. 
Will  they  not  tell  thee  he  is  a  very  heartless 
tyrant,  who  liveth  upon  the  widow's  sighs 
and  the  orphan's  tears, — who  grinds  the 
poor  man's  bones,  and  drinks  the  prodigal's 


blood  ?     Do   they   not   swear  in 
movinjjest  execrations  he 


the 


very 


is  a  persecuting 
relentless  enemy  to  all  his  race,  who  careth 
only  to  set  baits  for  their  carcases,  and 
when  he  hath  got  them  in  his  toils,  showeth 


William  Shakspeare.  "  Indeed,  I  have  known  - 
divers  speak  of  you  as  having  shown  such 
honorable  good  qualities  as  entitled  you  to 
the  love  of  all  honest  men." 

"  Then  were  they  greater  fools  than  thou 
art,"  sharply  exclaimed  *ohn.  a  Combe,  "  I 
tell  thee  I  am  such  a  one.  I  find  my  hap- 
piness in  the  misery  of  others.  I  live  when 
my  fellows  die.  My  h£art  is  but  a  pedestal 
that  carry eth  a  golden  image,  at  which  I 
force  all  the  children  of  want  to  bow  them- 
selves down,  arid  then  trample  on  their  necks 
to  make  me  sport." 

"  In  very  truth,  I  can  believe  nothing  of  it,  i 
worthy  sir,"  observed  his  young  companion. 
"  Methinks  too,  what  you  have  said  is  so  op- 
posite to  what  I  have  heard  from  the  credi- 
blest  testimony  you  have  done,  that  it  is  too 
unnatural  to  be"  true.  Was  it  not  Master 
Combe,  who  spent  his  substance  freely  to 
better  the  condition  of  his  poorer  neighbors  ? 
Was  it  not  Master  Combe,  who  held  his  life 
as  at  a  pin's  fee,  to  guard  his  fellow  creatures 
from  the  destroying  pestilence  ?" 

"  Ay,  I  was  once  of  that  monstrous  folly," 
said  the  usurer  with  great  bitterness;  "I 
carried  wine  in  a  sieve — only  to  be  spilled 
upon  barren  ground.  What  have  I  learned 
by  this  prodigal  expenditure  and  silly  pains- 
taking ?  The  notable  discovery  that  men 
are  knaves  and  women  wantons — that  friend- 
ship is  a  farce  and  love  a  cheat — that  ho- 
nesty is  a  fool  and  honor  a  bubble — and  that 
the  whole  world  hath  but  one  particular  in- 
fluence on  which  its  existence  holds — and 
that  is  utter  villainy." 

"  As  far  as  I  have  seen,  everything  of 
which  you  have  spoken  hath  an  entire  dif- 
ference," said  the  other.  "  That  there  may 
be  bad  men  amongst  the  good  I  cannot  take 
upon  me  to  deny  ;  but  that  this  should  con- 
demn all  mankind  for  vilcness,  seemeth  ex- 
ceeding unjust.  According  to  what  I  have 
learned,  man  in  favorable  circumstances  will 
generally  be  found  possessed  of  the  best 
qualities  of  manhood  ;  and  such  is  the  natural 
excellence  of  his  nature  that  even  under  most 
unfit  occasions  the  proper  graces  of  humanity 
will  flourish  in  him  as  bravely  as  though  they 
had  the  most  tender  culture." 

"  Tut !"  cried  John  s.  Combe,  impatiently  : 
"  'tis  the  opinion  of  such  as  have  gained  their 
knowledge  in  closets.  They  take  for  granted 
what  is  told  them,  and  their  poor  pride  will 
not  allow  of  their  crediting  anything  that  is 


to  the  prejudice  of  their  own  natures. 

"  And  as  for  woman."  continued  the  young 
poet  more  earnestly,  "  'tis  hard  to  say  one 
word  against  a  creature  so  excellently  gifted. 


142 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARfc. 


Methinks  she  would  make  praise  a  beggar, 
by  her  worthiness  taking  all  he  hath  !" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  exclaimed  the  usurer  in  a  sort 
of  scornful  laugh.  "  Why,  boy,  thy  nature 
is  in  a  rare  humor  to  be  cozened.  Didst  ever 
hear  of  any  particular  villainy  out-vilino1  all 
things,  that  did  not  come  of  a  woman?  Who 
was  it  that  first  heldTClknvship  with  a  serpent 
for  man's  undoing, — on  which  occasion  she 
showed  how  near  her  disposition  was  to  the 
crawling  crafty  venom  of  her  chosen  asso- 
ciate. But  she  soon  outdid  the  reptile  in  his 
own  vocation ;  and  now  her  craft  would 
laugh  the  fox  to  scorn,  and  her  guile  cheat 
the  serpent  to  his  face." 

"  I  should  be  loath  to  think  so  ill  of  her, 
having  had  most  convincing  proofs  of  her 
different  character,' '  said  the  youthful  Shaks- 
peare,  with  a  very  pleasurable  remembrance 
of  one  at  least  of  that  sex.  "  For  mine  own 
part  I  conceive  there  is  no  telling  all  her 
goodness  ;  but  I  do  remember  some  senten- 
ces in  which  it  doth  appear  to  me  her  true 
nature  is  most  admirably  painted,  and  they 
are  these : — '  of  her  excellence  I  would  con- 
tent myself  with  asking — what  virtue  is  like 
to  a  woman's  ?  What  honesty  is  like  to  a 
woman's  ? — What  love — what  courage — 
what  truth — what  generousness — what  self- 
denial — what  patience  under  affliction,  and 
forgiveness  for  every  wrong,  come  at  all 
nigh  unto  such  as  a  woman  showeth  ? 
Believe  me,  the  man  who  cannot  honor  so 
truly  divine  a  creature,  is  an  ignorant  poor 
fellow,  whom  it  would  be  a  compliment  to 
style  a  fool, — or  an  ungrateful  mean  wretch, 
whom  charity  preventeth  me  from  calling 
a  villain  !'  Said  you  not  these  words,  Master 
Combe,  for  I  have  been  told  they  were  of  your 
Own  speaking  1j} 

"  Doubtless !"  exclaimed  John  a  Combe 
with  a  sarcastic  emphasis.  "  I  was,  when  I 
uttered  such  words,  as  thou  art  now — moved 
by  a  strong  belief  in  the  existence  of  quali- 
ties with  which  my  wishes  were  more  fami- 
liar than  my  vision.  Appearances  looked 
fair,  and  I  took  for  granted  all  things  were 
what  they  seemed.  But  of  most  choice  maj- 
ters  woman  seemed  infinitely  the  rarest. 
There  is  nought  I  would  not  have  said,  there 
is  nought  I  would  not  have  done,  to  prove  how 
far  above  ordinary  merit  I  thought  her  ex- 
ceeding excellence.  I  was  a  fool — a  poor, 
ignorant,  weak  fool,  who  will  readily  take 
brass  well  gilt  for  the  sterling  metal.  I  had 
to  learn  my  lesson,  and  in  good  time  it  was 
thoroughly  taught  me.  Experience  rubbed 
off  the  external  show  of  worth  that  had  chea- 
ted mine  eyes  into  admiration  and  my  heart 
into  respect  ;  and  the  base  stuff  in  all  its 
baseness  stood  manifestly  confessed  before 


me.  Woman !"  added  he  with  increasing 
bitterness, "  go  search  the  stagnant  ditch  that 
fills  the  air  with  petilential  poison — where 
toads  and  snakes  fester  among  rotting  weeds, 
and  make  a  reeking  mass  of  slime  and  filth 
around  them, — I  tell  thee,  boy,  nothing  of  all 
thatvileness  approacheth  to  the  baseness  of 
her  disposition.  Woman  !  She  is  an  outrage 
upon  nature,  and  a  libel  upon  humanity. — A 
fair  temptation  that  endeth  in  most  foul  dis- 
appointment.— The  very  apples  on  the  shores 
of  the  dead  sea,  that  are  all  blooming  with- 
out and  all  rottenness  within — a  thing  that 
hath  never  been  truly  described  save  under 
those  shapes  believed  in  a  past  religion,  whose 
features  were  human,  and  whose  person 
bestial.  Woman !  She  is  the  mother  of  in- 
famy, ready  to  play  the  wanton  \vith  all  the 
vices,  and  fill  the  world  with  a  fruitful  pro- 
geny of  crimes.  She  is  the  cozener  of  hon- 
esty— the  mockery  of  goodness — a  substan- 
tial deceit — a  living  lie !" 

"  I  pray  you  pardon  me,"  said  his  young 
companion  ;  "  these  are  most  intolerable  ac- 
cusations, and  no  warrant  for  them  as  I  can 
see." 

"  Warrant !"  cried  the  usurer,  now  with 
his  whole  frame  trembling  with  excitement  ; 
"  I  have  had  such  warrant — such  damnable 
warrant,  as  leaveth  me  not  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt  on  the  matter.  J.  have  heard — I  have 
seen — I  have  felt !"  continued  he  grasping 
the  shoulder  of  the  youth  convulsively,  then 
seeming  to  make  a  mighty  effort  to  conquer 
his  emotions,-  which  for  a  moment  appeared 
almost  to  choke  him,  he  added  in  a  calmer 
voice — "  But  it  matters  not.  Perchance  thou 
wilt  have  the  wit  to  discover  nil  that  I  would 
have  said.  I  am  in  no  mind  to  let  the  gossips 
of  the  town  meddle  with  my  secrets.  1  like 
not  they  should  say  '  poor  John  a  Combe  !' 
for  I  care  not  to  have  their  pity.  Say  not  to 
any  thou  hast  spoke  tome  on  such. a  subject, 
and  when  thou  hast  a  mind  to  pap.s  an  hour 
with  Ten  in  the  Hundred  come  to  my  dwel- 
ling ;  I  should  be  glad  to  see  thee,  which  I 
would  say  of  no  other  person.  Thou  art  the 
son  of  an  honest  man,  and  I  have  seen  signs 
in  thee  that  prove  thou  art  worthy  of  thy 
father."  Saying  these  words,  John  a  Combe 
hastily  took  his  departure  down  a  turning  in 
the  street,  leaving  William  Shakspeare  mar- 
velling hugely  at  what  had  passed  between 
them. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


143 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Follow  a  shadow,  n  still  flies  you, 
Seek  to  fly,  it  will  pursue  ; 

Lo  court  a  mistress,  she  denies  you, 
Let  her  alone  she  will  court  you. 

BEN  JONSON. 

"  And    now   I   dare   say,"  said   Sir  Robert, 

that  Sir  Launcelot,  though  there  thou  liest, 

thou    wert  never  matched    of  none    earthly 


their  assistance  to  insure  it  to  his  glad  posses- 
sion. 

The  young  knight  was  of  a  far  different 
sort.  Lven  with  so  powerful  a  competitor 
as  love,  lie  would  give  himself  entirely  to 
friendship.  He  knew  that  the  assistance  he 
had  promised  to  render  his  friend  would  cost 
him  his  own  happiness,  but  he  could  not  for 
a  moment  tolerate  the  idea  of  building  his 
enjoyment  with  the  materials  of  his  friend's, 


knight's  hands.     And  thou  wert  the   curliest    felicity.     He  believed  that   if  Sir  Reginald 

knight  that  ever  bcare  shield.     And  thou  wert    knew  what  were    his  feelings  towards  the 

the  truest  friend  to  thy  lover  that  ever  bestrod 

horse.     And    thou  wert  the  truest  lover  of  a 

sinful  man  that  ever  loved  woman.      And  thou 

wert  the   kindest  man    that  ever  stroke    with 

sword.     And  thou  wert  the   goodliest   person 

that  ever  came  among  proese  of  knights.  r  And 

thou  wert  the  meekest  and    the   gentlest  that 

ever  eat  in  hall  among  ladies." 

A  book  of  the  noble  Tiistoryes  of  Kings  Ar- 
thur, and  of  certcyn  of  his  knightcs. 


SIR  VALENTINE  found  be  had  undertaken 


object  of  their  mutual  affection,  he  would  on 
the  instant  resign  his  pretensions,  that  his 
friend's  hopes  might  not  be  disappointed  ; 
and  therefore  the  young  knight  was  the 
more  resolute  in  fulfilling  the  wishes  of  hia 
faithful  companion,  and  as  an  important  step 
towards  the  consummation,  kept  the  secret  of 
his  own  love  locked  up  closely  in  his  breast. 
He  heard  Sir  Reginald  again  express  his 
desires,  and  again  did  he  declare  his  readi- 
1  ness  to  assist  in  their  realization.  He  saw 

a  most  hard  duty.  The  more  he  essayed  to  I  his  friend  depart  to  join  Sir  Philip  Sydney, 
struggle  with  his  own  inclinations,  the  more  j  and  experienced  an  exquisite  satisfaction  in 
strongly  they  rose  against  such  usage.  He  j  knowing  that  the  other  had  left  him  without 
tried  to  preach  himself  into  a  cheerful  acqui-  i  the  slightest  suspicion  of  his  own  true  feel- 
escence  with  the  obligation  imposed  upon 
him,  from  every  ^text  of  honor,  friendship, 
and  chivalry,  with  which  he  was  acquainted, 
but  he  found'nature  rather  an  unwilling  con- 
vert, as  she  is  at  all  time  when  her  faith 
already  resteth  upon  the  religion  of  love. 
Nevertheless,  he  determined  to  do  Sir  Regi- 
nald the  promised  service,  however  difficult 


ings. 

Time  passed  on,  and  Sir  Valentine  strove 
to  perform  his  task.  He  had  seen  but  little 
of  Mabel  for  a  long  time  past,  for  she  scarce 
ever  ventured  alone  any  distance  from  the 
house,  fearing  she  might  be  again  carried 
off  as  she  had  been  before ;  and  this  accoun- 
ted for  her  not  having  been  seen  for  so  long 


of  accomplishment  it  might  be.  In  very  !  a  period  by  the  youthful  Shakspcare.  At 
truth  he  was  one  of  those  rare  instances  of  j  last  the  young  knight  contrived  to  speak  with 
friendship  that  act  up  to  the  character  they  |  her,  and  his  entreaties  for  her  private  corn- 
profess,  in  numberless  cases  there  are  per-  pany,  to  acquaint  her  with  a  matter  of  some 


sons  calling  themselves  friends,  who  are 
friends  only  to  themselves. "  They  are  ready 
enough  to  take  the  name,  but  shrink  from  a 
proper  performance  of  the  character.  Friend- 
ship in  its  honorablest  state  is  a  continual 
self-sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  social  feeling, 
combined  with  a  devotion  which  ever  incli- 
neth  to  exalt  the  object  of  its  regard  above 
all  humanity.  A  true  friend  alloweth  him- 


importance  it  was  necessary  sTie  should  know, 
she  named  a  spot  in  the  park  where  she  would 
meet  him  that  evening  after  dusk.  And 
there  she  attended  true  to  her  appointment. 
Sir  Valentine  as  he  gazed  upon  her  admir- 
able beauty,  felt  that  he  had  much  to  per- 
form, but  he  tried  all  he  could  to  stifle  his 
feelings,  and  think  of  no  other  thing  save 


the    advancement   of    his    friend's  wishes. 

self  as  it  were  to  be  the  shadow  of  another's  I  Alack  !  he  was  setting  about  a  most  peri- 
merit,  attending  on  all  his  wants,  hopes,  and  j  lous  task.  To  play  the  suitor  of  an  exqui- 
pleasurcs,  and  ever  keeping  of  himself  in  the  ;  site  fair  creature  as  proxy  for  another, 
back  ground  when  he  is  like  to  interfere  with  ;  methinks  for  one  of  his  youth  and  disposition 
his  happiness.  And  yet  there  have  been  !  was  great  temptation  ;  but  having  already 
such  despicable  mean  spirits  who  would  hide  I  loved  her  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  first  fond 
their  conteinptibleness  under  so  fair  a  cloak.  ;  affection,  now  to  woo  her  merely  as  the 
They  profess  friendship  but  they  act  selfish-  j  representative  of  his  friend,  looks  to  be  a 
ness.  Nay,  to  such  a  pitch  do  they  debase  thing  out  of  the  course  of  nature, 
themselves,  that  they  would  behold  unfeel-  |  "  Methinks  this  friend  of  yours  must  need 
ingly  him  they  call  their  friend  pining  away  !  have  taken  entire  possession  of  your 
his  heart  for  some  long  expected  happiness,  '  thoughts,"  observed  Mabel,  with  a  smile,  up- 
and  basely  rob  him  of  it  when  it  required  but :  on  finding  that  at  every  interview  the  young 


144 


niE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


knight  could  say  nought  but  praise  of  Sir 
Reginald.  "  I  cannot  get  you  tortalk  of  any 
other  thing." 

"  Indeed,  so  gallant  a  gentleman  and  so 
perfect  a  knight  doth  not  exist,"  replied  Sir 
Valentine.  "  I  have  seen  him,  lady,  in  the 
thickest  of  the  field,  bearing  himself  so 
bravely  as  was  the  marvel  of  both  foes  and 
friends." 

"  And  were  you  in  that  battle  ?"  inquired 
she,  with  a  singular  curiousness ;  "  I  pray 
you  tell  me  how  it  was  fought.  I  sho.uld 
like  much  to  hear  what  share  you  had  in  it. 
I  doubt  not  you  behaved  very  gallantly." 

"  I  kept  in  the  press  as  nigh  to  Sir  Regi- 
nald as  I  could,"  continued  the  young  knight ; 
':  for  I  knew  that  much  honor  was  only  to 
be  reaped  where  he  led*  the  way.  Truly  he 
is  a  knight  of  most  approved  valor." 

"  I  cannot  doubt  it,  since  you  have  so  said," 
replied  Mabel, impatiently.  "But I  beseech 
you  leave  all  speech  of  him,  and  lake  to  tel- 
ling me  of  your  own  knightly  achieve- 
ments." 

"  By  this  light,  lady,  I  am  nought  in  com- 
parison with  Sir  Reginald,"  said  his  friend, 
earnestly :  "  never  met  I  a  gentleman  so 
worthy  of  the  love  of  woman.  Indeed  I 
Jmow  he  is  kindly  esteemed  of  many  noble 
dames ;  yet  in  his  estimation  all  such  have 
been  but  indifferently  thought  of,  since  hi 
knowledge  of  your  so  much  brighter  perfec- 
tions," 

"  Surely,  he  doth  great  wrong  to  those 
noble  dames  by  thinking  at  all  of  me,"  ob- 
served the  fair  foundling. 

"  He  doth  consider  you  so  pre-eminent  in 
excellence,  language  cannot  express  his  ad- 
miration," added  Sir  Valentine. 

"  I  feel  bou\id  to  him  for  his  good  opinion,' 
said  Mabel.  "  Yet  I  should  have  been  glat 
had  he  shown  more  discretion  than  in  be- 
stowing it  so  prodigally." 

"  The  love  of  so  noble  a  knight  ought  to 
be  regarded  as  a  most  costly  jewel,"  contin- 
ued the  young  knight.  "  I  cannot  think  so 
proud  a  gift  is  to  be  met  with." 

"  Perchance  not,"  replied  his-  companion 
coldly.  "  Yet  I  cannot  say  it  hath  any  par- 
ticular attractions  in  my  eyes." 

Here  was  a  new  difficulty  to  be  overcome 
The  lovely  object  of  his  friend's  attachmen 
cared  not  to  be  loved  by  him.  This  he  hat 
not  calculated  upon.  Sir  Reginald's  happi 
ness  appeared  farther  from  nis  possession 
than  Sir  Valentine  could  have  imagined 
Nevertheless,  the  latter  was  not  to  be  dauntec 
by  such  an  appearance. 

Mabel  had  by  this  time  met  Sir  Valentin 
many  times,  almost  with  as  much  confi 


ence  as  she  had  known  at  their  first  inter- 
views, for  she  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  of 
icr  noble  gallant  and  the  villains  his  asso- 
iates,  since  her  escape.     The  young  knight, 
at  his  earliest  convenience,  had  rode  to  the 
louse  for  the  express  purpose  of  punishing 
he  traitqr  for  his  intended  villainy,  when  he 
bund  the  place  shut  up  close  and  deserted, 
nd  none  could  tell  him  where  its  late  in- 
nates  had  gone;  from  which  it  was  argued 
hey  had  left  that  part  of  the  coiintry  out  of 
ear  J:heir  offences    had   been    discovered. 
ST  eyertheless,  it  was  not  till  recently  the  poor 
bundling  could  hazard  herself  by  walking  in 
he  park,  as  she  had  used;  though,  to  make 
icr  venturing  as  secure  as  possible,  Sir'Val- 
ntine,     from     a     neighboring     eminence, 
watched,  on  a  fleet  steed,  her  coming  and 
returning.     In  truth,  the  chiefest   pleasure 
she  had  was  meeting  this  gallant  gentleman ; 
ind  she  could  think  of  no  evil  when  she 
bund  him  leading  of  his  palfrey  by  the  bn 
die,  walking  at  her  side  in  some  retired  part 
of  the  grounds ;  or  having  tied  the  animal  to 
a  branch,  standing  by  her  under  the  shelter 
of  a  neighboring  tree,  entertaining  of  her 
with  his   choice  discourse.      Still   did    she 
listen  with  manifest  disreli.-'h  to  whatever 
the  young  knight  reported  of  his  friend,  and 
the  more  admired  the  honorableness  of  the 
speaker,  without  caring  a  whit'for  the  object 
of  his  eulogy.     She  had  noticed  that  of  late 
such  tender  gallantries  as  he  had  been  ac- 
customed to  exhibit,  he  had  altogether  with- 
drawn, and  this  she  regarded  with  especial 
uneasiness.     He  was  always  repeating  his 
friend's  opinion  of  her,  and  ceased  to  say  one 
word  of  his  own  thoughts  on  that  subject ; 
and  this  behavior  in  him  pleased  .her  not  at 
all.     She  often  considered  the  matter  very 
intently,  and  upon  coming  to  the  conclusion 
she  had  become  indifferent  to  him,  it  put  her 
into  a  great  discomfort.    It  hath  already  been 
said  she  had  some  pride  in  her — pride  in  its 
gracefullest  shape — and  at  such  instigation 
it  was  like  to  be  called  into  action  ;  but  if  it 
did  show  itself,  it  came  so  garmented  in  hu- 
mility, that  none  would  have  known  it  for 
what  it  was,  save  those  nobler  naturts  with 
whom  such  appearances  are  familiar. 

"  I  am  much  grieved  at  noticing  of  this 
change  in  you,"  said  Mabel  to  her  compan- 
ion, on  one  occasion.  "  If  you  think  of  me 
unworthily,  methinks  il  would  more  become 
your  gallant  disposition  to  tell  me  in  what  I 
am  amiss,  or  go  seek  the  company  of  some 
more  proper  person.  Should  I  have  lost 
your  esteem  I  cannot  be  fit  for  your  soci- 
ety." 

"  O'  my  life,  I  do  esteem  you  above  all 
creatures !"  exclaimed  the  young  knight, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


145 


fervently,  and  then,  as  if  recollecting  of  him- 
self, added,  "  for  one  that  is  so  highly  es- 
teemed of  my  noble  friend,  cannot  but  be 
worthy  of  my  highest  estimation." 

•'  Truly,  I  would  rather  you  rated  me  at 
vour  own  judgment,  than  followed  the  ap- 
preciation of  any  other,"  observed  the  beau- 
tiful foundling,  in  something  like  a  tone  of 
disappointment. 

"  Then,  be  assured,  I  rate  you  at  a  value 
immeasurably  beyond  all  other  estimation  !" 
earnestly  exclaimed  Sir  Valentine. 

"  Indeed  !"  murmured  the  delighted  Ma- 
bel. 

(i  I  mean — I  would  so  esteem  you,  were  I 
the  worthy  Sir  Reginald,"  added  the  young 
knight,  quickly.  ' 

"  Ah,  me  !  'it  is  ever  Sir  Reginald  with 
you  !"  cried  his  fair  companion,  in  evident 
dejectedness.  "  Against  Sir  Reginald's 
worthiness  I  could  not  say  one  word,  because 
jou  have  affirmed  it;  but  I  do  declare  to, 
you,  for  the  hundredth  time,  I  heed  it  no 
more  than  if  I  never  heard  of  it !" 

"  But  surely  you  will  not  allow  his  honor- 
able regard  of  you  to  come  to  an  unprofitable 
ending  ?"  said  Sir  Valentine,  in  a  famous 
moving  manner.  "  0'  my  life,  he  deserveth 
not  his  fortunes  should  be  of  such  desperate 
issue.  I  beseech  you,  think  better  of  his 
princely  qualities.  I  pray  you,  have  proper 
consideration  of  his  noble  character." 

"  'Tis  impossible  that  I  can  regard  him  as 
he  is  desirous  I  should,"  observed  the  other. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  inquired  the  young 
knight.  ';  Allow  me  at  least  the  privilege 
of  asking  your  reason  for  leaving  to  intoler- 
able wretchedness,  one  who  would  devote 
his  heart  to  your  service  ?" 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Mabel — sinking  of  her 
voice  almost  to  a  whisper — "  tell  him  I  re- 
gard another  so  entirely,  no  one  else  can 
have  footing  in  my  thoughts." 

"  Alack !  what  ill  news  for  him !"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Valentine.  "  But  think  me  not 
over  bold  at  asking  of  you,  is  he  so  worthy 
— is  he  so  noble — is  he  so  valiant  a  knight, 
and  so  true  a  gentleman,  as  my  poor  friend  ?" 

"  Ay,  that  is  he,  I  am.  assured  !"  cried  the 
poor  foundling,  with  an  earnestness  that 
came  from  the  heart. 

"  Truly,  I  thought  not  such  another  ex- 
isted," replied  the  young  knight.  "  Indeed, 
I  would  willingly  go  any  distance  to  meet 
with  so  estimable  a  person." 

"  Methinks  you  need  not  go  far  to  find 
him,"  murmured  Mabel,  as  she  bent  her 
looks  so  upon  the  ground  her  long  eye-lashes 
ippeared  perfectly  closed.  Sir  Valentine 
was  silent  for  some  few  minutes.  He  could 
act  mistake  the  meaning  of  her  words.  At 
10 


[  first  the  gratification  they  gave  him  was  be- 
yond conception  exquisite ;  but  then  fol- 
lowed the  reflection,  how  poorly  he  would  be 
playing  the  part  he  had  undertaken,  did  he 
attempt  in  any  way  to  take  advantage  of  the 
confession  she  had  just  made. 

"  In  all  honesty.  I  must  say,  this  person 
you  so  honor  hath  not  a  tithe  of  the  merit  of 
Sir  Reginald,"  said  the  young  knight,  in  a 
voice  that  faltered  somewhat.  "  Neither  in 
the  suitable  accomplishments  of  a  knight, 
nor  in  the  honorable  gifts  of  a  man,  can  he 
for  a  moment  be  compared  with  my  gallant 
friend.  I  beseech  you,  let  not  one  so  little 
worthy  of  your  regard,  receive  of  you  the 
estimation  which  should  only  belong  to  one 
so  truly  deserving  of  it  as  the  noble  Sir  Re- 
ginald." 

"  I  see !  I  gee !"  exclaimed  the  poor 
foundling,  exceedingly  moved  by  this  speech 
of  her  companion.  "  You  cannot  disguise 
it  from  me,  strive  you  ever  so.  I  have  fallen 
from  your  esteem.  I  have  lost  your  respect. 
Fare  you  well,  sweet  sir.  This  must  be  our 
last  meeting.  I  hold  your  noble  qualities 
too  deeply  in  my  reverence  to  allow  of  their 
standing  hazard  of  debasement  by  their  as- 
sociation with  any  unworthiness." 

In  vain  the  young  knight  gave  her  all 
manner  of  assurances  she  was  the  highest 
in  his  esteem — in  vain  he  sought  the  help  of 
entreaties  and  persuasions  she  would  stay 
and  hear  the  reason  of  his  so  behaving,  she 
seemed  bent  on  leaving  him  that  moment, 
with  a  full  determination  never  to  see  him 
more.  At  last,  however,  she  yielded  so  far 
as  to  promise  to  meet  him  the  next  evening 
at  the  same  place,  for  the  last  time,  and  then 
returned  home  in  a  greater  sadness  than  she 
had  ever  known..  From  that  hour  to  the 
hour  appointed  for  this  final  interview,  Sir 
Valentine  passed  in  considering  what  course  - 
he  should  adopt  under  these  trying  circum- 
stances. On  one  side  was  the  happiness  of 
his  absent  friend  entrusted  to  his  custody — 
on  the  other,  the  affections  of  a  most  beauti- 
ful sweet  creature  he  had  obtained  by  seek- 
ing of  her  society.  Honor  demanded  of  him 
he  should  not  do  his  friend  disadvantage, 
and  love  entreated  he  would  not  abandon 
his  mistress  now  that  he  had  completely  won 
her  heart.  The  more  he  thought  the  less 
easy  seemed  his  duty,  for  he  saw  that  in 
each  case  if  he  attended  to  the  claim  of  one, 
it  would  destroy  every  hope  of  the  other. 

Mabel  was  true  to  her  appointment.  Sir 
Valentine  rode  up  to  her,  and  as  usual  tied 
his  horse  to  a  branch.  The  customary  * 
greetings  passed,  and  the  young  knight  ob- 
served that  his  fair  companion  looked  wond 
rous  pale  and  agitated. 


146 


THE  iOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  What  hath  so  moved  you  ?"  inquired  he 
courteously. 

"  Hitherto  I  have  thought  myself  safe 
from  further  molestation  from  the  villains 
into  whose  power  I  once  fell,"  replied  Mabel 
"  But  I  have  just  discovered  that  they  are 
again  pursuing  of  their  treacherous  inten- 
tions." 

"  I  pray  you  tell  me  where  I  may  fine 
them,"  said  Sir  Valentine,  with  a  most  ear- 
nest eagerness.  "  I  promise  you  they  shal 
molest  you  no  longer." 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart !"  ex- 
claimed the  poor  foundling  fervently  ;  "  yet 
your  interference  can  be  of  no  avail  at  thi 
time.  The  very  traitor  who  bore  me  forci- 
bly from  this  park,  and  from  whose  base 
grasp  you  previously  rescued  me  in  the  gar- 
dens of  Kenilworth,  is  now  being  entertained 
by  Sir  Thomas  Lucy." 

"  Surely  Sir  Thomas  when  he  is  told  ol 
his  baseness,  will  drive  him  from  his  house !" 
observed  the  young  knight. 

"  He  will  hear  of  nothing  against  him — 
nor  will  Dame  Lucy,"  answered  Mabel. 
"  They  say  I  am  mistaken,  though  I  could 
swear  to  him  among  a  thousand.  They 
will  have  it  he  is  a  person  of  worship,  whom 
they  have  known  many  years  ;  yet  I  am  con- 
vinced he  is  as  paltry  a  wretch  as  ever  dis- 
graced this  world." 

"  By  this  light,  dear  Mabel,  I  will  go  and 
make  him  confess  his  villainy  !"  cried  Sir 
Valentine,  moving,  as  if  he  would  to  the  house 
on  the  instant. 

"  I  beseech  you,  do  not,  sweet  sir,"  im- 
plored his  fair  companion,  as  she  caught 
hold  of  him  by  the  arm.  "  Ever  since  my 
escape  I  have  lived  a  most  unhappy  life, 
though  never  made  I  any  complaint, — for 
both  the  justice  and  the  darne  will  have  it  I 
must  have  been  greatly  to  blame,  else  none 
Wpuld  have  laid  a  hand  on  me ;  and  say  what 
^vould,  I  could  not  persuade  them  of  my 
innocency.  Of  all  persons  living,  they  look 
on  you  with  greatest  suspicion,  though  I  am 
certain  you  have  given  them  not  a  shadow 
of  cause,  and  your  appearance  at  this  or  any 
time  would  do  me  more  mischief  than  you 
can  imagine." 

"  But  it  cannot  be  that  you  are  to  be  left 
to  this  uncivil  treatment,"  exclaimed  the 
other  urgently.  "  I  will  not  allow  of  a 
thing  so  monstrous.  Never  heard  I  such 
unjust,  unnatural  usage.  It  must  not  be 
suffered." 

"  Indeed  it  must — for  there  is  no  honest 
way  of  escaping  from  it  as  I  can  see,"  an- 
swered the  poor  foundling.  "  There  is  some 
scheme  afoot,  I  feel  assured,  else  why  is  the 
caitiff  there — and  that  evil  is  intended  me 


by  it,  I  have  had  more  than  sufficient  proof* 
or  I  should  not  have  known  him  to  be  the 
villain  he  is  ;  but  as  yet  I  know  not  in  what 
shape  it  will  come.  I  am  in  terrible  appre- 
hension of  the  worst,  yet  I  see  not  how  I  can 
avoid  it  if  it  visit  me." 

"  There  is  one  way,",  said  Sir  Valentine, 
whose  feelings  had  been  put  into  such  ex- 
treme excitement,  he  could  think  of  nothing 
but  the  safety  of  the  fair  creature  who  seem- 
ed now  so  completely  thrown  on  him  for 
eotection.  "There  is  but  one  way,  deaivst 
abel,"  repeated  he,  in  a  fonder  tone  than 
he  had  allowed  himself  to  use  a  long  while. 
"  If  you  have  that  regard  for  me  you  have 
expressed,  and  will  not  be  moved  to  favor 
my  friend's  suit,  I  beseech  you  honor  me  to 
that  extent  as  would  lead  you  to  trust  your 
happiness  to  my  keeping ;  and  I  promise  you 
by  the  word  of  a  true  knight,  I  will  carry 
you  from  the  evils  with  which  you  are  threat- 
ened, to  the  sure  refuge  of  my  kinsman's 
house,  where  without  delay  I  will  give  my- 
self that  firm  title  to  be  your  protector  which 
can  only  be  gained  from  the  honorable  bonds 
of  marriage." 

"  Marriage  ?"  repeated  Mabel,  with  a 
more  unhappy  aspect  than  she  had  yet 
shown.  "  Surely,  you  have  been  all  this 
time  in  a  strange  ignorance  :  and  I  too — 
methinks  I  have  been  in  a  dream.  That 
word  hath  fully  wakened  me.  I  see  now, 
for  the  first  time,  how  I  have  been  dressing 
up  my  heart  in  shadows.  Oh,  how  great 
hath  been  my  folly  !  I  have  sought  what  I 
thought  an  innocent  pleasure  from  sources 
as  far  above  my  reach  as  are  the  stars. — 
Alas,  what  extreme  thoughtlessness  !  what 
marvellous  self-delusion  !" 

"  What  meaneth  this  ?"  inquired  the  young 
knight,  full  of  wonder  at  this  sudden  change 
in  her. 

"  Know  you  not,  honorable  sir,  I  am  only 
a  poor  foundling  ?"  asked  Mabel  earnestly. 
'  Have  you  not  heard  I  am  a  poor  friendless 
creature,  picked  up  by  chance,  and  fostered 
by  charity  ?" 

"  In  very  truth,  I  have  not,"  replied  Sir 
Valentine,  surprised  at  hearing  such  intelli- 
gence. 

"  Then  such  I  am,"  said  the  poor  found- 
ing.    "  Nay,  I  am  so  poorly  off,  that  even 
he  very  name  I  bear  is  a  stranger's  gift. — • 
VIother  or  father  have  I  never  known  ;  and 
such  is  my  mean  estate  that  I  cannot  claim 
•dndred  with  any  of  ever  so  humble  a  sort. 
Oh,  would  you  had  known  of  this  before.     I 
am  much  to  blame  for  noc  telling  you  of  it 
sooner ;  but  in  all  honesty,  sweet  sir,  it  never 
ntered  my  thoughts." 

"  That  I  have  remained  ignorant  of  what 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


147 


yon  have  just  told  me,  is  mine  own  fault 
only,"  replied  her  companion.  "  But  I  can- 
not" think  of  drawing  back  from  my  engage- 
ments at  such  a  discovery.  Rich  or  poor, 
noble  or  simple,  you  are  the  same  admirable 
fair  creature  I  have  so  long  loved,  and  that 
ha',h  honored  me  with  her  regard,  therefore 
if  you  will  trust  yourself  to  my  care,  doubt 
not  of  obtaining  at  least  the  respect  my  poor 
name  can  bestow  upon  you." 

"  It  cannot  be  !"  exclaimed  the  other  de- 
terminedly. "  I  could  never  do  you  so  nota- 
ble a  wrong  as  to  thrust  my  meanness  into 
your  honorable  family.  I  could  not  bear  you 
to  be  ashamed  of  me,  and  such  it  must  needs 
come  to  when  any  put  questions  to  you  of 
your  wife's  lineage.  Oh,  I  now  see  more 
and  more  how  ill  I  have  acted  in  seeding  of 
your  society.  I  enjoyed  the  present  moment, 
totally  regardless  of  the  bar  between  us,  that 
divided  our  fortunes  an  impassable  distance. 

I  beseech  you  to  forgive  me,  honorable  sir. 
As  quickly  as  you  can,  forget  that  one  of 
such  humble  fortunes  as  your  unhappy  Ma- 
bel ever  existed.     I  would  not  I  should  give 
you  a  moment's  uneasiness.    As  for  myself, 
whatever  maybe  my  wretched  fate, or  how- 
ever deo'raded  my  condition,  I  shall  have  a 
happiness  in  my  thoughts  which  will  ever 
rank  me  with  the  most  worthy,  for  I  can  re- 
member I  have  attained  to  such  proud  eleva- 
tion as  to  be  the  love  of  the  noblest,  truest, 
and  most  perfect  gentleman  fond  heart  ever 
loved." 

"  Dearest !  sweetest  life !"  cried  Sir  Val- 
entine, passionately  clasping  her  in  his  em- 
braces. Mabel  for  a  few  moments  allowed 
herself  to  receive  his  endearments,  then  sud- 
denly tore  herself  from  his  arms,  look  ing  more 
pale  and  sad  than  before. 

';  This  must  not  be,"  exclaimed  she,  with  a 
desperate  effort,  as  she  motioned  him  back. 

II  If  you  will  not  break  my  heart,  I  pray  you, 
— I  beseech  you,  honorable  sir,  grant  me  one 
request." 

"  Willingly,"  replied  the  young  knight,  for 
tears  were  on  her  eyelids,  and  she  looked  on 
him  so  movingly,  he  could  have  refused  her 
nothing. 

"  Never  approach  me  again,"  said  the  hap- 
less Mabel,  in  a  voice  almost  stifled  by  her 
feelings.  "  Nay,"  exclaimed  she,  with  more 
firmness,  as  she  noticejd  he  appeared  about 
to  speak,  "  if  you  hold  me  in  any  respect — ' 
if  I  am  not  the  abject  thing  in  your  eyes,  I 
am  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  seek  not  to 
hinder  me  in  my  resolution.  I  must  see 
you  no  more.  I  cannot — will  not  allow  of 
another  meeting.  On  reflection,  your  own 
honorable  nature  will  assure  you  that  this  is 
as  much  for  my  welfare  as  your  own.  May 


the  sweetest  happiness  that  should  crown 
such  nobleness  as  yours  wait  upon  all  your 
doings.  Again,  and  for  the  last  time,  honor- 
able sir ! — fare  you  well !" 

"  Mabel !  dear,  sweet  Mabel !  1  beseech 
you  leave  me  not  thus  !  I  will  not  live  with- 
out you  !  I  cannot  love  another  !" 

"  Truly,  this  is  playing  a  friend's  part,  Sir 
Valentine !"  cried  Sir  Reginald,  rudely 
grasping  the  young  knight  by  the  arm,  as 
he  seemed  about  to  follow  the  retreating 
Mabel.  "  Why,  thou  pitiful  traitor  !  thou 
shame  to  knighthood — thou  dishonor  to 
friendship  !  What  demon  hath  tempted 
thee  to  such  villainous  doings  ?  By  my 
troth,  now,  had  I  not  seen  this  with  mine 
own  eyes,  I  would  never  have  believed  it." 

Sir  Valentine  was  a  little  confounded  at 
the  unexpected  appearance  of  his  friend  ; 
and  knowing  the  circumstances  in  which 
he  had  been  found,  he  was  sensible  they 
gave  color  to  Sir  Reginald's  accusation  he 
might  find  it  difficult  to  remove.  "  Indeed, 
I  am  but  little  to  blame,  Sir  Reginald,"  re- 
plied he ;  "  and  I  doubt  not  you  will  ac- 
knowledge it  readily,  when  you  have  heard 
all  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

"  Doubtless,"  observed  the  other,  in  a  man- 
ner somewhat  sarcastic ;  "  I  go  on  a  distant 
journey,  placing  such  confidence  in  thy 
seeming  honorableness  as  to  entrust  thee 
with  the  furthering  of  my  suit  to  my  mis- 
tress during  my  absence ;  and  I  return  to 
find  thee  basely  seeking  to  rob  me  of  my 
happiness,  by  proffering  her  thine  own  af- 
fections !  Truly,  thou  art  but  little  to 
blame  !" 

"  I  do  assure  you,  Sir  Reginald " 

"  Fie,  sir  !"  exclaimed  his  companion, 
roughly.  "  Thou  hast  a  rapier — methinks 
thou  shouldst  know  the  use  of  it.  Leave  tliy 
tongue,  and  take  to  a  fitter  weapon."  And 
so  saying,  he  drew  his  own  from  its  scab- 
bard. 

"By  all  that's  honorable  in  knighthood 

t;  What  !"  exclaimed  the  other,  fiercely 
interrupting  him ;  "  wouldst  play  the  cow- 
ard as  well  as  the  villain !  wouldst  do  me 
such  foul  wrong  as  thou  hast  been  about, 
and  then  shrink  from  the  punishment  thou 
hast  so  justly  deserved  ?  O'  my  conscience, 
I  thought  not  so  mean  a  wretch  was  not  to  be 
found.  Draw,  caitiff,  without  a  word  more, 
or  I  will  beat  thee  like  a  dog." 

"  As  Heaven  is  rny  witness,  I  entertain 
this  quarrel  most  reluctantly,"  said  Sir  Va- 
lentine, drawing  out  his  rapier.  ':  I  cannot 
see  that  I  have  wronged  you  in  any  way  ; 
and  I  am  convinced  you  would  be  the  first 
to  say  os,  knew  you  all  that  hath  happened." 


148 


TIIE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  To  thy  defence,  sirrah' !"  repKed  Sir  Re- 
ginald, angrily.  "  I  am  not  to  be  cozened 
out  of  a  proper  vengeance."  And. at  this 
he  began  very  furiously  to  thrust  at  his 
companion,  whq^  sought  only  to  defend  him- 
self, which  he  did  with  such  skill,  that  his 
opponent  got  more  enraged  every  moment, 
and  gave  him  all  manner  of  ill  words  ;  but 
still  Sir  Valentine  kept  on  his  defence,  and 
would  not  so  much  as  make  a  single  pass 


the  more,  the  more  it  was  fed  by  her  sunny 
glances,  and  in  these,  he  basked  as  often  as 
he  could  find  opportunity  ;  but,  at  tlus  peri- 
od, his  visits  to  the  cottage  were  mostly  late 
at  night,  when  her  father  and  the  children 
were  asleep  in  their  beds.  This  arose  from 
a  cause  which  must  here  be  described.  He 
was  now  growing  towards  man's  estate,  and 
it  often  occurred  to  him,  when  he  was  in  his 
own  little  chamber,  fitted  by  himself  with 


at  his  friend.  This  continued  till  Sir  Re- 1  his  own  two  or  three  books  on  a  shelf — a 
ginald,  pressing  on  with  desperate  haste, !  chair  for  sitting — a  little  table  for  writing  on 
fell  on  his  opponent's  rapier  with  his  whole  ;  — and  a  truckle  bed  for  his  lying, — that  he 
force.  I  ought  to  be  doing  of  something  lor  himself, 

"  Alack,  what  have  I  done !"  exclaimed  and  to  save  his  poor  parents  the  burthen  of 
the  young  knight,  as  he  beheld  his  faithful :  his  provision.  Such  reflections  would  come 
companion  in  arms  drop  bleeding  to  the  '  upon  him,  when  he  had  been  wearing  away 
ground.  "  Oh,  I  have  slain  the  noblest  the  deep  midnight  with  anxious  study ;  and 
knight  that  ever  wielded  spear,  and  the  so  one  morning,  having  come  to  a  resolution, 
truest  friend  that  ever  was  sincere  to  man.  he  dressed  himself  with  all  neatness,  and 
O'  my  life,  I  meant  to  do  you  no  hurt,  and  I  bent  his  steps  towards  Jemmy  Catchpole's, 
can  say  with  the  same  honesty,  I  have  done  whom  he  had  heard  was  in  want  of  some' 
you  no  offence.  Finding  he  got  no  answer,  one,  to  copy  papers  and  parchment  and  such 
he  knelt  beside  his  wounded  friend,  and  took  things.  He  saw  the  little  lawyer,  after 
his  hand,  and  entreated  him  very  movingly  j  waiting  a  monstrous  time  in  a  low  narrow 
he  would  not  die  at  enmity  with  him,  if  he  '  chamber,  whereof  it  was  difficult  to  say 
was  as  dangerously  hurt  as  he  seemed. — ; !  whether  the  boards  or  the  ceiling  were  in 
Still  he  received  no  reply,  which  put  him  ;  the  dirtiest  state,  who,  hearing  of  his  errand, 
almost  in  a  frenzy  by  assuring  him  he  had  made  him  write  as  he  dictated,  at  which  he 
killed  him.  Finding,  however,  that  Sir  Re-  looked  very  intently,  and  though  it  was  as 
ginald  breathed,  he  very  carefully  took  him  fair  a  spechnen  of  penmanship  as  might  be 
in  his  arms,  and  placed  him  so  that  he  might  seen  any  where,  he  found  wonderful  fault? 
recline  against  the  broad  stem  of  a  neigh-  with  it.  However,  the  end  of  it  was,  Jem- 
boring  tree,  and  then  leaping  on  his  steed,  my  Catchpole  offered  to  employ  the  youth, 
he  started  off  at  the  top  of  his  speed  to  get :  and  for  his  services,  give  him  a  knowledge 

'  of  the  law  for  the  first  year  or  so;  and  after 
that,  should  he  have  made  any  reasonable 
progress  in  his  studies,  he  would  pay  him  a 
handsome  wage.  This  offer  was  gladly  ac- 
cepted, for  although  he  could  gain  no  pre- 
sent profit  by  it,  his  sanguine  nature  saw  in 
it  a  most  bountiful  prospect. 


the  necessary  assistance. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


How  that  foolish  man, 
That  reads  the  story  of  a  woman's  face, 
And  dies  believing  it,  is  lost  for  ever: 
How  all  the  good  you  have  is  but  a  shadow, 
1'  the  morning  with  you,  and  at  night  behind 

you, 

Past  and  forgotten.     How  your  vows  are  frosts 
Fast  for  a  night,  and  with  the  next  sun  gone : 
How  you  are,  being  taken  all  together, 
A  mere  confusion,  and  so  dead  a  chaos, 
That  love  cannot  distinguish. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 
I  washed  an  Ethiope,  who,  for  recompense, 
Sully'd  my  name.     And  must  I  then  be  forced 
To  walk,  to  live,  thus  black  !     Must !  must ! 

Fie! 

He  that  can  bear  with  "  must,"  he  cannot  die. 

MARSTON. 

THE  love  of  the  youthful  Shakspeare  for 
the  yeoman's  blooming  daughter  flourished 


Behold  him  now,  in  that  den  of  a  place 
just  alluded  to,  surrounded  by  musty  parch- 
ments and  mouldering  papers,  with  scarce 
ever  any  other  company  than  the  rats  and 
the  spiders,  sitting  on  a  tottering  stool  at  a 
worm-eaten  desk,  writing  from  the  early 
morning  till  late  into  the  evening,  save  at 
such  times  as  he  was  allowed  to  get  his 
meals,  or  to  go  of  errands  for  his  employer. 
It  was  about  this  time  that  he  began  to  take 
especial  note  of  the  humors  of  men,  wher- 
ever he  could  get  sight  of  them  ;  marking  in 
his  mind  that  distinctiveness  in  the  individu- 
al, which  made  him  differ  from  his  fellows  ; 
and  observing,  with  quite  as  much  minute- 
ness, the  manner  in  which  the  professions 
of  his  acquaintances  were  in  accordance  <§r 
in  opposition  to  their  ways  of  living.  By 
this  peculiar  curiousness  of  his,  he  took 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


149 


characters  as  a  limner  taketh  portraits, 
having  each  feature  so  set  down  from  the 
original,  that  he  could  carry  such  about 
with  him  wherever  he  went.  This  he  had 
certain  facilities  of  doing  in  his  new  occu- 
pation, as,  finding  him  exceeding  apt,  the 
lawyer  soon  employed  him  as  his  assistant 
wherever  he  went,  which  brought  him  into 
every  sort  of  company  ;  for  Jemmy  Catch- 
pole  had  every  body's  business  on  his  hands, 
or,  at  least,  he  made  many  think  so,  and  he 
bustled  about  from  place  to  place,  as  if  the 
world  must  needs  stand  still  unless  he  gave 
it  his  help. 

Such  occasions,  and  the  observations  he 
drew  from  them,  afforded  the  youthful  Shaks- 
peare  some  little  amusement  in  the  'dulness 
of  his  present  life.  What  books  the  lawyer 
had,  related  only  to  his  own  particular  voca- 
tion. Th o  papers  and  parchments  were  the  dry- 
est  stuff  that  ever  was  read  or  written :  even 
the  very  atmosphere  of  the  chamber  seemed 
to  breathe  of  law ;  and  as  for  Jemmy  Catch- 
pole,  his  talk  was  a  mere  patchwork  of  law 
phrases,  that  required  considerable  familiar- 
ity with  legal  instruments  to  make  the  slight- 
est sense  of.  In  fact,  the  little  lawyer  had 
so  used  himself  to  such  a  style  in  his  wri- 
tings and  readings,  that  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  talk,  think,  or  write,  in  any  other. 
The  tediousness  of  this  was-  sometimes  al- 
most insupportable  to  the  young  poet,  and  he 
only  made  it  tolerable  by  the  occasional 
writing  of  some  sweet  ballad  of  his  fair  mis- 
tress, when  he  should  be  engrossing  a  sheet 
of  parchment  for  his  busy  master. 

But  then,  after  all  this  weary  labor,  how 
famously  did  he  enjoy  his  midnight  meetings 
with  the  sprightly  Anne  Hathaway.  There 
would  they  stand  together,  under  the  friend- 
ly shadow  of  the  walnut-tree  before  the  cot- 
tage, in  such  loving  fashion  as  I  never  can 
sufficiently  describe,  till  the  stars  disappeared, 
and  the  sun's  crimson  pennon  began  to  peep 
above  the  eastern  hills.  Nothing  in  imagi- 
nation can  come  at  all  nigh  to  the  passion- 
ate earnestness  of  his  manner  at  these  times. 
It  came  to  the  ear  of  the  enraptured  maiden, 
in  a  resistless  torrent  of  eloquence  that  swept 
down  all  denyings.  There  appeared  a 
breathing  fire  in  his  words  that  made  the  air 
all  around  to  glow  with  a  delicious  warmth  ; 
and  his  looks  beamed  with  such  exceeding 
brilliance,  that  to  the  enamored  damsel  they 
made  his  beautiful  clear  countenance  like 
unto  the  picture  of  some  saint,  clothed  with  a 
continual  halo.  It  was  not  possible  for  the 
most  scrupulous  discreet  creature  to  have 
resisted  so  earnest  a  wooer,  therefore  it  can- 
not be  considered  in  any  way  strange,  that 
the  fond  nature  of  the  blooming  Anne  should 


have  acknowledged  his  complete  influence. 
It  so  happened,  that  after  passing  the  hours 
in  such  delicate  pleasure  as  such  a  lover 
was  .likely  to  produce,  on  his  taking  leave  of 
her,  he  sung  the  following  words  to  a  plea- 
sant tune  that  had  long  been  a  favorite  of 
his.  The  song  was  thus  styled  in  a  copy  ho 
gave  to  her  soon  after  : — 

WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE'S  GOOD  HIGHT  TO  HIS 
SOUL'S  MISTRESS. 

"  Good  night,  sweet  life  !  yet,  dearest,  say, 

How  can  that  night  be  good  to  me, 
That  drives  me  from  my  bliss  away, 

Whilst  taking  off  mine  eyes  from  thee  ? 
Good  night ! — the  hours  so  swiftly  are  fleeting, 

We  find  no  time  to  mark  their  flight  ; 
And  having  known  such  joy  in  meeting, 

'Tis  hard  to  say — Good  night !  good  night ! 
Good  night,  sweet  life  !  ere  daylight  beams, 
'     And  sleep  gives  birth  to  hopes  divine, 
May  I  be  present  in  thy  dreams, 

And  blessed  as  thou  shall  be  in  mine. 
Good  night !  yet  still  I  fondly  linger 

I  go,  but  do  not  leave  thy  sight : 
Though  morning  shows  her  rosy  finger, 

I  murmur  still — Good  night !  good  night !" 

This  was  the  song,  simple  though  it  may 
be ;  but  his  impassioned  manner  of  singing 
it,  which  clothed  every  word  with  unuttera- 
ble passion,  I  cannot  give. 

"  I  tell  thee  what  it  is,  friend  Will,"  ex- 
claimed a  familiar  voice  from  an  open  case- 
ment above  them,  so  much  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  lovers  that  they  started  from  the 
affectionately  closeness  of  their  position  on 
a  sudden ;  "  if  thou  wilt  not  come  a  wooing 
at  decent  hours,  or  dost  again  wake  me  out 
of  my  sleep  with  the  singing  of  love-songs, 
I'll  have  none  of  thy  company.  And  I  tell 
thee  what  it  is,  Mistress  Anny, — if  thou  al- 
lowest  of  such  loud  kissing,  thou  wilt  alarm 
the  whole  country  within  a  mile  of  thee  !" 

"Heart  o'  me,  father  how  you  talk  !" 
cried  the  blushing  criminal.  John  Hatha- 
way closed  the  casement  and  returned  to 
his  bed,  chuckling  like  one  who  had  just 
succeeded  in  playing  off  some  exquisite 
pleasant  jest. 

About  this  period  the  youthful  Shakspeare 
was  ever  meeting  John  a  Combe.  Although 
he  could  scarce  be  got  to  speak  to  any  other 
person  in  the  town,  save  on  business,  John 
a  Combe  never  failed  to  accost  the  young- 
poet  whenever  they  met.  It  was  evident 
each  took  pleasure  in  the  other's  society ; 
for  although  Master  Combe  was  marvellous 
bitter  in  his  speech  upon  all  occasions,  he 
was  ever  betraying  to  the  close  observance 
of  his  companion,  a  kindness  of  nature  which 


150 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


the  latter  could  well  appreciate.  He  sus- 
pected that  beneath  this  covering  of  gall  and 
wormwood  the  sweet  honey  of  humanity  lay 
in  exhaustless  heaps  ;  and  knowing  of  his 
history,  and  his  former  greatness  of  soul,  he 
was  exceedingly  curious  to  learn  the  secret 
cause  that  had  made  him  apparently  so 
changed  a  man.  Once,  when  he  met  him, 
the  usurer  made  him  promise  t*  call  at  his 
house  immediately  lie  had  done  his  labors  of 
the  day,  as  he  wished  to  see  him  on  a  mat- 
ter of  deep  importance.  William  Shaks- 
peare  promised,  and  that  evening,  instead  of 
going  to  his  mistress,  he  was  found  seated  in 
John  a  Combe's  chamber,  where  one  candle 
gave  just  sufficient  light  to  make  the 
cheerlessness  of  the  place  most  conspicuous. 
The  usurer  sat  before  him,  with  that  restless 
look  and  manner  with  which  a  man  who  has 
determined  to  do  a  thing  which  he  likes  not, 
prepares  to  set  about  it. 

"  I'v*  heard  thou  art  playing  the  lover — 
is't  true  ?"  inquired  he,  in  his  usual  sharp 
voice. 

"  Most  undeniable,"  replied  the  young  po- 
et with  a  smile. 

"  O'  my  life,  I  did  not  think  thou  hadst 
such  marvellous  lack  of  brains,"  observed 
the  other.  "  Wouldst  cater  for  thine  own 
misery  ? — Wouldst  build  thy  towering  Ba- 
bel to  the  skies,  to  end  in  tbe  utter  confu- 
sion of  thy  thoughts  ?  Have  more  discre- 
tion." 

"  Indeed  I  find  in  it  so  sweet  a  happiness, 
J  would  not  abandon  it  at  any  price,"  said 
his  companion,  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  true 
lover. 

"  Is  not  the  poison  sweetened  to  attract 
the  fly !"  exclaimed  the  usurer  more  ear- 
nestly. "  I  tell  thee  thou  shouldst  avoid 
the  temptation  as  thou  wouldst  a  pestilence. 
It  will  destroy  thee,  body  and  soul.  It  will 
madden  thy  brain  and  wither  thy  heart, — 
make  thy  blood  a  consuming  fire,  and  thy 
life  an  intolerable  wretchedness  !" 

"  Truly  I  have  no  such  fear,"  replied  the 
youthful  Shakspeare. 

"  When  does  youth  fear  when  there  is  a 
fair  prospect  before  it !"  cried  John  a  Combe. 
"  What  a  desperate  folly  it  is.  Point  out  the 
gaping  precipice  within  its  path,  it  will  go 
madly  forward.  Of  a  surety  nature  might 
well  wear  a  robe  of  motley,  for  she  presi- 
deth  over  a  goodly  company  of  fools.  I  tell 
thee,  boy,  there  is  no 'such  danger  as  that 
thou  seemest  so  enamored  of ;  and  if  nothing 
else  will  turn  thee  from  thy  destruction,  I 
will  unfold  to  thee  the  story  of  mine  own 
fearful  experience  of  this  blight  upon  hu- 
manity." 

William  Shakspeare  listened  in  silence, 


for,  as  hath  been  said,  he  had  a  strange  r,u- 
riousness  to  know  what  his  companion  had 
promised. 

'  I  require  of  thee,  first  of  all,  that  thou 
declarest  to  none  one  word  of  the  secret  I 
am  about  to  entrust  to  thee."  The  young 
aoet  readily  made  his  assurance  he  would 
not  repeat  a  syllable;  and  presently  the 
usurer  continued  his  narration  in  these 
words  : — 

"  Perchance  thou  has  heard  of  one  John 
a  Combe,  whose  goodness  of  heart  Was  the 
:heme  of  all  of  .his  acquaintance.  I  was 
:hat  John  a  Combe.  I  had  such  store  of 
love  in  my  breast  that  I  scattered  it  far  and 
wide,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  grow  the  greater 
the  more  it  was  so  squandered.  No  matter 
what  evil  I  might  see,  I  regarded  it  only  as 
the  weeds  in  a  corn  field,  surrounded  by 
such  bountiful  provision  of  good  that  it  was 
scarce  worthy  the  observation  of  any  person 
of  a  thankful  nature.  My  youth  was  cher- 
ished with  such  pleasing  feelings.  My  man- 
hood flourished  upon  the  same  teeming  soil. 
I  sought  to  sow  benefits  broadcast  wherever 
there  was  place  and  opportunity  ;  and  found, 
or  fancied  I  found,  the  crop  amply  repay  me 
for  the  labor.  I  made  friends  wherever  I 
met  faces.  All  men  seemed  to  me  rny 
brothers  ;  and  every  woman,!  looked  upon 
as  a  domestic  deity  deserving  honorable 
worship.  At  last  I  met  one  who  regarded 
me  as  an  enemy.  I  strove  to  win  him  to 
better  feelings,  and  failed.  He  essayed  to 
destroy  me  in  honest  battle — I  disarmed  him 
and  went  my  way  unhurt.  He  then  tried  to 
rob  me  of  my  life  by  treachery  ;  but  here  he 
was  both  baffled  and  punished,  whilst  I  re- 
mained as  uninjured  as  at  first.  He  was  a 
demon — a  fiend  of  hell,  let  loose  on  the 
earth. 

"  I  had  met  with  many  women  seeming 
in  every  way  worthy  of  my  love,  and  show- 
ing such  signs  as  proved  I  should  have  no 
great  difficulty  in  the  winning  of  their  af- 
fections :  but  my  soul  was  somewhat  curi- 
ous in  the  pursuit  of  female  excellence.  It 
must  needs  have  a  phccnix.  It  would  not 
be  satisfied  with  what  appeared  good — it 
strove  to  procure  possession  of  the  best.  I 
sought  for  such  an  object,  for  a  long  time 
unavailingly.  At  last  in  a  neighboring 
town  I  met  with  one  who  seemed  all  I  re- 
quired. She  was  of  a  poor  family,  the 
daughter  of  a  man  supporting  himself  and 
her  by  the  profits  of  a  humble  trade.  She 
was  fair — young — of  gentle  manners,  and 
;  of  a  winning  modest  innocency.  What 
I  more  could  be  wanted  ?  On  further  ao- 
1  quaintance  her  merits  rose  in  greater  con- 
'  spicuousness,  and  the  perfect  simplicity  of 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


151 


her  dispositi  ~jn  won  on  me  more  and  more 
every  clay.  Was  not  this  a  phoenix  ? — a 
phcEiiix  that  rose  from  the  jlames  her  bril- 
liant beauty  raised  in  my  heart.  I  grew 
enamored :  and  she  with  an  admirable  deli- 
cacy retired  from  my  advances.  I  perse- 
vered, and  saw  in  her  some  faint  signs  1 
was  making  way  in  her  estesm.  Still  there 
,vas  such  sweet  air  of.  purest  chastity  in  her 
every  action,  it  kept  me  a  worshipper  at  so 
respectful  a  distance,  I  could  not  believe  my 
success  to  be  in  any  certainty. 

",What  Jid  I  do  "upon  this.  I  determined 
to  take  every  opportunity  of  studying  her 
nature,  with  the  hope  of  so  moulding  it  to 
my  ideas  of  womanly  excellence,  I  should 
by  possessing  her,  secure  myself  a, life  of 
such  exceeding  happiness  the  most  blessed 
couid  have  but  little  notion  of.  To  say  I 
loved  her,  methinks  is  scarce  to  say  enough, 
yet  of  the  mere  outward  show  of  passion  I 
afforded  the  world  so  little,  none  could  have* 
believed  I  had  been  so  desperately  enamored. 
It  was  that  nice  sense  of  delicacy  in  her, 
and  modest  shrinking  from  familiar  praise, 
that  took  me  captive.  To  win  her  love  1 
strove  with  all  the  earnestness  of  manhood 
flushed  with  its  proudest  energies.  But  how 
to  win  it  was  the  question.  I  would  not 
purchase  it  by  gifcs,  for  that  suited  not  my 
humor.  I  would  only  have  it  come  as  the 
price  of  her  appreciation  of  my  merit,  for 
then  I  thought  1  could  the  better  count  on 
its  sincerity  and  duration.  With  this  fine 
fantasy  of  mine,  I  would  not  let  her  know  1 
was  in  such  good  estate  as  I  really  was.  I 
affected  some  humbleness  of  fortune,  think- 
ing by  gaining  her  in  such  guise  I  should 
be  sure  that  no  alloy  of  selfishness  could 
mingle  with  the  pure  sterling  of  her  love. 

"  1  took  up  my  abode  in  her  lather's  house 
to  have  the  fullest  means  of  completing  my 
honest  purpose.  She  seemed  to  grow  under 
my  hand  like  a  flower  of  my  own  planting. 
She  began  to  regard  me  with  a  softer  ten- 
derness. 1  doubled  my  assiduity,  and  she 
gradually  wanned  into  a  graceful  fondness; 
yet  in  all  that  she  did  or  said  there  was  so 
exquisite  an  artlessness,  I  was  more  charm- 
ed than  had  she  been  a  thousand  times  more 
affectionate  without  such  simple  coloring. 
I  loved  more  and  more.  At  last  the  crown- 
ing of  all  my  toil  I  gained  from  her  the 
much  longed-for  confession — the  treasure 
of  her  regard  was  mine  and  mine  alone.  I 
did  not  betray  myself  even  then,  delighted 
as  I  was  beyond  all  measure  ;  but  I  resolv- 
ed the  next  day  to  leave  the  house,  return 
in  my  true  character  as  speedily  as  I  might, 
and,  before  all  her  acquaintance,  wed  her 
with  such  honorable  ceremony  as  worth  like 


hers  deserved.  I  thought  my  bliss  complete, 
and  iny  gratitude  to  the  author  of  it  knew 
no  bounds. 

"  I  slept  in  a  chamber  directly  under  hers, 
and  often  as  I  lay  in  my  bed  have  I  enjoyed 
more  exquisite  sweet  pleasure  in  hearing 
her  gentle  footsteps  pass  my  door,  and  up 
the  stairs  to  her  sweet  rest — to  which,  in 
consequence,  as  she  told  me,  of  her  house- 
hold labors,  she  was  the  last  to  retire  of  any 
in  the  house.  That  night  thinking  of  my 
great  happiness  to  come,  I  kept  awake  long- 
er than  had  been  customary  with  me ;  and 
all  at  once  I  marvelled  I  had  not  yet  heard 
her  light  footfalls,  for  it  was  far  beyond  her 
usual  time  of  coming  up  stairs.  Another 
hour  passed  by  and  yet  no  sign  of  her  com- 
ing. I  began  to  get  somewhat  alarmed,  as 
lovers  will  upon  anything  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary in  their  mistress's  behavior.  At  last 
when  I  had  nigh  worked  myself  into  a  fever 
with  imagining  of  all  sorts  of  dangers  that 
might  have  happened  to  her,  to  my  infinite 
joy  I  heard  her  softly  approach  my  door.  • 
Almost  at  the  instant  1  heard  other  footsteps 
ascending  with  her.  In  the  next  moment 
I  distinguished  a  slight  whispering  in  a 
strange  voice.  Then  two  persons  together 
proceeded  past  my  door — together  they  as- 
cended the  stairs — together  they  entered  her 
chamber — the  door  was  locked — I  could  then 
distinctly  hear  above  me,  mingled  with  her 
light  footfall  and  gentle  voice,  the  full  deep 
tones  and  heavy  step  of  a  man. 

"  At  this  discovery  I  started  up  as  though 
I  had  been  bit  by  an  adder — the  bed  shook 
under  the  fierce  trembling  of  my  limbs — my 
heart  beat  in  my  breast  as  a  madman  rushes 
against  his  prison  bars — my  veins  seemed 
filled  with  the  flame,  and  my  brain  scorch- 
ing with  fire ;  and  a  hot  blighting  wind  ap- 
peared so  to  fill  the  place  around  me,  I 
breathed  as  though  every  breath  would  be 
my  last.  But  this  was  but  the  beginning  of 
my  tortures.  Had  I  possessed  the  power  of 
moving  I  would  have  done  a  deed  of  just 
vengeance,  which  should  have  remained  a 
monument  of  terror  unto  the  end  of  time ; 
but  I  was  there  like  one  chained,  having  no 
other  senses  but  those  of  hearing  and  feel- 
ing. Talk  of  the  sufferings  of  the  damned, 
what  were  they  to  the  agonies  I  endured. 
Lash  me  with  scorpions — plunge  me  into 
everlasting  fires  —  goad  me  with  serpents 
stings — strain  every  nerve  and  artery  with 
pullies,  racks  and  wheels — 'tis  but  a  mere 
ordinary  aching  in  comparison.  At  last 
nature  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and  all  sen- 
sation left  me. 

"  When  I  recovered  consciousness,  the 
sun  was  streaming  in  at  my  casement ;  but 


152 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


it  waa  no  sun  for  me.    I  was  no  more  the 
man  I  had  been  twelve  hours  before,  than  is 
a  withered  bud  a  blooming  flower.     A  per- 
petual darkness  took   possession  of  mine 
eyes — my  veins  held  a  running  poison — the 
sweet  feelings  of  humanity  had  turned  to  a 
sourness  that  corroded  their  vessels — all  my 
hopes  were  consumed  to  ashes,  and  scat- 
tered to  the  four  winds ;  and  all  my  belief 
in  the  existence  of  the  worthiness  of  hu- 
manity burst  like  a  bubble  in  the  air,  leav- 
ing no  sign  to  tell  that  such  a  thing  had 
ever  appeared.     Wherever  I  looked  I  spied  i 
the  darkness  of  a  sepulchre — wherever  I ; 
moved  I  smelt  the  filth  of  a  charnel.  Villainy  ! 
was  branded  on  every  face.    Craft  made  its  i 
dwelling  in  every  habitation.      I  saw  the  i 
world  intent  on  my  destruction.     I  declared 
war  against  the  whole  human  race. 

"  I  took  counsel  with  myself,  and  deter- 
mined before  I  left  that  hateful  place  to  dis- 
cover one  thing.  I  had  dressed  myself  in 
readiness  to  set  about  the  fulfilment  of  my 
resolution,  when  who  should  make  her  ap- 
pearance but  the  object  of  my  late  care  and 
regard — my  phconix!  my  best  among  the 
excellent !  Towards  me  she  came,  looking 
as  simple,  innocent,  pure,  and  artless  as  she 
had  looked  from  the  beginning.  I  managed 
by  a  desperate  effort  to  keep  me  a  calmed 
countenance,  though  there  raged  so  fierce 
a  tempest  within  me  as  beggareth  all  de- 
scription. 

"  She  sat  herself  down  as  usual,  and  with 
her  accustomed  gentle  kindness  commenced 
asking  concerning  of  my  health.  I  calmly 
drew  a  chair  next  to  hers,  quietly  seated 
myself  as  near  to  her  as  I  could — quickly 
seized  one  of  her  wrists  in  each  hand,  and 
with  my  face  close  to  her  own,  looked  into 
her  eyes  as  though  I  would  read  there  the 
deepest  secret  of  her  soul.  She  shrunk  from 
my  scrutiny  with  every  sign  of  consciou 
guilt.  I  then  poured  out  on  her  the  pent-up 
flood  of  contempt,  indignation,  and  abhor- 
rence; and  she  trembled  in  pallid  shame. 
I  saw  she  was  humbled  to  the  dust  with 
fear,  and  rung  from  her  reluctant  lips  the 
whole  history  of  her  infamy.  It  was  a  com- 
mon case.  An  excess  of  vanity  disguised 
by  matchless  craft,  made  her  seek  to  be- 
come above  her  natural  station.  She  sought 
to  be  the  envy  of  her  companions,  by  wearing 
of  such  ornament  as  they  could  not  obtain. 
These  she  cared  not  to  obtain  honestly, 
t/^agh  she  employed  an  exhaustless  stock 
of  artifice  to  make  it  appear  they  were  so 
acquired.  The  tempter  was  at  hand,  ready 
to  take  advantage  of  her  evil-disposedness. 
A  few  trinkets  and  other  pretty  baubles, 
with  a  fair  commodity  of  oatais  and  flatteries, 


completed  the  bargain.  The  price  paid,  she 
sold  herself,  body  and  soul.  Still  I  stopped 
not  here.  I  insisted  on  the  name  of  her  com« 
panion  in  iniquity.  After  a  while  she  gave 
it.  It  was  mine  enemy. 

"  He  had  seen  where  I  had  stored  up  all 
my  hopes — he  had  noticed  my  infinite  pains- 
taking to  make  my  happiness  complete — he 
had  watched — eagerly— delightedly  watch- 
ed the  progress  of  the  enamored  game  I  was 
playing,  till  I  had  staked  every  thought  and 
feeling  on  the  issue ;  and  then  he  came  with 
his  damnable  base  villainy,  and  so  cheated 
me,  I  not  only  lost  what  I  had*  staked,  but 
lost  myself  as  well.  At  the  mention  of  his 
name  I  flung  her  from  me  like  a  toad :  and 
as  the  fear-struck  wretch  lay  prostrate  be- 
fore me,  I  heaped  on  her  guilty  soul  the 
abundant  measure  of  my  honest  execrations. 
She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  writhed 
like  a  bruised  worm;  but  I  left  her  not  till 
I  had  exhausted  every  term  of  infamy  and 
scorn  I  had  at  my  will.  Doubtless,  though 
the  next  hour  she  went  about  wearing  of 
the  same  simple,  artless,  innocent  counte- 
nance as  first  attracted  me ;  and  as  token 
of  her  worthiness,  exhibited  to  her  envious 
companions  the  letters  and  verses  of  my 
writing,  wherein  I  bestowed  on  her  that 
estimable  rare  clothing  with  which  true 
love  delighteth  to  attire  its  deity : — and,  I 
make  no  manner  of  question,  hath  since 
palmed  herself  off  on  others,  as  she  strove 
to  do  With  me,  as  the  purest,  kindest  and 
best  among  the l  most  admirable  of  her 
sex. 

"  As  for  the  villain  that  did  me  this  in- 
tolerable wrong,  I  sought  him  in  all  places, 
but  he  managed  to  elude  the  strictness  of 
my  search.  If  there  remain  for  me  one 
glimpse  of  happiness  in  this  world,  it  can 
only  come  when  I  shall  toss  his  body  to  the 
ravens,  and  leave  his  bones  a  crumbling 
monument  of  matchless  perfidy,  to  whiten 
in.  the  blast.  Bowed  down,  as  I  am,  with 
the  weight  of  those  memories  which  crush 
my  humanity  to  the  dust,  my  arm  seems 
nerved,  and  all  my  limbs  clothed  with  a 
giant's  power,  whenever  I  see  in  my  mind's 
eye  the  arrival  of  my  day  of  vengeance.  I 
know  it  will  come.  Nature  hath  been  out- 
raged beyond  all  previous  example.  The 
punishment  shall  be  in  proportion  to  the 
offence.  The  breath  of  life  is  kept  within 
my  miserable  frame  only  by  an  unconquer- 
able desire  to  execute  this  natural  decree  ; 
and  till  that  longed-for  time  shall  come,  the 
scorn,  the  detestation,  the  hatred,  the  con- 
tempt,  the  disgust,  the  loathing  and  abhor- 
rence that  bubbles  from  my  heart,  will  fall, 
for  want  of  being  discnarged  upon  its  piopei 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


153 


object,  upon  those  who  have  the  ill  hap  to 
come  within  my  influence. 

"  Boy  !"  exclaimed  John  a  Combe,  in  a 
voice  scarce  audible  from  the  greatness  of 
his  emotions,  "  when  I  think  of  what  I  might 
have  become,  and  behold  what  I  am,  my 
heart  feels  as  if  it  would  shiver  in  my  breast. 
There  are  many  who  may  still  remember  me 
in  my  better  days,  but  I  doubt  they  knew 
the  happiness  I  had  then  in  myself  and  my 
doings.  From  philanthropy  to  usury  is  a 
huge  step ;  yet  I  took  it  at  a  bound.  May- 
hap I  am  mad — I  ha'fe  had  cause  enough 
for  it — but  I  can  assert  of  a  certainty,  I  am 
— most  miserable." 

William  Shakspeare  had  listened  to  the 
preceding  narration  with  exceeding  interest; 
but  the  last  few  words  were  spoken  with 
such  a  touching  earnestness,  he  was  more 
deeply  moved  than  ever  he  had  been  in  his 
life  before.  He  saw  this  was  no  case  for 
common  consolations — he  therefore  attempt- 
ed nothing  of  the  sort. 

"  Never  breathe  to  me  a  word  of  woman's 
honorableness,"  continued  the  usurer,  with 
increased  earnestness.  "  This  creature  that 
I  had  worshipped  with  so  pure  a  spirit, 
whose  worthiness  I  exalted  above  all  virtue, 
and  whose  excellence  I  so  honored,  it  out- 
topped  every  example  of  goodness,  not  only 
did  me  this  inhuman  wrong  out  of  her  own 
infinite  baseness ;  but  as  soon  as  I  had  rid 
myself  of  her  infamous  society,  she  took  to 
slandering  me  with  the  coarse,  vile  coloring 
of  the  blackest  malice — thinking,  by  so  do- 
ing, my  testimony  of  her  shame  would  not 
be  believed.  I  alone  had  knowledge  of  her 
evil  doing — the- fear  which  guilt  produces 
continually  haunted  her — and  she  strove  to 
save  her  reputation  by  destroying  mine. 
She  gave  out  I  had  sought  to  use  her  dis- 
honestly, so  she  would  have  none  of  me ; 
and  accused  me  of  such  horrible  behaving 
as  none  but  the  degraded,  debased  thing  she 
had  made  herself,  could  have  conceived. 
Here,  then,  \^p.s  I  by  my  abundant  love  of 
virtue,  and  prodigal  generousness,  in  seek- 
ing to  make  others  happy,  stripped  hopeless 
— and  then  daubed  with  the  pitch  of  infamy ! 
I  have  said  nought  of  this  matter  hitherto, 
believing  I  might  escape  the  outstretched 
finger,  and  the  reviling  eye,  of  the  unjust 
world,  by  a  strict  secrecy.  My  pride  would 
not  allow  of  my  offering  one  word  in  my 
own  defence,  convinced  that  men's  minds 
have  such  an  inclination  for  villainy,  they 
will  readily  entertain  it,  let  it  come  in  any 
shape.  No  where  will  there  be  found  any 
sympathy/  for  abused  confidence,  for  the 
man  that  is  deceived  is  looked  upon  as  a 
poor  weak  fool,  that  should  have  had  more 


wit  than  to  have  suffered  such  cozening. 

(;  I  felt  convinced  that  every  one  aiound 
me  were  striving  to  get  to  a  knowledge  of 
my  secret,  that  they  might  enjoy  the  plea- 
sure of  thinking  ill  of  me  ;  so  I  was  before- 
hand with  them — abused  all,  and  kept  all 
from  the  slightest  approach  to  that  famili- 
arity which  they  desired  should  lead  to  con- 
tempt. But  what  a  life  is  this  I  am  living! 
and  when  I  behold  thy  fresh  young  nature 
pursuing  the  same  course  which  mine  hath 
gone,  have  I  not  reason  to  fear  it  will  come 
to  a  like  dreadful  ending  ?  Boy !  look  at 
me,  and  pause  in  thy  career.  1  have  been 
as  thou  art  now — a  worshipper  of  fair  ap- 
pearances. I  loved  the  goodly  garnishing 
of  the  bright  world,  and  would  have  rushed 
against  a  thousand  levelled  spears  in  de- 
fence of  its  integrity.  Thou  seest  me  here 
decrepid  in  my  prime,  inwardly  affected 
with  a  moral  leprosy,  that  eateth  my  heart 
to  the  core — outwardly,  one  entire  sore,  that 
causeth  me  to  shrink  from  the  world  as  from 
a  scorching  fire.  I  am  at  strife  with  my 
fellows — I  am  at  war  with  myself — the  day 
bringeth  no  peace  for  me — the  night  no  re- 
pose. Merciful  God  !"  exclaimed  the  un- 
happy usurer,  in  his  deep  frenzy,  clasping 
his  hands  together,  with  a  wild  look  of  agony 
and  supplication.  "Is  there  no  peace  for 
the  guiltless  ? — Is  there  nought  but  perpet- 
ual torture  for  the  doer  of  good  ?  Tear  not 
my  heart-strings  with  so  rude  a  grasp  !  I 
have  wronged  none.  I  have  loved  all.  I 
have  worshipped  fervently  each  excellent 
evidence  of  thy  perfect  handiwork.  Let  not 
mine  enemy  prevail  against  me.  He  hath 
done  me  mosc  intolerable  injury.  Pity  for 
my  undeserved  sufferings !  Justice  against 
the  villainy  that  produced  them  !  Mercy  ! 
help !  vengeance !" 

Shouting  these  last  words  in  the  most 
piercing  tones,  John  a  Combe  tottered  for- 
\vard  a  few  steps,  and  before  his  young  com- 
panion could  reach  the  place  where  he  was, 
fell  exhausted  iipon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

Is  this  your  manly  service  ?       , 
A  devil  scorns  to  do  it. 

MASSINGER. 

Now  whether  it  were  providence,  or  luck, 
Whether  the  keeper's  or  the  stealer"s  buck, 
There  we  had  venison. 

BISHOP  CORBET. 

"  SEE  that  this  plot  of  thine  have  a  more 
profitable  issue  than  thy  preceding  ones." 


154 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  It  cannot  fail,  my  lord,  it  is  so  cunning- 
ly devised." 

"  So  thou  saidst  of  the  others,  yet  I  reaped 
no  advantage  of  them." 

"  That  was  owing  to  no  fault  of  mine, 
/  believe  me,  but  to  circumstances  which,  as 
it  was  clean  impossible  they  could  be  fore- 
seen of  the  piercingest  wit,  it  is  plain  they 
could  not  have  been  prevented." 

Thus  spoke  two  of  whom  the  reader  hath 
already  some  acquaintance — to  wit,  the  li- 
centious noble  and  his  villainous  assistant ; 
and  they  were  sitting  together  in  a  small, 
mean  chamber  of  an  obscure  inn  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Charlcote — the  former,  as 
usual,  so  closely  wrapped  up,  as  if  he  feared 
being  recognized;  and  the  other  in  finer  fea- 
ther than  he  had  ever  been  in  before,  as 
though  he  was  intent  in  playing  some  ex- 
ceeding gallant  part. 

"  I  marvel,  my  lord,  you  should  waste  so 
much  labor  on  so  poor  an  object,"  observed 
the  meaner  villain.  "  Methinks  you  might 
f  have  won  a  nobler  prize  at  half  the  pains. 
Indeed,  I  have  been  credibly  informed  this 
Mabel  is  nothing  better  than  a  very  mean 
person, — a  mere  foundling — mayhap,  the 
chance  offspring  of  vulgar  parents — that 
hath  now  become  a  sort  of  humble  servant 
to  the  'good  dame  by  whom  she  was  disco- 
vered." 

"Dost  tell  me  this  story, fellow!"  exclaim- 
ed his  companion,  rising  from  his  seat  with 
most  haughty  indignant  glances.  "  Why, 
where  hath  tiown  thy  wits,  that  thou  couldst 
credit  so  shallow  a  tale  ? — Foundling !  o' 
my  lit'e,  I  would  gladly  give  a  thousand 
crowns  to  pick  up  such  a  foundling  but 
once  or  twice  in  my  life.  Vulgar  parent- 
age !  By  this  hand,  I  have  seen  her  wear 
so  regal  an  air  with  her,  as  Elizabeth,  in  her 
proudest  mood,  never  came  up  to.  Ser- 
vant !  Hast  noted  her  look  and  move,  and 
speak  with  that  unrivalled  dignity  she  pos- 
sesseth,  and  talk  so  idly  ?  'Slife,  thy  brains 
are  addled." 

The  gallant  looked  all  humbleness.  He 
knew  it  would  bt1  somewhat  unprofitable  to 
him  to  differ  in  opinion  with  his  employer 
on  such  a  matter  ;  so  he  made  no  more  ado 
than  to  express  his  entire  disbelief  of  the 
story  he  had  been  told,  and  avow  he  had  ne- 
ver entertained  it  from  the  first. 

"  I  must  say  this  plot  seemeth  to  me  a 
famous  good  one  for  the  purpose,"  observed 
the  other,  as  he  was  making  for  the  door. — 
"  But,  mark  me,  if  that  knave  of  thine  lay 
but  his  sacrilegious  linger  on  her,  I'll  cut 
him  to  shreds  I" 

•'  Be  assured,  my  lord,  everything  shall 
be  doi;e  according  to  your  noble  wishes," 


replied  his  associate.  Soon  afterwards  both 
mounted  their  horses  at  the  door,  the  noble 
then  started  off  in  one  direction,  and  the 
other,  accompanied  by  the  same  ill-looking 
fellow,  that  had  dealt  William  Shakspeare 
so  fierce  a  blow  in  the  park,  at  Charlcote, 
took  a  different  road.  These  two  rode  to- 
wards Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  house  in  deep  and 
earnest  converse  all  the  way ;  the  former 
ever  anon  breaking  off  his  discourse  by 
muttering  the  words  "  fellow,"  and  "  so  my 
brains  are  addled!"  in  a  manner  which 
showed  he  had  taken  huge  offence  at  those 
expressions.  In  another  hour  they  were 
seated  with  the  justice  in  his  favorite  cham- 
ber, making  famous  cheer  of  his  good  ale  ; 
the  gallant  appearing  to  be  a  marvellous 
great  person ;  and  his  fellow  dressed  in  a 
falconer's  suit  of  green,  played  the  part  of 
the  honest,  humble  serving  man,  that  his 
master,  out  of  regard  for  his  exceeding  me- 
rit, sought  to  make  happy.  He  spoke  sel- 
dom, and  then  only  to  praise  his  good  mas- 
ter, or  say  some  respectful  speech  to  his 
worship  the  justice.  However,  his  compa- 
nions left  him  but  little  opportunity  for  much 
talking,  had  he  been  so  inclined  ;  for  what 
with  his  master's  marvellous  accounts  of  his 
influence  at  court,  and  the  many  noble  per- 
sons he  was  held  in  such  esteem  of,  they 
could  refuse  him  nothing,  and  Sir  Thomas's 
still  more  incredible  accounts  at  his  familiar 
acquaintance  with  these  notable  person- 
ages, in  their  youth,  and  the  famous  tricks 
he  apd  they  had  played  together,  there  was 
but  little  room  for  a  third  party  to  bring  in 
a  word. 

We  must,  however,  leave  these  worthies 
for  the  present,  and  accompany  the  courte- 
ous reader  to  another  chamber,  wherein  the 
gentle  Mabel  wras  receiving  a  grave  and 
somewhat  severe  lecture  from  Dame  Lucy. 
The  poor  foundling  looked  pale  and  sad. — 
She  was  striving  to  resign  herself  to  the 
humility  of  her  fortunes,  but  there  was 
something  in  her  nature  thaft  would  not  be 
content. 

"  I  beseech  you,  sweet  mistress,  let  me 
hear  no  more  of  the  marriage,"  said  she  at 
last,  in  a  manner  pitiful  enough  to  have 
moved  any  person.  "  This  man  I  know  to 
be  one  of  those  who  assisted  to  carry  me  off, 
and  the  other  his  master  was  the  mainspring 
of  the  whole  villainy." 

"  Did  any  ever  iiear  of  such  presump- 
tion !"  exclaimed  the  old  dame,  in  a  famous 
astonishment.  "  Doth  not  Sir  Thomas  de- 
clare that  the  gentleman  hath  been  his  good 
friend  nigh  upon  this  twenty  year,  and  tha 
the  other,  his  falconer,  he  believes  to  be  at 
honest  a  man  as  ever  broke  bread.  Dost 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


155 


pretend  to  Know  more  than  the  jnstice  ?     I 
marvel  at  thy  horrible  impudency  !" 

"  I  cannot  be  mistaken,  for  they  have 
given  me  but  too  good  cause  to  hold  them 
firmly  in  my  remembrance,"  added  the  poor 
foundling. 

"  Here's  ingratitude  !"  cried  her  ancient 
companion,  seeming  to  be  getting  a  little 
out  of  temper  !  "  Here's  obstinacy  !  Here's 
disobedience,  and  undutifulness  to  thy  pro- 
per advisers.  Art  not  ashamed  to  be  setting 
thyself  in  opposition  to  thy  betters,  who  have 
clothed  thee,  and  fed  thee,  and  given  thee 
lodging,  and  made  of  thee  a  Christian  ? — 
By  my  troth,  I  would  not  have  believed  such 
huge  baseness  was  in  the  whole  world." 

"  But  I  have  no  desire  for  marriage,  an'  it 
please  you.  good  mistress,"  said  Mabel  ; 
"  merhinks  I  am  well  enough  as  I  am." 

"  How  dost  pretend  to  know  anything  of 
the  sort,"  answered  Dame  Lucy,  sharply. — 
"  Is  not  the  justice  the  better  judge  !  Hath 
he  not  said  thou  art  ill  off,  and  dost  dare,  in 
tha  face  of  it,  to  say  thou  art  well  enough  ? 
But  I  see  it  plain.  Thou  art  hankering  af-  j 
ter  those  line  fellows  who  met  thee  at  Kenil- 
worth  ;  and  would  sooner  be  the  leman  of  a 
gay  gallant  than  the  wife  of  an  honest  man. 
But  I  will  put  a  stop  to  thy  villainy  straight. 
Tlie  justice  hath  declared  thou  art  to  marry, 
and  to  marry  thou  must  speedily  make  up 
thy  inincl.  I  will  see  that  thou  art  properly 
wedded  with  all  convenient  speed  ;  and*as 
earnest  of  my  intentions,  I  will  sand  thee 
the  honest  man  who  is  to  be  thy  husband. — 
Prithee,  take  heed  thou  entertain  him  well." 

Mabel  saw  her  mistress  leava  tho  cham- 
ber, and  sank  into  a  seat  with  a  mind  nigh 
paralyzed  with  apprehension.     She  had  sus- 
pected, for  some  time,  some  plot  was  hatch- 
ing by  which  she  was  to  suffer,  and  she  now 
saw  its  villainous  shape  and  purpose.     She 
perceived  it  Was  planned  with  such  extreme 
subtlety,  that  it  afforded  scarce  any  chance 
of  escape.     Her  thoughts  were  sinking  into 
a  very  desperate   hopelessness,  when  the  ! 
door  opened,  and  there  entered  the  chamber,  j 
with   a   half-respectful,   half-familiar   look,  j 
and  in  an  awkward,  clownish  manner,  the  , 
man  that  awhile  since  was  making  cheer 
with  his   master,  and  the  justice.     Mabel 
knew  him  at  a  glance,  and,  in  a  moment,  | 
sprung  to  her  feet,  eyeing  him  with  a  look 
of  scorn  and  detestation   that  appeared  to 
discompose    him    somewhat.      There  was 
scarce  a  bolder  villain  in  existence,  yet  it 
was  evident  he  felt  not  quite  at  his  ease  be- 
fore the  flashing  glances  of  the  poor  found- 
ling.    He  seated  himself  on  a  chair,  holding 
his  hat  before  him  with  his  knees  close  toge- 
ther j  and  presently  shifted  his  position,  and 


then  again  changed  it.  Neither  had  spoke 
by  word  of  mouth  ;  but  the  looks  of  Mabel 
seemed  to  have  the  searchingest  language 
that  ever  was  said  or  written,  and  the  villain 
read  it,  understood  it,  and  felt  it.  At  last, 
he  commenced  speaking : — "  His  worship 
hath  had  such  goodness  as  to " 

"  Wretch  !"  exclaimed  Mabel,  interrupt- 
ing him  in  a  deep  low  voice,  in  which  utter 
contempt  seemed  to  breathe  its  most  humi- 
liating spirit ;  and  then  advancing  towards 
him  two  or  three  steps  in  all  the  haughty 
dignity  of  virtue,  continued  with  an  elo- 
quence of  look  and  gesture  which  exceed- 
eth  all  powers  of  description,  to  address  him 
thus  : — "  The  spawn  of  the  toad  hath  a 
name,  the  slough  of  the  adder  may  be  called 
something ;  but  what  art  thou,  monster  of 
baseness,  for  whom  language  hath  no  fit  ti- 
tle. Art  a  man  ?  Manhood  spits  at  thee  ! 
Art  a  beast  ?  The  most  bestial  thing  that 
crawls,  knoweth  nothing  of  the  vile  office 
thou  hast  undertaken.  Avaunt,  thou  out- 
rage_upon  nature  !  Away,  thou  shame  on 
humanity !  Go,  hide  thee,  if  hiding  thou 
canst  find  ;  for  if  thou  couldst  crawl  within 
the  deepest  bowels  of  the  earth,  the  earth 
would  sicken  at  thy  touch,  and  cast  thee  up 
— the  sea  would  raise  her  gorge  at  thee — 
the  mountains  heave  at  thy  approach — and 
all  the  elements  of  matter  shrink  from  thy 
neighborhood,  as  from  an  abomination  too 
gross  to  be  endured!" 

The  man  winced  under  this  address,  as  if 
every  word  of  it  had  been  a  goad  that  touch- 
ed him  to  the  quick.  His  dark  scowling 
eyes  glanced  restlessly  about,  he  changed 
color  several  times,  and  looked  in  that  pe- 
culiar expression  of  indecision  that  betoken- 
eth  a  state  of  mind  in  which  a  person  know- 
eth not  what  to  do  with  himself,  though  he 
would  be  glad  to  be  anywhere  but  where  he 
Was. 

';  What  desperate  demon  put  thee  on  this 
mischief,"  continued  Mabel  in  the  same  force 
of  language  and  manner.  "  Canst  seek  such 
detestable  employment  and  live  ?  Hast  no 
sense  of  shame  ?  No  fear  of  punishment  ? 
No  dread  of  an  hereafter  ?  Look  at  what 
thou  art  about  to  do.  Hold  it  before  thy 
gaze  unshrinkingly,  if  thou  canst.  Doth 
not  thy  soul  shrink  in  disgust  at  entering 
upon  such  loathsomeness  ?  Man  !  If  thou 
hast  not  parted  with  every  tittle  of  the  de- 
cent pride  of  nature,  spurn  the  outrageous 
infamy  thou  wouldst  thrust  thyself  into. — 
Get  thee  to  thy  employer,  and  tell  him  thou 
dost  abhor  such  inhuman  villainy,  or  thou 
wilt  be  hunted  through  the  world  like  some 
foul  fruit  of  monstrous  practices,  all  nature 
riseth  to  destroy  from  very  shame." 


156 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


The  villain  evidently  trembled,  and  the 
big  drops  starting  on  his  wrinkled  forehead, 
showed  how  deeply  he  was  moved. 

"  Rememberest  thou,  thou  hadst  once  a 
mother  ?"  added  the  foundling  in  a  deeper 
and  more  subduing  tone :  "  think  of  her, 
friendless  as  I  am.  How  wouldst  thou  re- 
gard the  man  who  suffered  himself  to  be- 
come the  tool  of  a  villainous  base  traitor,  to 
secure  his  doing  her  such  foul  wrong  as 
honesty  stands  aghast  to  contemplate  ? — 
Wouldst  not  be  ready  to  tear  his  heart  from 
his  breast,  and  trample  it  in  the  nighest 
dunghill,  to  rot  with  its  kindred  filth  ?  Canst 
behold  this  vileness  in  another  and  not  see 
it  in  thyself?  Thou  art  the  tool  for  com- 
passing this  mischief,  and  I  the  guiltless  ob- 
ject at  which  'tis  aimed.  If  I  have  done 
thee  any  wrong  I  will  do  all  possible  repara- 
tion. If  I  have  given  thee  any  offence,  I 
will  endure  any  corresponding  punishment. 
I  charge  thee  say  in  what  I  have  injured  thee, 
that  thou  shouldst  pursue  me  with  so  unna- 
tural a  hatred  !" 

"  Nay,  sweet  mistress,  I  have  never  re- 
ceived ill  at  your  hands,"  replied  the  man 
with  a  faltering  voice,  and  a  manner  tho- 
roughly ashamed.  "  And  if  I  in  any  way 
assist  in  doing  of  you  an  injury,  may  I  be 
hanged  on  the  highest  gibbet  that  can  be 
found."  So  saying,  he  hurried  out  of  the 
chamber  so  completely  chap-fallen  as  no 
villain  had  ever  been  before.  He  immedi- 
ately sought  his  master,  and  found  him  alone. 

"  Ask  of  me  to  stab,  to  poison,  or  to  rob, 
and  1  care  not  to  refuse,"  exclaimed  he. 
"  But  if  I  am  caught  within  looking  or  talk- 
ing distance  of  that  wends.again,  I  will  eat 
myself  by  handfuls.  'Slight !  her  words 
and  glances  have  so  scourged  me,  I  would 
sooner  have  took  the  whipping-post  the  long- 
est day  o'  the  year,  than  have  endured  a 
tithe  of  such  punishment." 

"  Why,  thou  ape,  thou  beast,  thou  fool, 
thou  pestilent 'knave  and  coward!  what  dost 
mean  by  this  ?"  cried  his  master  in  as  great 
rage  as  astonishment.  "  Wouldst  spoil  the 
goodliest  plot  that  ever  was  devised ;  and 
mar  the  making  of  our  fortunes  when  we 
are  sure  of  success  ?" 

"  Truly,  I  care  not  if  I  do,"  said  the  man 
doggedly.  "  But  I  will  be  no  mean  for  the 
doing  of  her  any  mischief.  I  will  assist 
thee  in  any  decent  villainy,  but  if  ever  I 
meddle  with  her  again,  I'll  forswear  living." 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  other  tried  by 
premises  and  then  by  threats  *to  turn  his 
companion's  resolution  ;  and  the  result  was, 
Mabel  was  left  at  peace  till  some  more  wil- 
ling agent  could  be  found. 

In  tho  meanwhile  the  passion  of  the  youth- 


ful Shakspeare  for  the  yeoman's  blooming 
daughter  continued  to  develope  itself  with 
increased  fervor,  despite  of  the  usurer's 
warning ;  and  John  Hathaway  with  his  own 
notions  of  the  matter,  at  last  on  one  of  his 
usual  evening  visits,  bluntly  asked  him  how 
he  should  like  his  fair  mistress  for  a  wife  ; 
whereupon,  as  might  be  expected,  the  young 
lover  answered  nought  in  this  world  would 
make  him  so  happy.  Then  the  father  grave- 
ly inquired  into  his  means  of  supporting  a 
wife,  at  which  his  contpanion  looked  the 
gravest  of  the  two,  and  acknowledged  that 
all  he  had  was  the  wage  he  received  from 
Master  Catchpole,  which  scarce  sufficed  to 
keep  him  in  shoe  leather ;  and  that  the  yeo- 
man looked  monstrous  concerned,  and  be- 
gan to  preach  a  notable  fine  homily  on  the 
necessity  of  marrying  with  sufficient  provi- 
sion, to  all  of  which  the  young  poet  had  not 
a  word  of  reply ;  but  sat  in  a  very  desperate 
unhappiness,  fully  convinced  every  hope  of 
gaining  his  dear  mistress  was  at  an  end. 

"  I  tell  thee  what  it  is,  friend  Will,"  said 
John  Hathaway,  after  regarding  his  compan- 
ion's doleful  visage  till  he  found  he  could  no 
longer  disguise  the  sly  pleasure  he  was  him- 
self enjoying  all  the  time,  "  Keep  thy  heart 
above  thy  girdle*  I  prithee.  I  and  thy  hon- 
est father  settled  the  matter  yester-eve,  over 
a  full  tankard.  Thou  shalt  be  married  at 
Lemmas,  and  shalt  lack  nothing  for  thy  par- 
ticular comfort  I  can  procure  thee.  A  fair 
good  night  to  thee,  son  Will."  Before  the 
delighted  lover  could  recover  from  his  ex- 
ceeding astonishment  at  this  welcome'intol- 
ligence,  his  intended  father-in-law,  mayhap 
the  most  pleased  of  the  two,  had  made  his 
way  to  his  bed-chamber. 

Every  hour  of  the  intervening  time  went 
joyfully  with  the  youthful  Shakspeare. — 
Even  the  musty  parchmehts  and  dull  law 
writings  took  a  pleasant  countenance  at  this 
period,  and  he  labored  so  diligently  and  so 
much  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  master,  with 
whom  he  had  become  in  famous  esteem  for 
his  cleverness  at  his  duties,  that  he  hearing 
of  his  coming  marriage,  promised  him  a 
week's  holidays  previous  to  his  wedding-day, 
that  he  might  the  better  employ  himself  in 
the  necessary  preparations,  and  a  week  after 
his  nuptials,  that  lie  might  have  sufficient 
space  to  enjoy  himself  to  his  heart's  content. 

But  the  little  lawyer  was  a  marvellous 
shrewd  person.  He  suspected  did  he  not 
get  rid  of  his  clerk  at  such  a  time,  he  would 
be  marring  of  everything  he  put  his  hand 
to  by  thinking  of  other  matters. 

The  week  previous  to  the  wedding  had 
arrived,  and  the  young  lover  was  in  such  a 
state  of  happy  expectation  as  lovers  at  such 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


157 


a  time  only  can.  know.  His  cheerful,  free 
humor  had  made  him  an  especial  favorite  of 
the  young  men  of  his  own  age,  who  could 
claim  with  him  any  sort  of  acquaintance, 
and  now  more  than  ever  his  heart  was  open 
to  every  appearance  of  sociality.  His  ap- 
proaching marriage  became  known  over  the 
town,  and  this  led  many  to  ask  him  to  par- 
take with  him  a  friendly  draught,  that  they 
might  wish  him  all  manner  of  happiness,  the 
which  he  could  not  without  an  unbecoming 
discourtesy  refuse,  consequently,  when  he 
was  not  in  company  with  his  dear  mistress, 
of  whom  by  reason  of  her  being  in  almost 
constant  occupation  preparing  for  this  great 
festival  of  her  life,  he  saw  only  for  a  brief 
space  each  day,  he  was  engaged  in  social 
revelling  with  his  friends.  Perchance  some 
of  these,  being  of  an  idle  turn,  and  of  some- 
what unbridled  inclinations,  were  not  the 
very  properest  companions  he  should  have 
chosen,  but  he  knew  of  nought  to  their  par- 
ticular disadvantages,  and  their  exceeding 
friendliness  towards  him,  in  his  present  hu- 
mor, made  him  readily  embrace  any  frolic 
they  wished  him  to  sham  in.  They  pro- 
posed that  to  make  the  wedding  feast  the 
more  perfect,  they  should  go  together  over 
night  and  kill  a  deer,  and  as  this  was  re- 
garded by  persons  of  his  condition  at  that 
period  as  a  mere  customary  youthful  frolic, 
he  readily  promised  to  be  of  the  party. 

It  chanced  to  happen,  that  afternoon,  as 
they  were  standing  together  at  the  inn  door, 
who  should  come  by  but  Oliver  Dumps,  the 
constable,  having  as  his  prisoners  no  less 
important  personages  than  Sir  Nathaniel, 
the  curate,  and  Stripes,  the  scholmaster. — 
The  cause  of  which  was,  that  these  two  had 
become  such  inveterate  offenders  in  the  way 
of  drunkenness,  and  Oliver  was  so  desirous 
of  showing  himself  the  Queen's  proper  offi- 
cer, that  he  had  at  last  come  to  the  deter- 
mination of  putting  them  both  in  the  stocks ; 
and  to  the  stocks,  which  lay  convenient  to 
the  inn,  in  the  market-place,  the  constable 
was  bringing  them,  making  the  dolefulest 
lamentation,  by  the  way,  of  the  horrid  wick- 
edness of  the  world  that  had  forced  him  to 
so  exercise  his  authority.  It  was  amusing 
enough  of  all  conscience  to  the  throng  of 
children  and  idlers  that  so  novel  an  incident 
had  brought  together,  to  note  the  manner  in 
which  the  two  offenders  bore  themselves  as 
they  were  carried  along.  The  schoolmaster 
hung  his  head  as  if  he  felt  aMittle  ashamed 
of  his  situation,  but  the  curate  assumed  an 
air  of  dignity  so  monstrously  ridiculous,  none 
could  look  on  it  in  any  seriousness.  Pre- 
sently the  board  was  opened,  their  legs 
placed  in  the  holes,  and  having  had  it  fas- 


tened down  on  them  with  a  strong  padlock, 
they  were  left  to  their  own  reflections. 

Sir  Nathaniel,  seated  on  a  low  stool,  with 
his  fat  legs  stuck  fast  in  the  board,  seemed 
not  at  all  comfortable  ;  and  Stripes,  hanging 
of  his  head,  with  his  thin  shanks  dangling 
through  the  holes,  looked  amazing  sheepish. 
The  curate  glanced  feelingly  at  the  school- 
master, and  the  schoolmaster  turned  a  simi- 
lar look  of  suffering  at  the  curate. 

"  Hard  lying, — ey,  Ticklebreech  ?"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Nathaniel,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Monstrous  !"  replied  Stripes,  in  as  sad  a 
tone  as  ever  was  heard. ,  It  was  evident  the 
curate  was  not  well  pleased  with  his  seat, 
for  he  turned  on  one  side  and  then  on  the 
other,  and  then  supported  himself  with  his 
hands  behind,  with  a  visage  as  woeful  as 
drunken  man  ever  wore. 

"  I  would  these  pestilent  stocks  had  been 
a  thousand  miles  away,  and  be  harlged  to 
'em  !"  cried  the  uncomfortable  Sir  Nathani- 
el, with  an  earnestness  that  bespoke  his  sin- 
cerity. 

"  1'faifh  so  would  I,  an'  it  please  your 
reverence  !"  answered  the  pedagogue,  with 
more  than  ordinary  fervor.  As  the  minutes 
passed,  neither  appeared  to  grow  a  whit 
more  satisfied  with  his  situation.  ^The  crim- 
son face  of  the  one  every  moment  took  a 
deeper  hue,  and  the  lanthorn  jaws  of  the 
other  assumed  an  increasing  elongation. 

"  Too  .much  drinkin's  a  villainous  bad 
thing,  Pedagogue  !"  said  the  curate,  with  a 
notable  emphasis  that  showed  how  convinc- 
ed he  was  of  the  truth  of  his  assertion. 

"  Horrible !"  replied  Stripes,  evidently  in  a 
like  assurance. 

"  I  marvel  a  man  should  be  so  huge  an 
ass  as  to  bs  ever  addling  his  brains  with 
abominable  filthy  liquor/'  continued  his 
companion.  "  For  mine  own  part,  I  would 
such  vile  stuff  was  put  clean  out  o'  the  land. 
I  hate  it.  But  'tis-all  the  fault  of  those  base, 
thorough-going  rogues  of  tapsters,  who  se- 
duce one's  innocence  ;  and  then,  when  the 
draughts  have  become  in  any  number, 
straightway  take  to  asking  for  payment. 
What  infafhous  villainy !" 

"  Marvellous,  o'  my  word !"  exclaimed  the 
other. 

"  Well,  an'  they  catch  me  drinking  any 
more  of  their  abominable  potations,  I'll  turn 
hermit,"  observed  Sir  Nathaniel,  in  a  greater 
earnestness.  "  'Sprecious  !  there  is  no  ho- 
nesty in  swallowing  anything  of  the  sort. — 
Ale  is  against  all  Christian  doctrine,  arid 
wine  is  scarce  fit  for  a  Jew.  Not  a  drop 
of  such  deceitful  base  wash  shall  pollute  my 
throat.  Wilt  taste  any  more  on't,  Tickle- 
breech  ?" 


168 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  Never !  an'  it  please  your  reverence," 
cried  the  schoolmaster  monstrous  determin- 
edly. The  whole  of  this  little  scene  of  re- 
formation had  been  heard  and  witnessed  by 
the  youthful  Shakspeare  and  his  companions, 
to  their  exceeding  amusement ;  and  soon  af- 
ter, one  of  the  former  came  before  the  topers, 
carrying  of  an  ale-can  frothing  over  at  the 
top. 

"  Thinking  thou  cannot  hejp  being  terri- 
athirst  sitting  there  so  uncomfortably,  I  have 
brought  thee  a  draught  of  right  good  iiquor," 
said  he,  very  carefully  laying  down  the  can 
within  a  short  distance  of  them,  and  then  re- 
turning to  'his  companions. 

"  I  thank  thee,  boy — I  thank  thee  ;  my 
tongue  cleaveth  to  my  month,  I  am  so  dry," 
replied  the  curate,  eagerly  stretching  out  his 
arm  towards  the  vessel ;  but  it  was  beyond 
his  reach  :  thereupon  he  earnestly  moved  Jiis 
companion  to  bring  it  him ;  and  Stripes,  ma- 
nifestly no  less  eagerly,  stretched  out  his 
whole  length  of  limb,  but  could  only  get  with- 
in an  inch  of  it. 

"  Now,  Pedagogus !"  cried  his  companion 
pushing  the  other  with  all  his  might  over 
the  stocks,  "  prithee,  send  thy  hand  a  little 
farther.  Stretch  away,  Ticklebreech !  Thou 
hast  it  within"a  hair's  breadth  ;  now,  give  it 
a  fair  grasp  and  'tis  ours."  But  it  was  all 
*  labor  in  vain  ;  Stripes  stretched,  and  Sir 
Nathaniel  pushed  with  equal  desire;  but  all 
.  their  united  exertions  only  succeeded  in 
bringing  the  schoolmaster's  lingers  to  touch 
the  tantalizing  ale-can  ;  and,  at  last,  Stripes 
roared  out  he  could  cndure.no  more  squeez- 
ing, for  his  body  wa's  pressed  against  the 
edge  of  the  board  with  a  force  that  threat- 
ened to  cut  him  in  two.  Whilst  both  were 
lamenting  the  hardness  of  their  fortune,  up 
came  another  of  the  young  men,  and  pushed 
the  can  a  little  nearer  and  went  his  way. — 
The  schoolmaster  in  a  moment  had  it  in  his 
careful  hold,  but  the  other  greedily  snatched 
it  out  of -his  hand,  claiming  the  first  draught 
as  due  to  his  superiority,  and  quickly  raised 
it  to  his  lips.  He  had  not  swallowed  more 
than  a  mouthful  or  two  when  he  dashed 
down  the  can,  spluttered  out  what%e  was 
swallowing,  and  made  one  of  the  most  dis- 
satisfied countenances  ever  seen,  to  the  ex- 
ceeding astonishment  of  his  companion  and 
the  infinite  delight  of  the  spectators.  The 
can,  instead  of  "  right  good  liquor,"  con- 
tained nothing  better  than  a  mess  of  soap- 
suds, fetched  by  the  merry  knave  who  of- 
fered it,  from  a  tub  in  which  the  maids  of 
the  inn  were  washing  the  household  linen. 

Whilst  the  enraged  curate  was  making  of 
all  manner  of  strange,  forbidding  grimaces, 
and  abusing  those  who  had  put  so  unpalata- 


ble a  jest  on  him  in  most  outrageous  chol- 
eric terms,  there  rode  up  to  him  a  very  se- 
date old  gentleman,  with  others  in  his  com- 
pany, who  regarded  Sir  Nathaniel  and  his 
companion  with  a  singular  severe  scrutiny. 
In  consequence  of  continued  complaints  made 
by  divers  of  the  worthy  burgesses  of  Strut- 
ford,  concerning  of  the  unsemely  behavior 
of  their  parson  and. schoolmaster,  the  bishop 
of  that  diocese  had  determined  to  lock  into 
their  conduct,  and  had  arrived  in  the  town, 
with  his  retinue,  where,  after  inquiring  for 
the  curate,  he  had  been  directed  to  the  stocks. 
The  result  of  this  visit  was  both  Sir  Na- 
thaniel and  Stripes  were  a  very  short  time 
after  dismissed  from  their  offices,  and  driven 
out  of  the  place  they  had  so  long  disgraced 
by  their  presence.  . 

The  moon  was  shining  clearly  in  the  starry 
sky,  when  William  Shakspea're,  armed  with 
John  Hathaway's  gun,  and  accompanied 
by  three  or  four  "of '  his  associates,  to 
help  to  carry  the  game,  crept  cautiously 
through  the  shrubberies  that  skirted  the 
park,  where  he  kn^v  deer  in  plenty  were 
to  be  found.  Hitherto  all  his  shooting  had 
been  directed  a  gainst  small  birds  and  coneys, 
but  now  he  looked  for  nobler  spoil.  Having 
made  a  long  circuit  to  avoid  being  noticed, 
he  came  to  a  grove  of  thick  trees — his  com- 
panions keeping  a  little  behind  him — where, 
after  he  had  advanced  stealthily  along  for 
about  a  hundred  yards,  he  beheld  a  goodly 
company  of  fallow  deer,  some  lying,  some 
standing,  and  most  of  them  cropping  the 
herbage  at  the  edge  of  the  grove,  where  the 
open  pasture  sweeps  up  to  the  trees.  Tak- 
ing the  wind  in  his  face,  the  young  dcer- 
stealer  crept  from  tree  to  tree,  pausing 
behind  each  to  mark  if  the  game  was  dis- 
turbed, then  proceeding  noiselessly  in  the 
same  direction.  He  never  remembered  hav- 
ing felt  such  excitement — he  could  scarce 
breathe,  he  was  so  moved.  He  had  singled 
out  the  tallest  buck  of  the  herd,  that  stood 
I  like  a  sentinel,  a  little  nigher  to  him  than 
the  rest,  seeming  to  sniff  the  air,  and  stamp- 
ing with  his  foot  as  if  he  suspected  some 
danger,  and  knew  not  whence  it  was  com- 
ing. William  Shakspeare  crouched  behind 
the  trunk  of  a  neighboring  tree,  as  still  as  a 
I  stone,  afraid  that  the  very  beating  of  his 
I  heart  would  betray  him.  His  companions 
laid  themselves  down  in  the  grass  as  soon 
as  they  caught  sight  of  the  deer.  He  peeped 
from  behind  his  hfding  place,  and  beheld  the 
buck  quietly  cropping  the  herbage  with  his 
back  towards  him.  lie  then  looked  at  his 
gun,  and  'saw  everything  was  as  it  should 
be.  His  great  anxiety  now  was  to  reach  an 
old  decayed  stump — the  ruin  of  what  had 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


159 


once  been  the  finest  of  the  whole  grove — 
which  lay  between  him  and  his  game.  He 
issued  from  his  hiding  place  as  if  his  life 
depended  on  the  quietness  of  his  footsteps, 
and  to  his  wondrous  satisfaction  succeeded 


quaintance,  Kate,  the  gamekeeper's  pretty 
neice,  whom  he  had  met  many  times  since 
he  first  had  sight  of  her  when  she  waited  on 
him  at  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's.  She  was  fa- 
mously surprised  I  doubt  not,  at  beholding 


in  gaining  tho  desired  place  without  being  j  him  there,  and  more  so  when  she  learned 
discovered.  Yet  it  was  manifest  the  buck  what  occasion  brought  him  ;  but  she  had  the 
was  in  some  way  alarmed,  for  the  young  j  wit  not  so  much  as  to  recognize  him  before 

her  uncle  and  cousins.     As  fofthe  culprit, 


deer  stealer  had  scarce  concealed  himself 
when  he  turned  sharply  round,  looking  now 
in  this  direction  and  now  in  that,  and  stamp- 
ing with  more  violence  than  before.  The 
stump  was  completely  open  from  the  direc- 
tion in  which  the  youthful  Shakspeare  ap- 
proached it ;  and  inside  were  seats  all  round, 
for  it  was  so  large  it  would  accommodate 
many  ;  just  under  the  bench  a  hole  had  been 
gnawed  Or  broken  away,  and  to  this  he  cau- 
tiously raised  his  head  as  he  lay  his  full 
length  on  the  ground ;  then  lifted  he  the 
barrel  of  his  gun,  and  as  the  deer  was  glan- 


as  he  believed  his  punishment  would  be  but 
trifling,  the  offence  was  generally  considered 
so  slighfche  took  the  matter  very  pleasantly, 
and  so  amused  his  captors  by  his  merry 
jests  and  his  excellent  famous  singing,  that 
they  ordered  jug  after  jug  of  ale.  and  sung 
their  songs  am  made  their  jests,  and  swore 
he  was  the  drollest  knave  they  ever  came 
anigh.  Each  of  these  men  drank  without 
stint,  and  Kate  seemed  to  take  care  they 
should  have  as  much  as  they  could  fancy ; 
but  -their  prisoner  sipped  sparingly,  and 


cing  suspiciously  in  the  direction  of  his  ;  the  result  was,  in  two  or  three  hours  after 
concealment,  he  took  a  fair  aim  at  his  open  j  his  capture,  Sampson  arid  his  two  sons  were 
breast  and  fired.  The  whole  herd  disap- i  snoring  in  their  chairs,  and  their  prisoner 


peared  in  a  moment. 

"Bravo,  Will!" cried  one  of  his  compan- 
ions, hasti  ly  running  up  to  the  spot,  "  thou 
has  killed  the  delicatest  bit  of  venison  I  have 
seen  this  many  a  day." 


was  conveyed  out  of  the  chamber  by  his 
kind  confederate. 

I  doubt  though  she  would  have  shown 
him  any  such  good  service  had  she  known 
he  was  to  be  married  that  very  day,  for  she 


Sure  enough,  the  buck  lay  at  a  little  dis-  gave  him  no  lack  of  signs  she  was  more  than 
tance  from  where  he  stood  awhile  since,  j  ordinary  fond  of  .him.  What  passed  between 
shot  through  the  heart ;  overjoyed  at  their  •  them  the  few  minutes  she  detained  him  in 
success,  they  bound  his  four  legs  together,  |  the  kitchen,  hath  never  been  correctly  ascer- 
intending  to  carry  him  away  on  a  long  thick  j  tained,  therefore  I  cannot  describe  it  to  the 
staff  they  had  brought  with  them.  i  courteous  reader  ;  but  at  the  last  moment 

"Run!  Will,  run!  Here  be  the  keep-  j  of  it  she  helped  him  to  put  the  slain  deer, 
ers !"  all  at  once  shouted  another  of  them ; !  there  lying,  to  hang  by  his  gun,  over  his 
and  on  the  instant,  as  if  they  had  wings  to  shoulder  ;  then  she  opened  the  door  for  him 


their  legs,  every  one  ran  in  different  direc- 
tions.    The  young  Shakspeare  caught  up 
his  gun  to  follow  their  example,  without  loss 
of  time,  but  he  found  himself  in  the  grasp  of 
two  stout  fellows,  with  whom  he  soon  saw 
it  was  useless  struggling.     These  were  the 
two  sons  of  Sampson,  the  gamekeeper,  who  j 
with  their  father,  had  been  watching  from  j 
behind  the  trees  the  whole  scene  ;  and  not ' 
caring  to  pursue  the  others,  they  pounced 
upon  the  unlucky  deer-stealer  in'  the  very 
act  of  committing   his  offence.    .Sampson 

.     .  P  ,r  .  . 


— and  then   he  made  the  best  of  his  way 
homewards. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Your  master  is  to  be  married  to-day  ? 
Else  all  this  rosemary  is  lost. 

MlDDI.ETON. 

Come  strew  apace.     Lord  !   shall  I  never  live 
To  \valke  to  church  on  flowers  ?  O5  tis  fine 


carried  the  slam  deer  and  the  gun,   and  his  j  TO  see  a  bride  trip  it  to  church  so  lightly, 
sons    bore    their  prisoner  to 'the  lodge    at  !  As  if  her  new  choppines  would  scorn  to  brush 
Daisy  Hill.     They  abused  him  somewhat  at  i  A  silly  flower. 

first,  but   he  managed  to  gain  on  their  good  BARRY. 

will  as  they  proceeded  ;  and  when  they  arri- 
ved at  the  place  where  they  intended  confin- 


ing him  till  they  could  take  him  before  the 
justice  at  a  proper  hour  in  the  morning,  the 
father  ordered  a  tankard  of  ale  to  refresh 
himself  withal. 

Who  should  bring  it  in  but   his  fair  ac- 


"  O'  MY  Christian  conscience,  the  mon- 
strousness  of  this  world  passeth  belief!" 
exclaimed  Oliver  Dumps,  in  his  miseraoiest 
manner,  as  he  flung  himself  into  a  seat  in 
the  chimney  corner  of  the  widow  Pippin's 
comfortable  kitchen — a  place  he  seemed 


160 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


more  partial  to  than  any  other  in  all  Strat- 
ford. 

"  Why,  what's  i'  the  wind  now,  master 
constable  ?"  inquired  the  laughing  widow, 
as  she  brought  her  visitor  his  customary 
tankard,  dressed  more  gaily  than  she  had 
been  seen  for  many  years. 

The  melancholy  Dumps  looked  up  to  her 
jolly  features  fcid  sighed  hqavily  ;  took  a 
draught  of  the  tankard  and  sighed  again. 
'Tis  a  villainous  world,  that's  the  truth  on't,'' 
said  he  shaking  his  head  very  woefully. 

"  Villainous  fiddlestick  !"  replied  his 
merry  companion.  "  By  my  fackings,  the 
world  be  a  right  pleasant  wor^  and  is  as 
full  of  delectable  jests  as  world  can  be." 

"  Only  think  of  young  Will  Shakspeare 
taking  to  deer  stealing,"  observed  the  con- 
stable, gravely. 

"Who  ?  Will  Shakspeare!"  cried  the 
widow,  with  a  look  of  exceeding  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Taken  by  the  keepers  in  the  very  act," 
replied  Oliver  Dumps.  "  Conveyed  by  them 
to  the  lodge  at  Daisy  Hill,  for  the  night. 
Made  his  escape  in  a  most  unaccountable 
manner,  carrying  oft*  tke  deer  he  had  slain, 
and  the  gun  he  had  done  it  with.  Sir 
Thomas  Liicy  had  issued  a  warrant  for  his 
apprehension,  I  have  it  to  execute  on  him 
without  delay  ;  and  hearing  he  is  at  John 
Hathaway's  cottage,  about  to  be  married, 
am  going  there  to  carry  him  before  his 
worship  " 

"  Tilly  vally  !  thou  art  jesting,  master 
constable,"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  Will 
Shakspeare  is  not  like  to  do.ajiything  of  the 
sort,  I  will  be  bound  for  it." 

The  queen's  proper  officer  looked  into  his 
pouch,  took  out  a  folded  piece  cf  paper,  and 
gave  into  her  hands. 

"  That's  the  warrant,"  said  he. 

"  An  honest  neighbor,  that  is  now  in  my 
parlor,  shall  read  it  to  me,  seeing  I  cannot 
read  a  word  of  it  myself,"  answered  the 
widow  Pippins ;  "  and  as  I  am  going  to 
John  Hathaway's  as  soon  as  I  have  got  on 
my  hat  and  muffler,  if  thou  wilt  wait  a  brief 
while,  we  will  walk  together."  The  con- 
stable promised  to  wait  any  reasonable  time, 
for  in  truth  he  was  well  pleased  to  have  her 
company,  he.  as  many  shrewdly  imagined, 
having  long  been  seeking  to  be  her  sixth 
husband  ;  and  thereupon  the  widow  went  to 
get  the  warrant  explained  to  her. 

A  short  time  before  this  took  place,  a  pro- 
cession moved  from  the  yeoman's  cottage, 
in  the  direction  of  the  church  which,  me- 
thinks,  deserveth  here  to  be  set  down.  First 
rode  an  old  churl,  blowing  of  such  a  peal  on 
his  bagpipes  as  if  he  was  determined  to 


expend  his  wind  as  quickry  as  he  could,  his 
long  pipes  and  his  cap  decked  with  rosemary 
— then  followed  a  merry  company  of  lusty 
lads  and  bold  bachelors  of  the  neighborhood, 
two  and  two,  in  their  holiday  jerkins,  every 
one  clean  trussed,  with  a  blue  buckram 
bride  lace  upon  a  branch  of  rosemary,  upon 
his  left  arm,  on  horses  of  all  sorts  and  col- 
ors ;  William  Shakspeare,  the  bridegroom, 
riding  at  their  head  in  a  new  suit  of  frolic 
green,  gaily  decked  with  ribbons,  with  a 
branch  of  rosemary  at  his  cap,  and  a  true 
love  posey  at  his  breast ;  and  on  each  side 
rode  a  bridesman,  in  tawney  worsted  jackets, 
straw  hats  OH  their  heads  with  a  steeple 
crown,  and  harvest  gloves  on  their  bands, 
similarly  appointed  with  ribbons,  rosemary, 
and  posies.  All  the  way  he  went,  the  bride- 
groom pulled  off  his  cap  courteously  to  the 
spectators,  who,  seeing  so  gallant  a  youth, 
could  not  help  loudly  greeting  him  with  their 
good  wishes. 

Then  came  a  company  of  morris-dancers 
on  foot,  jingling  it  very  prettily,  with  a  most 
moving  accompaniment  of  pipe  and  tabor. 
After  them,  six  fair  maidens  in  fair  white 
court-pies  and  orange  tawney  kirtles,  gar- 
landed with  wreaths  of  wheat,  finely  gilded, 
on  their  heads,  and  casting  of  flowers,  by 
handfuls,  out  of  small  wicker  baskets,  gaily 
decked  for  the  occasion.  Then  came  the 
two  bridemaids,  most  daintily  tired,  carrying 
before  them  each  a  large  spice  cake,  foj- 
lowed  .by  the  bride's  brother,  a  fair  boy, 
carrying  himself  very  bravely,  choicely  ap- 
parelled, bearing  the  parcel-gilt  bride-cup, 
full  of  sweet  ippocras,  with  a  goodly  branch 
of  rosemary  gilded  and  hung  about  with 
ribbons  of  all  colors  streaming  in  the  wind  ; 
next  came  Anne  Hathaway,  the  blushing 
blooming  bride — her  apparelling  of  appro- 
priate whiteness,  rarely  garnished  with  rib- 
bons and  flowers,  her  hair  curiously  combed 
and  plaited,  and  crowned  with  a  garland  of 
white  roses — answering  very  gracefully  the 
hearty  salutations  of  her  neighbors.  On 
each  side  of  her  walked  a  fair  boy,  with 
bride  laces  and  rosemary  tied  about  his 
silken  sleeves.  After  these,  several  musi- 
cians, with  flutes,  sackbuts,  and  other  deli- 
cate instruments,  made  excellent  music. 
Then  rode  the  father  of  the  bride,  between 
the  father  and  mother  of  the  bridegroom,  in 
their  holiday  garments,  with  no  lack  of 
proper  garnishing  ;  and,  lastly,  came  the 
friends  invited  to  the  bride-ale,  also  wearing 
of  their  best  suits,  decorated  with  bride  laces 
and  rosemary. 

In  this  order  they  reached  the  church  at 
a  slow  pace,  where  the  priest  soon  did  his 
office  for  them;  the  bride-cup  was  then 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEA11E. 


161 


emptied  by  the  company  to  the  health  and 
happiness  of  the  new-married  folks ;  and 
they  returned  in  much  the  same  fashion  as 
they  went,  save  that  the  bride  rode  on  a  pil- 
lion behind  the  bridegroom.  John  Hatha- 
way's  dwelling  would  scarce  hold  the  guests; 
but  they  managed  to  accommodate  them- 
selves pretty  well,  for  every  room  was  thrown 
open,  rilled  with  a  most  bountiful  provision 
of  things  for  convenience  and  honest  cheer, 
beside  which  there  lay  the  orchard,  the  pad- 
dock, and  the  garden,  for  any  that  chose  out 
of  door  pastime.  The  revels  that  followed 
exceed  description — all  sorts  of  games  were 
going  on  in  every  direction — here  a  blind 
harper  singing  of  ballads  to  a  well-pleased 
audience,  of  all  ages — there  sundry  young 
people,  sitting  in  a  circle  with  one  in  the 
mid.it,  playing  at  hunt  the  slipper — another 
set  at  barley  break — a  third  at  a  danca — the 
old.  tho  young,  the  middle-aged,  maidens 
and  bachelors,  husbands,  wives,  widows, 
and  widowers,  striving  all  they  could  to  enjoy 
tho  pleasant  humor  of  the  hour. 

Among  the  company  were  many  of  the 
courteous  reader's  old  acquaintances ;  for 
in  the  principal  chamber  were  Master  Al- 
derman  Malmsey,  and  his  neighbor  Master 
Ald-jrinan  Dowlas,  like  marvellous  proper 
husbands  as  they  were,  attending  on  their 
still  comely  good-humored  wives — there  was 
tho  widow  Pippins,  with  a  famms  laughing 
countenance,  that  seemed  to  savor  of  a  jest 
— there  was  honest  John  Shikspeare  and 
his  matronly  sweet  wife,  looking  such  satis- 
faction as  'tis  impossible  to  describe — there 
was  the  manly  yeoman,  going  about  with 
his  sly  pleasantry,  more  manifest  than  ever, 
as  he  looked  to  see  all  were  enjoying  them- 
^elves  to  their  heart's  content — there  was 
th'.1  blooming  bride,  and  there  the  gallant 
bridegroom,  in  exquisite  content  with  them- 
selves and  the  whole  world  ;  and  with  these 
were  also  a  many  others,  whose  names  I 
have  forgotten.  Still  one  more  requireth 
my  notice,  and  he  was  no  other  than  Oliver 
Dumps,  who  sat  in  a  corner,  looking  mon- 
strous miserable,  though  each  of  the  prettiest 
women  was  ever  coming  up  to  him  with  all 
manner  of  delicacies,  pressing  him  to  partake 
of  them,  and  smiling  on  him  as  she  smiled 
on  no  one  else  in  the  room.  But  the  more 
good  cheer  he  made  the  more  miserable  he 
looked,  fn'facfhewas  not  at  all  at  hi 
ease.  He  wished  to  prove  himself  the 
queen's  proper  officer,  without  favor  of  any 
person,  and  yet  he  liked  not  interrupting  the 
mirth  of  so  bountiful  a  company. 

It  appeared  as  if  there  was  some  conspi- 
racy among  the  women — doubtless  set  on 
by  the  merry  widow,  who  seemed  very  busy 
11 


amongst  them,  whispering,  laughing,  and 
pointing  to  the  constable — for  they  would 
not  allow  him  to  remain  by  himself  a  mo- 
ment, and  kept  insisting  so  winningly  on  his 
drinking  the  delicious  draughts  they  brought, 
that  h#found  he  could  do  nothing,  save,  with 
a  pitiful  sighing,  the  performing  of  their 
requests.  At  last,  with  a  sudden  great  effort, 
he  broke  from  a  circle  of  them  and  gravely 
walked  up  to  the  bridegroom.  To  the  mar- 
vel of  the  greater  number  of  the  guests,  he 
claimed  William  Shakspeare  as  his  prisoner, 
and  commanded  him  to  accompany  him  on 
the  instant  to  his  worship  the  justice. 

"  Eh !  what  dost  say  ?"  exclaimed  John 
Hathaway,  advancing  hurriedly,  with  divers 
others,  there  present,  to  know  the  meaning 
of  such  strange  behavior. 

"  Deer  stealing !"  hiccuped  the  constable, 
evidently  with  his  senses  somewhat  confused 
by  the  many  draughts  of  strong  wine  he  had 
been  forced  to  swallow,  yet  holding  himself 
up  with  what  he  considered  to  be  the  true 
dignity  of  the  queen's  proper  officer. 

"  Nay,  it  cannot  be,  worthy  Master 
Dumps,''  said  Mistress  Malmsey,  coaxingly, 
on  one  side  ot  him. 

';  "Pis  a  mistake,  depend  on't,  sweet  sir,'' 
added  Mistress  Dowlas,  in  ah  equally  insin- 
uating manner. 

"Don't  believe  any  tiling  of  the  sort, 
good  Oliver,"  said  one  of  the  buxom  bride- 
maids,  pulling  him  affectionately  by  the  arm. 

"  'Tis  impossible  so  sensible  a  person  as 
you  are  can  give  ear  to  so  incredible  a  story," 
said  another,  taking  a  like  pretty  liberty  with 
his  other  elbow.  Oliver  Dumps  heard  all 
these  seducing  expression .?.  and  glanced  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  bewitching  aspects 
of  the  speakers,  with  a  monstrous  struggling 
in  his  breast,  and  then  with  a  becoming' 
gravity,  as  he  thought,  took  a  paper  from  his 
pouch. 

"  Here's  the  warrant,"  answered  he.  John 
Hathaway  received  the  paper  from  him,  un- 
folded it,  and  commenced,  in  an  exceeding 
droll  manner,  reading  a  ballad  there  printed, 
which  was  famous  popular  at  the  time,  be- 
ginning— 

"  Alas,  my  love  !  you  do  me  wrong, 

To  cast  me  off  discourteously  ; 
And  I  have  loved  you  so  long, 
Delighting  in  your  company. 

Greerfsleeves  was  all  my  joy. 
Greensleeves  was  my  delight, 
Greensleeves  was  ray  hart  of  gold, 
And  who  but  Lady  Greensleeves  T' 

Oliver  Dumps  looked  quite  confounded, 
for  he- saw  the  jest  that  the  merry  widow 
had  played  upon  him.  The  laughing  and 


162 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


joking  of  those  around  him  he  took  as  pleas- 
antly as  lie  could,  which  in  sooth  was  rather 
of  a  miserable  sort — for  he  liked  not  confess- 
ing how  he  had  been  tricked  ;  and  the  end 
of  it  was,  the  queen's  proper  officer  allowdl 
himself  to  join  in  the  festivity  of  tfte  day 
as  regardless  of  warrants  and  justices,  as 
though  he  intended  to  play  the  constable  no 
more.  However,  the  a  ffiiir  of  the  deer  steal- 
ing went  not  off  so  quietly.  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy  when  he  heard  of  it  was  in  a  terrible 
rage,  and  when  he  found  the  offender  was 
not  brought  before  him,  he,  waxed  more 
wroth  than  before.  Other  warrants  were 
issued,  and  other  constables  employed,  and 
the  next  morning  the  young  deer-stealer 
was  dragged  into  the  justice-room,  followed 
by  such  of  his  friends  who  had  gained  know- 
ledge of  his  capture.  The  news,  however, 
soon  spread,  and  occasioned  a  notable  com- 
motion. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  astonishment  of 
Jemmy  Catchpole  when  he  beheld  his  clerk 
brought  before  him  in  custody  on  such  a 
charge  ;  but  being  a  shrewd  man  he  did  not 
so  much  as  recognize  him.  The  justice 
entered  into  the  charge  with  much  the  same 
formalities  as  had  been  exhibited  by  him  and 
his  attendants  on  a  previous  occasion — 
abusing  the  prisoner  with  great  bitterness, 
and  allowing  of  none  to  say  a  word  in  his 
defence.  The  evidence  of  the  keepers  proved 
the  offence  beyond  all  contradiction,  and 
when  Sir  Thomas  demanded  of  the  offender 
to  give  up  the  names  of  all  those  who  were 
participating  with  him  in  the  offence,  and 
the  latter  would  not  tell  the  name  of  so 
much  as  one  person,  the  justice  broke  out  in 
such  a  passion,  there  never  was  the  like. 
This  the  prisoner  endured  with  a  composure 
which  exasperated  the  other  the  more,  as  it 
seemed  so  like  holding  him  in  contempt,  and 
setting  his  authority  at  nought.  He  threat- 
ened him  with  the  pillory,  the  whipping-post, 
and  even  the  gibbet,  but  still  William  Shaks- 
peare  was  not  to  be  got  to  betray  his  com- 
panions. He  smiled  at  the  threats,  and, 
with  a  fearless  aspect,  confessed  he  alone 
had  committed  the  offence,  and  that  he  was 
ready  to  receive  the  punishment. 

The  constables,  keepers,  and  serving-men, 
looked  awe-struck  at  what  they  considered 
to  be  the  prisoner's  horrible  impudency,  in 
so  behaving  before  so  great  a  man  as  his 
worship  ;  and  the  poor  justice  seemed  scarce 
in  his  right  senses,  he  spoke  so  fast,  and  in 
so  tearing  a  passion — at  last,  swearing  it 
was  a  pity  he  could  not  hang  so  abominable 
a  villain,  he  got  from  the  little  lawyer  the 
fullest  punishment,  provided  by  the  statute 
of  Elizabeth  for  such  offences,  which  was 


the  infliction  of  a  fine,  treble  the  value  of 
the  venison,  an  imprisonment  for  three 
months  in  the  county  gaol,  and  security  for 
good  behavior,  for  seven  years  ;  to  the  which 
he  presently  sentenced  the  offender.  The 
youthful  Shakspeare  cared  only  for  the  im- 
prisoning part  of  his  sentence,  as  he  felt  it 
hard  to  be  separated  from  his  wife,  and  he 
scarce  married  to  her ;  but  he  could  not 
allow  himself  to  say  anything  in  mitigation 
of  punishment,  although  his  lather  anV. 
father-in-law  did  so  for  him  ;  and  the  latter 
offered  to  pay  the  fine,  and  the  two  aldermen, 
his  father's  old  friends,  came  forward  as  his 
security  :  nevertheless,  his  worship,  so  far 
from  according  with  what  was  required, 
abused  the  parties  heartily  for  saying  ought 
of  the  matter,  and  bade  them  out  of  his  door 
straight,  or  they  should  all  to  prison  to- 
sether. 

There  were  few  presons  who  heard  of  the 
sentence,  but  were  famously  indignant  a 
mere  youthful  frolick  should  meet  with  such 
heavy  punishment,  and  many  of  the  prison- 
er's companions  swore  he  should  never  to 
prison  if  they  could  prevent  it.  Never  had 
there  been  such  a  ferment  in  Stratford  be- 
fore. All  abused  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  for  his 
unwarrantable  behavior,  and  unreasonable 
severity,  and  both  men  and  women  took  it  as 
monstrous  so  young  a  couple  should  be  thrust 
asunder  for  so  trifling  a  cause.  For  all  this, 
the  youthful  Shakspeare,  gyved  like  a  felon, 
and  guarded  by  two  constables,  was  sent  off 
to  Warwick  jail.  No  one  seemed  in  any 
way  surprised  when  intelligence  was  bruit- 
ed abroad  that  they  had  scarce  got  a  rnile 
from  Charlcote,  when  the  constables  were 
set  upon  and  soundly  cudgelled,  and  the 
prisoner  carried  off  in  triumph,  by  sundry* 
unknown  persons  with  blackened  faces. 
Certes,  such  was  the  case.  The  young 
husband  had  been  rescued  by  divers  of  his 
companions,  relieved  of  his  fetters,  and 
brought  back  to  his  distressed  wife. 

It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  a  young  man 
of  any  spirit  would  sit  down  and  tamely 
suffer  the  insults  that  had  been  heaped  upon 
him  by  this  shallow-pated  justice.  William 
Shakspeare  had  committed  the  offence  it  is 
true.  He  never  denied  it,  and  was  ready  to 
endure  any  fitting  punishment;  but  the 
abuse  and  the  gyves  were  the  gratuitous 
insolence  of  power,  desirous  of  insulting  the 
weak ;  and,  smarting  under  a  sense  of 
wrong,  the  young  poet  penned  a  bitter  ballad 
against  the  old  knight,  and  a  mad-cap  com- 
panion fixed  it  on  the  justice's  park  gates. 
Sir  Thomas  was  one  of  the  first  that  spied 
it ;  and  the  excessive  rage  it  put  him  into, 
was  as  ludicrous  a  thing  as  can  be  con- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SI1AKSPEARE. 


16S 


ceived.  He  grew  pale  and  rod  in  a  breath 
— stormed  till  he  was  hoarse,  and  called 
about  him  his  little  anriy  of  constables, 
game-keepers,  and  serving-men,  questioned 
them  as  to  who  had  dared  to  commit  so  un- 
paralleled an  indignity,  and  abused  the  hor- 
ror-struck varlets  all  round  because  none 
could  give  him  the  slightest  information  on 
the  subject.  This  ballad  which  among  other 
offensive  things,  bore  a  burthen  to  it  with  a, 
play  upon  his  name,  by  no  means  the  deli- 
catest  piece  of  jesting  in  the  world,  coming 
so  quickly  after  the  drubbing  of  his  officers, 
to  one  of  so  tender  a  skin  in  such  matters, 
seemed  like  enough  to  throw  him  into  a 
fever. 

fiis  dignity,  however,  was  fated  to  get 
ptill  harder  rubs.  He  issued  warrant  after 
warrant  for  the  apprehension  of  the  escaped 
deer-stealer,  in  a  perfect  phrenzy  of  passion 
to  hear  he  was  still  at  large  ;  and  sent  con- 
stables with  them  in  all  directions,  with  strict 
orders  to  carry  him  to  prison  dead  or  alive ; 
but  flung  himself  into  such  desperate  rages 
when  he  heard  the  fruitlessness  of  their 
travail,  that  the  poor  constables  cared -not  to 
go  near  hiiri.  Oliver  Dumps  had  received 
a.  significant  hint  from  the  merry  widow, 
that  if  ever  he  laid  a  hand  on  Will  Shaks- 
peare  she  would  have  none  of  him  for  a  sixth 
husband,  therefore,  it  cannot  be  in  any  way 
strange  he  never  could  find  the  escaped 
prisoner  searched  he  ever  so.  As  for  the 
otlur  constables,  one  had  incautiously  made 
know  his  errand,  and  boasted  at  the  black- 
smith's that  he  would  find  Will  Shakspeare 
before  the  day  was  over  ;  and  about  an  hour 
afterwards  the  unhappy  officer  found  himself 
dragged  through  the  horse-pond,  with  an 
intimation  when  allowed  to  get  away  half 
drowned,  that  if  caught  again  under  similar 
circumstances,  hy  would  not  escape  without 
hanging.  This,  together  with  the  intempe- 
rate behavior  of  the  justice,  operated  with 
wonderful  effect  upon  the  whole  body,  and 
they  unanimously  adopted  the  opinion  the 
offender  had  left  the  country. 

Some  time  after  these  occurrences  his 
worship  gained  intelligence  that  young 
Shakspeare  had  been  all  the  while  residing 
at  the  cottage  of  his  father-in-law,  and  more- 
over that  he  was  the  very  infamous  base 
caitiff'  who  had  penned  the  bitter  ballad  that 
had  been  stuck  upon  his  gates.  This  was 
adding  fuel  to  the  flame.  The  justice  was 
in  such  a  monstrous  fire  of  indignation  that 
he  hardly  knew  what  to  set  about.  The  un- 
lucky constables  were  ordered  to  attend  him 
instantly,  and  upon  these  he  poured  out  the 
violent  rage  that  was  brimming  over  in  him. 
They  declared  their  conviction  the  escaped 


prisoner  had  gone  from  those  parts  altogether 
— nay,  one  confidently  asserted  a  brother  of 
his  had  seen. him  in  London  selling  oysters, 
aad  another  was  as  ready  to  swear  he  had 
been  met  with  by  a  cousin  of  his  on  a.  pie- 
bald horse,  within  a  mile  or  so  of  Oxford. 
His  worship  was  puzzled,  and  the  more  puz- 
zled his  worship  appeared,  the  more  confi- 
dent did  the  constables  become  in  their  as- 
sertions. At  last  he  ordered  them  to  accom- 
pany him,  and  then  started  off  in  the  midst 
of  them,  on  the  road  to  the  yeoman's  cottage. 

William  Shakspeare  was  busily  engaged 
with  a  party  of  farm  laborers  in  putting  up 
a  hay-rick  in 'his  father-in-law's  paddock, 
when  one  of  the  children  came  running  in 
all  haste  to  say  his  worship  was  approaching 
the  house  with  a  great  company  of  men — in 
an  instant  he  was  covered  up  in  the  hay  as 
snugly  as  possible,  and  his  companions,  care- 
lessly singing,  continued  their  work  lifting 
up  the  new  hay  to  the  top  of  the  rick  and 
there  spreading  it  smooth  and  even.  Pres- 
ently the  expected  party  made  their  appear- 
ance. Sir  Thomas,  in  a  terrible  anxiety  to 
find  the  culprit,  and  the  constables  quite  as 
anxious  he  should  be  found. 

"  Dost  know  anything  of  one  William 
Shakspeare,  fellow  ?"  inquired  the  knight 
authoritatively  of  a  freckled-face  knave  lame 
of  a  leg.  The  latter  gazed  with  open  mouth 
for  a.  few  moments  at  his  interrogator,  and 
then  turning  round  to  his  next  neighbor, 
very  gravely  repeated  the  question — his  fel- 
low looked  up  very  hard,  and  then  looked 
down  very  hard,  and  then  addressed  another 
of  his  companions  with  the  same  question — 
and  thus  it  went  round  the  whole  six  of  them 
with  exactly  the  same  result.  His  worship 
was  horribly  inclined  to  break  out  into  a 
deadly  passion. 

"  Wounds,  I  ha'  got  un  !"  exclaimed  he  of 
the  freckled  face,  slapping  his  knee  very 
sharply  with  his  palm.  "  His  worship  no 
doubt,"wants  the  blind  piper  that  lives  down 
yonder  below  the  mill." 

"  I'll  wan-ant,  so  he  Aojt  added  another, 
with  a  like  gravity. 

"  I  tell  thee  no"!  I  tell  thee  no  !"  bawled 
out  the  justice,  as  the  haymakers  were 
shouting  their  information  into  his  ears,  as 
if  each  was  striving  to  be  heard  above  the 
other  ;  "  I  want  no  such  person.  I  seek 
one  William  Shakspeare,  a  convicted  dear- 
stealer,  who  married  John  Hathaway's 
daughter." 

At  this  the  lame  one  cast  an  exceeding 
long  face,  rubbed  his  knuckles  against  his 
eyes,  and  turned  away  very  pitifully ;  and 
the  others  did  just  the  same. 

"  What  hath  become  of  him,  I  say  ?"  cried 


164 


TILE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


the  knight,  more  imperatively,  not  exactly 
knowing  what  to  make  of  these  demonstra- 
tions. 

'|An'  it  please  your  worship,"  cried  freck- 
led face,  blubbering  as  if  his  heart  \vas  :i 
breaking,  "  no  man  can  help  it.  I  would  he 
had  lived  longer,  perchance  he  might  have 
been  all  the  older  for  it." 

"  Is  he  dead  indeed,  now  fellow  ?"  in- 
quired the  old  knight,  looking  somewhat 
confounded  at  this  unexpected  news. 

"  An'  it  please  you,  I  heard  he  made  so 
fine  an  end,  it  was  better  than  a  sermon  at 
"fast  days,"  observed  •another,  as  woeful  as 
his  companion. 

"  Who's  that  laughing  ?"  exclaimed  Sir 
Thomas,  very  sharply ;  "  there's  some  one 
behind  the  rick.  Bring  him  here !  Body 
o'  me,  I'll  teach  the  unmannerly  knave  bet- 
ter behavior."  The  constables  hurried  bo- 
hind  the  rick,  but  not  the  slightest  sign  of 
any  one  was  there.  This  put  his  worship 
into  a  rage.  He  had  certainly  heard  some- 
body, and  folt  a  monstrous  inclination  to 
punish  a.  person  guilty  of  treating  him  with 
so  little  respect.  One  of-  the  men  thought 
it  was  an  owl,  another  took  it  to  be  a  bat, 
and  a  third  assured  his  worship  it  was  only 
the  old  sow,  who,  on  an  occasion,  could 
grunt  in  a  way  marvellous  like  one  laugh- 
ing. The  justice  did  not  appear  to  bo  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  these  explanations ;  but, 
after  questioning  the  men  some  short  time 
longer,  and  getting  from  them  no  greater 
intelligence,  he  found  himself  forced  to  turn 
away  no  wiser  than  he  came.  Threatening 
them  all  with  tho  terriblest  ^punishments,  if 
he  discovered  they  had  told  him  falsely,  the 
old  knight  retraced  his  steps,  resolving  to 
see  his  intelligencer  again,  and  examine  him 
strictly  on  tho  correctness  of  his  information, 
of  the  which  he  now  entertained  some  doubts. 

"  Take  heed  of  the  dog,  an'  it  please  your 
worship,"  cried  one  of  the'  hay-makers, 
doubtless  with  most  benevolent  intentions ; 
but  unfortunately,  he  gave  ^ic  caution  a  mo- 
ment too  late,  fofcas  the  justice  was  picking 
his  way  carefully  along,  a  dog  rushed  out 
of  a  kennel  close  upon  him,  and  gave  him 
so  smart  a  bite  in  the  leg,  that  he  roared 
again.  The  youthful  Shakspeare  peeped 
from  his  hiding  place  at  hearing  this  noise, 
and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  old 
knight  hopping  along  the  yard  at  the  top  of 
his  speed,  furiously  pursued  by  a  flock  of 
noisy  geese  and  turkeys,  who  seemed  quite 
as  much  inclined  for  a  bite  of  his  legs  as  the 
dog  had  been.  His  little  army  did  not  make 
their  retreat  in  a  much  more  orderly  manner, 
for  the  house-dog  flew  at  them  as  they  pass- 
ed his  kennel,  and  the  turkeys  and  geese 


pursued  them  when  they  crossed  the  yard. 
His  worship  was  more  hurt  by  the  shouts  of 
laughter  which  followed  his  undignified  exit, 
than  he  had  been  by  the  bite  he  had  received, 
but  oh,  more  unpalatable  than  all ! — as  he 
was  returning  home  in  a  most  horrible  hu- 
mor, what  should  he  hear,  but  a  parcel  of 
little  children  singing:  the  offensive  ballad 
writ  upon  him,  as  loud  as  they  could  bawl 
it.  His  wrath  was  too  great  for  utterance. 
He  felt  he  could  have  hanged  every  little 
rogue  of  them  all ;  but  resolved  to  go  to 
town,  and  complain  to  the  privy  council  how 
infamously  he  had  been  used. 

After  well  abusing  the  constables,  and  ev- 
ery one  else  that  came  within  his  reach,  he 
sought  the  unhappy  Mabel,  and  poured  out 
the  remainder  of  his  rage  upon  her  ;  swear- 
ing she  should  marry  his  friend's  servant 
and  no  other,  and  bidding  her  prepare  her- 
self for  doing  scr  within  a  month  at  least,  as 
h?  was  determined  it  should  then  take  place. 
Tho  poor  foundling  too  well  knew  the  char- 
acter of  her  companion  to  attempt  to  parley 
with  him  on  the  subject.  It  was  manifest 
her  villainous  persecutors  would  not  let  her 
rest  whilst  there  remained  the  slightest 
chaneo  of  their  getting  her  into  their  power  ; 
and  having  the  positive  and  unsuspicious 
knight,  and  his  most  obedient  lady  to  assist 
them,  they  fully  persuaded  themselves  their 
success  was  certain.  The  only  bar  seemed 
to  lie  in  the  disinclination  of  her  affianced 
husband  tp  be  an  agent  in  the  business  ;  but 
at  last,  the  bribes  he  was  offered  appeared 
to  stiflo  his  conscience,  and  he  promised  to 
carry  on  the  matter  to  its  conclusion. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Not. a  word  spake  he  more  than  was  nede, 
And  that  was  said  in  forme  and  reverence, 
And' short  and  quike,  and  full  of  high  sentence. 
Souning  in  moral  virtue  was  his  speche, 
And  gladly  would  he  learn,  and  gladly  teche. 

CHAUCER. 

Kath.  What  our  destinies 

Have  ruled  out  in  their  books  we  must  not  search, 

But  kneel  to. 

War.  Then  to  fear  when  hope  is  fruitk'&s, 

Were  to  be  desperately  miserable  ; 

Which  powrty  our  greatness  does  not  dream  of, 

And,  much  more,  scorns  to  stoop  to  ;  some  few 

minutes 
Remain  yet,  let's  be  thrifty  in  our  hopes. 

FORD, 

TIME  passed  on,  and  in  due  time  the  young 
husband  was  made  a  father.     This  occur* 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


165 


Fence  gave  his  feelings  a  new  impulse.  A 
youth  of  nineteen,  possessed  of  such  deep 
sympathies,  and  so  ready  to  indulge  them  on 
all  natural  objects  as  was  the  youthful 
Shakspeare,  on  such  an  occasion  must  needs 
experience  a  most  choice  and  exquisite  grati- 
fication. He  felt  he  had  got  a  stronger 
claim  on  his  exertions  than  had  he  hitherto, 
and  labored  with  higher  aims  than  he  had 
before  known.  Jemmy  Catchpole,  much  as 
he  inclined  to  do  so,  knowing1  of  his  worth, 
did  not  dare  employ  him  ;  and  when  he  was 
not  assisting  his  father-in-law  in  farming, 
his  chief  occupation  was  teaching  the  sons 
of  the  neighboring  farmers  and  yeomen  such 
matters  of  schooling  as  it  was  customary  for 
them  to  legrn  ;  and  this  he  did  so  tenderly, 
and  in  so  scholarlike  a  manner,  thtit  by  the 
parents  he  soon  got  to  ba  approved  of  before 
all  teachers.  During  this  time  he  failed 
not  to  continue  his  own  studies  in  such  fash- 
ion as  he  had  been  used  to  ;  and  it  was  ac* 
knowledged,  of  every  person  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, that,  for  learning,  they  had  never  met 
with  his  peer. 

Yet,  all  this  while,  he  was  far  from  being 
happy.  The  ardor  of  his  passion  for  the 
yeoman's  blooming  daughter  had  blinded 
him  to  many  faults  he  could  not  avoid  per- 
ceiving in  her  on  closer  acquaintance.  She 
had  been  spoiled  by  indulgence  all  her  life. 
Her  father  had  allowed  her  to  do  much  as 
she  pleased,  which  had  put  into  her  the  notion 
that  what  slio  did  must  always  be  right,  and 
she  would  not  have  it  gainsayed  of  any. 

The  youthful  Shakspeare  discovered  too 
late,  his  wife's  deficiencies  in  the  necessary 
qualities  of  mind.  Indeed  she  was  perfect- 
ly uneducated,  and  her  ignorance  made  her 
unconscious  of  the  mischief  she -was  doing 
by  her  ungracious  conduct.  She  was  not 
naturally  of  an  unamiable  disposition  ;  in- 
deed, at  times  she  was  too  prodigal  in  the 
display  of  her  kinder  feelings,  but  vanity 
had  filled  her  with  most  preposterous  preju- 
dices ;  and  if  her  husband  opposed  her,  how- 
ever slightly,  in  any  matter,  however  reason- 
able on  his  part,  she  would  regard  it  as 
using  her  exceeding  ill,  and  get  out  of  tem- 
per speedily,  and  say  uncivil  words,  and 
show  all  manner  of  .discourteous  behavior. 
This  made  her  youthful  helpmate  see  into 
her  character  more,  and  more,  and  the  more 
he  saw  the  less  he  liked,  and  tke  less  he 
liked  the  less  he  respected.  The  charm  of 
her  beauty  gradually  vanished  away ;  and 


as  she  had  not 


.ulually 
tfnn     i 


in  her  conversation  to 


attract  him,  she  had  no  sort  of  hold  over  him 


to  blame  for  his  too  great  precipitancy,  al- 
lowing her  no  just  cause  of  complaint — and 
striving  whatever  he  could  to  bring  her,  by 
fair  persuasions,  to  a  more  admirable  way 
of  behaving. 

Every  day  he  beheld  stronger  proofs  of  a 
vain  disposition  acting  upon  a  weak  mind. 
Fits  of  sullenness  followed  close  upon  the 
heels  of  outbreaks  of  temper — she  neglected 
the  proper  duties  of  a  wife  and  a  mother,  to 
enjoy  any  pastime  that  was  within  her  reach 
— and  by  the  lack  of  ordinary  comfort  to  be 
had  at  home,  she  frequently  drove  her  hus- 
band to  seek  his  pleasure  where  he  could. 
It  was  a  grief  that  touched  him  where  he 
could  have  little  or  no  defence ;  for  when  he 
attempted  to  remonstrate,  in  order  that  he 
might  fail  in  nothing  to  induce  her  to  act 
more  commendably,  it  was  sure  to  end  in 
such  a  scene  of  obstinacy,  wounded  self- 
love,  and  unamiable  behaving,  as  plainly 
showed  him  there  was  marvellous  slight 
hopes  she  would  mend. 

Again  he  became  a  father.  On  the  first  oc- 
casion his  child  was  a  girl,  that  he  had  had 
christened  by  the  name  of  Susanna,  and  now 
his  wife  brought  him  twins,  a  boy  and  a  girl, 
that  were  severally  named  Hamnet  and  Ju- 
dith. For  a  time  this  made  him  regardless 
of  the  mother's  deficiencies,  and  increased 
his  kindnesses  to  her :  besides  which  he  en- 
tertained many  anxious  thoughts  of  the  future. 
His  own  means  were  in  no  way  adequate  to 
his  wants,  and  although  John  Hathaway 
took  heed  of  these,  so  that  he  should  fee 
them  but  lightly,  he  would  rather,  by  many 
degrees,  have  satisfied  them  of  his  own  labor. 
His  old  companions,  Greene,  Burbage,  Con- 
dell,  and  Hemings,  had  one  by  one  gone  to 
join  the  players  ;  and  such  reports  of  their 
well-doing  had  reached  him,  as  made  him 
marvellous  desirous  of  following  their  ex- 
ample. 

Unfortunately,  his  wife  merely  regarded 
this  late  increase  in  her  family  as  a  vast  ac- 
cession to  her  elaims  to  have  her  will  in 
everything  that  was  most  preposterous  ;  and 
more  than  ever  was  inclined  to  behave  her- 
self as  she  pleased,  and  resent  in  every  pos»- 
sible  way,  any  attempt  to  thwart  her  incli- 
nations. Consequently  she  daily  made 
greater  demands  on  her  husband's  patience, 
which  sometimes  forced  from  him  well- 
meant  arguments,  the  which  she  took  very 
bitterly :  and  he  finding  her  to  grow  so  much 
the  worse,  so  much  the  more  he  strove  by 
kindness  to  make  her  better,  at  last  made 
her  to  know  he  would  leave  her,  did  she  not 


beyond  that  of  being  the  mother  of  his  child,  seek  to  lead  him  a  pleasanter  life.  But  thia 
Still  he  treated  her  as  affectionately  as  ever  was  far  from  making  her  alter  her  ungra- 
he  had  done,  considering  himself  the  most  ciousness  towards  him,  for  she  appeared  to 


166 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


take  it  as  if  she  would  as  soon  he  went  as 
staid.  Still  the  young  husband  was  reluc- 
tant to  give  her  up.  He  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  had  any  friend's  advice,  for  he 
saw  nought  before  him  but  an  increasing 
wretchedness,  remained  he  where  he  was  ; 
and  to  quit  her  and  the  children,  although 
he  was  well  aware  her  father  would  properly 
provide  for  them,  he  could  not  reconcile  his 
conscience  to  ;  but  he  had  no  friend  at  this 
time  tit  to  advise  with  him  in  such  a  strait. 
His  friends  at  Sir  Marmaduke's  he  had  not 
scon  sometime,  for  as  he  grew  to  manhood 
he  felt  he  could  not  associate  with  persons 
so  far  above  him  as  he  had  done  whilst  a 
boy,  and  went  there  less  and  less,  tiH  he  re- 
frained from  such  visits  altogether  ;  and  he 
liked  not  going  to  John  a  Combe,  remember- 
ing how  urgently  he  had  warned  him 
against  pursuing  the  very  course  of  which 
he  was  now  feeling  the  evil  consequences. 

After  many  long  and  comfortless  reflec- 
tions, he  resolved  on  making  a  last  effort. 
One  fine  May  morning,  a  few  months  after 
the  christening  of  the  twins,  he  presented 
himself  be  fore  her.  They  were  alone.  She 
was  tiring  of  herself  in  all  her  choicest  bra- 
veries, to  attend  some  festival  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. A  sort  of  sprightly  indifference 
was  in  her  manner  as  she  saw  her  husband 
approach  ;  as  ho  noticed  this,  and  heard  one 
of  the  children  crying  unheeded,  in  the  next 
chamber,  he  had  no  great  hope  of  success 
in  his  present  undertaking — nevertheless  he 
felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  proceed  in  it.  He 
walked  up  and  down  the  chamber  with  an 
aching  heart,  she  humming  of  a  tune  the 
while,  and  decking  herself  in  her  finery  as 
if  in  a  perfect  carelessness  of  everything 
save  her  own  pleasure. 

"  Anne,  I  pray  you  look  to  the  child,  it 
cryeth  most  pitifully!"  exclaimed  he  at  last. 

"  Joan  is  there,"  replied  she,  carelessly. 

"  It  seemeth  that  it  requireth  its  mother, 
and  will  not  be  satisfied  with  Joan,"  ob- 
served her  husband. 

"  Then  it  must  be  satisfied  with  her,  for  I 
cannot  be  ever  with  the  children,"  answered 
his  wife,  with  some  pettishness. 

"  Methinks  the  gratifying  the  natural 
desires  of  a  young  babe  should  be  held  be- 
fore all  other  things  with  its  mother,"  said 
Wiiliarn  Shakspearc.  "  She  hath  a  sacred 
obligation  imposed  on  her  which  she  ought 
in  no  way  to  neglect  for  the  furthering  of 
her  own  immediate  convenience." 

"  Tut !  what  should  men  know  of  such 
matters  !"  cried  his  companion.  "  Truly,  a 
fine  life  of  it  a  poor  woman  would  lead  who 
followed  such  old  saws.  I  will  do  no  such 


folly,  depend  on't.  I  marvel  you  should  in- 
terfere in  things  so  out  of  your  province ; 
but  'tis  done  merely  to  prevent  my  taking 
my  proper  pleasure — nevertheless  it  seemeth 
to  me  good  I  enjoy  it." 

"  I  cannot  have  the  slightest  wish  to  debar 
you  of  your  proper  pleasures,"  replied  her 
husband  ;  "  in  very  truth  I  would  strive  my 
utmost  you  should  enjoy  as  much  happiness 
as  Woman  can." 

"  You  don't!"  exclaimed  the  other,  sharp- 
ly ;  "jxm  are  in  a  constant  mood  of  finding 
fault  with  me — you  will  never  do  as  I  wish  : 
and  when  I  am  for  the  pleasuring  myself 
with  my  neighbors,  you  fail  not  to  raise  all 
manner  of  foolish  improper  objections." 

"  I  canno.t  call  any  such  propw  pleasures, 
when  your  neighbors  are  looked  to  and  your 
children  neglected,"  observed  he. 

"  Marry,  I  care  not  what  you  call  them," 
she  answered  ;  "  I  will  do  as  I  list,  take  it 
as  you  may." 

"Anne,  I  implore  you  to  pause  in  this 
most  unsemely  behaving,"  said  her  com- 
panion, very  urgently  ;  "  it  doth  cause  me 
infinite  unhappiness  to  see  you  so  forget 
yourself.  The  ordinary  duties  of  a  fond 
good  wife  and  mother  are  thrust  aside  and 
lost  sight  of,  through  utter  carelessness. 
None  could  furnish  my  house  so  pleasantly 
as  yourself,  if  it  chose  you  to  do  so  ;  but  you 
seek  to  make  it  as  wretched  as  you  can  by 
all  manner  of  unbecomingness,  unkindness, 
and  neglect.  I  pray  you  change  such  a 
course  for  one  more  desirable  to  me  and 
more  creditable  to  yourself  ;  and  you  shall 
find  I  do  not  lack  gratitude." 

"Gratitude!"  echoed  the  spoiled  woman, 
with  considerable  bitterness.  "  O'  my  \vord 
I  have  had  enough  of  your  gratitude.  I 
have  left  divers  rich  suitors  to  take  up  with 
you,  who  had  not  so  much  as  would  buy  me 
a  day's  meal.  I  have  brought  you  every 
comfort  you  have  in  the  way  of  lodging, 
clothing,  and  victual ;  and  moreover  three 
as  fine  children  as  an  honest  father  could 
desire ;  and  yet  I  am  treated  as  though  I 
had  done  nothing  of  all  this.  'Tis  a  fine 
thing,  truly,  to  treat  one  so  ill  who  hath  been 
so  bountiful  to  you  ;  but  I  will  put  up  with 
no  such  treatment,  I  promise  you.  I  will 
act  as  it  seemeth  best  to  my  humor ;  and  in 
no  case  will  I  be  driven  from  my  innocent 
pastime  at  the  will  of  an  ungrateful  worth- 
less husband." 

"  I  have  already  told  yf^i  I  strive  not  to 
check  you  in  anything  innocent  at  a  proper 
time,"  replied  her  husoand  ;  "  but  I  cannot 
see  you  ruin  your  own  happiness  and  mine 
by  a  wilful  obstinacy  in  doing  wrong."  < 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


167 


*  You're  a  base  inhuman  wretch !"  ex- 
claimed the  yeoman's  daughter.  * 

"  I  have  sought  all  occasions  and  all  ar- 
guments to  persuade  you  to  act  more  be- 
comingly," continued  he,  "  and  only  brought 
on  myself  bitter  taunts  and  ungenerous  re- 
flections." 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  your  face,  you 
ungrateful  vile  caitiff !"  added  his  com- 
panion. 

"  There  now  remaineth  but  one  thing  for 
me  to  do,':  said  William  Shakspeare,  betray- 
ing by  his  voice  the  struggle  in  his  nature ; 
"  as  'tis  impossible  we  can  live  happily  to- 
gether, we  must  part !'' 

"  Oh,  you  may  go !"  replied  she,  with  ax 
careless  toss  of  her  head  ;  "  and  I  care  not 
how  soon — and  I  shall  not  fret  for  your  com- 
ing baek,  I  promise  you." 

"  I  beseech  you,  as  my  last  request,  show 
such  love  to  the  dear  children  as  their  ten- 
der years  entitle  them  to,"  said  the  youthful 
father,  so  moved  he  could  scarce  speak. 

{;  I  pray  you  despatch  yourself,  since  you 
are  for  going,"  answered  the  thoughtless 
wife  more  bitterly  than  before ;  "  and  forget 
not  o  take  with  you  all  that  you  brought !" 
Her  husband  cast  one  look  of  reproach  on 
the  once  object  of  his  so  grea,t  love — turned 
away  almost  choking  with  his  overpower- 
ing sensations,  and  in  the  next  moment  had 
left  the  cottage, — the  scene  of  a  thousand 
exquisite  pleasures — never  to  enter  it  again. 
He  first  bent  his  steps  toward  Henley  Streel, 
to  take  leave  of  his  parents,  and  then  left  the 
town  without  speech  of  any  other,  for  with 
his  present  feelings  he  cared  not  to  be  idly 
talked  to  and  questioned.  When  he  had 
gone  some  little  distance  he  stopped  to  take 
a  last  k»k  of  his  native  place.  There  lay 
the  steeple  of  the  old  church,  towering  above 
the  surrounding  houses  and  trees — the  fair 
land-mark  he  had  hailed  returning  from  so 
many  ple.isant  rambles  ;  there  lay  his  fa- 
ther's deviling,  hallowed  in  his  recollection 
by  a  whole  history  of  early  studies,  struggles, 
and  .pleasures  ;  there  lay  the  winding  Avon, 
in  whose  sweet  waters  he  had  so  often  laved 
his  limbs,  or  gathered  from  its  banks  con- 
tinual store  of  blooming  treasure  ;  and  there 
lay  a  hundred  other  spots  equally  well  de- 
serving of  his  remembrance,  as  the  ,ecene  of 
some  childish  sport  or  youthful  adventure. 

He  gazed  in  another  direction,  and  if  the 
yeoman's  pretty  cottage  was  not  made  out 
in  the  landscape,  he  had  it  in  his  eyes  as 
clearly  as  when  he  first  beheld  it,  attracted 
thereto  by  the  cheerful  singing  of  the  bloom- 
ing girl  at  her  spinning-wheel.  Then  fol- 
lowed scene  after  scene  of  exquisite  enjoy- 
ment. The  evening  meetings,  where  she 


waited  for  him  at  the  next  style — their  deli- 
cious salutations  there — their  gentle  stroll 
together  back  to  the  old  walnut  tree,  and  all 
the  goodly  entertainment  he  had  under  its 
friendly  shadows,  till,  after  some  dozen  re- 
luctant farewells,  he  forced  himself  away. 
And  last  of  all  came  sullen  looks  and  pro- 
voking words,  and  a  crowd  of  attendant 
miseries,  created  by  the  unfeeling  thought- 
less carelessness  of  that  weak  vain  woman. 
And  now  he  saw  himself  a  wanderer  to  go 
wheresoever  he  would,  driven  from  his  home 
by  the  very  means  that  had  brought  such 
home  to  him,  and  deprived  of  happiness  by 
having  had  the  possession  of  what  he  had 
so  long  believed  could  alone  secure  it  him 
forever.  These  remembrances  took  such 
painful  hold  of  his  heart,  that  the  anguish 
he  endured  at  that  moment  was  beyond 
everything  he  had  hitherto  suffered. 

"  Thou  shalt  see  better  days  anon,  dear 
heart !"  exclaimed  a  familiar  voice,  and 
turning  round,  he  beheld  Nurse  Cicely. 
-  Pleasure  cometh  after  suffering  as  natu- 
rally as  the  green  buds  after  the  early  rains. 
All  things  have  their  season.  Thy  time  is 
now  for  sorrow  ;  but  bear  up  nobly,  and  be 
assured  greatness  shall  come  of  it  beyond 
thy  brightest  hopes.  A  fair  journey  to  thee 
my  sweeting !" — So  saying,  the  old  woman 
hobbled  away,  leaving  the  youthful  Shaks- 
peare in  an  especial  marvel  at  her  strange 
words.  She  had  often  addressed  him  in  a 
like  manner  previously,  but  he  had  paid  little 
attention  to  what  she  had  said, — now,  how- 
ever, he  pondered  on  it  as  he  went  along, 
and  not  without  some  particular  satisfaction. 
He  had  not  proceeded  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
when  he  met  John  a  Combe.  He.  would 
have  avoided  him  if  he  could,  for  he  liked 
not  his  company  at  that  moment ;  but  the 
usurer  came  suddenly  upon,  him  from  a  lane 
which  led  into  the  road,  along  which  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  was  passing. 

"  So  !"  cried  John  a  Combe,  in  his  usual 
bitter  manner. ,"  thou  wouldst  not  be  led  by 
my  advice,  and*  art  now  smarting  for't. 
Serves  thee  right.  But  every  fool  doth  the 
same.  Tell  them  where  lies  the  mischief, 
they  run  into  it  on  the  instant, — suffer  first 
and  repent  after.  ^Prithee,  what  dost  intend 
doing  ?" 

<;  I  am  for  making  the  best  of  my  way  to- 
London,  where  I  expect  meeting  with  cer- 
tain friends  of  mine,"  replied  his  young  com- 
panion. 

"  Ay,  boy,  thou'lt  meet  fools  enough  there, 
I'll  warrant,"  answered  the  usurer,  sharply. 
"  But  'tis  a  long  journey,  and  requireth  some 
expense  on  the  way.  How  art  off  for 
means  ?" 


68 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  In  truth  not,  over  well — but  I  must  e'en 
do  as  I  best  may,"  said  the  other. 

"  Give  me  thy  purse  !"  exclaimed  John 
~!omhe,  and  without  more  ado,  he  snatchec 
t  from  his  girdle,  and  then  turned  his  back 
to  him  to  see  what  was  in  it.  "  As  I  live 
no  more  than  a  groat  and  a  shilling  !"  con 
tinned  he,  in  seeming  monstrous  astonish- 
ment. ':  Why,  ere  thou  has  got  a  goo( 
dozen  mile  thou  will  be  forced  to  eat  thysel 
for  lack  of  victual.  Here,  let  me  put  thy 
parse  in  thy  girdle  again."  And  then  the 
usurer  carefully  replaced- it.  "  Thou  ant 
thy  wits  have  parted  company,  that's  a  sure 
thins." 

"  I  would  ask  one  favor  of  you,  good  Mas- 
ter Combe;  before  I  leave  you." 

•'  Nay,  I  will  lend  thee  no  money  !"  quick- 
ly replied  his  companion.  "  It  be  not  a 
likely  thing  a  usurer  should  trust  one  who 
starteth  on  a  long  journey,  with  only  a  knob- 
bed stick  by  way  of  weapon,  with  a  bundle 
of  linen  at  the  end  on't  carried  over  his 
shoulder  by  way  of  luggage,  and  a  shrove- 
groat  shilling,  and  a  cracked  groat  in  his 
purse,  for  store  of  money  for  spending." 

"  I  do  not  require  of  you  such  a  thing," 
replied  William  Shakspeare.  "All  I  would 
of  you  is  that  if  my  dear  parents  need  what 
you  have  to  spare,  you  will  do  your  good 
offices  to  them,  and  as  soon  as  fortune  fa- 
voreth  me  somewhat,  I  will  return  whatever 
you  are  so  generous  as  to  furnish." 

li  Truly  a  fine  story  !"  remarked  John  a 
Combe.  "  Though  art  sure  to  come  to  great 
wealth  with  so  prodigious  a  beginning  !  It 
would  bo  monstrous  like  a  ^surer,  methinks, 
to  lend  on  such  poor  security." 

'•'  An'  you  will  no,t  I  cannot  help  it,"  said 
the  other  dejectedly. 

"  Nay,  I  said  not  I  refused  !"  exclaimed 
the  usurer.  "  So  there  is  no  great  occasion 
thou  shouldst  look  so  woe-begone.  Indeed, 
I  care  not  to  acquaint  thee,  for  thy  comfort, 
seeing  though  art  not  likely  to  come  back 
and  tell  my  neighbors  of  my  infinite  foolish- 
ness, I  have  been  thy  honest  father's  friend 
this  many  a  year,  and  he  not  know  it."  His 
young  companion  seized  his  hand  gratefully, 
and  looked  more  thanks  tjran  he  could  have 
.spoken  had  he  twenty  tongue?.  He  knew 
that  some  secret  person  had  for  a  consider- 
able period  of  years  been  sending  sums  of 
mon^.y  when  his  parents  were  in  their  great- 
est need,  and  now  it  came  out  it  was  Mas- 
ter Combe  and  no  other. 

"  I  cannot  get  out  of  my  old  folly,  try  how 
f  will,"  continued  he,  more  moved  by  the 
other's  simple  manifestation  of  his  feelings 
than  he  chose  to  show.  "  Of  the  baseness 
jf  the  world,  methinks  I  have  had  proof 


enough.  O'  my  life  !  there  cannot  oe  found 
more  convincing  evidence  than  an  honest 
worthy  man  suffering  poverty  in  mean 
clothing  and  poor  victual,  while  baseness  in 
a  fine  doublet,  taketh  sauce  with  his  capon, 
and  hath  money  to  spare." 

"  Doubtless  the  world  containeth  some  un- 
worthy persons,"  observed  William  Shaks- 
peare. "  It  is  scarce  reasonable  to  expect 
it  can  be  otherwise,  when  such  countless 
multitudes  are  to  be  met  with  in  each  part 
of  the  globe.  We  shall  find  weeds  in  every 
field ;  but  surely  the  field  deserveth  to  be 
called  a  good  field  for  all  that.  But  why 
should  we  dwell  on  such  things  1  There 
are  flowers,  peeping  out  from  our  very  foot- 
steps go  where  we  will,  and  yet  we  will  not 
see  them,  but  care  only  to  spy  what  is  un- 
sightly and  unprofitable.  In  honest  truth, 
worthy  sir,  methinks  we  do  Nature  a  huge 
wrong  by  such  behavior  of  ours.  'Tis  man- 
ifest injustice  to  be  so  blind  to  merit,  and  to 
see  only  that  which  is  not  likely  to  call  for 
our  admiration." 

"  Nay,  boy,  'tis  the  world  that  is  blind  to 
merit,  not  I,"  answered  the  usurer.  "  I  be-  • 
hold  thy  honest  parents  struggling  all  they 
can  to  live  with  a  fair  credit  though  terribly 
pinched  i'  the  ribs,  and  the  world  shutteth 
its  Argus  eyes  and  passeth  by.  I  behold 
their  worthy  son  showing  signs  of  an  hon- 
orable disposition,  and  talents  deserving  of  as 
high  estimation,  yet  the  world  doth  appre- 
ciate him  at  so  low  a  price,  it  will  allow  of 
his  starting  a  long  journey  to  London  on  a 
chance  errand  to  fortune,  with  no  greater 
provision  than  a  shilling  and  a  groat.  All 
this  while  the  world  giveth  to  villains  place 
and  eeremony,  and  maketh  a  shallow-witted 
coxcomb  with  broad  acres  pass  for  a  knight 
o'  the  shire,  and  justice  o'  the  peace." 

"  But  how  know  we  this  state  of  things 
will  always  continue  1"  said  his  young  com- 
janion ;  "  it  may  be,  for  such  changes  have 
lappened  before,  that  when  Master  Justice 
is  feeding  of  the  worms,  my  dear  parents 
shall  be  enjoying  of  as  much  comfort  as  their 
learts  can  desire  ;  and  I,  whom  he  hath  so 
often  strove  to  play  his  poor  spite  upon,  may 
eave  to  my  children  a  better  name  out  of 
such  poor  talents  as  I  have,  than  could  he, 
out  of  all  his  broad  acres  and  fine  house, 
serving-men  and  constables,  his  warship  and 
mightship,  and  every  other  sign  of  great- 
ness whereof  he  is  used  to  make  such  fa- 
mous boasting,  into  the  bargain." 

"  See  I  this,  I  will  believe  it,"  said  John  a 

Combe ;  "  yet,  with  the  knowledge  I  have  of 

he  world's  baseness,  I  expect  no  such  wel- 

ome  changes.     Justice   is   painted  blind, 

and  blind  she  is  beyond  question." 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


169 


v  I  have  other  thoughts  of  that,"  replied 
William  Shakspeare.  "  I  bslievfi  tliat  it 
very  rarely  happens,  when  merit  showeth 
itself  in  any  conspicuousness,  it  is  not  kind- 
ly taken  by  the  hand  to  be  exalted  above  all 
meaner  natures." 

"  Ay,  boy,  on  the  pillory  or  the  gibbet," 
drily  added  the  usurer  ;  '•  but  thou  art  past 
arguing.  Just  as  I  was  at  thy  age  art  thou. 
I  would  allow  none  to  convince  me  of  any 
such  thing  as  injustice  in  nature.  Marry,  I 
had  such  convincing  at  last,  as  left  me  with- 
out a  doubt  to  stand  upon.  I  would  have 
thee  grow  wiser  than  thou  art,  but  in  mercy 
ilfc-oiild  not  wish  thee  any  such  resistless 
arguments  as  crushed  my  favorable  opinions 
out  of  me.  Get  thee  gone  Will  Shakspeare, 
and  speed  on  thy  errand  as  well  as  thou 
canst.  If  so  be  thou  art  not  doing  well, 
write  to  me  without  fail ;  but  at  any  rate  let 
me  know  how  thou  art  proceeding." 

"  One  thing  more,  worthy  Master  Combe," 
said  his  young  companion  urgently  ;  "  since 

rou  have  been  so  good  as  to  talk  of  writing, 
would  you  would  do  me  such  kind  service 
as  to  see  my  children  as  oft  as  may  be  con- 
venient to  you,  and  let  me  know  how  they 
get  on  in  all  things." 

"  And  their  mother  ?"  added  the  usurer, 
with  somewhat  of  sarcasm. 

"  If  you  know  any  thing  concerning  of 
her  worthy  to  be  told,  acquaint  me  with  it 
by  all  means ;  but  if  of  another  nature,  I 
care  not  to  hear  of  it." 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  usurer,  sharply ; 
"  let  it  be  even  so.  And  now  fare  thee  well, 
,  Will  Shakspeare.  I  wish  thee  every  man- 
ner of  good,  though  I  am  in  huge  doubt  any- 
thing of  the  sort  is  to  be  found." 

"  Truly,  I  cannot  help  seeing  it  in  your- 
self, worthy  Master  Combe,  despite  your  un- 
gracious seeming,"  replied  his  young  friend, 
parting  with  him  in  sincere  regret.  After 
going  a  few  paces,  he  turned  round  to  take 
another  glance  at  his  old  acquaintance,  and 
to  his  sin-prise,  beheld  him  standing  still, 
looking  after  him  with  an  aspect  of  deeper 
feeling  than  ever  he  had  observed  in  him  be- 
fore ;  but  immediately  he  was  noticed,  he 
took  on  himself  the  same  severe  expression 
of  countenance  he  was  wont  to  wear,  and 
then  turning  quickly  away,  paced  onwards 
towards  the  town. 

As  William  Shakspeare  was  thinking 
over  the  strangeness  of  his  companion,  his 
eyes  suddenly  lighted  on  his  purse,  winch 
seemed  to  be  much  increased  in  size  since  he 
last  had  sig"ht  of  it.  he  took  it  into  his  hand, 
and  looking  to  its  contents,  to  his  prodigious 
marvelling,  discovered  as  goodly  a  store  of 
coin  as  he  could  need  the  whole  length  of  his 


journey.  Here  was  a  fresh  instance  of  the 
unhappy  usurers  secret  manner  of  doing 
kindness  where  it  was  most  needed,  and  the 
discovery  of  it  had  such  effect  on  the  sensi- 
tive nature  of  him  he  had  so  providently 
thought  of,  that  it  refreshed  him  with  many 
sweet  feelings,  and  sent  him  on  his  long 
journey  with  a  more  cheerful  spirit  than  ho 
had  known  a  long  time.  He  appeared  now 
to  have  at  his  will  the  means  of  procuring 
what  he  most  wished.  For  with  suc£  a 
sanguine  disposition  as  lie  possessed,  he  be- 
lieved that  were  he  once  in  London,  he 
should  speedily  get  such  employment  as  ho 
desired,  and  then  he  had  in  him  that  convic- 
tion he  would  raise  himself  greatly,  often 
attending  upon  the  youthful  and  -imagina- 
tive. 

Filled  with  these  considerations,  and  with 
manifold  fine  plans  and  excellent  fair  pros- 
pects, he  trudged  manfully  along. 

The  day  was  well-favored  a  day  to  look 
on  as  ever  appeared  in  that  merry  month  ; 
the  hedges  being  all  over  covered  with  deli- 
cate May,  and  the  banks  as  prodigally  gift- 
ed with  the  dainty  gifts  of  the  season,  which  • 
made  the  air  so  exquisite,  nothing  could  ex- 
ceed it  in  delectable  sweetness ;  added  to 
which,  such  crowds  of  small  birds  were 
tuning  of  their  little  pipes  upon  every  tree 
and  bush,  as  made  most  ravishing  music  all 
along  the  road.  I  doubt  much  the  delight- 
some aspect  of  Nature  was  as  pleasantly 
regarded  as  it  deserved  to  be  by  the  youthful 
wanderer ;  for  although  he  had  but  a  few 
minutes  since  determined  in  his  mind  he 
would  think  no  more  of  his  unhapjnncss^the 
sight  of  the  odorous  flowrery  hedges  brought 
to  his  memory  that  gay  morning  he  went  a- 
maying  with  his  then  so  deeply  loved  Anne 
Hathaway,  and  the  unutterable  gladness  he 
enjoyed  because  of  her  sharing  with  him  the 
excellent  brave  pastimes  of  that  memorable 
day. 

Whilst  he  was  so  deeply  engaged  with 
such  thinking,  he  did  not  notice  he  had  a 
companion,  evidently  striving  to  keep  up 
with  him,  whom  he  had  just  passed.  This 
person  appeared  to  be,  by  his  dress,  a  young 
boy  of  some  gentle  family  ;  for  he  was  clad 
very  neatly  in  a  suit  of  fine  broadcloth,  ot"  a 
gay  orange-tawney  color,  with  good  kersev 
hose,  shoes  with  roses,  a  well  appointed  hat 
and  feather  on  his  head,  and  a  light  stick  or 
staff  in  his  hand.  In  person  he  was  of  an 
exceeding  elegant  shape,  indeed  such  deli- 
cate symmetry  ef  limbs  is  rarely  to  be  met 
with  ;  and  in  features  he  was  of  a  fair  hand- 
someness, yet  of  a  complexion  so  wan  and 
sickly,  it  looked  as  though  he  was  fitter  to 
be  in  his  bed  than  to  be  a  traveller  for  ever 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


BO  short  a  distance.  He  looked  fatigued, 
and  it  was  manifest  he  could  ill  keep  up  with 
the  manly  strides  of  the  youthful  Shaks- 
peare. 

"  I  pray  you,  sweet  sir,  walk  not  so  fast, 
for  I  should  be  wondrous  glad  of  your  hon- 
est company." 

The  other  turned  round  somewhat  sur- 
prised, not  knowing  any  one  was  so  nigh 
him,  and  was  moved  with  extreme  pity  at 
the  slight  glance  he  took  of  the  pallid  suf- 
fering countenance  of  4he  young  stranger. 
He  lessened  his  pace  on  the  instant. 

"  Go  you  far  on  this  road,  my  young  mas- 
ter ?"  inquired  he  courteously. 

"  Truly,  I  know  not,"  replied  his  com- 
panion, in  a  manner  somewhat  hesitating; 
"  but  the  farther  I  get  from  the  place  I  have 
left,  the  more  pleased  I  shall  be." 

"  Yet  you  soetn  in  no  way  fit  to  go  on  a 
journey,"  observed  William  Shakspeare,  in 
some  marvel  at  what  he  had  just  heard.  "  I 
doubt  you  are  strong  enough  for  much  walk- 
ing." ' 

"  I  have  been  in  a  great  sickness  a  long 
time,  sweet  sir,"  replied  the  other;  "but  as 
I  recovered,  I  found  such  villainy  approach- 
ing me,  that  I  thought  it  better  to  trust  to 
the  chance  of  perishing  on  a  strange  road 
than  remaining  where  I  was."  At  hearing 
this  his  companion  marvelled  the  more. 

"Keep  a  good  heart,  I  pray  you !"  ex- 
claimed the  youthful  Shakspeare,  ready  at 
a  moment  to  sympathize  with  any  unhappy 
person.  "  If  it  please  you  to  let  me  bear 
you  company,  I  will  take  such  heed  of  you, 
you  shall  come  to  no  hurt.  But  to  what 
place  are  you  bound  ?" 

"  To  any,  where  I  can  live  in  proper  hon- 
esty," replied  the  young  stranger.  "  I  will 
willingly  essay  my  strength  in  such  humble 
manner  of  living  as  I  can  get,  with  no  higher 
end  than  the  keeping  me  a  worthy  name." 

William  Shakspeare  said  nothing,  but  he 
thought  in  his  mind  his  fellow-traveller  had 
but  a  poor  chance  of  a  living,  relied  he  only 
on  his  strength,  and  resolved  at  least,  that, 
as  he  wanted  a  friend,  a  friend  he  should 
have.  With  the  true  delicacy  of  a  noble 
mind,  he  refrained  from  asking  him  any 
questions  which  might  seem  to  come  of  over 
curiousness,  but  began  to  talk  cheerfully  to 
him,  telling  him  to  hope  for  better  times,  and 
entertaining  him  with  such  pleasant  dis- 
course as  he  had  at  his  commandment.  And 
so  these  two  proceeded  together.  The  one 
in  the  full  strength  of  early  manhood,  and, 
though  bereft  of  his  happiness,  full  of  health 
and  hope — the  other,  apparently  in  the  fresh 
dawning  of  youth,  and  in  as  little  comfort  of 
body  as  of  mind. 


Methinks  this  chapter  in  no  case  ought  to 
be  brought  to  a  conclusion,  without  requir- 
ing of  the  courteous  reader  especial  notice 
of  a  matter  therein  treated-;  which,  it  is  to 
be  hoped,  will  be  to  his  singular  profit.  In 
the  development  of  this  my  story,  there  hath 
boon  made  manifest  how  that  kind  of  love, 
which  is  merely  ideal,  endeth  in  a  complete 
nothingness,  as  far  as  its  object  is  concerned, 
it  being  only  a  fair  herald  of  a  more  natural 
passion  ;  but  in  the  later  pages  it  is  shown, 
that  the  affection  which  cometh  but  of  the 
delight  taken  by  the  senses  in  personal  come- 
liness, must  meet  with  a  still  more  unsatis- 
factory conclusion.  It  is  true  that  Natujp 
hath  planted  in  the  human  heart  a  capacity 
for  enjoying  the  beautiful,  and  a  desire  to 
obtain  its  possession  ;  and  the  affections  of 
the  individual,  like  unto  clear  waters,  do  most 
perfectly  bear  in  them  the  resemblance  of 
whatsoever  shape  appeareth  to  them  in  most 
perfectness  ;  but  it  should  ever  be  borne  in 
mind,  that  there  are  beauties  of  far  sweeter 
and  lasting  value,  than  such  as  are  wont  to 
lie  on  the  surface  of  things,  and  that  these 
constitute  the  sole  proper  source  of  their 
admirableness.  The  flowers,  the  stars,  and 
every  form  of  matter,  animate  or  inanimate, 
impressed  with  the  configuration  most  pleas- 
ing to  the  sight,  possess  qualities  which  make 
them  the  love  of  the  poet  and  the  true  pliilo- 
sophic  sort  of  persons,  exceedingly  more  so 
than  their  mere  appearance.  They  exhibit 
signs  of  intelligence,  by  which  they  are 
known  to  be  part  of  the  universal  good ;  and 
for  the  worth  they  show  are  worthily  appre- 
ciated. 

Such  should  it  be  with  things  that  more 
intimately  appertain  to  humanity.  The 
agreeable  face  and  graceful  person  are  the 
unprofitablest  of  objects,  unless  they  jcarry 
with  them  the  fairer  signs  of  mind  and  feel- 
ing. They  may  be  regarded  as  such  fruit 
as  come  of  plants  imperfectly  cultivated, 
that  look  tempting  to  the  eye,  but  are  in- 
tolerable to  the  taste ;  and  save  the  pretty 
sort  of  way  in  which  they  do  garnish  their 
boughs,  are  of  no  goodness  whatsoever.  In 
this  same  goodness — which  is  nought  else 
but  another  name  for  intelligence — lieth  the 
real  source  and  conclusion  of  all  honest  love. 
This  is  it  that  sows  the  seed — this  is  it  that 
obtains  infinite  crops  of  exquisite  sweet  fruit. 
Where  there  is  no  moral  excellence,  there 
can  never  be  any  moral  advantage.  The 
youthful  Shakspeare,  therefore,  in  showing, 
as  he  did,  a  total  indifference  to  aught  else 
save  the  personal  charms  of  the  blooming 
daughter  of  Jphn  Hathaway,  brought  on 
himself  the  positive  evil  which  proceedeth 
from  insufficiency  of  good.  But  thus  are 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE 


171 


th«  marvellous  lessons  of  Nature  taught, 
and  how  oft  are  they  placed  before  us  in 
this  very  fashion !  The  youth  of  both  sexes, 
full  of  the  delicious  sympathies  so  newly 
grown  within  their  breasts,  regard  in  the 
other,  symmetry  of  limb  and  loveliness  of 
feature,  as  vouchers  for  whatsoever  is  pro- 
perest  and  most  desirable,  and,  at  times,  do 
get  their  several  senses  so  intoxicated  by 
allowing  of  their  imaginations  to  be  excited 
by  the  strong  draughts  proceeding  from  rosy 
smiling  lips  and  lustrous  enticing  eyes,  that 
they  clean  forget  there  is  aught  else  in  the 
world  worthy  of  their  having.  The  capacity 
for  enjoyment  satiated,  quick  on  the  heels 
of  it  fotloweth  the  ordinary  ending  of  such 
foolishness. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen  years,  it  is  incon- 
sistent with  experience  to  expect  the  human 
heart  to  be  philosophical.  Before  that  age, 
William  Shakspeare  found  his  whole  nature 
thrilled  with  a  passion  for  a  female  eight 
years  his  senior,  and  consequently,  in  the 
possession  of  every  charm  of  mature  woman- 
hood. He  revelled  in  the  delusive  gratifica- 
tion of  aft  attachment  placed  on  no  surer 
foundation  than  personal  beauty,  and  fixing 
his  happiness  there,  on  due  time  found  it 
levelled  to  the  dust.  The  result  hath  ren- 
dered him  a  homeless  adventurer,  banished 
from  his  domestic  hearth  to  seek,  amongst 
strangers,'  that  comfort  he  had  lost  every 
hope  of  where  he  believed  it  to  be  most 
secure.  \ow  must  he  wofk  out  the  penalty 
of  his  offence,  and,  by  his  example,  teach  a 
great  moral  lesson  unto  all  humanity,  which, 
perchance,  shall  not  be  altogether  lost  sight 
of  at  this  time,  or  at  any  other. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

. 

Example  I  fynde  of  Alesaundr  Nexam  as  he 
wryte^h,  how  there  was  sumtyme  a  knyght 
came  from  ferr  cuntries  woude  seek  aventures. 
So  it  fortuned  to  a  forrest  wher  he  herd  a  grete 
noyce  of  a  beste  crying. 

HARLEIAX  MSS.  No.  2-247. 
The  misery  of  us  that  are  bom  great. 
We  are  f.  >rced  to  woo, because  none  dare  woo  us ; 
And  as  a  tyrant  doubles  with  his  words, 
And  fearfully  equivocates,  so  we 
Are  forced  td  express  our  violent  passions 
In  riddles  and  in  dreams,  and  leave  the  path 
Of  simple  virtue,  which  was  never  made 
To  seem  the  thiug  it  is  not. 

WEBSTER. 

"  I  FE  AR  me  I  cannot  proceed  further," 
said  the  younger  of  the  two  travellers,  lean- 


ing against  a  tree,  with  head  drooping,  and 
every  sign  in  him  of  thorough  exhaustion 
and  faintness. 

"  I  beseech  you  good  Bertram,  lean  on  me !" 
exclaimed  William  Shakspeare,  urgently. 
"  Let  us  get  out  of  this  wood  as  speedily  as 
we  may,  for  the  sun  hath  set  some  .time,  and 
we  are  liked  to  get  benighted  in  this  strange 
place,  stay  we  where  we  are  much  longer." 

"  I  doubt  my  strength  will  hold  sufficient, 
yet  I  will  strive  my  utmost,"  replied  his 
young  companion,  in  a  very  feeble  voice. 
Thereupon  he  leaned  his  head  upon  the 
other's  shoulder,  whilst  the  latter  held  him 
round  the  waist  with  his  left  arm,  and  thus 
they  proceeded,  at  a  slow  pace,  following  a 
path  which  led  through  a  thick  wood  on  each 
side  of  them.  The  trees,  principally  hazel, 
were  in  their  freshest  leaves,  save  some  that 
were  only  a  budding,  and  those  of  the  wild 
plum  and  cherry  were  clothed  in  all  their 
delicate  bloom.  The  roots  of  the  larger  trees 
were  wrapt  in  a  soft  covering  of  dainty  green 
moss,  through  which  the  lance-shaped  leaves 
of  the  lily  of  the  valley  made  their  appear- 
ance in  countless  numbers — seemingly  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  see — mingled  with  a 
very  prodigal  display,  not  only  of  all  manner 
of  seasonable  flowers  of  diners  colors,  hut 
with  numberless  plants  and  herbs,  some 
savory  and  others  noxious,  that  thrust  them- 
selves out  at  every  corner.  Nothing  was 
visible  around  but  trees  and  underwood  such 
as  hath  been  described,  save  here  and  there, 
when  they  came  to  an  open  place  where  the 
wood  had  been  thinned ;  and  then  ,they  be- 
held some  once  goodly  tree  recently  felled, 
stripped  of  its  branches,  barked,  and  lying 
on  the  ground  a  shapeless,  naked  trunk ;  and 
in  other  places  were  small  logs  for  burning, 
piled  up  in  heaps,  with  great  store  of  hurdles, 
bavins,  faggots,  and  other  things  belonging 
to  the  woodman's  craft. 

It  was  evident  the  men  had  left  work — 
the  whole  place  was  so  still — not  a  sound 
heard  the  young  travellers  when  thej  ceased 
talking,  but  the  monotonous  note  of  the 
cuckoo.  The  path  was  not  in  any  way  a 
pleasant  one,  for  it  was  in  a  hard,  rough 
soil,  with  deep  ruts  on  each  side,  formed  by 
the  passage  of  heavy  carts  when  the  ground 
was  in  a  softer  state,  and  led  now  up  and 
now  down — crossed  occasionally  by  other 
paths  of  a  like  appearance,  with  some  nar- 
rower and  less  worn,  which  appeared  to  be 
only  for  foot  passengers,  with  room  for  but 
one~atatime.  Yet  along  this  unpleasant 
way  the  two  pursued  their  journey  in  the 
manner  already  mentioned ;  the  more  youth- 
ful one  manifestly  sinking  at  every  step, 
despite  of  the  other's  tender  charge  of  him, 
- 


172 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


and  encouraging  speech  to  help  him  along. 

Truly,  it  was  a  sight  well  worthy  to  be 
looked  on,  these  gentle  persons  travelling  in 
«o  friendly  a  way,  the  handsome  manly  face 
of  William  Shakspeare  beaming  with  a 
sweet  benevolence,  as  with  all  the  tender 
sympathy,  of  his  nature,  he  gazed  upon  the 
upturned  pallid  countenance  of  his  more 
youthful  associate;  but  although  the  latter 
strove,  as  forcibly  as  he  could,  to  get  along, 
it  was  easy  to  see,  by  the  languid  style  in 
which  he  drew  one  leg  after  the  other,  and 
the  quick  paling  of  his  lips,  that  he  could 
continue  even  this  sort  of  progress  but  a  very 
little  longer. 

"Cheer  tliee,  sweet  sir!"  exclaimed  the 
elder  of  the  two,  in  the  kindest  accents, 
"  thou  wilt  be  better  anon.  Put  thy  foot 
forward  gallantly,  we  shall  be  out  of  this 
wood  straight,  and  get  us  to  a  village  where 
we  can  have  fair  lodging  for  the  night." 

"  Alack !  I  feel  sinking  rapidly,"  replied 
the  other,  evidently  in  extreme  faintness. 
"  Bear  me  ijp  strongly,  I  pray  you — the 
ground  seemeth  to  be  falling." 

"  Prithee  heed  it  not  at  all — 'tis  mere  fan- 
tasy," said  William  Shakspeare,  holding  him 
as  affectionately  as  a  brother.  "  Courage, 
my  young  master,  our  journey  will  be  at  an 
end  speedily — so  we  shall  have  brave  resting, 
continue  we  to  proceed.  Woe  is  me,  he 
hath  swooned !"  The  speaker  stopped  in 
great  anxiety  and  pitifulness,  for  he  had 
noted  the  arm  of  his  companion  drop  list- 
lessly off  his  shoulder,  and  the  head  fall  so 
droopingjy,  the  youth  must  have  gone  to  the 
ground  had  it  not  been  for  the  care  of  his 
tender  guardian.  The  first  thought  of  the 
latter  was  to  carry  his  now  helpless  fellow- 
traveller — as  no  time  was  to  be  lost  in  get- 
ting out  of  the  wood  before  nightfall — and 
the  next  minute  the  young  poet  was  pro- 
ceeding, gallantly  bearing  the  other  in  his 
arms,  with  all  proper  gentleness,  till  at  last 
he  was  obliged  to  put  him  down  to  rest 
himself,. 

His  anxiety  of  mind  may  be  imagined 
when  he  beheld  by  the  dim  twilight,  the 
countenance  of  his  young  companion  set,  as 
it  were,  in  the  pale  complexion  of  death, 
with  his  limbs  motionless,  and  his  eyes 
closed.  So  sad  a  sight  smote  him  to  the 
very  heart.  What  to  do  he  knew  not.  The 
shadows  of  the  night  were  gathering  fast 
around  him,  and  no  habitation  near,  or  sign 
of  help  at  hand.  To  stay  in  the  wood  all 
night  without  succor  were  to  make  certain 
for  his  associate  what  already  looked  more 
than  possible — his  decease ;  and  yet  to  get 
out  of  it  he  knew  no  means,  for  although  he 
had  gone  a  great  way,  still  in  which  ever 
' 


way  he  looked,  nought  met  his  eye  but  im- 
penetrable dark  masses  of  trees  and  shrubs. 
As  he  made  the  seeming  lifeless  Bertram 
recline  aganst  his  breast — supporting  him 
with  one  arm  to  beguile  the  other  of  its 
weariness — whilst  gazing  on  the  pallid  as- 
pect, he  was  so  moved  by  pity  that  lie  scarce 
knew  what  to  be  a  doing.  All  at  once,  as 
he  was  making  the  saddest  reflections  at  the 
poor  prospect  he  had  of  saving  him,  he  heard 
the  faint  barking  of  a  dog,  to  which  he  gave 
on  the  instant,  so  huge  a -welcome  as  he  had 
rarely  given  even  to  what  had  seemed  to  him 
the  pleasantest  of  human  voices.  It  afford- 
ed a  most  sweet  assurance  of  present  help, 
for,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  it  was  a  sign  of 
some  dwelling  nigh  at  hand,  or  of  some  per- 
son or  persons  in  the  wood,  of  whom  he 
might  have  the  assistance  he  required. 

Presently  he  shouted  as  loud  as  he  could 
to  attract  the  attention  of  such  people  as 
were  within  hail,  thinking  it  could  not  fail 
of  drawing  them  to  the  spot  where  he  was. 
He  listened  with  extreme  anxiousness,  and 
a  moment  after  again  heard  the  barking. 
The  sound  seemed  to  come  from  qpme  place 
considerably  in  advance  of  him,  so  taking  up 
his  burthen  more  tenderly  than  ever,  he 
proceeded  along  the  path,  till  he  came  to 
where  another  path  crossed  it.  and  here  he 
shouted  again,  and  listened  with  a  like  in- 
tense anxiety.  It  was  true  he  heard  the  cry 
of  the  dog  repeated,  but  he  heard  no  answer- 
ing shout — which  was  what  he  most  desired ; 
and  this  gave  him  some  uneasiness.  He 
turned  the  way,  where  he  thought  the  animal 
and  those  he  belonged  to  might  be  found, 
until  somewhat  weary  of  what  he  carried, 
he  placed  him  on  his  feet  as  before  ;  and 
then  made  the  wood  reaound,  he  set  up  so 
main  a  cry.  To  his  exceeding  disappoint- 
ment nought  replied  to  him  but  the  hound, 
apd  in  not  much  louder  tones  than  at  first, 
At  this,  the  idea  struck  him,  that  he  might 
bring  help  to  his  fellow-traveller  a  famous 
deal  more  quickly  than  could  he  bring  him 
where  it  might  be  found,  so  placing  ot  Ber- 
tram upon  a  mossy  bank  about  a  foot  or  so 
above  the  path,  with  his  back  reclining 
against  the  broad  trunk  of  a  tree,  behind 
which  he  flung  his  bundle  and  stick,  he 
first  of  all  made  the  piercingest  halloo  he 
could,  and  when  he  heard  the  same  reply  as 
hitherto,  he  started  off  at  the  top  of  his  speed 
toward  the  place  whence  the  cry  of  the  dog 
came.  By  stopping  at  intervals  and  repeat- 
ing his  shouting,  and  marking  the  direction 
of  the  beast's  bark,  he  soon  found  to  his 
marvellous  content  it  gradually  became 
louder  to  his  ear,  till  it  was  so  distinct  tha 
animal  could  not  be  many  yards  from  him, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


173 


—and  yet.  lie  had  heard  no  human  voice, 
Dor  seen  the  slightest  sign  of  habitation. 

He  had  turned  down  all  sorts  of  paths 
narrow  and  broad— .-sometimes  forced  to 
thrust  his  way  through  the  crossing  branches, 
the  trees  grew  so  close,  and  at  others  to  pick 
his  way  with  more  care  than  speed,  the  path 
was  so  crooked  and  uneven  ;  at  last  he  came 
out  of  this  thick  wood  into  an  open  space 
and  thought  he  perceived  before  him  some- 
thing resembling  a  thick  volume  of  smoke. 
He  approached  it  closely,  and  discovered 
that  it  proceeded  from  a  monstrous  black 
mass  which  he  speedily  recognized  as  one 
of  those  heaps  of  dry  underwood  that  are 
•usually  kept  burning  slowly  a  day  or  two 
that  they  may  be  turned  into  charcoal.  The 
yelping  of  the  dog  was  now  incessant  and 
so  close,  there  was  no  occasion  for  more 
shouting.  Directly  William  Shakspeare 
passed  the  pile  of  charcoal  he  beheld  both 
the  animal  and  his  master  standing  in  the 
door-way  of  a  mud  cabin,  in  which  a  blaz- 
ing tire  of  logs  threw  so  great  a  light,  the 
dingy  forms  of  the  charcoal-burner  and  his 
little  four-footed  companion  as  black  as  him- 
self might  be  seen  distinctly.  The  former 
appeared  to  be  an  old  man  of  a  very  crab- 
bed visage,  short  of  stature,  thick-limbed, 
and  hump-backed.  How  he  was  attired  it 
was  not  easy  to  say,  for  his  garments  seem- 
ed of  a  color  with  his  skin — as  though  he 
had  been  charred  all  over— but  there  he 
stood  idly  at  the  door  of  his  habitation,  and 
doubtless  there  he  had  been  standing  the 
whilst  he  had  heard  the  shouting  of  the 
young  traveller;  and  yet  he  had  never  at- 
tempted to  give  him  any  answer,  or  move 
from  the  spot  to  show  that  help  was  at  hand. 

"  Why  dost  maka  such  a  bawling,  and  be 
hanged  to  thee  !"  exclaimed  the  hunch-back 
surlily,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
youth,  the  cur  the  whilst  yelping  with  all 
his  might. 

"  I  pray  you,  come  with  me  on  the  in- 
stant !"  said  William  Shakspeare,  with  ex- 
treme earnestness.  "  I  have  a  friend  hard 
by  like  to  be  dying  for  the  lack  of  assistance." 

"  'Sdeath  !  thou  dost  not  take  me  to  DO 
so  huge  a  fool  surely,"  replied  the  charcoal- 
burner,  moving  never  a  whit  from  his  place. 
"  Body  o'  me,  'twould  be  a  fine  thing  was  I 
to  take  to  running  about  the  wood,  at  this 
late  hour,  at  any  body's  asking.  Get  thee 
gone  straight,  or  may  be  tHk  dog  will  give 
thee  a  sharp  bite  o'  the  legs,  or  I  a  smart 
crack  o'  the  crown."  At  another  time  such 
a  threat  would  have  cost  him  dear ;  but  the 
other  was  too  wise  not  to  know  that  vio- 
lence would  go  no  way  towards  the  assist- 
ing of  his  fellow-traveller. 


"  I-  beseech  you  come  to  my  poor  friend's 
help,  and  I  will  pay  you  handsomely !"  ex- 
claimed he,  with  more  urgency,  "  and  here 
is  some  earnest  your  kind  labor  shall  not  go 
unrewarded."  So  saying,  he  took  from  his 
purse  a  couple  of  silver  groats,  which  he 
placed  in  the  old  fellow's  hand.  The  sight 
of  the  purse  and  the  touch  of  the  money,  as 
had  been  anticipated,  had  an  instantaneous 
effect. 

"  Prithee  tell  me,  good  sir,  where  your 
friend  may  be  found,  and  I  will  give  him 
what  help  I  can  without  fail,"  answered  the 
hunch-back,  putting  his  foot  forward  very 
readily ;  and  then  cried  out  angrily  to  his 
yelping  cur,  to  whom  he  gave  a  slight  kick, 
"  a  murrain  on  thee — stay  thy  rude  noise  ; 
how  darest  thou  bark  at  so  worthy  a  per- 
son !"  Whereof  the  consequence  was,  that 
in  a  very  few  minutes  the  whole  three  were 
trudging  amicably  together  in  search  of  the 
helpless  Bertram.  Young  Shakspeare  soon 
became  somewhat  bewildered  as  to  the  path 
he  should  follow,  he  having  in  his  speed 
taken  no  great  note  of  the  right  one  ;  so  he 
went  up  one^.nd  down  another,  without  ex- 
actly knowing  he  was  going  his  proper  way 
or  not.  Nevertheless,  after  proceeding  a 
considerable  distance  with  no  profit,  he  be- 
gan to  have  a  suspicion  he  had  come  in  u 
wrong  direction,  and  hinted  as  much  to  the 
charcoal-burner,  which  brought  them  to  a 
full  stop,  and  a  consultation  as  to  what  was 
best  to  be  done. 

"  Didst  heed  nothing  anigh  the  place  you 
left  your  friend  ?"  inquired  the  hunch-back. 
"  Nothing  notable  in  the  tree,  or  in  tne  place 
close  upon  it,  by  which  you  might  distin- 
guish it  again  ?" 

"  As  I  remember  there  was  something." 
replied  the  other ;  "  I  perceived  a  number 
of  different  small  animals — I  know  not  of 
what  sort,  for  I  could  not  distinguish  them — 
hanging  from  the  tree's  branches." 

"  Body  o'  me !"  exclaimed  the  charcoal- 
burner,  in  a  sort  of  famous  surprise,  "  that 
be  the  Tyburn  oak,  as  we  call  it  in  these 
parts,  for  'tis  used  by  the  keepers  as  a  gib- 
bet, upon  which  they  do  execution  upon  all 
manner  of  weasles,  pole-cats,  foxes,  owls, 
shrikes,  and  other  wild  destructive  things 
that  are  caught  in  traps,  set  in  different  parts 
of  these  woods;  and  ,it  lies  down  in  Dead 
Man's  Hollow,  at  least  a  full  mile  from  this. 
Had  you  turned  to  the  left  instead  of  to  the 
right,  when  starting  from  my  cot,  we  had 
reached  it  long  since." 

For  this,  mistake  there  was  no  remedy  but 
to  retrace  their  steps,  which  they  did  with 
as  much  speed  as  they  could, — William 
Shakspeare  somewhat  uneasy  at  having  left 


174 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


hia  young  companion  for  so  long  a  tijne,  and 
his  guide  in  an  eager  humor  to  be  touching 
some  more  of  the  other's  money.  In  due 
iime  they  arrived  at  the  tree,  the  same  tree 
out  of  all  contradiction  from  which  the  lat- 
ter had  started  in  pursuit  of  assistance  for 
his  friend  ;  for  there  lay  behind  it  the  bun- 
ble  and  the  stick  he  had  thrown  there,  but 
of  Bertram  there  was  no  sign.  This  put 
him  in  a  fearful  perplexity.  He  thought, 
perchance,  on  returning  to  consciousness, 
and  linding  himself,  as  he  might  think, 
abandoned,  the  youth  had  strayed  away  in 
hopes  of  discovering  a  path  that  led  out  of 
the  wood;  and  this  idea  put  him  in  huge 
discomfort ;  for,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  the 
young  stranger  was  almost  sure  to  be  lost 
in  the  numberless  different  paths  that  led 
here  and  there  in  all  directions.  He  pres- 
ently fell  to  acquainting  the  hunch-back 
with  his  thoughts. 

"  I  doubt  that,  master,"  replied  the  char- 
coal-burner ;  "  an'  he  were  in  such  a  strait 
as  you  have  said,  methinks  it  must  needs  be 
he  could  have  been  in  no  case  for  further 
journeying.  I  am  more  apt  to  think  he  hath 
been  moved  by  other  persons." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?"  inquired  the  other. 
"  t  saw  no  one  in  the  wood  but  ourselves." 

"  That  might  be,  master,"  said  the  hunch- 
back ;  "  but  at  this  late  hour,  when  the 
place  seemetii  to  be  deserted  of  every  one. 
the  Lord  Urban,  whose  property  it  is,  as 
well  as  great  part  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try, wandereth  alone  in  it  for  hours  toge- 
ther, and  'tis  like  enough  my  lord  hath  fal- 
len on  your  friend  in  his  Vambles,  and  see- 
ing how  much  he  wanted  immediate  suc- 
cor, as  you  have  said,  hath  borne  him  to  his 
own  fair  mansion,  scarce  half  a  mile  from 
this  place." 

"  It  may  be,"  observed  the  young  traveller, 
considering  the  probability  of  what  had  just 
been  advanced  ;  "  but  who  is  this  Lord  Ur- 
ban, for  I  should  bo  glad  to  know  if  my 
friend  is  in  safe  hands  '?" 

"  Be  assured  he  cannot  be  better  off,"  an_- 
swered  the  hunch-back,  "  and  if  you  will 
with  me,  and  share  the  shelter  and  the  cheer 
of  my  cot,  I  will  tell  you  whatever  you  may 
require  concerning  of  him,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing direct  you  the  nighest  way  to  his  man- 
sion.". 

Believing  that  nothing  more  desirable 
could  be  done,  William  Shakspeare  assented 
cheerfully  to  the  charcoal-burner's  proposal, 
on  condition  that  they  should  previously 
search  about  where  they  were,  to  see  if  the 
lost  youth  had  lingered  in  the  neighborhood. 
Finding  nothing  of  him,  they  then  bent  their 
steps  towards  the  mud  cot,  and  in  a  few 


minutes  entered  it  together.  The  new 
comer  found  it  the  most  primitive  habitation 
he  had  ever  been  in,  in  all  his  days,  there 
being  no  windows  to  it,  the  ground  consti- 
tuting the  floor,  in  the  centre  of  which  was 
a  large  fire  burning,  which  the  hunch-back 
quickly  replenished  with  fresh  lo^-s.  The 
smoke  had  no  other  way  of  exit  but  through 
the  open  door,  and  therefore  gave  a  most 
dingy  coat  to  the  whole  interior.  On  the 
fire  was  a  sort  of  kettle  swung.  A  foot  or 
two  from  it  was  a  table  and  chair,  at  the 
other  side  a  kind  of  bed,  made  of  branches 
of  green  broom,  with  a  log  of  wood  by  way 
of  pillow,  and  in  the  corner  a  rude  cup- 
board; beside  which  there  were  in  other  f 
parts  of  this  chamber  divers  woodman's 
tools,  and  spades,  gins,  and  other  instru- 
ments. Against  one  part  of  the  wall  wa<  a 
hare  hanging,  and  nearly  opposite  a  leather 
jerkin. 

The  charcoal-burner  wiped  the  chair  for 
his  visitor,  who  in  honest  truth  was  glad  to 
find  such  resting,  did  the  same  office  for  the 
table,  and  presently  placed  on  it,  with  tren- 
chers, knives,  latten  spoons,  and  other  neces- 
saries, a  smoking  dish  of  stewed  coneys, 
that  smelt  so  savory,  the  young  traveller  did 
not  require,  much  pressing  to  induce  him  to 
have  at  them  ;  and  his  companion,  making 
himself  a  stool  out  of  a  tall  log,  eat  and 
drank  with  such  extreme  heartiness,  it  could 
not  fail  being  a  provocation  of  itself ;  but 
the  edge  of  the  other's  appetite  was  sharp 
enough  without  such  setting,  in  consequence 
of  a  long  and  tiresome  journey,  and  he  made 
as  good  a  meal  as  he  had  done  any  day  of 
his  life  before.  The  old  fellow  then  gossip- 
ped  about  his  lorJ  sundry  marvellous  stories, 
till  the  other  gave  a  hint  he  would  bo  glad 
of  getting  some  sleep. 

"  If  you  can  bring  yourself  to  accept  of 
such  poor  lying  as  I  have,  'tis  at  your  com- 
mandment," replied  the  charcoal-burner, 
pointing  to  the  bod  of  broom-branches  at  the 
other  side  of  the  fire. 

"  Truly,  I  think  it  as  pleasant  a  coiich, 
for  one  as  weary  as  am  I,  as  a  king's  bed," 
answered  the  other  ;  "  but  how  mean  you  to 
take  your  sleep  ?  I  like  not  depriving  you 
of  your  customary  comfort." 

"  Heed  me  not,  master.  I  can  sleep  on  a 
chair  as  fast  as  I  can  anywhere,"  said  the 
old  fellow.  Whereupon,  his  young  compan- 
ion  presently  \fent,  and  threw  himself  upon 
the  charcoal-burner's  bed,  and  the  other  sat 
himself  in  the  chair,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
it  appeared  as  if  both  were  in  as  sound" 
sleeping  as  they  could  well  have.  But  as 
regards  the  hunch-back,  his  slumber  was 
but  feigned.  He  found  he  could  get  no  rest 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


175 


for  thinking  of  the  young  stranger's  purse,,  he  had  last  seen  the  charcoal-burner,  reposing 
with  a  greedy  longing  to  make  it  his  own,  J  himself  for  his  last  night's  rest,  bare  of  a 

tenant ;  nor  did  he  appear  to  be  anywhere 
in  the  cabin.     At  this  discovery,  the  dream- 


and  yet  he  could  not  resolve  himself  into  at- 
tempting to  deprive  him  of  it.  He  was 
striving  in  his  mind,  to  find  some  way  by 
which  he  might  do  so  in  perfect^  security. 
If  ro  took  it  privily  as  he  slept,  he  might  dis- 


cover the  loss  on  waking,  and  could  not  fail   taken  to  be  the  noise  of  swords  clashing  to- 


of  suspecting  the  robber,  and  would  straight- 
way demand  its  restitution,  or  might  speed 
to  the  Lord  Urban's  where  he  was  bound  as 
he  said,  and  acquaint  some  of  them  there 
with  his  having  been  so  plundered,  by  which 
speedy  punishment  was  likely  to  follow. 
This  suited  the  charcoal-burner  not  at  all. 
Still,  he  was  intent  upon  having  the  money 
— for  the  demon  of  covetousness  had  a  fast 
hold  on  him — but  hours  passed  withput  his 
coining  to  any  determination.  At  last,  an 
idea  was  •  started  in  him,  that  appeared  to 
give  him  the  purse,  and  provide  against  all 
dreaded  consequences  ;  yet,  such  was  the 
character  of  this  idea,  that  as  soon  as  it  was 
well  conceived  of  him,  he  gazed  stealthily 
round  the  chamber,  to  note  if  any  were  nigh 


er  marvelled  somewhat.  As  he  listened 
more  attentively,  his  quick  sense  of  hearing 
could  plainly  distinguish,  that  what  he  hac 


gether,  was  the  sharpening  -of  some  weapon 
with  a  stone.  Whereupon,  he  fell  into  a 
greater  wondej  than  before.  It  seemed 
strange  the  hunch-back  should  want  to  be 
sharpening  of  anything  at  that  hour.  On 
a  sudden  he  called  to  mind  the  covetous 
looks  of  the  old  fellow  whenever  he  glanced 
at  his  purse,  and  then  he  had  some  suspi- 
cions the  other  meant  him  no  good. 

In  a  moment  he  reached  down  the  old 
jerliin  that  was  hanging  on  the  wall,  and 
with  it  covered  the  log  of  wood  that  had 
served  for  a  stool,  which  he  laid  in  the  exact 
place  in  which  he  had  been  recently  lying, 
keeping  himself  back  in  the  deep  shadow, 
for  the  purpose  of  watching  to  note  whether 
his  suspicions  were  well  or  ill-grounded. 


enough  to  get  note  of  it.  Assured  that  none  !  Presently,  he  beheld  the  charcoal-burner 
were  within  the  cabin  save  the  stranger,  |  with  a  very  devilish  visage,  as  it  appeared 
and  that,  as  his  breathing  declared,  he  was  I  by  the  light  of  the  fire  cast  upon  it,  enter 
in  a  deep  sleep,  the  hunch-back  quietly  rose  the  hovel,  and  stealthily  approach  his  bed, 


from  his  seat,  and  cautiously  picking  some- 
tiling  from  a  corner,  stole  with  the  noiseless 
step  of  a  cat,  out  of  the  place. 

The  youthful  Shakspeare  had  got  himself 
into  a  famous  dream.  He  fancied  he  was 
in  a  fierce  battle,  in  company  with  his  once 
notable  kind  friends  the  two  young  knights, 
wherein,  after  much  brave-  lighting  on  his 
part,  he  had  been  overthrown,  and  lay  so  sore 


with  a  woodman's  bill  in  his  hand,  the 'edge 
of  which  he  was  feeling  with  his  thumb, 
mayhap  to  note  if  it  was  sharp  enough  for 
his  purpose.  In  the  mind  of  the  youthful 
Shakspeare,  there  now  could  no't  be  a  doubt 
of  the  old  fellow's  murderous  intentions. 
Indeed  the  eager,  cautious,  fiend-like  look  he 
had  as  he  crept  along  with  his  weapon,  was 
sufficient  evidence)  of  the  deadliness  of  his 


wounded  he  could  not  move.  He  heard  the  j  object.  The  supposed  sleeper  lay  still  as 
battle  raging  around  him  —  the  clashing  of  death  close  against  the  wall,  and  that  portion 
the  swords,  the  blows  of  the  curtle-axes,  the  of  the  chamber  being  fartherest  from  the 
cries  of  the  combatants,  and  the  groans  of  I  fire,  it  was  so  dark  no  object  could  be  seen, 
the  wounded,  and  these  so  nigh,  it-  seemed  !  and  about  the  bed  of  broom,  there  was  only 
plain  he  should  be  crushed  to  death  in  the  I  so  much  light  as  to  see  forms  without  clear- 
melee,  still  he  had  no  power  of  moving,  '  ly  distinguishing  them. 


strove  h£  ever  so  ;  and  this  horrible  dread  so 


The    hunch-back    approached    the    bed 


increased,  that  upon  a  sudden  rush  of  the  closely.  He  stopped  as  he  got  nigh  to  the 
battle  towards  him  so  tumultuously  it  was  i  top  o!  it.  At  this,  William  Shakspeare  was 
manifest  his  doom  was  sealed,  divers  fell  so  !  in  some  apprehension  the  other  would  spy 
heavily  upon  him,  he  started  at  the  shock  !  the  cheat,  and  was  preparing  himself  for  a 
and  awoke.  He  could  still  hear  the  clash-  i  desperate  conflict,  if  such  should  be  the  case. 
ing  of  the  swords  though  his  eyes  were  wide  j  However,  presently,  he  beheld  his  treach- 
open  ;  but  gradually  he  became  conscious,  eroiis  host  lift  his  weapon  above  his  head, 
as  he  looked  about  him,  he  had  been  -in  a  !  and  the  next  moment  it  came  down  with  such 
dream,  and  he  remembered  where  he  was  monstrous  force,  it  cut  through  the  jerkin, 
lying.  The  fire  in  the  centre  of  the  hovel  i  and  stuck  firm  in  the  log  beneatfc.  Then 
was  now  burning  low,  so  as  to  throw  an  in-  j  the  pretended  sleeper  sprung  from  his  con- 
distinct  lurid  light  about  the  place  —  the  i  ceahnent,  but  not  in  time  to°secure  the  vil- 
dreamer  looked  for  his  host  ;  but  there  was  |  lain,  who.  the  instant  he  heard  the  rustling 
the  table,  with  the  supper  things  still  un-  1  of  his  intended  victim  as  he  rose  from  hia 
deared  away,  and  there  the  chair,  in  which  !  hiding,  saw  clearly  enough  he  had  been 


176 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


foiled  in  his  murderous  purpose,  and  with 
a  muttered  execration  rushed  from  the  hovel 
at  the  top  of  his  speed,  pursued  by  his  dog, 
who  had  been  a  curious  spectator  of  the 
whole  scene.  The  other  did  not  think  it  ad- 
visable to  follow  them  into  the  intricacies 
of  the  wood  at  such  a  time,  so  he  first  pul- 
led out  the  bill  from  the  log,  the  which  took 
all  his  strength  to  do,  it  was  buried  so  deep 
in  the  wood,  meaning  to  use  it  in  his  own 
defence  should  there  be  occasion  ;  then 
made  the  fire  burn  bravely,  resolving  to  wait 
where  he  was  till  daylight. 

Finding  himself  in  no  way  molesfed  after 
some  time,  he  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
out.  The  heap  of  charcoal  was  still  smok- 
ing. All  around  lay  the  spreading  trees, 
and  above,  the  cold  grey  sky,  such  as  it  ap- 
peareth  in  the  early  morning.  The  stillness 
was  most  profound ;  but  this  lasted  only  a 
brief  while.  Presently,  the  wind  came 
sweeping  among  the  leaves,  sighing  heavily 
as  if  in  a  great  weariness,  and  making  a 
notable  trembling  of  all  ,the  tender  green 
things  it  passed  over,  as  if  they  liked  not  the 
approach  of  such  a  visitor.  It  died  away, 
and  all  was  still  again.  Again  it  rushed 
onward  in  its  broad  path  with  the  like  con- 
sequences, and  anon,  the  whole  wood  was 
hushed  into  a  deep  sleep :  and  so  it  continued. 
After  an  hour  or  so  of  these  changes,  ob- 
served by  the  young  poet  with  such  pleasure 
as  none  but.minds  like  his,  so  perfectly  at- 
tuned to  the  sweet  harmonies  of  nature,  can 
be  familiar  with,  on  a  sudden,  he  heard  a  slight 
chirping  ;  then  another  in  a  different  direc- 
tion, and  answering  to  tfcat  a  third,  and  ere 
another  minute  had  passed,  there  was  so 
goodly  a  chorus  of  chirpings,  whistling, 
warbling,  and  all  manner  of  such  choice 
singing,  from  the  whole  neighborhood,  as  was 
quite  ravishing  to  hear.  Then  numberless 
small  birds,  of  different  hues,  were  seen 
busily  whetting  of  their  beaks  against  the 
tiny  twigs,  or  hopping  in  and  out  amid  the 
branches,  or  descending  to  the  ground,  feed- 
ing on  such  palatable  tilings  as  they  could 
find  ;  and  in  noting  of  their  different  songs, 
their  pretty  ways,  and  their  soft  glossy  plu- 
•nage,  the  youthful  Shakspeare  forgot  all 
thoughts  of  preparing  himself  against  threat- 
ened murder.  Indeed,  he  could  not  enter- 
tain any  idea  of  violence  amongst  such 
pleasant  happiness  as  now  surrounded  him. 
After  enjoying  of  this  fair  scene  for  some 
time,  and^impressed  with  the  conviction  the 
charcoal-burner  had  no  mind  to  return,  fear- 
ing to  be  punished  for  his  villainy,  the  young 
traveller  once  more  took  to  his  bundle  and 
stick,  and  ventured  out  of  the  hovel,  in  the 
expectation  of  meeting  some  one  or  another 


coming  to  his  work,  who  would  be  his  guide 
to  the  Lord  Urban's  mansion,  in  case  he 
should  not  be  able  to  find  it  by  following  the 
direction  given  by  the  murderous  hunch-back 
the  preceding  night.  He  proceeded  on  his 
patli,  bent  upon  ascertaining  as  well  as  he 
could  how  his  young  friend  had  fared,  and 
then  continuing  his  journey  as  speedily  as 
he  might.  He  met  nothing,  save  the  proper 
denizens  of  the  wood,  coneys,  hares,  and 
sundry  different  sorts  of  birds,  who  speedily 
took  themselves  elsewhere  at  his  approach, 
till  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  path  ;  and 
then  he  stopped  suddenly,  for  he  beheld  a 
scene,  the  like  of  which  he  had  never  wit- 
nessed before.  Opposite  him,  leaning  against 
a  tree,  stood ta  tall  man,  apparently  of  some 
fifty  years  or  so,  negligently  clothed  in 
handsome  apparelling.  His  countenance 
was  the  most  woe-begone  he  had  ever 
pale,  haggard,  and  care-worn,  with  misery 
written  in  every  line  ;  notwithstanding  which 
there  was  something  so  truly  noble  in  his 
features,  that  the  grief  they  expressed  seem- 
ed as  though  exalted  beyond  the  reach  of 
ordinary  sympathy.  His  ami  resting  against 
the  tree  afforded  a  support  for  his  head,  in 
which  position  he  had  placed  himself,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  and  ever 
and  anon,  giving  of  such  groans  and  deep 
sighs  as  were  exceeding  pitiful  to  hear. 
Presently  he  moved,  clasped  his  hands  forci- 
bly together,  and  lifted  up  his  eyes  to  the 
sky  with  a  look  so  heart-rending,  he  who 
alone  saw  it  could  never  forget  it.  Sorrow 
in  any,  appealeth  to  the  heart  of  the  specta- 
tor ;  but  when  the  majesty  o'f  manhood  put- 
teth  on  its  sad  livery,  there  is  no  such 
moving  sight  in  the  whole  world. 

The  stranger  then  took  to  walking  two  or 
three  paces,  to  and  fro,  in  the  path  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  his  aspect 
bearing  the  signs  of  a  consuming  grief. 
Again  he  stopped — and  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  changed  greatly-'-it  bore  a  ter- 
rible suspiciousness  ;  and  then  anger,  scorn, 
and  hatred  followed  each  other  rapidly. 

"Infamous  wretch!"  exclaimed  he,  in  a 
voice  so  hollow  and  broken,  it  did  not  appear 
to  belong  to  a  living  creature  ;  "  her  punish- 
ment hath  been  as  intolerable  as  her  crime ! 
'Tis  fit — ;tis  fit  such  guilt  should  be  so  vis- 
ited. A  most  jv.st  judgment — a  proper 
vengeance."  At  this  he  walked  about  as 
before,  and  soon  returned  to  the  more  quiet 
sadness  he  had  at  first  exhibited  ;  and  then 
he  groaned,  and  smote  his  breast  with  his 
clenched  fist,  and  shook  his  head  most  woe- 
fully, and  muttered  something  which  could 
not  be  heard.  The  youthful  Shakspeare, 
with  a  natural  delicacy,  liking  not  to  be  seen 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


177 


taking  note  of  the  stranger's  action?,  was 
Miming  away,  when  he  was  discovered. 

"  Ah,  fellow,  what  dost  here  T'  angrily 
cried  the  distracted  gentleman,  rushing  upon 
him  with  the  speed  of  a  young  deer  ;  and 
then  placing  himself  in  his  path,  appeared 
to  examine  him  with  a  severe  scrutiny.  A 
glance  seemed  to  suffice,  for  the  expression 
of  liis  features  changed  instantly ;  and  he 
spoke  in  a  gentler  voice,  "  Heed  not  any- 
thing you  may  have  heard,"  said  he,  putting 
his  Hand  on  the  youth's  shoulder.  "  I  am 
subject  to  strange  fits — and  I  rave  about  I 
kmm-  not  what.  I  pray,  yon,  think 'not 
hardly  of  me,  if  you  have  listened  to  aught 
t6  my  disadvantage."  And  then  he  took  the 
other  t'rukrly  by  the  ha.nd  as  if  he  was  an 
especial  friend,  and  gazed  in  his  face  in  such 
a  manner  as  might  one  who  would  show  in 
his  looks  his  affectionate  regard  of  a  com- 
panion he  talked  with. 

"  Bo  assured  I  heard"  nothing  I  could  place 
to  your  discredit,"  replied  the  young  poet, 
much  moved  at  the  other's  strange  way  of 
addressing  him.  "  And  what  I  did  hear,  I 
came  on  accidentally,  and  listened  to  from 
sympathy  rather  than  cariousness." 

"  Ah  !  doubtless  !"  said  the  earl,  hurriedly. 
"  But  iiow  carne  you  in  this  place  so  early  1 
— it  is  not  usual  to  be  travelling  at  such  an 
hour." 

William  Shakspeare  then  spoke  of  his 
last  night's  adventures  ;  to  which  the  other 
listened  with  singular  curiout-ness  ac- 
knowledging himself  to  be  the  Lord  Urban, 
and  that  it  was  he  who  had  removed  the 
helpless  Bertram,  finding  him  in  the  case  he 
was — asking  many  questions  about  him,  and 
at  last  inviting  h?s  new  acquaintaee  to  see 
him  at  the  house  where  he  lay.  To  this 
the  other  gladly  assenting,  these-  two  pro- 
ceeded there  together.  The  mansion  was 
the  largest  and  fairest  to  look  at  William 
Shakspeare  had  seen,  save  only  Kenilworth 
Castle,  and  it  lay  in  the  centre  of  a  noble 
park.  As  they  approached  it  they  came 
upon  several  parties  of  men — perchance 
going  to  their  labor  of  the  day — all  of  whom 
did  the  earl  a  notable  reverence,  that  he  ac- 
knowledged with  a  suitable  graciousness  ; 
soon  after  which  the'young  traveller  follow- 
ed his  noble  guide,  by  a  private  entrance, 
into  the  interior  of  that  stately  dwelling. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


I  was  wery  of  wandering,  and  went  me  to  rest, 
Under  a  brode  banke,  by  a  bourne  side, 
And  as  I  lay  and  lened,  and  loked  on  the  water, 
I  slombered  into  a  sleeping,  it  swyzed  so  inery. 
THE  VISION  OF  PIERCE  PLOWMAN. 

Clown.      What  hast  here?  ballads  ? 

J/opsa.     Pray  now  sing  some  !   I  love  a  ballad 

in  print,  o'  life, 
For  then  we  are  sure  they  are  true. 

Auto.        Will  you  buy  any  tape, 
Or  lace  for  youf  cape, 
My  dainty  duck  my  dear-a  ? 

SlIAKSPEARE. 

Borach.  Tush  !  I  may  as  well  say  the  fool's 
the  fool.  But  see'st  thou  not  what  a  deformed 
thief  this  fashion  is  ? 

Watch.  I  know  that  Deformed :  he  has  been 
a  vile  thief  this  seven  year:  he  goesyp  and  down 
like  a  gentleman.  1  remember  his  name. 

IBID. 

WHEN  William  Shakspeare  left  his  fel- 
low traveller,  it  was  with  unfeigned  regret  to 
part  with  one  for  whom,  as  it  seemed,  he 
had  conceived  so  great  a  liking ;  but  it  was 
also  with  a  singular  satisfaction  on  his  part 
that  the  youth  had  fallen  into  such  good 

i  hands.  B'ertram  had  resolved  to  stay  where 
he  was,  partly  from  having  .been  much  pres- 

!  sed  to  do  so  by  the  Lord  Urban,  who  had 
used  him  exceeding  civilly ;  and  in  some 

;  measure,  because  he  felt  quite  unable  to  at- 
tempt any  further  travel,  he  was  in  so  help- 
less weak  a  state.  Having  received,  from 

I  divers  of  the  earl's  serving  men.  the  neces- 
sary directions  for  pursuing  his  way,  and 

!  having  not  only  refreshed  himself  famously, 
but  been  liberally  provided  with  a  prodigal 

I  store  of  choice  eating  and  drinking  for  his 

!  comfort  on  the  road,  the  young  traveller  trudg- 
ed manfully  on  pursuing  of  his  journey. 

It  chanced,  after  he  had^valked  till  he 
was  getting  to  be  tired,  he  came  to  a  brook 
side  which  murmured  very  pleasantly,  and 
sitting  himself  down  on  the  grass,  under  an 
alder  tree,  he  presently  fell  to  making  a 
meal  of  the  victual  he  had ;  the  which 
pleased  him  infinitely,  for  the  meat  was  of 
the  best,  and  though  he  had  no  sauce  save 
his  own  hunger,  that  latter  gave  so  sweet  a 
relish  no  other  was  wanting ;  and  then  he 
drew  a  flask  of  wine  from  under  his  doublet, 
and  took  a  fair  draught  of  it,  which  also 
gave  him  wonderful  content.  Wow,  whether 
it  was  he  had  had  but  little  sleep  many 
nights,  or  whether  it  was  the  strength  of 
the  wine  got  into  his  head,  or  the  murmur- 
ing of  the  brook  made  him  drowsy,  I  know 
not ;  but  after  yawning  several  times  most 


178 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


unequivocally,  and  stretching  his  arms  out, 
and  showing  other  signs  of  oppressive 
weariness,  presently  he  lay  his  strength  on 
the  grass,  with  the  bundle  under  his  head, 
and  the  stick  in  his  hand,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  as  sweet  a 
slumber  as  he  had  known  a  long  time. 

But  mayhap  it  ivas  the  pleasant  dream 
which  then  visited  nim  that  gave  his  sleep 
such  absolute  pleasantness;  for,  truly,  it 
was  as  delectable  a  dream  as  sleep  ever  pro- 
duced— through  it  was  made  up  of  all  man- 
ner of  strange  pageants  and  unheard  of 
famous  marvels.  Sometimes  it  took  the 
shape  of  a  goodly  theatre  filled  with  a  noble 
company,  and  he  a  player  whose  very  pre- 
sence made  the  whole  place  to  resound  with 
plaudits — anon  he  had  writ  a  play  to  be 
played  before  the  Queen's  Majesty  and  the 
great  lords  and  ladies  of  her  court ;  and  he 
received  most  bountiful  commendation  from 
such  glorious  audience : — and  then  he  would 
be  writing  of  poems  that  should  be  so  liked 
of  all  persons  of  worship,  there  should 
scarce  be  anything  in  such  esteem.  And 
so  the  dream  went  on  in  divers  other  scenes 
of  a  like  sort,  as  if  there  could  be  no  end  to 
the  greatness  they  promised  him;  and,  in 
the  end,  there  danced  before  his  eyes  the 
same  pretty  company  of  fair  dancers,  sing- 
ers, and  revellers,  as  had  used  to  haunt  his 
slumbers  in  his  younger  days ;  and  one 
more  delicately  apparelled  than  the  rest,  and 
of  surpassing  beauty,  beckoned  him  onward 
as  she  flitted  gracefully  before  him,  singing 
of  some  words  of  exquisite  hopeful  meaning. 

At  this  he  woke  suddenly,  and  the  bright 
visions  changed  into  a  fair  landscape — the 
sweet  music  was  turned  to  the  faint  hum- 
ming of  the  water ;  and  the  press  of  tiny 
shapes,  in  their  rare  bravery,  changed  to 
innumerable  small  insects  that  were  skim- 
ming the  surface  of  the  brook.  The  sleeper 
started  from  his  position,  and  after  refresh- 
ing himself  by  laving  of  his  face  in  the 
water,  as  he  lay  down  on  the  bank,  he 
shouldered  his  little  burthen,  and  continued 
his  journey  in  a  gayer  humor  than  he  had 
been  in  since  its  commencement.  He  now 
more  than  ever  took  to  the  laying  of  plans 
and  drawing  out  of  schemes  for  his  ad- 
vancement ;  and  the  tirst  and  most  notable 
of  these  was  to  make  the  best  of  his  way  to 
London,  to  find  out  the  elder  Burbage,  who 
was  the  chief  of  a  company  of  players  there, 
a  nd  offer  himself  to  be  of  his  company  ;  the 
which  he  doubted  not  would  be  allowed, 
Burbage  having  already  knowledge  of  his 
fitness  for  to  be  a  player,  having  witnessed 
his  first  essay  when  he  so  readily  undertook 
to  fill  the  post  of  the  sick  boy. 


On  entering  a  town  on  market  day,  and 
having  passed  long  lines  of  pens  for  sheep 
and  pigs,  and  droves  of  cattle — rude  carts 
laden  with  sacks  of  grain,  piles  of  cheese 
heaped  up  in  the  open  place,  along  side  of 
baskets  of  eggs,  poultry,  and  butter,  with 
here  a  show  perchance  of  a  wild  Indian — 
there  a  famous  doctor  on  a  platform,  oftering 
to  cure  all  diseases — in  another  spot  the 
notablest  conjuror  and  astrologer  in  the 
whole  world,  surrounded  by  gaping  crowds 
of  farmers,  yeomen,  and  rustical  sort  of 
people — and  elsewhere  a  harper  singing  of 
old  ballads  in  a  circle  of  well  pleased  liM,-n- 
ers  of  both  sexes,  he  was  stopped  by  a  throng 
of  persons  of  all  ages  and  conditions,  who 
seemed  to  be  laughing  very  merrily  at  the 
rivalry  of  two  travelling  chapmen,  seeking 
by  dint  of  volubleness  of  tongue  and  low 
i  humor  to  get  off  their  wares.  The  one  was 
an  amazing  red-nosed  old  fellow,  with  one 
eye,  but  there  was  in'  it  so  droll  a  twinkle, 
and  it  seemed  so  active  withal,  it  was  evi- 
dent it  grieved  not  for  the  loss  of  its  partner. 
He  had  got  with  him  a  handful  of  ballads 
and  broad  sheets,  and  a  bundle  at  his  back, 
which  he  was  striving  all  his  craft  of  tongue 
to  dispose  of.  The  other  was  a  pedlar — a 
rare  rogue,  of  a  most  facetious  vein,  who 
whilst  in  serious  commendation  of  his  wares 
failed  not  to  utter  a  sly  jest  at  his  rival. 
He  had  his  pack  opened  before  him,  dis- 
playing all  manner  of  ribbons  and  trinkets, 
which  he 'showed  as  openly  as  he  could, 
and  praised  as  though  nothing  half  so  good 
could  be  had  anywhere. 

"  Out  with  your  pennies,  my  masters !" 
cried  the  ballad-monger.  "  Here  is  a  choice 
time  for  spending.  Delicate  ballads  !  Rare 
ballads,  new  and  old !  Here  is  one  of  an 
amorous  turnspit  who  got  so  madly  in  love 
with  his  master's  daughter,  he  forgot  his 
proper  duty  to  that  extreme,  he  basted  him- 
self instead  of  the  meat.  .It  was  sworn  be- 
fore the  mayor  he  never  came  to  his  right 
senses  till  the  cook  run  a  knife  into  him  to 
see  if  he  was  done.  No  history  so  true. 
Here  is  another  of  a  merry  apprentice,  who 
kissed  all  the  women,  beat  all  the  watch, 
and  hanged  all  the  cats  within  five  miles  of 
him,  and  how  he  afterwards  became  the 
powerfulest  merchant  in  the  world.  All 
writ  down  in  an  especial  edifying  manner  for 
the  instruction  of  young  persons.  Here  is 
the  dialogue  of  the  Oxford  scholar,  and  the 
tanner  of  Woodstock,  concerning  of  woman, 
whether  she  bo  fish,  flesh,  or  fowl.  Full  of 
most  delectable  fine  argument  and  deep 
learning.  Buy,  my  masters,  buy!  Xerer 
had  I  such  prodigal  penny-worths.  Most 
true  ballads — only  happened  t'other  day  WM 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


179 


a  month.  I  sell  no  copper  brooches  for 
gold.  Here  are  no  gla.-s  beads  to  pass  for 
line  stones.  I  seek  not  to  cozen  you  with 
pewter  for  silver.  These  are  ballads,  my 
masters — none  so  good  have  been  writ  this 
hundred  year — choice  for  singing— choice 
for  reading,  and  choice  for  sticking  against 
the  cupboard  door." 

"  Here  is  Paris  thread  of  the  best,"  said 
the  pedlar.  "  Here  are  ribbons  for  holiday 
wear,  that  when  given  to  a  comely  damsel, 
force  her  to  be  so  desperate  after  the  giver, 
he  shall  marry  her  in  a  week.  '  Here  are 
garters  so  exquisitely  fashioned,  they  make 
a  neat  ankle  of  so  ravishing  a  shape,  not  an 
eye  shall  gaze  on  it  without  being  lost  'in 
love  'for  the  owner.  Here  are  pins  and 
needles  warranted  to  prick  none,  save  those 
they  run  into.  Here  are  leather  purses  that 
have  been  charmed  by  a  conjuror,  so  that 
they  have  the  virtue  to  double  whatever 
money  they  shall  hold.  Here  is  famous 
goldsmith's  work  in  wedding-rings  -of  metal 
that  cannot  be  matched  for  sterlingness,  and 
are  moreover  known  to  keep  all  wives  true 
to  their  husbands,  and  to  hold  them  so  obe- 
dient withal,  they  shall  take  a  cudgelling  or 
a  kissing  with  a  like  good  will.  Here  are 
locks  for  hair — brooches  and  ear-rings,  gar-1 
nished  with  stones  beyond  all  price — neck- 
laces and  chains  from  beyond  the  seas,  and 
all  so  marvellous  cheap  they  should  be  a 
bargain  at  thrice  what  I  will  sell  them  for. 
All  true  lovers  come  to  me,  I  will  insure 
you  your  desires  at  a  small  cost.  All  gener- 
ous good  husbands  now  is  your  time  to  win 
your  wives  to  honest  affectionateness.  I  am 
no  dealer  in  monstrous  dull  lies  that  would 
make  a  dead  man  stir  in  his  grave  the  hear 
of  such  roguery.  Here  is  no  poor  foolish 
stuff  put  into  measure  to  cheat  simple  per- 
sons into  a  laugh.  I  have  my  eyes  about 
me,  and  believe  others  riot  to  be  so  blind  as 
some  that  take  but  a  half  look  at  things  do 
fancy.  Judge  for  yourselves.  Note  how 
excellent  are  my  wares.  Whatever  you 
lack  you  shall  have  of  such  fineness  and  at 
so  cheap  a  rate  as  you  can  ne^r  have 
again.  Girdles,  belts,  points,  laces,  gloves, 
kerchiefs,  spoons,  knives,  spurs,  scissors, 
thimbles,  and  all  other  things  whatsoever, 
made  so  well  and  fast,  they  shall  last  till 
you  die,  and  after  that  serve  you  as  long  as 
you  may  have  use  for  them." 

In  this  strain  the  two  continued,  to  the 
huge  entertainment  of  the  assembled  rustics, 
who  greedily  bought  of  each,  and  laughed 
loudly  at  their  sly  allusions  to  the  other's 
efforts  to  cheat  them.  The  young  traveller 
passed  on  as  soon  as  he  could — somewhat 
amused  at  the  droll  roguery  of  those  merry 


knaves,  till  he  came  to  another  crowd  about 
the  town-crier,  who  had  just  made  the  whole 
neighborhood  resound  with  the  clamor  of 
his  bell,  causing  persons  to  throng  around 
him  from  all  parts.  William  Shakspeare 
could  only  get  near  enough  to  hear  a  word 
or  so  that  was  bawled  louder  than  the  rest, 
so  he  asked  of  a  staid  simple-looking  man 
at  his  eBow,  what  it  meant. 

"  It  meaneth  that  the  Queen  of  Scots 
hath  escaped,"  replied  he,  "  and  hue  and 
I  cry  hath  been  made  for  her  from  town  to 
town,  and  from  tithing  to  tithing.  And, 
moreover,  that  London  hath  been  set  on  fire, 
and  that  the  papists  are  rising  in  all  parts, 
I  bidding  of  every  man  to  get  himself  in  ar- 
mor, in  readiness  to  do  battle  in  defence  of 
|  the  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  to  search  for  and 
j  seize  on  the  false  Queen  of  Scots  wherever 
she  may  be  found." 

This  intelligence  surprised  the  young  tra- 
veller exceedingly,  and  amongst  the  market 
people  it  caused  a  singular  commotion,  for 
presently  they  all  broke  up  into  little  knots 
discoursing  of  no  other  matter — some  alarm- 
ed— some  valiant — some  threatening,  and 
every  one  talking  or  seeking  to  talk  of  the 
escaped  queen,  the  fire,  and  the  papists. 
William  Shakspeare  was  proceeding  on  his 
way  as  speedily  as  he  could,  marvelling  at 
what  he  had  heard,  when  of  a  sudden  he 
found  himself  seized  firmly,  and  turning 
round  beheld  the  person  he  just  spoke  to, 
with  his  face  flushed  as  though  in  some  ex- 
traordinary excitement,  and  his  whole  frame 
in  such  a  tremble  as  if  he  was  taken  with  a 
sudden  ague. 

"  I  charge  you  to  surrender  yourself 
peaceably,"  exclaimed  he  to  his  astonished 
prisoner. 

"  For  what  cause  I  pray  you  ?"  inquired 
the  latter. 

"  I  arrest  you  as  a  false  traitor  and  hor- 
rible malefactor  against  the  queen's  high- 
ness, our  sovereign  lady,  whose  poor  con- 
stable I  am,"  replied  the  other,  seeming  in 
terrible  fear  lest  he  should  escape.  "  Ask 
of  me  no  questions,  but  come  straight  before 
his  worship  the  mayor — at  your  deadly 
peril." 

"  I  assure  you  I  have  done  no  offence — 
there  must  be  some  mistake  in  this,"  said 
his  companion. 

"  An'  you  seek  to  breed  a  bate  by  any 
show  of  false  words,  I  will  call  on  true  men 
to  bear  you  along  forcibly,"  added  the  con- 
stable. Believing  both  resistance  and  argu- 
ments would  be  useless,  the  prisoner  allowed 
himself  to  be  led  by  the  person  who  had  de- 
tained him,  followed  by  a  throng  of  the  curi- 
ous, of  whom  many,  especially  the  women, 


180 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


grieved  to  see  so  handsome  a- youth  in  such 
custody.  In  a  few  minutes  he  found  him- 
self at  the  end  of  a  long  chamber,  with  a 
portly  looking  fellow,  manifestly  a  miller  by 
the  flour  with  which  his  garments  were 
covered,  that  could  be  seen  under  his  may- 
or's gown — sitting  at  tha  top  of  a  table,  in 
close  and  earnest  conversation  withj|  butch- 
er on  one  side  of  him,  and  a  vintner  on  the 
other,  and  then  dictating  to  a  bull-headed 
sturdy  knave  in  the  common  dress  of  a 
smith. 

"  Silence  in  the  court !"  cried  the  miller, 
the  moment  the  constable  opened  his  mouth 
to  make  his  accusation,  and  the  mayor  spoke 
so  commandingly,  the  other  contented  him- 
self with  keeping  fast  hold  of  his  prisoner  ; 
and  seeming  in  a  wonderful  famousness 
and  solicitude.  It  appeared  that  these  wor- 
thies were  the  chief  officers  of  the  corpora- 
tion, and  they  were  about  sending  of  a  letter 
to  the  queen's  council  concerning  of  the 
important  intelligence  of  which  the  reader  is 
acquainted,  saying  what  they  have  done, 
and  asking  what  farther  they  should  do. 
Everything  was  first  debated  betwixt  the 
miller,  the  butcher,  and  the  vintner,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  as  thoroughly  ignorant  of  proper 
forms  of  speech  in  which  to  express  them- 
selves, as  any  three  persons  could  ;  and  yet 
they  spoke  as  confidently  as  if  they  con- 
sidered themselves  amongst  the  sages  of  the 
land. 

"  Now,  Alderman  Hobnail,  read  what  hath 
been  writ,  and  our  memories  shall  hold  it 
the  better,"  said  the  mayor,  whereupon  the 
scribe  took  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and  slowly, 
as  if  he  could  make  out  his  own  writing 
with  some  difiiculty,  he  read  what  fol- 
lows : — 

"  An'  it  plea'se  you,  right  honorables,  we 
have  had  a  certain  hue  and  cry  arrive  here, 
charging  of  us  to  make  diligent  searchings 
in  all  manner  of  our  lanes^  and  alleys,  high- 
ways and  byeways,  for  the  Queen  of  Scots, 
who  is  fled ;  likewise  of  her  majesty's  city 
of  London,  by  the  enemies  set  on  fire  ; 
whereby  in  great  haste  we  have  got  ready 
our  men  and  armor,  with  such  artillery  as 
we  have,  on  pain  of  death,  as  by  the  pre- 
cept we  were  commanded ;  and  have  charged 
divers  of  our  constables  to  seek  out  and 
apprehend  the  said  Queen  of  Scots,  if  so  be 
she  is  lurking  in  our  township  ;  but  as  yet 
we  have  gained  no  intelligence  she  hath 
ventured  herself  into  these  parts — " 

"  Please  your  worships,  the  Queen  of 
Scots  is  here  in  my  safe  custody !"  exclaimed 
the  constable,  who  found  it  utterly  impos- 
sible to  withhold  any  longer  the  intelligence 
of  the  important  capture  he  imagined  he  had 


made.  At  hearing  this,  the  mayor  and 
alderman  started  from  their  seats  in  such 
amazement  as  they  had  never  shown  before  ; 
but  their  surprise  was  far  exceeded  by  that 
of  the  prisoner,  who  at  last  could  not  help 
laughing  outright.  "  Please  your  worship 
the  fact  be  manifest.  This  person  came  up 
to  me,  whilst  the  crier  was  giving  out  the 
intelligence  of  the  Queen  of  Scots'  escape, 
and  not  hearing  what  Master  Giles  said,  he 
having  a  pestilent  hoarseness,  asked  of  me 
what  he  was  saying  ;  and  on  the  instant  I 
told  him — her  I  should  say — he — she  I  mean 
— took  himself,  or  rather  herself,  off  with 
the  design  of  escape,  as  hastily  as  might  be. 
Whereupon  I  felt  assured  he — she  I  should 
say — was  no  other  than  this  escaped  queen  ; 
for,  RS  I  remember,  the  Queen  of  Scots  is 
said  to  be  fair,  so  is  this  person — and  in  no 
way  deformed,  which  tallies  with  this  person 
to  a  hair — and  of  a  well  favored  counten- 
ance, the  which  this  person  hath  also  ;  and 
in  huge  trouble  and  anxiousness  lest  he — 
she  should  escape,  I  made  him — her  I  mean, 
my  prisoner,  and  have  herewith  brought  him 
— her  I,  should  say — into  your  worship's 
presence,  to  be  further  done  with  as  your 
worships  shall  think  fittest." 

The  whole  assembly  seemed  in  so  mon- 
strous a  marvel,  they  appeared  as  if  they 
could  do  nothing  but  stare  at  the  supposed 
queen.  > 

"  Surely  this  person  looketh  but  little  like 
a  woman,"  observed  the  mayor  at  last ;  at 
which  the  vintner  very  pithily  remarked, 
there  were  divers  of  that  sex  who  looked 
not  what  they  passed  for ;  and  the  butcher 
added,  with  a  like  shrewdness,  it  was  well 
known  of  many  women,  that  on  an  occasion 
they  could  enact  the  man  so  much  to  the 
life,  their  husbands  could  not  do  it  half  so 
well.  Hearing  these  fine  arguments,  the 
miller  looked  somewhat  puzzled,  and  again 
the  constable  put  in  sundry  other  reasons  of 
his  for  coming  to  the  conclusion  he  had — 
all  which,  with  his  singular  confusion  of 
he's  and  she's  which  marked  his  discourse, 
appeared  to  afford  infinite  diversion  to  the 
suspected  Queen  of  Scots.  Presently,  being 
called  upon  to  give  an  account  of  himself, 
the  latter  strove  to  convince  the  worthies  of 
the  corporation  of  the  ridiculous  blunder  of 
the  constable,  by  printing  to  his  mustache, 
saying  as  gravely  as  he  could,  he  never 
knew  that  formed  any  part  of  the  escaped 
queen's  countenance  ;  and  then  uncovered 
his  head  to  show  how  different  his  hair  was 
to  a  woman's  ;  but  this  only  led  to  a  con- 
sultation of  the  mayor  with  his  chief  advi- 
sers, and  hearing  something  about  empanel- 
ling a  jury  of  matrons,  the  young  traveller 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


181 


immediately  iore  open  his  doublet,  ana  put 
beyond  a  doubt — to  the  horrible  disappoint- 
ment of  the  constable — that  he  was  neither 
her  highnessof  Scotland,  nor  woman  of  any 
kind.  After  which,  he  made  such  choice 
jests  of  the  affair,  that  he  .set  the  whole  cor- 
poration laughing  right  luartily,  and  was 
dismissed  from  custody,  amid  the  merry 
congratulations  of  every  one  present,  save 
only  Master  Constable,  against  whom,  his 
doings  of  that  day,  furnished  his  acquain- 
tance with  a  continual  jest. 

William  Shakspeare  got  out  of  the  town 
without  further  molestation ;  and,  on  the 
road,  coming  up  to  a  heavily  laden  waggon, 
drawn  by  six  horses,  he  made  a  bargain  with 
the  waggoner  to  take  him  to  Oxford.  On 
getting  into  the  vehicle,  he  nearly  placed 
himself  in  the  lap  of  an  old  lady  there  seated, 
in  consequence  of  his  not  seeing  clearly, 
the  interior  was  so  dark  ;  bfit  he  excused 
himself  so  gracefully,  thai,  he  soon  got  to  be 
on  exceeding  friendly  terms  with  her.  As 
soon  as  his  eyes  became  more  used  to  the 
darkness,  he  began  to  make  out  the  figures 
of  his  fellow-travellers.  First  there  was  the 
old  lady,  a  notable  motherly  sort  of  dame, 
going  to  London  to  visit  her  daughter.  She 
was  marvellous  social,  talking  of  her  affairs 
as  if  each  one  present  \vas  her  intimate  dear 
friend  and  gossip  of  long  standing,  although 
she  had  seen  none  before  she^joined  th-am  in 
the  waggon. 

xt  to  her  was  a  sickly  looking  boy, 
going  with  his  mother,  who  seemed  to  hold 
him  very  tenderly,  to  get  advice  of  the  nota- 
blest  chururgionsof  London  for  his  ailments. 
These  spoke  but  little,  and  only  in  a  few 
whispers  oiu  to  another.  Beside  these  were 
two  young  Oxford  scholars,  keeping  up  a 
continual  arguing  on  all  manner  of  subjects, 
as  if  they  could  not  live  a  minute  without 
showing  of  their  skill  in  logic,  yet  neither 
could  convert  the  other  to  his  opinion,  for 
each  debated  the  more  strongly,  the  more 
closely  he  was  combatted.  There  was  but  one 
more  of  the  party,  and  he  was  a  stout  glover 
from  Woodstock,  who  had  been  staying  with 
some  friends  in  Wales.  He  was  a  great 
devourer  of  news,  and  was  no  less  desirous 
of  playing  the  intelligencer  himself,  than  he 
was  to  listen  to  the  news  of  another.  The 
young  traveller  was  soon  seized  on  by  the 
old  dame  going  to  London,  and  the  stout 
glover  of  VVoodstock,  as  a  listener  for  one, 
and  an  intelligencer  for  the  other. 

"  By  my  troth,  I  shall  be  right  glad  to  get 
to  my  journey's  end,"  said  the  former  ;  "  as 
I  told  my  maid  Lettice  the  very  morning  I 
started  ;  and  she  said  she  had  a  monstrous  i 
longing  to  be  of  my  company,  so  that  she  i 


might  see  London  streets  paved  with  gold, 
and  to  get  but  a  glimpse  of  the  queen's 
glorious  majesty  of  whom  she  had  heard 
such  marvels ;  but  my  husband,  who  loveth 
a  jest  dearly,  said  that  she  was  in  no  condi- 
tion to  have  her  longing  gratified,  and  must 
first  be  married  a  decent  time  ere  she  should 
speak  of  such  things.  Indeed,  my  husband 
hath  an  exceeding  merry  humor ;  but  he 
meaneth  no  harm  by  it  to  man,  woman,  or 
child,  I  promise  you.  I  was  but  a  girl  when 
he  took  me  to  wife.  I  remember  the  day  as 
well  as  though  it  were  but  yesterday ;  and 
in  honest  truth  it  will  be  just  forty  years 
come  Candlemas.  Ah !  I  little  thought  then 
I  should  ever  be  taking  a  long  journey  to 
see  a  daughter  of  mine  own  settled  in  Barbi- 
can, whose  husband  is  so  highly  related  he 
hath  a  brother,  whose  wife  is  first  cousin  to 
my  lord  Mayor  !  Ay,  I  thought  no  more  of 
it  than  could  art  unborn  babe.  But  none 
can  foresee  what  great  things  shall  come  to 
pass." 

"  Know  you  any  news,  good  sir  ?  in- 
quired the  glover,  who  had  been  waiting  im- 
patiently to  put  that  questton  for  some 
minutes.  The  young  traveller  acquainted  him 
with  what  lie  had  heard  in  the  town  lie 
lately  left,  not  forgetting  the  droll  blunder 
of  the  constable  in  taking  him  to  be  the  es- 
caped Queen  of  Scots,  to  which  his  com- 
panion listened  with  prodigious  interest,  as 
no  news  could,  in  his  conceit,  be  so  credible 
as  that  which  is  giveuby  the  party  who  had 
been  an  actor  in  it. 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  Woodstock  man, 
"  there  have  been  continual  bruits  of  the 
Queen  of  Scots  escaping,  ever  since  she  hath 
been  a  close  prisoner.  Perchance  it  is  like 
enough  to  happen.  I  did  myself  hear  of  a 
horrible  conspiracy  she  had  entered  into  to 
let  in  the  Spaniards  and  destroy  all  the  pro- 
testants  in  the  kingdom.  Truly  she  is  a 
most  pestilent  base  woman.  Yet  know  I  for 
certain,  that  my  Lord  of  Shrewsbury's  deal- 
ings with  her  have  not  been  honest.  Indeed, 
I  could  tell  of  a  certain  christening  of  which 
I  have  had  the  minutest  particulars — secret 
though  it  was.  But  of  such  scandals  about 
her  there  is  so  famous  a  plenty,  that  if  but 
one  half  be  true,  it  maketh  the  other  half 
credible." 

"  My  husband,  as  I  remember  told  me  she 
was  a  horrible  papist,"  said  the  old  dame ; 
"  and  I  heard  worthy  master  curate  declare, 
after  service,  the  very  Sunday  before  I  left, 
she  must  needs  be  a  most  wicked  wretch, 
else  would  she  forswear  all  toleration  of  such 
villainy  :  and  as  fair  a  preacher  is  he  as 
you  shall  find  in  any  pulpit  ;  and  taketh  hia 
dinner  with  us  some  twice  at  least  in  the 


182 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


week,  and  always  commendcth  my  skill  in 
cookery ;  and,  as  lie  hath  himself  told  me, 
esteemeth  my  husband  as  the  goodliest 
Christian-man  he  hath  ever  known  ;  and 
myself  as  the  notables!  perfect  housewife  in 
the  whole  parish." 

"  Heard  you  any  fresh  matters  in  Scot- 
land ?"  asked  the  glover.  "  Are  the  French 
busy  there  in  any  new  intrigues,  think  you  ?" 
"  Really,  I  know  not  ;  for  I  have  spoke 
with  none  capable  of  rightly  informing  me 
of  such  things,"  replied  the  youthful  Shaks- 
peare. 

"  Is  it  true,  the  unhappy  news  of  the 
murder  committed  on  the  poor  Prince  of 
Orange  ?"  inquired  the  other  with  huge  ear- 
nestness. "  And  is  there  any  intelligence 
to  be  relied  on  concerning  of  the  embassy  of 
Sir  Philip  Sydney  to  condole  with  the  French 
king  on  the  death  of  his  dear  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Anjou  ?"  A 'number  of  other 
questions  of  news  folio  wed  these  in  quick 
succession,  whereby  it  appeared  that  this 
greedy  intelligencer,  was  seeking  to  get  note 
of  everything  going  forward  in  every  part 
of  the  world  ;  but  his  companion  gave  him 
such  scanty  answers,  he  was  fain  at  last  to 
give  up  all  hope  of  turning  him  to  any  more 
profit — and  the  old  dame  having  told  the 
ages  of  her  children  and  grand-children, 
with  the  fullest  particulars  of  their  several 
histories,  also  rested  her  tongue — so  that  he 
was  left  to  attend  to  the  dialogue  of  the 
Oxford  students,  who  had  hitherto  heeded 
nothing  but  their  own  arguing. 

"  Nay,  that  cannot  be,  for  Aristotle  de- 
clareth  the  very  reverse,"  said  one,  with 
prodigious  earnestness. 

"  But  what  sayeth  Socrates  on  that  head  ?" 
replied  the  other  somewhat  triumphantly. 
4i  Ay,  and  Epicurus  and  others  of  the  an- 
cients. I  doubt  you  can  do  away  with  such 
evidence.  Mcthinks  you  must  needs  ac- 
knowledge yourself  to  be  well  beaten  in  this 
argument,  for  truly  you  are  now  at  your 
last  shifts." 

"  Nay,  be  not  in  such  conceit  of  the  mat- 
ter," rejoined  the  first,  in  any  manner 
rather  than  like  one  who  suffereth  defeat. 
"  I  never  was  so  well  off  in  my  logic  since 
the  question  was  started.  Now  I  will  main- 
tain, even  at  the  stake,  these  my  proposi- 
tions, which  I  doubt  not  to  make  good  with 
all  proper  weapons  of  rhetoric,  and  refer- 
ences of  highest  authority.  First,  the  body 
hath  a  soul." 

"  Granted,"  said  his  companion. 

"  All  souls  are,  therefore  they  exist." 

"  I  let  that  pass." 

"  To  exist,  arguefh  to  live,  and  to  live 
requireth  the  proper  sustenance  of  life." 


"  That  hath  to  be  proved,"  grave.y  re- 
marked his  opponent. 

"Proved!"  exclaimed  the  other,  as  if  in  a 
monstrous  astonishment.  "  Is  there  anything 
that  can  live  without  victual  ?  Have  not  all 
animals,  whether  of  bird  or  beast,  fish  or  in- 
sect, a  natural  commodity  of  mouth  and  sto- 
mach, whereby  they  are  used  to  eat  what 
pleaseth  them  ?" 

"  There  be  sundry  sorts  of  creatures  who, 
it  is  credibly  known,  live  without  any  man- 
ner of  victual  whatsoever,"  said  his  compa- 
nion. "  I  pass  over  what  is  so  notorious  as 
the  barnacle  that  is  the  fruit  of  a  tree,  there- 
fore can  require  no  feeding,  yet  is  an  animal 
with  no  deficiency  of  stomach  or  mouth ; 
and  the  chamelion  who  is  a  beast,  yet  useth 
himself  to  no  victual.  I  will  say  nought  of 
the  toad,  that  may  live  a  hundred  years  shut  up 
in  the  crevice  of  a  rock.  I  will  scarce  so  much 
as  mention  the  salamander,  the  phoenix,  the 
cockatrice,  and  other  familiar  animals,  which 
divers  famous  philosophers  maintain  do  sup- 
port themselves  after  a  like  fashion.  But  I 
will  at  once  to  the  stronghold  of  my  argu- 
ment, which  is,  that  ghosts  have  never  been 
known  to  eat  and  drink  even  of  the  delicatest 
things  that  came  in  their  way." 

"  By  our  lady  I  have  great  doubt  of  that," 
exclaimed  the  other  ;  "  hast  forgot  the  ghost 
of  the  drunken  tapster,  that  used  to  haunt 
the  very  cellar  in  which  his  corpse  was  dis- 
covered ;  and  what  should  a  ghost  want  in 
such  a  place,  think  you,  but  to  refresh  hhn- 
self  with  a  draught  of  good  wine  of  which 
he  had  used  to  be  so  fond  ?  Dost  not  re- 
member how  the  spirit  of  a  certain  ancient 
housekeeper  was  known  to  walk  the  pantry 
of  her  master's  house,  and  for  what  reason- 
able purpose  could  that  be.  save  to  feast  on 
the  store  of  delicacies  she  knew  was  there 
to  be  found  ?  But  there  is  a  fresher  and 
more  convincing  instance  that  happened  at 
our  college  only  last  vacation  to  Master  Pip- 
kin, the  proctor.  Now  he  and  a  certain  lame 
doctor  of  divinity  were  sworn  brothers.  Dr. 
Polyglott  was  of  an  exceeding  gravity,  and 
as  learned  a  scholar  as  Oxford  could  pro- 
duce. It  was  said  that  he  was  at  his  books 
all  day  and  all  night,  and  that  he  liked  no- 
thing so  well  ;  but,  in  truth,  he  had  a  mon- 
strous liking  for  roast  pig  with  codling  sauce, 
and  this  the  proctor  knew.  So  he  asked  the 
doctor  to  come  and  sup  with  him  at- an  hour 
named,  and  he  should  have  most  choice 
feasting  on  this  his  favorite  dish  ;  and  he 
having  gladly  assented,  Master  Pipkin  got 
things  in  readiness.  At  the  appointed  time, 
the  learned  scholar  hopped  across  the  proc- 
tor's chamber  towards  the  table  much  in  the 
ordinary  way,  and  feasted  as  he  had  cever 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


183 


feasted  before  ;  but  he  looked  graver  even 
ban  he  was  wont  to  look,  and  spoke  never  a 
word  the  whole  time  he  was  engaged  in  de- 
vouring this  delicate  food.  Nevertheless, 
this  did  not  excite  in  his  host  any  strange 
surmises,  knowing  his  old  friend  to  be  given 
to  fits  of  such  deep  thinking,  he  would  not 
speak  for  hours,  no  matter  what  he  might  be 
about.  But  the  strange  greatness  of  his  appet- 
ite did  create  a  very  singular  marvelling  in  the 
proctor,  for  the  learned  scholar  continued  to 
fill  his  trencher,  and  to  empty  it  with  such 
frequency,  that  in  the  end  the  roast  pig  was 
picked  to  the  bones,  and  the  codling-sauce 
eat  up  to  the  last  mouthful.  As  soon  as  this 
became  manifest,  Dr.  Polyglott  hopped  out 
of  the  ehamber  as  gravely  as  he  had  hopped 
into  it.  The  next  morning  little  Pipkin 
called  on  his. old  friend,  to  inquire  whether 
he  had  slep&vell  after  so  heavy  a  supper, 
when,  to  his  extreme  horror,  he  learned  that 
the  poor  doctor  bad  been  dead  since  noon  the 
preceding  day.  Now  it  followeth  from  this, 
that  the  worthy  doctor  of  divinity  evinced 
his  wonderful  fine  wisdom,  in  taking  the  op- 
portunity to  banquet  on  his  favorite  dish  to 
the  last  morsel  as  he  did,  knowing  that  such 
delicacies  as  roast-pig  with  codling  sauce, 
the  most  fortunate  of  ghosts  cannot  hope  to 
fall  in  with  but  rarely." 

The  youthful  Shakspeare  was  somewhat 
amused  at  what  he  had  heard,  and  presently 
he  joined  in  the  argument  with  as  serious 
an  earnestness  as  either,  much  to  the  marvel 
of  the  Oxford  scholars,  who  thought  it  most 
wondrous,  a  plain  countryman  as  he  appear- 
ed, should  talk  so  well  and  wisely.  It  was 
manifest  he  soon  had  the  best  of  the  argu- 
ment. Indeed,  he  brought  forth  such  con- 
vincing reasons,  clothed  in  such  brave  lan- 
guage, that  his  opponents  quickly  got  more 
into  the  humor  of  listening  to  his  discourse 
than  of  offering  any  speech  of  their  own. — 
Grave  as  he  appeared,  he  was  but  entertain- 
ing of  himself  with  their  credulity. 

"  But  concerning  of  ghosts,  there  is  a 
thing  that  puzzleth  me  out  of  all  telling," 
said  he,  in  conclusion.  "  It  cannot  be  for  a 
moment  supposed  any  person  would  be  so 
heathenish  ignorant,  or  so  deplorable  foolish 
as  to  think  such  things  are  not  to  be  met 
with — yet  there  is  a  matter  connected  with 
them  that  methinks  goeth  a  great  way  to- 
wards such  thinking,  an'  it  be  not  properly 
explained  by  those  having  most  knowledge 
of  the  subject.  This  I  will  here  proceed  to 
lay  open  to  you,  as  I  should  be  infinitely 
glad  to  be  instructed  by  your  opinion.  Now, 
as  far  as  the  wisest  philosophers  have  writ- 
ten, a  ghost  is  immaterial,  of  no  sort  of  sub- 
stance, being  but  the  mere  shadow,  as  it 


were,  of  the  body  from  which  it  hath  been 
separated  ;  and  that  none,-  save  only  man, 
who  hath  a  soul,  can  come  into  the  state 
that  is  commonly  called  being  a  ghost." 

"  Truly  sir,  there  can  be  no  disputing  any- 
thing so  clearly  put,"  observed  one  of  the 
scholars. 

"  Now  mark  you  this,  my  masters,"  conti- 
nued the  young  traveller,  with  a  more  pro-  ' 
found  gravity  ;  "  there  never  yet  was  an  in- 
stance of  a  ghost  who  appeared  without  pro- 
per apparelling — none  so  abominably  ill-be- 
haved as  to  show  himself  deprived  of  clothing 
of  every  kind." 

"  Nay,  so  horrible  improper  a  thing  can- 
not be  conceived  of  them,"  said  the  other. 

"  Indeed,  I  thought  as  much,"  added  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare.  "  Now  there  is  a  ghost 
of  a  person  of  worship  seen,  just  as  he  used 
to  be  when  he  lived.  How  came  he  with  a 
doublet  ?  Garments  have  no  souls  as  I  have 
ever  heard ;  and  therefore  neither  hose  nor 
trunks,  nor  cloaks,  nor'hats,  nor  apparel  of 
any  kind  can  be  ghosts.  And  how  can  they 
be  worn  of  a  ghost  being  of  substance  as 
they  must  needs  be,  not  being  of  the  imma- 
terial nature  of  a  spirit  ?  If  the  latter,  as 
hath  been  credibly  affirmed,  can  slide  through 
the  crack  of  a  door  with  ease,  there  is  no 
clothing  of  ever  so  fine  a  fabric  but  what 
cannot  help  staying  behind  at  such  a  time ; 
and  so  leave  the  poor  ghost  without  a  thread 
to  cover  him.  And  when  a  ghost  standeth 
before  any  person,  his  garments  being  hea- 
vy, and  he  so  exceeding  light,  they  must 
needs  fall  to  his  heels  for  lack  of  proper  sup-' 
port,  to  the  horrible  scandal  of  all  decent 
spectators." 

The  Oxford  scholars  looked  as  perfectly 
puzzled  as  it  was  possible  for  any  men  to  be ; 
and  evidently  knew  not  what  to  say  on  so 
perplexing  a  matter,  for  they  had  wit  enough 
to  see  there  could  be  but  two  conclusions  to 
such  an  argument,  which  were  a  sort  of 
Scilla  and  Charybdis  to  the  theory  of  ghosts 
— for  if  they  would  affirm  ghosts  went  with- 
out clothing — seeing  that  none  could  be  had 
of  any  material  that  would  stay  on  a  sha- 
dow for  a  single  moment — they  would  put 
themselves  against  the  best  authorities  that 
had  writ  or  spoken  on  the  subject,  all  of 
whom  vouched  for  their  being  properly  clad 
in  ordinary  tiring  ;  and  if  they  ventured  to 
maintain  garments  might  be  of  the  same 
nature  with  ghosts,  they  by  it  expressed 
their  conviction, that  every  article  of  apparel 
was  possessed  of  a  soul,  which  they  knew 
to  be  a  proposition  so  contrary  to  common 
sense,  no  sober  person  would  allow  of  such  • 
a  thing  for  a  single  instant.  Doubtless,  the 
young  traveller  felt  famous  satisfaction  at 


184 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


having  brought  these  rare  logicians  to  so 
complete  9,  nonplus  ;  for  truly  they  seemed 
to  have  been  struck  with  a  sudden  dumb- 
ness. At  last  one  acknowledged  that  what 
had  just  been  advanced,  involved  an  argu- 
ment the  which  had  never  been  started  be- 
fore, and  Le  was  n6t  then  prepared  to  give 
it  answer,  as  it  required  a  monstrous  deal  of 
profound  thinking,  it  was  of  so  abstruse  a 
nature  ;  and  the  other  followed  with  some- 
thing to  the  same  purpose ;  and  presently 
they  managed  to  turn  the  disputation  into 
another  channel.  > 

In  this  way  the  whole  party  proceeded  on 
their  journey  ;  the  only  variation  being  some 
of  them  would  occasionally  get  out  of  the 
waggon  and  walk  by  the  side  of  the  wag- 
goner, amongst  whom  the  youthful  Shak- 
spearc  might  be  found  more  frequently  than 
any  other,  inquiring  of  him  the  names  of  the 
places  they  passed  through,  and  of  the  fair 
mansions  of  persons  of  worship  that  fey 
within  sight,  for  it  was  a  most  welcome  re- 
lief to  the  former  after  having  been  tho- 
roughly tired  of  the  humors  of  his  compa- 
nions, to  delight  himself  with  observing  the 
beauties  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  the 
appearance  of  the  different  classes  of  per- 
sons he  met  on  the  road.  Every  face  bore 
to  him  signs  of  a  certain  character,  no  two 
of  whcm  seemed  to  be  alike  ;  and  from  these 
he  could,  in  his  own  mind,  read  the  history, 
habits,  and  thoughts  of  all  he  gazed  on. — 
Mayhap,  a  great  portion  of  this  was  mere 
speculation — nevertheless,  it  served  to  be- 
guile the  time  .with  a  very  fair  entertain- 
ment. 

"  And  what  place  come  we  to  next,  Mas- 
ter Giles  2"  inquired  he  of  the  waggoner. 

"  Oxford,  an'  it  please  ye,"  replied  the 
man. 

"  Do  we  make  any  stay  there  ?"  asked 
the  other. 

"  Ees,  maister,  we  bide  a  whole  night  at 
comely  Mistress  D'Avenant's,  at  the  Crown 
Inn,"  answered  the  waggoner,  seemingly 
endeavoring  to  attend  to  his  horses  and  his 
companion  at  the  same  time.  "  John 
D'Avenaut  hath  just  taken  her  to  wife. — 
Ccom,  Bess !  put  the  best  leg  forrard — do 
now,  I  prithee — and  I'se  warrant  ye  she's  as 
semely  a  host  as  ever  drew  spigot.  Ma- 
ther-away !'' 

"  Doubtless,  an  hour  or  so  with  a  pretty 
woman  maketh  your  journey  to  be  all  the 
pleaeanter,"  observed  the  young  traveller. 

"  Doant  it  thoa  !"  exclaimed  the  man, 
with  a  grin  that  displayed  a  pair  of  jaws  of 
extraordinary  capaciousness.  "  Gogs  wouns, 
maister  !  When  it  be  my  good  hap  to  get 
me  alongside  the  shafts  o'  so  goodly  sweet  a 


creature  as  Mistress  D'Avenant,  I  feels  my 
heart  for  to  pull  stronger  nor  the  best  beast 
o'  the  whole  team.  Gee-whut  !  get  thee 
along,  I  tell  thee  ! — and  I  takes  it  as  daintily 
as  a  fore-horse  going  down  hill.  Body  o' 
me  !  -when  she  bringeth  me  a  pint  o'  tickle- 
brain,  and  letteth  her  sloe-black  eyes  to  rest 
upon  me,  whilst  I  be  a  fumbling  o:  the  mo- 
ney out  o'  my  leathern  purse,  J  feels  so  diz- 
zy, and  so  strange,  and  so  full  o'  rnonstrous 
sweet  pleasantness  fro'  top  to  toe,  I've  no 
more  heed  o'  the  waggon  than  the  waggon 
has  o'  me." 

"  Methinks,  by  this,  you  must  be  in  love 
with  the  good  dame,"  said  his  companion 
jestingly.  "  But  surely  you  will  not  think 
of  doing  mine  host  of  the  Crown  so  ill  a  turn, 
as  to  be  loving  of  his  wife  when  you  stop  at 
his  house  2" 

"  Wouldn't  I,  thoa  2"  cried  Wles,  w  th  an 
inexpressible,  sly  wink  of  his  somewhat 
roguish  eyes,  as  he  lifted  his  cap  with  his 
left  hand  and  scratched  his  head,  con  try- 
man  fashion.  "As  far  as  I  can  gu< ^>,  I 
doant  Lake  a  waggoner  to  be  any  more  free 
of  temptation  than  any  other  man,  but  it  any 
manner  of  man  whatsoever  can  come  within 
the  glance  of  Mistress  D'Avenant's  sloe- 
black  peepers,  and  not  think  within  himself 
how  blessed  would  be  his  condition  were  he 
John  D'Avenant,  and  John  D'Avenant  he — 
he  must  needs  be  such  a  mortal  u?  be  ek'un 
different  from  the  ordinary  sons  of  Adam." 
This,  and  other  conversation  to  the 
same  purpose,  excited  some  faint  curiosity 
in  the  young  traveller  to  behold  her  whose 
charms  had  made  so  forcible  an  impression 
on  the  susceptible  heart  of  Master  Giles  ; 
and  this  curiousness  of  his  in  due  time  was 
indulged.  At  their  entrance  into  Oxford, 
which  was  at  dusk  of  the  evening,  the  two 
scholars  left  the  waggon,  and  it  proceeded 
leisurely  along  till  it  stopped  in  the  yard 
of  the  Crown  Inn.  It  was  too  dark  to  dis- 
tinguish objects  very  clearly,  but  as  far  as 
could  be  judged  of  it,  the  inn  was  a  capaci- 
ous building  well  accommodated  for  its  pur- 
poses. Lights  were  streaming  from  many 
casements,  and  the  burthen  of  a  popular 
ballad  came  in  full  chorus  from  one  of  them. 
A  door  being  open,  figures  could  be  seen 
moving  about  in  the  red  glare  of  the  kitchen- 
fire  ;  and  on  a  cry  being  raised  of  "  the  wag- 
gon !  the  waggon !  Here  be  Master  Giles 
come,  mistress !"  two  or  three  persons  came 
rushing  out. 

"  John  !  prithee  make  all  speed  to  help 
the  travellers  out !"  cried  a  female,  who  was 
approaching  with  a  lighted  candle,  which 
she  shaded  with  her  hand. 

"  Ay,  sweetheart !  I'll  be  with  thee  on  the 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


186 


instant,"  replied  a  young  man  coming  after 
her,  and  then  calling  into  the  house,  ex- 
claimed— ••  Como  Ralph  !  Come  Robin  ! 
Wilt  be%ll  night  a  bringing  of  those  steps  ?" 

"  Welcome  to  Oxford,  good  friends !" 
cried  the  iirst  speaker,  very  pleasantly,  as 
she  app3ared  at  the  end  of  the  waggon. 

"  Ha  !  Master  Giles,  ho\v  dost  do  ?"  said 
the  other  cordially  greeting  the  driver  as  an 
old  acquaintance. 

"  Bravely,  Master  D'Avenant,  bravely  !" 
replied  he.    "  And  your  fair  mistress.    Body  j 
o'  me,  an'  she  doant  look  more  bloomingly 
than  ever !" 

"  Marry.   Master  Waggoner  !  when  am  I 
to  come  to  my  full  bloom,  think  you  ?"  said 
the  first  speaker  with  a  pretty  laugh,  as  she 
left  him  to  pay  attention  to  her  new  guests,  i 
William  Shakspeare  was  assisting  his  fellow 
travellers  to  alight,  but  he  could  not  help  j 
turning  round  to  take  note  of  tin's  Mistress 
D'Avenant ;  and  in  honest  truth  he  saw  be-  j 
fore  him  as  delicious  a  facp  as  any  man  need 
desire  to  see,  with  lustrous  dark  eyes,  rich 
complexion,  and  a  most  bewitching  mouth 
glowing  as  it  were,  under  the  light  thrown 
upon  them  by  the  candle,  and  ornamented 
with  a  becoming  head-tire. 

"  Take  him  down  gently,  I  pray  you.  good 
sir,  for  he  is  exceeding  weak,"  said  the  ten- 
der mother,  as  the  young  traveller  wa*  help- 
ing her  sick  son  out  of  the  waggon. 

"  Truly,  he  shall  be  as  tenderly  handled 
as  if  his  own  kind  mother  were  a  helping 
him,"  replied  he  ;  this  gentle  speech  of  his 
brought  on  him  the  notice  of  the  pretty 
hostess,  who  looked  with  a  pleased  surprise 
at  beholding  of  so  handsome  manly  a  youth. 
In  due  ti.ne  all  had  alighted.  The  Wood- 
stock man  had  already  departed.  The 
mother  and  child,  with  the  old  dame,  led  the 
way — the  Jitter  as  us.ild,  making'  herself 
wondrous  gracious  with  the  host ;  and  the 
youthful  Shakspeare  walking  last,  by  the 
side  of  his  comely  hostess,  with  whom  he 
appeared  already  to  be  affording  some  pleas- 
ing entertainment,  for  she  manifestly  took 
his  converse  with  infinite  satisfaction.  The 
waggoner  stood  behind,  gazing  after  the 
last  two  as  he  scratched  his  head,  with  a 
look  as  though  he  had  much  rather  Mistress 
D'Avenant  had  stayed  where  she  was,  or 
that  her  companion  had  come  to  any  inn  at 
Oxford  save  the  Crown. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  trustiest,  lovingest  and  gentlest  boy 
That  ever  master  kept. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 
The  love  of  boys  unto  their  lords  is  strange  ; 
I  have  read  of  wonders  of  it.  Yet  this  boy, 
For  my  sake  (if  a  man  may  judge  by  looks 
And  speech)  would  outdo  story.  I  may  see 
A  day  to  pay  him  for  his  loyalty. 

IBID. 
Ah  !  dere  God  !  what  mai  this  be 

That  alle  thing  weres  and  wasteth  awai  ; 
Frendschip  is  but  a  vantye 
Unnethe  hit  dures  all  a  day. 

M  S. 


Alas! 

There  are  no  more  such  masters  ;  I  may  wander 
From  east  to  Occident,  cry  out  for  service, 
Try  many,  all  good,  serve  truly,  never 
Find  such  another  master. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

"WHAT  dost  think  of  my  lord's  new 
page  ?"  inquired  the  grave  old  butler  of  the 
equally  grave  old  housekeeper  of  the  Lord 
Urban,  as  they  sat  together  in  a  small 
chamber  adjoining  the  buttery  of  the  earl's 
mansion,  taking  of  their  morning  repast. 

"  Truly  a  most  well  favored  youth  and  a 
gentle,"  replied  the  old  dame.  "  I  be  hugely 
mistaken  in  him,  good  Adam,  an'  he  be  not 
of  a  most  kindly  disposition.  Never  saw  I 
youth  so  courteous,  and  yet  so  humble 
withal.  He  is  ever  ready  to  do  all  manner 
of  friendly  offices  to  whoever  he  coineth 
anigh  ;  and  yet  of  such  humility  as  he  seemeth, 
there  is  a  look  and  behavior  with  him  that 
is  manifestly  much  above  the  service  he 
hath  put  himself  upon." 

"  Ay,  Joyce,  that  hath  struck  me  more 
than  once,"  observed  Adam.  "  But  there  is 
another  thing  which  I  have  observed  in  this 
Bertram,  in  which  he  differs  greatly  from 
youths  of  his  own  age,  as  far  as  I  have  seen 
—  and  this  is,  his  constant  refraining  from 
all  kinds  of  pastime.  Despite  of  his  appa- 
rent cheerfulnaes  I  cannot  help  thinking  he 
hath  some  secret  sorrow  which  he  alloweth 
to  prey  on  his  gentle  nature.  I  have  not 
lived  these  years  without  acquiring  some 
cunning  in  observing  of  faces  ;  and  1  do  de- 
tect in  his  such  signs  as  assure  me  he  is  in 
no  way  happy." 

"  Perchance  that  shall  make  him  the  bet- 
ter company  for  my  lord,"  said  Joyce.  "  In- 
deed, they  are  so  like  in  their  humors, 
methinks  they  cannot  help  taking  to  each 
other  with  a  mutual  good  will.  It  is  evi- 
dent the  page  loveth  his  lord,  he  speaketh  of 
him  so  fondly,  and  attendeth  on  him  with  se 


186 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


affectionate  a  reverence  ;  and  as  it  appear- 
eth  to  me,  the  earl  is  wonderfully  partial  to 
his  young  attendant,  for  he  is  never  easy 
save  when  he  is  present." 

"  Truly  I  think  so,"  added  the  old  butler. 

"  I  marvel  he  hath  not  come,"  observed 
the  housekeeper. 

"  He  tasteth  nothing  himself  till  his  mas- 
ter hath  sufficed  himself,"  replied  Adam ; 
"  and  'tis  as  pretty  a  sight  as  can  well  be 
seen,  to  note  how,  with  what  store  of  sweet 
persuasions,  the  page  getteth  his  lord  to  par- 
take of  the  dainties  he  setteth  before  him, 
till  he  hath  made  a  fair  meal.  But  here 
cometh  his  light  footstep  along  the  passage." 

The  next  minute  the  youth  who  had  been 
William  Shakspeare's  fellow  traveller  en- 
tered the  chamber,  clad  like  a  page  in  the 
livery  of  the  Lord  Urban,  with  a  sword  and 
dagger,  much  improved  in  his  looks,  though 
still  of  a  more  delicate  appearance  than  is 
common  with  one  of  his  age.  Courteously 
he  saluted  the  two  ancient  domestics,  in  a 
manner  as  gentle  as  if  they  were  his  good 
parents  rather  than  his  fellow  servants,  and 
took  his  place  beside  them,  accepting  what 
they  helped  him  to  with  abundance  of  thank- 
fulness, and  only  regretting  he  should  put 
them  to  such  trouble.  And  this  behavior- 
of  his  so  took  the  hearts  of  old  Adam  and 
his  companion,  that  they  appeared  as  if  they 
could  not  do  half  enough  to  show  how  won- 
drously  it  pleased  them. 

"  And  how  fareth  our  noble  master,  sweet 
sir  ?"  inquired  the  housekeeper. 

"  He  mends  apace,  good  dame,"  replied 
the  youth.  "  Indeed,  I  am  now  in  hopes  he 
may  be  got  out  altogether  of  his  unhappy 
frenzies  and  terrible  sad  fits  of  melancholy. 
Alack  !  'tis  a  most  grievous  thing  so  noble 
a  gentleman  should  be  in  so  sad  a  case  as 
he  is!" 

"  All !  that  is  it,"  exclaimed  Adam  sor- 
rowfully. "  But  dost  know  what  great  cause 
he  hath  had  for  such  deep  sadness  ?" 

"  Nay.  not  a  word  of  it,"  answered  Ber- 
tram ;  "  nor  am  I  in  any  way  desirous  to 
learn,  unless  my  lord  think  ifc  fit  I  should.  I 
only  know  he  is  a  most  unhappy  gentleman, 
and  methinks  that  should  be  enough  know- 
ledge for  me  to  strain  my  exertions  to  the 
utmost,  to  lead  him  into  more  pleasino-  feel- 

•  ?! 

ings." 

"I  do  famously  approve  of  such  discre- 
tion," said  the  old  dame ;  and  then,  as  was 
customary  of  her,  recommenced  pressing 
him  to  make  a  better  meal.  "  Truly,  never 
met  I  a.ny  person  with  such  strange  lack  of 
appetite,"  she  added,  on  finding  her  endea- 
vors of  no  avail.  "  O'  my  word,  you  must 
not  hope  to  attain  any  stoutness  of  flesh,  go 


you  on  with  so  poor  a  stomach.  But  may- 
hap there  are  other  things  you  might  more 
relish.  There  is  a  fair  portion  of  a  roast  kid 
now,  cooked  but  yesterday,  that  worfd  make 
most  delicate  eating  for  your  breakfast,  that 
I  will  get  for  you,  please,  you  to  say  you 
could  fancy  it — or  I  will  have  for  you  a  ten- 
der pullet  broiled  on  the  instant,  an'  you  tell 
me  you  have  a  mind  for  so  nice  a  dainty.'1 

"  Indeed  I  thank  you  very  heartily,  I  am 
well  content  with  the  excellent  bountiful 
meal  I  have  made,"  replied  the  page.  There- 
upon the  old  butler  entreated  him  to  make  a 
more  prodigal  use  of  the  ale  on  the  table,  or 
allow  of  his  fetching  him  a  cup  of  choice 
malmsey  or  canary  :  but  the  youth  cour- 
teously thanked  him,  yet  could  not  be  in- 
duced to  taste  a  drop  more  beyond  what  he 
had  drank.  Immediately  after  this,  one  of 
the  grooms  of  the  chamber  came  to  tell  Ber- 
tram his  lord  wanted  him ;  upon  which  he 
made  what  haste  he  could  towards  that  part 
of  the  building  where  the  earl  had  chose  to 
lodge  himself.  Whilst  the  youth  is  making 
his  way  through  the  long  passages  and 
broad  staircases  of  this  goodly  mansion,  the 
reader  shall  at  once  be  transported  to  the 
Lord  Urban's  chamber. 

It  was  a  gloomy  apartment  of  some  di 
mensions,  lighted  only  by  a,  window  of  stain- 
ed glass.  On  one  side  of  it  was  a  large 
botik-case,  well  stored  with  volumes  of  dif- 
ferent sizes — the  chimney-piece  was  carved 
all  round  with  armorial  bearings,  in  almost 
numberless  different  compartments  — the 
chairs  and  couches  were  covered  with  the 
same  dark  tapestry  as  the  panels,  and  the 
table  in  the  centre  bore  a  coverlet  of  some 
black  stuff,  ornamented  with  a  deep  border 
of  the  same  color.  At  the  end  of  the  cham- 
ber opposite  the  book-case,  on  each  side  of 
the  window,  were  two  large  portraits,  in 
carved  oak  frames, — one  a  handsome  young 
knight,  in  full  armor,  doubtless  meant  for 
the  earl  in  his  younger  days  :  and  the  other 
was  completely  hid  under  a  black  cloth. 
There  were  two  doors  to  this  chamber,  one  of 
which  was  the  entrance,  and  the  other  led 
into  an  ante-chamber  where  the  page  slept, 
and  to  the  earl's  bed-chamber  which  was 
beyond  it.  There  was  no  sign  of  living 
thing  near,  save  a  fine  grey-hound  that  was 
listlessly  stretching  himself  by  sliding  his 
fore  paws  close  together  along  the  glossy 
flooring  till  they  \\  ere  thrust  out  their  full 
length,  and  then  he  would  make  a  faint  sort 
of  whining  as  he  looked  about  and  found 
iiimself  alone. 

Presently  a  noise  like  the  turning  of  a 
key  was  heard,  which  made  the  dog  some- 
what more  attentive,  but  instead  of  looking 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


187 


towards  either  of  the  doors,  his  eyes  were  i  well,  and  doubtless  I  was  too  deeply  engaged 
fixed  in  a  different  direction,  and  the  next  in  mine  own  thoughts  to  take  any  heed  of 
moment  a  concealed  door  was  seen  to  open,  j  thy  knocking.  But  didst  hear  me  say  any 
and  thereat  with  exceeding  cautiousness,  |  thing  discreditable  ? — Ought  to  my  disadvan- 

the  Lord  Urban  made  his  appearance,  clad  j  tage  ?     Spoke  I  at  all  of ?"     The  earl 

in  a  suit  of  black  velvet,  and  looking  as  if  j  seemed  as  though  the  word  choked  him,  for 
moved  with  so  monstrous  a  sadness  no  heart  |  he  could  not  speak  it,  and  wrung  the  hand  of 
could  live  under  it.  After  closing  the  door  j  his  young  attendant,  which  he  had  affection- 
as  cautiously  as  he  had  opened  it,  the  earl  i  ately  seized  when  his  humor  changed  from 


flung  himself  into  a  couch,  and  with  an  as- 
pect of  a  most  woful  sort,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  black  curtain  that  covered  the  pic- 
ture. All  this  while  it  was  evident  his 


its  sudden  furiousness,  and  turned  away. 

"  Alas,  my  lord,  such  I  have  heard  too 
often  to  pay  them  any  manner  of  heed,"  an- 
swered Bertram  sorrowfully.  "They  are 


mind  was  in  great  trouble.     His  lips  would  !  but  the  natural  offspring  of  your  phrenzy — 


move  and  curl  into  strange  expressions,  far 
from  pleasing  ;  his  eyes  seemed  to  strain  as 
if  after  some  object  that  was  fading  from 
their  sight,  and  then  he  would  start  back. 
His  breast  heaved,  and  his  face  grew  cloud- 
ed. He  would  frown  till  the  wrinkles  on 
his  forehead  appeared  to  be  so  pressed  and 
squeezed  together  they  must  needs  crack — 
and  draw  in  his  lips  so  long  and  strongly,  his 
mouth  disappeared  under  the  beard  of  the 
lower  part  of  it.  The  greyhound  looked  as 
though  he  had  again  composed  himself  to 
sleep ;  yet  would  he  open  his  eyes  and  fix 
them  on  his  master  with  a  curious  interest, 
at  every  start  or  sudden  exclamation  the  earl 
made. 

"  'Twas  a  rightful  deed !"  muttered  the 
Lord  Urban,  in  deep  thick  tones  that  spoke 

a  far  profounder  meaning  than  the   mere  { ings  of  your  distempered  fancy  can  weigh 
wards  conveyed.    '^  'Twas  a  just  vengeance  !  j  only  as  a  feather  in  the  balance." 
The  greatly  guilty  should  be  greatly  pun-  j      "  True,  boy,  true,"  cried  the  earl,  a  faint 
ished!"      Presently   a    strong    shuddering  i  smile  making  itself  visible  on  his  noble  fea- 
passed  over   him,  and  his  aspect  changed  j  tures,  as  he  more  tenderly  pressed  the  hand 
from 
chc  _ 

exclaimed  the  earl,  in  broken  accents  that !  so  horrible  base  a  wretch  as  I  do  sometimes 
were  scarce  audible;  "  a  deed  by  which  I !  think  myself.  I  do  assure  thee  I  have  been 
have  forfeited  all  reputation  here,  and  hope  !  in  wonderful  reputation  of  the  noblest  per- 
hereafter.  An  unknightly  deed — a  coward-  j  sons,  for  all  truly  famous  and  noble  qualities. 
ly  deed — a  most  horrible  base  murder  !  i  Indeed,  I  have  been  from  my  youth  ready  to 
Ha  !"  screamed  the  unhappy  man,  when,  on  '  cast  aside  every  one  thing  most  valued, 
raising  his  eyes,  he  met  those  of  his  page,  i  rather  than  the  slightest  blemish  should  rest 
upon  whom  he  hastily  rushed,  and  seized  by  |  upon  my  honor.  Surely  then  it  cannot  be 
the  throat  as  though  he  were  about  to  stran-  I  should  in  a  moment  thrift  away  from  me 
gle  him.  "  Dost  come  prying  and  listening,  the  fame  I  had  labored  so  long  and  well  to 
fellow  !  Nay — nay — "  he  added,  as  sudden-  |  acquire,  and  do  so  cruel  a  deed  all  men  that 
ly  letting  go  the  youth  as  he  had  laid  hold  of  j  knewit  would  cry  shame." 
him.  "I  mean  thee  no  hurt,  boy! — O'  my  "It  is  too  improbable  to  be  considered  a 
life,  I  will  not  harm  thee.  But  why  dids't !  moment,  my  lord,"  replied  his  young  corn- 
enter  without  knocking  ?"  !  panion. 

"  I  knocked  many  times,  my  lord,  but  you  i  "  And  yet  thou  knowest  not  the  provo- 
answered  me  not,"  replied  Bertram,  with  !  cation  that  may  lead  to  such  things,"  added 
more  sympathy  in  his  looks  than  fear.  "  And  j  his  lord,  with  a  more  touching  earnestness. 
you  having  sent  for  me  pressingly,  I  made  i  "  It  seemeth  to  me  the  very  honorablest  sort 


that  none,  who  know  you,  and  love  you, 
would  take,  save  as  evidence  of  your  exceed- 
ing unhappiness." 

"  And  dost  not  believe  I  have  committed 
such  wrongful  act  as  I  have  declared  ?"  in- 
quired the  Lord  Urban,  again  taking  his 
page  kindly  by  the  hand,  and  looking  into 
his  face  Avith  a  countenance  of  sadness 
mingled  with  affection. 

"  How  could  I  credit'  so  intolerable  a 
thing  ?"  exclaimed  the  youth.  "  Methinks 
the  generous  treatment  I  have  received  at 
your  hands  would  suffice  to  plant  your  no- 
bleness firmly  in  my  opinion,  but  what  I 
have  seen  of  your  other  actions  is  of  the 
like  honorable  character ;  and  surely  these 
common  acts  are  the  properest  evidence  to 
judge  ytm  by — against  which  the  idle  say- 


om  a  severe  sternness  to  a  painful  melan-  j  he  held  in  his  own.     "  Such  things  must 
loly.     "1T\vas  a  most   infamous   deed  !"  i  need  be  of  my  mind's  disorder.     I  cannot  be 


bold  to  enter  without  further  delaying." 

"  Right,  boy,  right !"  said  his  lord  hurried- 
ly.   -"  I  did  send  for  thee  I  remember  me 


of  man  may  be  maddened  by  wrong  into  the 
showing  of  such  notorious  ill  behavior. 
Thou  art  too  young  to  judge  of  this.  Thai 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


canst  npt  yet  enter  into  the  feelings  of  a 
man  who  having  attained  the  highest  emi- 
nence of  nobleness,  in  extreme  confidence 
he  shall  so  live  and  die,  on  a  sudden  findeth 
himself  reduced  to  the  lowest  base  abject- 
ness,  by  one  who  was  the  last  of  all  in  his 
expectation  to  do  him  any  evil." 

"  Truly,  I  never  heard  of  so  hapless  a 
case,"  observed  the  page. 

"  Doubtless  'tis  somewhat  rare,"  saiu  the 
earl.  "  But,  prithee,  get  me  a  book  and 
read.  I  would  be  amused  out  of  this  hu- 
mor. Fetch  the  same  goodly  romance  thou 
wert  engaged  upon  yesterday."  The  page 
cheerfully  did  as  he  was  required,  believing, 
by  so  doing,  he  should  beguile  the  earl  of 
his  unhappiness  ;  and  presently  sitting  him- 
self in  a  chair  with  a  huge  volume  in  his 
lap,  commenced  reading  of  the  marvellous 
adventures  of  certain  famous  knights.  He 
soon  got  to  be  too  much  interested  in  the 
narrative  to' attend  to  his  hearer,  whom  he 
fully  believed  to  be  as  completely  taken  with 
the  book  as  himsAf, — but  such  was  far  from 
being  the  case,  for  though  the  earl  at  first 
appeared  attending  to  what  was  being  read 
to  him,  in  a  few  minutes  it  was  evident  from 
the  changed  expression  of  his  countenance, 
his  mind  was  engrossed  by  a  very  different 
matter.  A  hollow  groan  at  last  forced  the 
page  to  desist  awhile  from  his  reading. 

The  noble  features  of  the  earl  tiow  ap- 
peared black  and  distorted,  as  though  under 
the  influence  of  a  great  agony — his  eyes 
with  a  sad  fixedness  staring  at  vacancy, 
and  his  hands  clenching  fast  the  arms  of  the 
chair  on  which  he  sat — his  head  leaning 
forward,  one  leg  under  the  seat  and  the 
other  projecting  stiffly  before  him — in  brief, 
the  whole  attitude  as  strained  as  a  mere  ef- 
figy of  stone. 

"  Murder  !"  muttered  he  in  the  most  thril- 
ling tones  Bertram  had  ever  heard.  "  Oh, 
infamous  !  Oh,  most  base  deed  !  Oh,  in- 
tolerable foul  blot  upon  mine  honor  !  Nought 
can  erase  the  stain.  Reputation  !  thou  art 
lost  to  me  forever !  But  who  slandereth 
me  ?  Who  dare  ?ay  ought  to  my  discredit  V 
inquired  he  in  a  louder  voice,  and  with  a 
fieice  frowning  look.  "  Am  I  not  Urban  de 
la  Pole  1  Urban  the  reproachless  1  'Tvvas 
a  just  deed  !  Who  dares  proclaim  it  to  be 
a  murder  ?" 

"  My  lord !  my  lord  !  I  pray  you  out  of 
this  phrenzy  !"  exclaimed  the  page  urgent- 
ly, as  he  pushed  his  lord  slightly  on  the 
shoulder  to  arouse  him  from  his  strange 
fancies.  At  this  the  lattor  started  of  a  sud- 
den, and  grasped  his  young  companion's 
arm  with  both  his  hands,  staring  upon  liim 
with  a  somewhat  bewildered  gaze. 


"  Ha !  what  dost  say,  boy  ?"  hastily  in- 
quired he,  just  above  his  breath,  as  it  were. 

"  I  beseech  you,  my  lord,  not  to  allow  of 
these  violent  terrible  fits  to  jift  so  much  the 
better  of  you,"  replied  Bertram,  in  a  most 
earnest  voice,  and  with  a  look  of  deepest 
sympathy.  "  Believe  me,  there  is  no  ono 
person  anywhere  nigh  unto  you,  would 
breathe  one  word  bjit  to  your  well-Hoscm-d 
praise.  It  grieveth  me  to  the  heart  to  see 
so  noble  a  gentleman  so  movi'd.  1  marvel 
such  gloomy  shadows,  the  mere  cheats  of  a 
disordered  mind,  should  have  such  power 
over  your  excellent  sweet  nature." 

"  I  do  believe  thou  lovest  me,  boy,"  said 
the  earl,  taking  the  other's  hand  in  his 
wonted  kind  manner. 

"  Ay,  that  do  I,  right  heartily,  my  lord  !" 
exclaimed  the  youth,  with  a  most  convincing 
sincerity.  "  I  love  you  for  your  truly  noble 
character — such  as  I  have  heard  from  divers 
of  your  honest  faithful  servants — for  the 
greatness  of  your  heart  and  honorablencss 
of  your  conduct — as  shown  in  a  long  career 
of  truly  glorious  deeds — for  your  bountiful 
generousness  of  disposition  to  every  dis- 
tressed poor  person  of  whose  wants  you  can 
gain  intelligence  ; — and  J  love  you  ior  your 
noble  behavior  to  myself — the  very  creature 
of  your  prodigal  kindness — whom  you  have 
saved  from  the  horriblest  evils  humanity 
can  endure.  You  found  me  with  nought 
else  to  recommend  me  to  your  notice  but  the 
desperateness  of  my  state.  You  took 
charge  of  me,  attended  me  as  a  dear  friend 
rather  thsfn  a  master  ;  gave  back  to  me  the 
health  which  long  suffering  had  deprived  me 
of ;  and  the  home  that  villainy  had  forced 
me  from  ;  and  yet,  with  the  full  confidence 
of  a  perfect  honorable  nature,  up  to  this 
hour  you  have  afforded  me  all  the  succor  I 
needed,  without  asking  me  one  word  of  the 
cause  that  brought  me  into  such  necessity. 
I  might  ,not  be  the  thing  I  seemed — per- 
chance, one  quite  unworthy  of  your  smallest 
esteem  ;  but  out  of  your  own  abundant  good- 
ness, you  found  me  such  qualities  as  I  most 
needed,  and  took  me  into  your  service,  with- 
out trial,  question,  or  doubt.  Truly,  my 
lord,  methinks  you  have  given  me  great  cause 
to  love  you.' 

"  I  bless  the  hour  I  met  thee  in  the  wood," 
said  the  Lord  de  la  Pole,  with  affectionate 
earnestness.  "  I  have  received  more  com- 
fort of  thy  untiring  heed  of  me  than  have  I 
known,  I  scarce  can  say  the  day  when,  it 
seemeth  so  long  since.  I  will  prove  anon 
how  much  I  do  esteem  thy  loving  ser- 
vice." 

"I  care  to  have  but  one  proof,  an'  it 
please  you,  my  lord,"  said  Bertram,  "  and 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


189 


that  if  what  I  have  been  laboring  for  to  gain 
all  this  time." 

"  Ay,  indeed  ?  Prithee  say  what  it  is  ?' 
asked  the  earl. 

"  It  is  but  to  have  you  return  to  the  gal- 
lant activity  and  proper  cheerfulness  shown 
by  yon  in  times  past,"  replied  his  young 
companion.  At  hearing  this  the  Lord  Ur- 
ban shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"  Ah,  boy, 'that  can  never  be  !"  said  he, 
with  a  deep  sad  emphasis  that  went  direct  to 
the  hearer's  heart. 

"  Try,  my  lord,  I  beseech  you."  added  the 
other  imploringly.  "  Hie  you  to  court,  and 
tloubt  not  the  example  of  your  nobleness 
would  be  of  especial  advantage  to  every  gal- 
lant  spirit  that  shall  there  be  found.  Take 
voar  proper  place  among  the  powerfullest 
lords  of  the  realm,  and  be  ever  ready  to  af- 
ford them  that  counsel  which  your  expe- 
rience teacheth  you — or  be  as  you  have  so 
often  been  before,  the  valiant  leader  of  the 
chivalry  of  England,  bearing  your  resistless 
banner  into  the  very  heart  of  the  battle." 

"  Ay,  talk  of  these  things,  boy — talk  of 
them  as  long  as  thou  wilt !"  exclaimed  the 
earl,  as  a  gleam  of  proud  triumph  seemed 
sfeiftng  in  his  eyes.  "  I  was  not  always  as 
I  am.  There  hath  been  many  a  hard  fought 
field  wherein  my  spear  and  curtle-axe  have 
done  notable  service.  Thqse  were  glorious 
days, — those  were  gallant  scenes.  The 
neighing  of  the  war  steed,  as  he  rusheth  to 
the  conflict  at  the  piercing  cry  of  the  trump- 
et, soundeth  in  my  ears  even  now, — and  the 
waving  penons  and  the  glittering  lances, 
and  tha  restless  rush  of  knights  and  men- 
at-arms,  again  return  to  mine  eyes.  I  feel 
stirred  in  every  vein.  Methinks  I  could  seek 
the  enemy  with  all  the  valor  of  my  early 
manhood,  and  raise  the  same  resounding 
war  cry  that  hath  made  the  fiercest  of  the 
battle  to  rage  around  me  wherever  I  passed." 

"  Ay',  that  could  you,  my  lord,  I  would 
wager  my  life  on  it !"  cried  the  page,  de- 
lighted,beyond  measure  to  notice  such  a  hu- 
mor in  the  earl.  "  England  hath  still  ene- 
mies to  subdue — and  there  yet  remain  for 
her  gallant  defenders  many  hard  fought 
•fields  to  be  won.  Would  you  remain  in 
inglorious  ease  when  the  foes  of  your 
country  are  striving  for  her  overthrow,  and 
give  yourself  up  to  a  vain  grief  when  the 
dangers  that  threaten  the  land  require  you  to 
hasten  to  the  rescue  1  I  beseech  you  free 
yourself  from  the  trammels  of  your  sorrow 
— don  your  favorite  armor — bestride  your 
choicest  steed — call  to  your  standard  the  old 
companions  of  your  valor,  and  speed  wher- 
ever glory  is  to  be  gained  or  wrong  re- 
dressed ;  and  be  assured  that  net  only  shall 


'  the  greatness  of  your  fame  exceed  your 
j  former  reputation,  wherever  your  name  can 
be  heard,  but  that  you  shall  enjoy  such  con- 
tent, such  marvellous  comfort,  and  such 
wonderful  sweet  happiness,  as  have  never 
visited  you  all  your  life  before." 

"  Ah  boy,  thou  knowest  nothing  of  what 
I  have  endured,"  answered  the  Lord  Urban, 
and  to  his  companion's  exceeding  disconten-, 
tation,  manifestly  in  as  complete  a  sadness 
as  ever.     "Thou  speakest  in  entire  ignor- 
ance, else  wouldst  thou  have  refrained  from 
so  perfect  a  mockery  as  speaking  to  me  of 
happiness.     Be  sure,  that  were  I  not  held 
to  this  spot  by  a  chain,  from  which  nought 
biit  the  grave  can  release  me,  long  ere  this, 
I  I  would  have  sought  in  the  thickest  of  the 
\  enemy  a  death,  by  which   my  name  might 
j  obtain  that  honor  which  hath  been  denied  to 
my  life.     Comfort !"  exclaimed  he,  in  tones 
scarce  articulate,  as  he  let  go  the  hand  he 
J  had  held  so  long.     "  Prithee,  speak  not  to 
me  such  a  word  again  ;"  and  so  saying,   he 
rose  from  his  seat,  and  slowly  traced  his 
way  out  of  the  chamber. 

Bertram  gazed  after  him,  with  eyes  full 
of  the  tenderest  solicitude,  and  remained  for 
some  moments  after  his  lord  had  disappeared, 
in  a  deep  reverie  of  thought. 

It  may  be  taken  as  an  invariable  truth} 
that  a  truly  honorable  mind  is  ever  a  conn- 
ding  one,  and  taketh  every  fair  appearance 
to  be  what  it  resembles.  Doubt  and  suspicion 
belong  only  to  the  meaner  sort.  Those 
whose  intentions  are  thoroughly  honest  put 
the  fullest  confidence  in  the  dealings  of  their 
associates  ;  and  when  once  opinion  getteth 
to  be  fixed  in  them  of  another's  worthiness, 
a  prejudicial  thought  finds  such  difficulty  of 
entrance  in  their  unsuspecting  minds,  that  it 
requireth  some  extraordinary  evidence  before 
it  will  be  entertained.  Thus  was  it  with 
this  youth.  Of  his  lord's  nobility  of  charac- 
ter he  had  formed  so  strong  a  conviction, 
from  what  he  had  heard  and  seen  of  him, 
that  such  a  thing  as  suspecting  him  of 
a  dishonorable  action,  was  utterly  beyond 
the  bounds  of  possibility  ;  therefore,  all  the 
Earl's  self  accusations  and  dark  allusions 
the  other  could  only  treat  in  the  manner 
already  described,  as  distempered  fantasies 
arising  from  the  gloomy  melancholy  in 
which  he  had  indulged,  as  the  page  had 
heard,  since  the  death  of  his  Countess. 

And  thus  it  went  on  for  many  months,  the 
faithful  Bertram  striving  all  he  could  to  win 
the  Earl  from  the  terrible  sorrow,  with  which, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  his  lord  was  afflicted  ; 
and  ever  imagining  he  was  succeeding  in 
his  endeavors,  till  some  violent  fit  of  frenzy 
would  make  its  appearance  in  the  object  of 


190 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


his  grateful  love,  and  prove  how  little  he  had 
gained  by  his  affectionate  painstaking:.  He 
had  observed,  with  some  marvelling,  that 
when  he  had  left  the  Earl  for  any  length  of 
time  in  the  chamber  that  served  for  his 
library,  on  his  return  he  was  sure  to  find 
him,  either  gloomily  abstracted,  or  in  some 
violent  excitement.  Sometimes,  long  fits  of 
dreadful  self-reproach  would  follow,  and  at 
'others,  he  would  fiercely  insist  he  had  done 
a  right  thing.  In  the  end  he  was  sure  to 
relapse  into  his  customary  sadness,  from 
which  it  was  with  exceeding  difficulty  he 
was  thoroughly  roused.  It  chanced  to  hap, 
that  wanting  Lord  de  la  Pole  on  one  occa- 
sion, to  acquaint  him  with  something  he  had 
forgot,  Bertram  returned  to  the  library,  where 
he  had  left  him  a  few  minutes  since,  and 
not  finding  him  there,  there  waited,  believing 
the, Earl  had  retired  to  his  bed-chamber. 

Finding  his  lord's  stay  was  longer  than 
he  anticipated,  he  took  up  a  book  and  sat 
himself  down.  He  had  not  been  long  en- 
gaged in  reading,  when  he  heard  a  noise 
close  to  him,  and  glancing  towards  the  spot 
whence  it  proceeded,  to  his  exceeding  won- 
der, beheld  a  portion  of  the  book-case  open 
like  a  door,  and  immediately  alter,  the  Earl 
enter  the  chamber  by  its  means,  and  close  it 
carefully  after  him.  It  was  manifest  the 
Lord  Urban  had  no  expectation  of  finding 
his  page  where  he  was  at  that  time ;  for,  on 
the  instant  he  caught  sight  of  him,  he  started 
with  a  sudden  exclamation  of  surprise,  and 
his  look  was  angry,  and  his  manner  more 
severe  towards  Bertram  than  ever  the  youth 
had  known  it  to  be. 

"  How  darest  thou  come  here  unhid  ?"  ex- 
claimed the  Earl,  as  with  folded  arms  he 
regarded  his  youthful  companion  with  a 
stern  scrutiny.  "  Dost  seek  to  pry  into  my 
secret  ?  Have  I  then  all  this  time  been  but 
encouraging  a  pitiful  spy,  who  laboreth  to 
thrust  his  curiousness  into  my  most  hidden 
affairs,  that  lie  might  betray  me  to  the 
world  ?" 

"  My  lord !  my  lord  !  believe  me,  I  never 
entertained  so  base  a  thought,"  replied  the 
page,  much  affected  his  lord  should  think  so 
ill  of  him. 

"  Wilt  promise  never  to  divulge  what 
thou  hast  seen  ?"  inquired  the  Lord  de  la 
Pole,  with  increased  earnestness.  ( 

"  In  very  truth,  my  lord,  I  never  should 
hare  mentioned  it  to  any  person  living  if  I 
thought  you  so  desired,"  said  the  other. 

"  Swear  it  !"  cried  the  Earl,  suddenly 
grasping  his  companion  firmly  by  the  wrist, 
seemingly  violenlly  agitated.  "  Down  on 
thy  knees  and  swear  by  all  thy  hopes  of  hap- 
piness here  and  hereafter,  thou  wilt  hint  to 


none  there  is  other  entrance  to  this  chamber 
save  those  with  which  all  are  acquainted." 
The  page  knelt  as  he  was  desired,  and  re- 
peated, as  his  companion  stood  sternly  over 
him,  the  form  of  the  oath  he  was  required  to 
take. 

"  As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  you  need  no 
oaths  to  bind  me  to  your  will,"  urgently  ex- 
claimed the  youth. 

The  Earl  appeared  scarcely  satisfied  even 
by  this  solemn  security  he  had  exacted.  He 
was  still  showing  most  undeniable  signs  he 
was  terribly  influenced  by  some  dark  pas- 
sion, for  anger  flashed  from  his  eyes,  and 
distrust  appeared  in  every  feature  of  his 
countenance  ;  his  breathing  was  hard  and 
loud,  and  at  every  gasp  of  breath  his  breast 
heaved  as  though  it  would  force  its  fasten- 
ings. 

"  Be  assured,  my  lord,  I  am  your  obedient 
poor  servant,  and  would  die  rather  than 
betray  any  secret  you  might  entrust  me 
with,"  continued  the  other.  "  But  it  grieveth 
me  to  the  heart  you  should  think  so  ill  of 
me.  I  coidd  bear  anything  rather  than  you 
should  doubt  of  my  entire  allegiance.  Other 
friend  tha'n  you  have  I  none  in  the  wide 
world,  and  therefore  what  could  induce^me 
to  play  the  traitor  to  your  confidence.  I 
beseech  you,  -my  lord,  put  away  so  ungra- 
cious a  thought.  As  I  trust  in  God's  mercy, 
I  have  done  nought  to  merit  it." 

"  Well,  well,  boy,  perchance  I  have  been 
too  hasty,"  replied  the  Earl,  somewhat 
moved  by  the  touching  earnestness  of  the 
youth's  speech.  But  never  stay » in  this 
chamber,  even  for  a  minute,  when  I  am  not 
present.  I  should  have  told  thee  of  this,  my 
desire,  sooner,  but  it  never  struck  me  there 
would  be  necessity  for  it." 

The  promise  was  cheerfully  made,  and 
the  Lord  Urban's  customary  kindness  re- 
turning, all  trace  of  unpleasantness  speedily 
vanished  from  both. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Should    •fre  disdain   our   vines    because    they* 

sprout 
Before  their   time  ?     Or  young  men   if  they 

strove 
Beyond  their  reach  ?     No  ;  vines  that  bloom 

and  hpread 

Do  promise  fruit,  and  young  men  that  are  wild 
In  age  grow  wise. 

GREENE. 

THE  best  room  at  the  Crown  Inn  at  Ox- 
ford was  filled  with  noisy  boisterous  students, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


191 


most  of  whom  were  seated  at  a  long  table, 
covered  with  drinking  vessels,   at  the  top 
of  which  was  no  other  person  than   Wil- 
liam Shakspeare,  for  whom  indeed  all  had 
assembled.     The    two    scholars   that   had 
been  his   fellow  travellers  in  the  waggon, 
spread  amongst  their  acquaintance  of  their  j 
different   colleges,  the  fame  of  the  young 
countryman   who   had    so   charmed    them 
with  his  eloquent  sweet  rhetoric,  and  this 
presently  brought  whole  companies  of  stu-  \ 
dents  to  see  this  marvellous  person.     They 
were  so  delighted  with  his  ready  wit  and 
admirable   perfect  knowledge  of  all  man-  j 
ner  of  subjects,  that  they  increased  his  re-  j 

Sutation  so  over  the  university,  the  dvvel-  j 
ng  of  John  D'Avenant,  large  as  it  was,  j 
could  scarce  contain  the  wonderful  great 
press  of  guests  that  flocked  into  it. 
Doubtless  this  made  the  cause  of  such 
famous  custom  to  be  in  especial  liking  with 
mine  host — but  independent  of  these  consi- 
derations, he  could  not  help  relishing  his 
guest's  society,  it  was  so  full  of  cheerful  ease 
and  pleasant  h*mor  ;  and  as  for  mine  hos- 
tess, if  there  existeth  any  language  in  a  pair 
of  lustrous  dark  eyes,  she  did  discourse  to 
him  right  eloquently  of  the  favor  in  which 
he  was  held  by  her. 

Doubtless  these  latter  would  gladly  enough 
have  kept  their  young  guest  where  he  was, 
but  he  had  expressed  his  determination  to 
start  for  London  the  following  morning,  and 
this  becoming  known,  the  scholars  must 
needs  give  him  a  parting  entertainment,  and 
therefore  were  they  crammed  so  thick  in 
that  chamber.  Divers  were  thronging  up  to 
the  head  of  the  table,  wine  cup  in  hand,  to 
pledge  him,  and  there  was  a  monstrous  shak- 
ing of  hands  and  shouting  of  good  will ; 
others  were  talking  across  the  tabk;,  or 
leaning  over  others  to  claim  the  attention  of 
a  distant  fellow  student.  Mistress  D'Aven- 
ant was  attending  to  .her  numerous  guests  as 
well  as  she  could,  now  listening  with  pretty 
coquetry  as  one  of  the  mad  youths  retained 
her  by  the  hand,  as  he  whispered  something 
in  her  ear,  which  was  sure  to  be  followed  by 
a  box  of  his  own  from  the  comely  woman, 
though  not  one  that  argued  any  great  spite- 
fulness,  and  the  oflender  would  laugh  as  if 
he  had  performed  some  excellent  sweet  mis- 
chief; and  presently  answering  the  num- 
berless sweet  compliments,  which  poured  ox 
her  from  every  side,  with  some  sprightly  jes- 
ting speech,  which  appeared  to  put  every 
bearer  into  a  sudden  exstacy. 

A  party  had  got  hold  of  her  husband  in  a 
corner,  and  were  trying  him  with  all  the 
forms  of  pleading  used  in  a  court  of  justice, 
aad  he  appeared  to  take  the  jest  very  plea- 


santly, defending  himself  with  what  wit  he 
had,  and  leaving  his  case  to  .the  merciful 
consideration  of  his  judges.  Another  party 
in  another  comer  were  dancing  of  a  measure 
to  their  own  singing.  Such  a  curious  hum 
of  voices  surely  hath  rarely  been  heard 
before.  Sometimes  the  speeches  were  in 
Latin,  and  at  others  English.  Here  was 
shouted  the  fag  end  of  a  macaronic  verse, 
there  the  well  known  burthen  of  a  popular 
ballad  ;  and  this  was  mingled  with  a  din  of 
cries  for  more  wine  to  the  drawers  ;  a 
knocking  of  cups  and  flasks  to  attract  the 
attention  of  their  companions,  and  peals  of 
laughter  so  long  and  loud  it  would  often  out- 
drown  every  other  noise. 

"  Will  Shakspeare  !  VVill  Shakspeare  !" 
bawled  several  of  the  revelers  at  the  table. 

"  What  wouldst,  my  hearts  of  oak  ?"  re- 
plied their  companion,  almost  hid  amongst 
the  throng  of  laughing  riotous  scholars,  who 
had  left  their  seats  the  better  to  enjoy  his 
admirable  jests. 

"  Prithee  heed  not  those  knaves  of  Ba- 
liol,"  said  a  reund  faced  stout  little  fellow  at 
his  elbow,  who  made  himself  the  noisiest  and 
merriest  of  the  whole  party. 

"  '  Knaves  of  Baliol,'  thou  Brazen-nose 
calf,"  exclaimed,  from  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  a  tall  youth  with  long  hair,  and  a  nose 
that  served  his  associates  as  a  peg  to,  hang 
their  jests  upon,  it  was  of  so  unusual  a 
length.  "  Away  with  thee,  thou  cinnamon 
rogue  !  What !  because  thou  art  a  lord, 
slialt  thou  call  names  ?  Though  thou  look- 
est  so  merry,  thou  art  but  a  sorry  lord.  I 
would  carve  a  lord  out  of  a  piece  of  ginger, 
and  he  should  give  a  nobler  flavor  to  a  bowl 
of  toast  and  ale,  than  wouldst  thou  to  a  butt 
of  malmsey." 

-  Out  on  thee,"  replied  the  young  noble- 
man. "  Truly  thou  art  a  famous  carver, 
for  thou  hast  carved  thy  nose  to  a  tine  point. 
I  would  I  could  say  as  rnuth  for  thy  wit : 
and  thou  hast  monstrous  need  of  ginger,  for 
there  shall  be  found  more  savor  in  a  dry  bis- 
cuit than  can  be  got  out  of  thee  after  such 
pressing." 

"  Nay,  press  him  not  too  hard,  I  prithee/' 
said  another,  whose  face  appeared  as  red  as 
though  it  would  have  out-glowed  the  rising 
sun.  "  At  so  social  a  meeting  I  should  not 
like  to  see  any  bones  broke." 

"  What  dost  say  thou  salamander  ?"  cried 
the  scholar  of  Baliol  somewhat  incensed  at 
this  sly  allusion  to  his  poorness  of  flesh. 
t;  Go  and  cool  thy  red  hot  aspect  in  the  river, 
it  causeth  the  whole  place  to  feel  like  an 
oven,  it  burneth  so  terribly." 

"  As  I  live  he  will  make  the  place  too  hot 
to  hold  thee,  anon,"  observed  a  companion, 


193 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SJIAKSPEARE. 


mischievously.  "  If  thou  wouldst  not  have 
us  all  roasted  alive,  blow  not  on  him  good 
Martlemas." 

"  Pooh,"  exclaimed  he  of  the  red  face. 
"  The  nose  of  such  a  bellows  must  needs 
carry  too  small  a  wind  to  inflame  me." 

"  My  nose  in  thy  teeth,  fellow !"  cried 
Master  Martlemas,  in  a  rage. 

"  I  thank  thee  very  heartily,  but  I  want 
not  so  delicate  a  toothpick,"  drily  replied  the 
other,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  his  com- 
panions. 

"  O  my  life,  have  I  got  amongst  a  party 
of  cunning  limners,  my  masters,"  here 
exclaimed  William  Shakspeare,  good  hu- 
moredly.  "  Never  saw  I  such  cleverness  in 
taking  off  features."  The  laughter  which 
followed  this  conceit,  restored  every  one  to 
an  amiable  pleasantness  on  the  instant ;  but 
such  choice  spirits  could  never  keep  toge- 
ther a  moment,  without  a  trial  of  their  young 
wits,  and  therefore  no  opportunities  were  al- 
lowed to  pass  in  which  one  could  aim  his 
weapon  at  another. 

"  Sweet  Mistress  D'Avenantl"  whispered 
&  handsome  youth,  as  he  caught  his  hostess 
round  the  waist  as  she  was  passing  him. 
''  By  those  two  lustrous  stars  of  love,  I 
swear  I  have  a  most  infinite  affection  for 
thee.1  Contrive  for  me  a  private  meeting,  I 
will  give  thee  good  proof  of  it." 

"  Canary,  did  you  say,  my  lord?"  inquired 
the  pretty  woman  aloud,  with  a  provoking 
indifferent  aspect,  as  she  glided  out  of  his 
embrace — much  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  the 
enamored  noble. 

"  Hither  my  delectable  dainty,  Hebe !" 
cried  another  close  at  hand..  "  Brew  us  an- 
other bottle  of  goodly  Sack,  and  look  thy 
sweetest  the  while — I  warrant  it  shall  want 
no  sugar." 

"  O'  my  word,  I  would  it  were  so,  Master 
Lamprey,"  said  Mistress  D'Avenant  archly. 
"  I  could  make  conserves  with  little  trouble 
and  small  expense ;  and  who  knows  but  in 
time  I  should  attain  to  such  exceeding  skill 
in  the  producing  of  sweet  subtleties,  I  might 
have  an  Oxford  scholar  or  two  done  in  sugar." 

"  Make  choice  of  me,  I  prithee,  for  thy 
first  exf^eriment,"  murmured  one  at  her  el- 
bow. '  I  would  give  thy  tempting  lips  most 
delicious  entertainment." 

"  Methinks  you  are  sweet  enough  upon 
me  as  it  is,"  replied  the  pretty  hostess,  in 
the  same  merry  humor.  "  But  I  care  not  to 
make  a  trial  of  you  provided  you  allow  your- 
self— as  it  is  necessary  in  such  cases — to 
simmer  over  a  good  tire  till  you  are  reduced 
to  a  proper  consistence,  and  I  have  scum  off 
of  you  every  portion  of  what  grnssness  you 
have."  This  speech  was  followed  by  the 


hearty  laughing  of  all  within  hearing  of  it, 
for  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed  was 
far  stouter  of  flesh  than  any  in  the  room — 
indeed,  he  was  of  a  singular  corpulence  for 
his  years. 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar  !"  cried  one,  with  a 
famous  mock  seriousness,  who  acted  as 
judge  in  the  little  court  who  had  been  trying 
their  host.  "  After  a  long  and  most  impar- 
tial trial,  you  have  been  condemned  by  a  ju- 
ry of  good  men  and  true,  on  the  testimony 
of  divers  most  approved  witness':',  whoso 
evidence  hath  not  been  shaken  one  tittle  by 
your  defence  to  be  a  most  notorious  traitor 
and  horrible  offender  against  a  certain  very 
just  and  proper  law,  made  and  provided  for 
the  express  comfort  of  this  good  city  of  Ox- 
ford— to  wit,  that  all  the  comeliest  damsels 
within  a  circuit  of  five  miles  more  or  less, 
are  and  ever  must  be  wards  of  the  verv 
worshipful  the  scholar  of  the  University, 
with  whom  can  no  man  living  contract  a 
marriage;  without  first  obtaining  their  privi- 
ty and  consent.  You  John  D'Avenant.  have 
dared  wickedly  to  seek  after  the  true  excel- 
lentest  fairest  creature  that  ever  <! 
be  in  such  covetable  wardship,  and  with  a 
most  monstrous  horrible  villainy  that  all 
honest  men  must  needs  stand  aghast  at,  you 
have  taken  her  to  wife  against  the  law 
aforesaid,  and  against  the  inclinations  of 
divers  honorable  members  of  the  very  wor- 
shipful gentlemen  scholars,  who  desired  her 
for  their  own  particular  delectation. 

"  Silence  in  the  court  there !"  shouted 
the  judge  as  if  in  a  terrible  seriousness,  for 
many  were  taking  the  jest  very  merrily. 
"  Master  Attorney  I  am  shocked  to  see  you 
so  behave  yourself  at  so  awful  a  moment." 

"  My  lord.  I  humbly  beg  pardon,"  an- 
swered a  merry  varlet,  who  seemed  to  be 
doing  all  he  could  to  keep  in  his  laughing: 
but  the  jests  and  mirthful  behavior  of  certain 
of  the  jury  and  his  brother  counsellors,  were 
such  as  might  provoke  the  mirth  of  a  more 
serious  man. 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar !"  continued  the 
judge,  waxing  more  ludicrously  solemn  as 
he  proceeded.  "  It  becometh  to  be  now  my 
painful  duty  to  pass  on  you  your  sentence. 
Hope  not  for  mercy,  for,  methinks,  guilt 
such  as  yours  ought  to  expect  none.  I 
grieve  to  see  so  young  a  person,  and  one  of 
otherwise  good  character,  take  to  the  doing 
of  so  insufferable  an  offence.  But  it  is  evi- 
dent you  have  lacked  good  counsel  abomina- 
bly. Had  you  sought  myself  now,  previous 
to  your  marriage  with  that  exquisite  sweet 
creature,  I  doubt  not  it  would  have  been  to 
both  our  contents.  I  would  have  paved  the 
way  for  your  obtaining  your  honest  desires, 


THE  YOUTH  OF  3HAK6PEARS. 


193 


in  such  a  manner  that  you  should  have  done  j  forter,  and  to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  sub- 
nothing  unlawful.  i  ject,  for  the  edification  of  all  present — at  the 
"Master  Attorney!"  cried  the  judge,  conclusion  of  which  the  sentence  was  to  be 


with  a  notable  grave  dignity,  as  a  roar  of 
laughter  broke  from  that  unlawyer-looking 
person,  "  see  I  any  more  of  this  unsemely 
conduct,  I'll  commit  you  for  contempt." — 
Tnen  he  added,  turning  to  the  culprit,  who 
strove  all  he  could  to  keep  a  serious  coun- 
tenance, though  with  but  an  imperfect  suc- 
cess. "  John  D'Avenant,  it  would  be  but 
a  proper  punishment  of  your  horrible  crime 
to  pass  on  you  the  extreme  sentence  of  the 
law,  but  in  consideration  of  this  being  your 
first  offence,  and  out  of  regard  for  your  youth 
and  inexperience,  I  make  this  your  sentence 
— Your  wife  shall  bo  kissed  before  your 
face,  and  you  shall  yourself  appoint  the  per- 


son to  execute  that  punishment, 
keep  fast  the  doors." 


Officers, 


In  a  moment  some  hastened  to  prevent 
Mistress  D'Avenant's  escape,  and  others 
crowded  round  her  husbilnd,  recommending 
theiusc-lves  as  capital  executioners  who 
would^  do  their  office  neatly,  with  as  little 
pain  as  need  be.  The  uproar  of  voices  was 
greater  than  ever,  and  nothing  but  shouting 
and  laughing  prevailed  all  over  the  chamber. 
Tii'  young  husband,  *  who  was  rather  of  a 
inoro  careless  idle  humor  than  was  proper 
for  one*  in  his  vocation,  though  he  never  took 
so  much  heed  of  his  handsome  wife  as  was 
necessary,  liked  not  these  wild  scholars  to 
be  over  familiar  with  her,  and  he  would,  if 
he  could,  have  done  away  with  the  sen- 
tence ;  but  he  knew  full  well  the  sort  of 
characters  he  had  to  deal  with,  and  that 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  submit  with 
a  good  grace.  A  thought  suggested  itself 
to  him  that  it  was  better  his  wife  should  be 
caressed  by  a  stranger  who  was  not  h'ke  to 
see  her  again,  than  by  one  who  would  re- 
main in  the  neighborhood,  and  might  per- 
chance seek  opportunities  for  obtaining  a 
repetition  of  such  pleasure — therefore,  to 
the  importunities  of  those  by  whom  he  was 
surrounded  he  presently  named  William 
Shakspeare  as  the  parson  who  should  fulfil 
the  sentence. 

Amid  all  this  din  and  very  Babel-like  con- 
fusion of  tongues,  the  young  traveller  had 
been  engaged  in  an  intertfeting  discussion 
with  one  or  two  kindred  minds  he  had  dis- 
covered amongst  the  mass,  but  when  he  was 
called  on  to  do  iJie"  duty  assigned  him,  he 
rose  nothing  loath,  and  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  the  jest  very  readily.  In  a  very  short 
time  the  busy  laughing  scholars  cleared  the 
table  for  to  be  the  place  of  execution,  and  a 
certain  divinity  student  there  present,  was 
appointed  to  be  the  prisoner's  ghostly  com- 
13 


carried  into  effect. 

"  Truly,  my  masters,  these  are  most  sad 
doings,"  exclaimed  Mistress  D'Avenant,  who 
was  fast  held  by  two  young  men,  who  took 
upon  themselves  the  duty  of  constables. 
"  I  marvel  you  should  behave  so  uncivilly 
against  a  poor  woman  who  hath  done  no  ill 
to  any  of  you."  Thereupon,  the  judge  very 
gravely  told  her  that  the  course  of  justice 
must  not  be  perverted  for  theft  voring  of  any 
individual ;  and  the  preacher  commenced  a 
famous  lecture  on  the  duty  every  person 
oweth  to  those  put  in  authority  over  them. 
In  this  way  she  was  brought  to  stand  in  the 
center  of  the  table — her  husband  at  a  short 
distance,  also  held  by  two  scholars,  with  the 
preacher  at  his  elbow,  bidding  him  repent  of 
his  sins  for  his  time  was  come — William 
Shakspeare  close  by,  gravely  asking  of  his 
pardon,  swearing  he  bore  him  no  malice, 
but  did  his  terrible  office  because  he  was 
bound  by  his  duty  so  to  do  ;  and  the  judges, 
assisted  by  the  sheriffs  and  constables  that 
stood  upon  th.3  stools  round  the  table,  were 
commanding  silence  from  their  riotous  mad- 
cap companions  on  the  floor. 

Then  the  preacher  began  his  sermon,  and 
such  a  sermon  as  he  then  delivered  had  ne- 
ver been  iieard  there  or  anywhere  else.  He 
started  with  endeavoring  to  prove  the  neces- 
sity there  was  for  the  furtherance  of  the 
public  morals,  that  learned  persons  should 
possess  and  keep  in  their  charge  all  comely 
maidens  of  a  tender  age, — for  they  being 
wiser  than  any  other  class,  had  alone  the 
discretion  necessary  for  the  proper  bringing 
up  of  such  gentle  creatures.  No  doctrine 
was  ever  considered  half  so  orthodox ;  but 
the  preacher  seemed  inclined  to  put  it  be- 
yond the  possibility  of  cavil,  for  he  presently 
fell  to  quoting  divers  of  the  Fathers — brought 
forward  long  passages  from  the  writings  of 
the  most  famous  theologians,  and  referred  to 
what  had  been  laid  down  on  the  subject  by 
the  Council  of  Trent,  and  in  various  bulls 
published  by  the  most  influential  of  the  Ro- 
mish pontiffs ;  and  this  was  done  with  so 
earnest  a  seriousness,  that  many  did  imag- 
ine that  such  things  had  really  been  said 
and  written. 

"  Oh,  fine  preacher  !"  cried  one. 

';  Thou  shalt  be  a  bishop,  Sir  Topas  !"  ex- 
claimed another. 

"  Marry,  thou  wouldst  convert  a  dead  In- 
dian, thou  speakest  so  movingly,"  added  a 
third.  Others  compared  him  to  Peter  the 
Hermit,  and  some  questioned  him,  how  he 
stood  affected  towards  martyrdom — he  ap 


194 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


peared  so  fit  for  it.  Bift  the  preacher  went 
on  as  gravely  as  he  could,  and  then  alluded 
to  the  unhappy  man  who  had  fallen  under 
the  vengeance  of  offended  justice,  and  beg- 
ged the  prayers  of  all  good  Christians  in  his 
behalf,  seeing  that  he  was  about  making 
amends  for  the  wrong  he  had  done,  through 
punishment  by  the  secular  arm.  Tiien  he 
recommended  the  culprit  to  their  charitable 
thoughts  with  such  a  monstrous  earnestness 
— drawing  so  pitiful  a  picture  of  the  terrible 
sufferings  he  was  about  to  undergo — that 
the  hearers  fell  to  wailing  and  weeping  mosf 
woefully. 

;'  Alack,  that  any  man  should  come  to  so 
miserable  an  end !"  moaned  Master  Lamprey. 

':  And  one  that  sold  such  brave  liquor  too !" 
cried  Master  Martlemas,  in  still  more  doleful 
accents. 

Then  the  preacher  concluded  with  a  fa- 
mous exhortation  to  his  auditory  ever  to 
bear  in  mind  the  notable  example  now  set 
before  them ;  and  having  gained  from  the 
culprit  that  he  confessed  the  justice  of  his 
sentence,  and  was  ready  to  meet  his  punish- 
ment, master  sheriff  called  forward  the  ex- 
ecutioner to  do  his  duty  without  delay; 
whereupon  William  Shakspeare  readily 
stepped  up  to  Mistress  D'Avenant,  who 
looked  as  though  she  had  not  made  up  her 
'mind  whether  to  make  a  struggle  or  take 
the  matter  quietly. 

"  I  pray  you,  most  sweet  hostesss,  to  par- 
don this  my  compulsory  duty,"  said  the  ex- 
ecutioner, as  seriously  as  any  of  them.  "  I 
assure  you,  were  I  not  bound  by  a  superior 
power,  I  would  not  do  it — at  least  I  would 
not  do  it  so  publicly — I  would  spare  you  all 
this  painful  exposure.  I  would,  believe  me." 

"  Away  with  you  !  O'  my  word,  'tis  a 
shame  you  should  play  such  a  jest  upon 
me,"  answered  Mistress  D'Avenant,  as  she 
made  some  show  of  struggling,  but  it  was 
of  so  slight  a  sort  that  very  little  sufficed  to 
overcome  it,  and  the  next  minute  every  one 
had  demonstrated  the  awful  sentence  of  the 
law  had  been  carried  into  effect.  This  was 
followed  by  shouts  of  triumph  from  some, 
and  cries  of  condolence  by  others,  to  the 
now  liberated  husband  and  wife ;  and  in  a 
short  time  after,  the  whole  party  again  found 
their  places  at  the  table,  and  were  jesting, 
drinking,  and  laughing  as  famously  as  ever. 
Mistress  D'Avenant  scolded  her  partner  right 
eloquently,  for  allowing  of  such  scandalous 
behavior,  and  mine  host  assured  her  he 
would  gladly  have  helped  it  if  he  could :  but 
she  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  comforted  with 
such  excuses — for  all  which,  it  was  confi- 
dently believed  by  some,  she  was  not  the 
least  pleased  of  the  company. 


All  at  once  there  was  a  great  cry  for  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  to  sing  them  a  song.  This 
he  had  already  done  several  times,  to  the 
delight  of  his  hearers,  that  they  seemed  as 
though  they  could  never  have  enough  of 
such  delicious  minstrelsy ;  nevertheless  they 
promised,  would  he  favor  them  with  one 
more,  they  would  be  content.  After'  re- 
questing their  indulgence  for  a  simple  ditty 
— the  only  thing  he  could  at  the  present 
moment  call  to  his  mind; — he  sang  the  fol- 
lowing verses  ;  the  noisy  scholars  the  whilst 
hushed  to  as  complete  a  peace  as  if  none 
were  in  the  chamber : 

A   SONG    OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

"  Sweet  friends !  let  Plaasure's  social  law, 

Our  souls  to  genial  thoughts  dispose, 
For  life's  rich  stream  doth  freely  thaw, 

And  bloom  and  sun  smile  where  it  flows. 
'Tis  now  with  us  the  budding  May, 

From  nature's  bank  let's  freely  borrow, 
Around  our  Maypole  dance  to-day, 

Our  fates  may  make  us  pipe  to-morrow. 

"  Dear  friends !  the  rosy  morn  is  ours 

To  sport  away  :  the  hunt  is  up ! 
But  crown  your  game  whh  twin-like  flowers — 

The  brimming  heart  and  brimming  cup. 
Now  Phoebus  glows  through  all  the  east ; 

And  joy,  our  lord,  hath  banish'd  sorrow ; 
Then  haste  to  take  his  welcome  feast — 

Our  fates  may  make  us  fast  to-morrow. 

"  Brave  friends  !  let  Time  no  vantage  gain, 

Entrench  your  camp,  your  wants  provide  ; 
Whilst  Youth  and  Love  your  fight  sustain, 

You  may  for  years  his  siege  abide. 
As  friendly  looks  shed  round  their  light, 

From  star  or  moon  you  need  not  borrow  ; 
Enjoy  them  while  they  shine  to-night — 

Our  fates  may  quench  their  beams  to-morrow. 

Universal  were  the  plaudits  which  fol- 
lowed the  conclusion  of  William  Shaks- 
peare's  singing,  and  well  deserved  were  they 
too,  out  of  all  doubt ;  for  in  the  belief  that 
this  was  the .  last  night  he  should  see  the 
friendly  company  around  him,  he  put  such 
expression  into  the  words  as  could  have 
been  produced  by  no  other.  Perchance  the 
greater  portion  of  his  new  acquaintances 
saw  in  him  only  £1  exceeding  pleasant  per- 
son, but  he  was  regarded  in  a  much  more 
brilliant  light  by  some  two  or  three  present ; 
whom,  with  that  unerring  ^rnpathy  which 
leadeth  great  minds  to  their  fellows,  he  had 
singled  out  from  their  more  noisy  compan- 
ions, to  show  to  them  somewhat  of  his  true 
nature.  As  they  listened  to  the  thrilling  el- 
oquence of  his  language,  and  perceived  how 
pregnant  it  was  with  new  and  profound 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


meanings,  they  did  marvel  exceedingly ;  and 
as  the  natural  nobility  of  the  man  developed 
itself  before  their  amazed  glances,  there  en- 
tered into  their  hearts  a  loving  reverence — 
the  worship  of  true  greatness  among  kin- 
dred natures — they  had  never  felt  during 
their  whole  lives.  It  was  far  into  the  even- 
ing before  the  party  broke  up,  and  it  ended 
with  abundance  of  good  wishes  from  the 
thoughtless  many ;  and  earnest  hopes  of 
again  meeting,  from  the  discerning  few. 

When  the  young  traveller  ro*e  in  the 
morning  to  continue  his  journey,  he  found 
Mistress  D'Avenant  in  a  chamber  by  herself, 
Cutting  his  things  together  ready  for  his  tak- 
ing with  him.  She  was  a  woman  as  far 
superior  in  mental  as  she  was  in  personal 
endowments  to  persons  in  her  sphere  of  life ; 
for  her  natural  strong  mind  had  been  care- 
fully cultivated  ;  and  possessed  of  such  gifts, 
she  was  the  very  sort  of  woman  that  would 
most  appreciate  a  man  so  prodigally  gar- 
nished with  admirable  qualities  as  was  her 
youthful  guest.  Her  marriage  had  not  been 
one  of  affection,  and  her  husband  quickly 
proved  himself  a  person  whose  weakness  of 
character  she  could  hold  in  no  esteem.  Her 
superior  intellect  soon  exerted  its  proper  in- 
fluence, which  he  very  readily  acknowledged, 
leaving  his  affairs  to  her  entire  management, 
whilst,  he  sought  for  nothing  but  the  enjoy- 
ment of  his*  thoughtless  pleasures  ;  but  such 
conduct  still  more  lessened  her  respect  for 
him  ;  and  when  she  beheld  the  manly  dispo- 
sition of  William  Shakspeare,  and  caught 
glimpses  of  the  marvellous  noble  mind  with 
which  it  was  accompanied,  she  could  not 
help  wishing  Heaven  had  blessed  her  with 
BO  choice  a  husband.  As  for  the  young 
traveller,  he  could  not  avoid  seeing  and  ad- 
miring the  extraordinary  capacity  his  beau- 
tiful hostess  evinced  in  such  converse  as  he 
had  with  her,  and  the  extreme  perfectness 
with  which  she  fulfilled  her  household  du- 
ties ;  and  more  than  once  he  found  himself 
making  comparisons  between  such  estima- 
bloness,  and  the  neglectful  and  obstinate 
behaving  of  his  vain  and  ignorant  •  wife, 
whereby  the  latter's  unworthiness  was  shown 
in  most  glaring  colors.  At  the  end,  he  would 
grieve  he  had  not  met  with  so  excellent  rare 
a  partner  as  had  John  D'Avenant. 

Having  now  been  staying  at  the  Crown 
several  days,  on  a  footing  of  the  completest 
intimacy,  he  had  ample  opportunity  for  in- 
creasing the  admiration  he  felt  for  his  charm- 
ing hostess ;  and  she  getting  more  knowledge 
of  his  notable  excellences,  laid  herself  out  to 
please  him  as  much  as  she  could.  It  was  a 
dangerous  situation  for  two  young  persons, 
so  admirably  gifted  in  mind  and  person,  and 


so  unhappily  accommodated  in  marriage,  to 
be  placed  in.  Each  could  not  help  desiring 
to  be  well  esteemed  of  the  other,  as  the  best 
token  they  could  have  of  their  own  worthi- 
ness ;  and  neither  could  avoid  holding  the 
other  first  in  their  esteem,  their  qualities 
were  so  much  more  estimable  than  those  of 
any  person  of  their  acquaintance.  Both 
had  had  but  little  sleep  this  last  night 
through  continual  thinking  of  the  approach- 
ing separation ;  and,  earlier  than  usual, 
Mistress  D'Avenant  left  her  husband  sleep- 
ing off  the  effects  of  his  evening  reveling, 
to  prepare  for  the  departure  of  her  youthful 
guest.  When  the  latter  made  his  appear- 
ance before  her,  there  was  a  tear  upon  the 
long  lashes  of  her  dark  eyes,  but  she  speed- 
ily commenced  affecting  her  customary  cheer- 
fulness ;  and  he  too,  merely  addressed  her 
with  his  ordinary  gallantry ;  yet,  in  their 
hearts  the  while,  there  were  feelings  as  dif- 
ferent to  their  outward  conduct,  as  is  light 
to  darkness. 

For  all  this  show  of  indifference,  neither 
could  conceal  from  the  other  the  extent  to 
which  they  were  feigning.  The  trifling 
speech  which  kept  so  carefully  to  all  man- 
ner of  matters  of  little  moment,  as  it  had 
never  done  before,  grew  less  and  less,  and 
then  came  to  brief  sentences,  spoken  with 
tremulousness,  till,  for  a  time,  words  would 
fail  them  altogether ;  and  the  careless  man- 
ner of  their  behavior,  gradually  left  them  for 
an  evident  restlessness,  and  such  listless 
doing  of  their  occupations,  as  bore  witness 
to  the  extreme  confusion  of  their  thoughts 
and  feelings.  Mistress  D'Avenant  was  put- 
ting the  last  knot  to  the  little  bundle  of  things 
her  companion  had  brought  with  him,  and 
she  was  engaged  upon  it  with  so  extraordi- 
dinary  a  care,  pulling  it  to  a  proper  tight- 
ness, and  smoothing  the  folds  of  the  bundle, 
as  though  she  could  never  satisfy  herself 
with  her  work ;  and  William  Shakspeare 
close  beside  her,  was  putting  on  his  left- 
hand  glove,  so  deliberately,  and  with  such 
prodigiQus  heed  that  every  finger  should  fit 
well  into  the  leather,  as  if  such  a  thing  was 
an  affair  only  to  be  attempted  with  the  at- 
tentiveness  of  a  matter  of  vital  importance. 
As  these  things  were  doing,  their  hearts 
were  beating  high  and  wildly,  and  each  felt 
the  scarce  endurable  struggle  of  the  power- 
,  fullest  impulses  of  humanity  laboring  for  a 
free  existence.  "  Well,  this  must  needs 
do,"  said  Mistress  D'Avenant,  with  a  great 
effort,  as  she  placed  the  little  bundle  near 
her  guest.  • 

"  Oh,  it  will  do  exceeding  well,"  grate- 
fully replied  he,  giving  it  a  hasty  glance. 
He  appeared  to  have  got  his  glove  on  to  his 


196 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


'iking,  or  rather,  he  thought  like  his  fair 
companion,  the  time  was  now  come  for  ac- 
tion. He  held  out  his  ungloved  hand  before 
her,  and  forced  a  faint  smile  into  his  hand- 
some countenance. 

"  It  is  full  time  I  should  be  on  my  jour- 
ney," he  added,  hurriedly  ;  "  so  now  I  must 
take  my  leave  of  you."  She  seized  his 
hand,  with  a  very  desperate  grasp,  as  it 
were,  her  own  trembling  all  the  while  ;  and 
looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  a  glance,  where- 
of the  expression  baffletli  ail  my  powers  of 
description — it  was  so  imploringly  tender. 
He  continued,  "  I  cannot  attempt  to  thank 
you  for  the  very  bountiful  sweet  kindness 
you  have  shown  unto  me,  since  it  hath  been 
rny  good  hap  to  dwell  beneath  this  roof:  but, 
believe  me,  the  memory  of  it  cannot  pass 
away,  as  long  as  my  grateful  nature  bear- 
eth  any  token  of  thought,  feeling  and  life." 

"  Oh,  sir,  methinks  it  scarce  deserveth  any 
mention,  replied  his  beautiful  hostess,  with 
such  emphasis,  as  words  have  only  when 
they  come  direct  from  the  heart.  "  Had  I 
been  a  thousand  times  more  attentive  to  your 
desires,  I  could  not  in  mine  own  opinion, 
have  done  for  you  one  half  sufficient.  But 
you  are  going.  I  just  begin  to  learn  how 
to  appreciate  your  inestimable  excellences, 
when  you  hurry  yourself  away ;  and,  per- 
chance, I  may  never  have  sight  of  you 
again." 

;'  O  my  life,  sweet  Mistress  D'Avenant,  I 
will  not  allow  that  to  be,  for  my  own  sake !" 
exclaimed  her  companion.  "  Be  assured,  I 
know  the  "infinite  worth  of  the  treasure  I 
leave  behind  me  too  well,  to  neglect  it ;  and 
of  whatever  I  most  covet  of  Fortune,  a 
speedy  return  to,  and  a  long  continuance  of 

S>ur  generous  behavior  have  the  first  place. 
y  only  fear  is,  my  poor  name  may  be  too 
speedily  forgotten." 

"Never.  Master  .Shakspeare!"  cried  the 
beautiful  woman,  earnestly,  "  truly  I  must 
ba  dead  to  every  sense  of  goodness,  when 
my  memory  faileth  me  on  so  goodly  a  sub- 
ject. Believe  me,  in  future  times^  I  will 
look  back  upon  the  days  I  have  known  you 
as  the  very  sunniest  of  my  existence ;  and 
might  I  have  any  hope  of  such  enjoyment 
again.  I  could  endure  my  miserable  state 
with  a  proper  patience.  Go,  sweet  sir,  since 
it  must  needs  be.  I  mistake  you,  hugely,  if 
you  can  think  ill  of  me  at  my  now  adding, 
you  take  with  you  all  that  1  can  deem  of 
most  sterling  preciousness  in  this  world." 

''•  Dear  Mistress  D'Avenant !  assure  your- 
self I  will  gssay  all  means  to  deserve  such 
honorable  opinion,"  replied  he,  much  touch- 
ed by 'this  proof  of  confidence  in  his  integ- 
rity ;  "  what  my  feelings  are  for  you  I  can- 


not trust  myself  to  express;  and  yet  nothing 
is  so  true  as  that  their  whole  tendency  is  to 
hold  you  as  a  pattern  of  everything  that  i» 
noblest  in  woman." 

Thus  parted  the  youthful  Shakspeare  and 
the  lovely  Mistress  D'Avenant ;  and  soon 
after  he  was  once  more  a  traveller,  trudging 
his  way  manfully  along  the  high  road  with 
his  little  burthen  on  his  shoulder — his 
thoughts  looking  towards  Oxford  and  his 
steps  directed  in  the  way  of  London.  Hither- 
to his  journey  had  been  productive  of  infinite 
profit  to  him  in  getting  acquainted  with  the 
humors  of  men — his  favorite  study  ;  but  his 
stay  at  the  great  university  had  been  pro- 
dig'iously  to  his  entertainment,  for  he  visited 
every  college,  and  examined  every  building, 
with  an  especial  veneration  for  their  learned 
character,  and  a  particular  delight  in  their 
historical  associations.  As  he  proceeded  on 
his  journey  his  mind  dwelt  delightedly  on  the 
events  of  the  preceding  days,  till  it,  at  last, 
fixed  itself  with  a  truly  marvellous  pleasure, 
on  the  handsome  young  hostess  of  the  Crown 
Inn.  He  could  not  have  avoided  observing 
how  unsuitable  to  such  a  woman  was  her 
husband ;  and  it  was  toti  apparent  to  him 
that  her  situation  was  far  from  pleasing  to 
her.  To  be  as  tenderly  esteemed  of  so  ad- 
mirable a  creature,  as  she  had  given  him 
reason  to  believe  he  was,  gave  him  with 
an  inexpressible  sweet  pleasure,  a  peculiar 
pride  in  himself,  for  he — in  the  true  spirit  of 
nobleness  which  influences  the  high-minded 
man  when  he  findeth  himself  beloved  by  a 
worthy  woman — looked  upon  it  as  the  chief 
est  honor  his  humanity  could  attain  ;  and, 
beyond  all  doubting,  there  is  nothing  of  which 
true  manhood  should  be  so  proud  ;  and  when 
as  in  this  instance,  a  woman,  so  unhappily 
circumstanced,  showeth  herself  to  be  above 
all  petty  prejudices  and  selfish  cares,  and 
declareth  her  feelings  in  fullest  confidence, 
believing  their  cause  and  their  tendency  to 
be  too  exalted  to  produce  any  base  conclu- 
sions, the  man  must  be  a  disgrace  to  the 
name  he  bears,  if  he  do  not  feel  himself  as 
proud  a  creature  as  may  be  found  in  the 
whole  world. 

A  being  so  well-disposed  as  was  William 
Shakspeare,  most  assuredly  would  appreciate 
such  conduct  at  a  price  beyond  all  telling. 
Now,  filled  as  he  was  by  the  thrilling  im- 
pulses of  early  manhood,  when  a  sympathy 
for  what  is  loveable  stirs  in  every  vein,  he 
was  peculiarly  open  to  favorable  impressions 
from  the  other  sex,  but  his  sense  of  good 
which  so  completely  had  the  custody  of 
affections,  exerted  over  him  a  higher  power, 
and  were  directed  to  better  purposes,  than 
could  any  mere  admiration ;  and  whilst  it 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


ihrew  open  his  mind  and  heart  to  chamber 
worthily  the  excellence  of  beauty,  it  kept  for 
{hem  there  a  still  more  honorable  lodging 
for  the  beauty  of  excellence.  He  fe't,  the 
whilst,  a  motive  free  from  selfish  considera- 
tion-, for  hitherto  he  had  sought  but  for  to 
raise  himself  and  those  belonging  to  him ; 
but  no \v  he  would  seek  his  exaltation  rather 
as  a  pedestal  to  place  another's  goodness  at 
its  summit.  Mistress  D'Avenant  in  her 
avowal,  had  exhibited  that  fearlessnees, 
which  those  only  know,  who,  whatever  may 
be  t'.ieir  situation,  are  under  the  noblest  in- 
fluences. A  moaner  nature  so  circum- 
stanced would  have  sought  to  hide  iier  feel- 
ings, and  exhausted  the  artillery  of  feminine 
dissimulation  ere  she  would  have  allowed 
them  to  be  known  ;  but  in  such  a  disposition, 
those  feelings  would  -have  argued  a  weak- 
ness, and,  perchance,  have  led  to  a  crime, 
whilst  in  the  other,  they  were  an  undeniable 
evidence  of  strength,  and,  more  than  any 
other  thing,  would  have  induced  to  virtue. 

It  is  more  than  idle  for  any  to  assert  that  a 
married  woman  to  love  any  man  save  her 
partner,  is  not  to  be  tolerated  under  any 
circumstances,  for  whore  she  is  ill-matched, 
there  cannot  be  so  notable  a  way  to  keep 
her  to  the  proper  duties  of  good  wifehood, 
than  to  place  her  affections  in  so  honorable 
a  quarter,  she  must  needs  know  that  only  by 
the  most  excellent  behavior  can  she  be  held 
in  such  esteem  there  as  she  desires — whereof 
the  consequence  must  be,  she  will  bear  with 
the  humors  of  a  bad  husband,  and  show  a 
cheerful  endurance  of  her  unhappy  fate  in- 
fluenced by  the  gladdening  hope  of  gaining 
what  sha  most  covets.  Deprived  of  so  com- 
fortable a  stimulus,  the  chances  are,  the  un- 
happy wife  would  sink  into  a  miserable 
apathy,  or,  in  disgust  of  her  condition  would 
easily  become  the  prey  of  any  dishonest 
artifices  that  might  be  directed  against  her 
by  a  pretended  lover.  Mayhap  some  may 
say  such  ennobling  love  so  produced  is  rarely 
to  be  found,  but  I  place  my  faith  too  strongly 
on  the  honorableness  of  woman,  to  doubt  it 
would  be  familiar  enough,  were  men  to  be 
met  with  of  sufficient  worthiness  to  call  it 
into  more  frequent  existence.  At  least,  such 
was  the  affection  with  which  Mistress  D'- 
Avenant regarded  the  youthful  Shakspeare, 
and  t\i2  latter  entertained  it  as  of  such  a  sort, 
and  fully  resolved  it  should  so  continue,  if  its 
lasting  depended  on  his  efforts  to  deserve  it. 
His  thoughts  very  profitably  employed,  the 
young  traveller  pursued  his  journey.  The 
waggon  had  gone  too  far  to  be  overtaken  by 
his  walking,  and  though  he  was  passed,  or 
came  up  to  divers  carriers  laden  with  pack- 
ages of  all  kinds,  his  expenses  had  already 


so  diminished  his  means,  that  he  found  him- 
self unable  to  purchase  a  sitting  in  any  of 
their  carts,  without  leaving  himself  penni- 
less ere  his  journey  was  finished.  Indeed, 
as  it  was,  by  the  time  he  reached  Uxbridge, 
when  he  had  paid  his  bill  for  lodging  he 
started  in  the  morning  with  his  purse  emp- 
tied of  the  last  coin.  This  was  a  discovery 
that  would  have  come  exceeding  unpleasant- 
ly to  many  in  a  like  situation  with  himself, 
!  for  he  was  still  a  good  distance  from  his 
destination  and  nothing  wherewith  to  get 
him  bed  or  board  when  he  there  arrived  ;  but 
with  the  eager  hope  of  youth,  he  trudged 
along  in  high  spirits,  fully  convinced  he  had 
but  to  show  himself  to  the  elder  Burbage, 
and  his  old  acquaintance  would  welcome 
him  with  all  proper  heartiness. 

As  he  was  trudging  manfully  along,  and 
had  got  within  a  mile  or  so  of  Tyburn,  he 
came  up  to  three  men  dressed  with  some 
appearance  of  respectability,  who  seemed  to 
be  comporting  of  themselves  very  merrily. 
The  one  was  a  stout  fellow  with  a  bold 
swaggering  and  an  impudent  daring  look 
with  him,  Eis  face  pimpled,  and  his  nose  of 
a  somewhat  prominent  redness  about  the  top 
of  it.  He  was  attired  in  an  old  plum-colored 
velvet  doublet — stained  down  the  front,  as  if 
with  wine — his  hose  were  scarlet,  though 
the  tint  was  fading  through  dirt  and  age; 
and  his  trunks  had  been  of  an  orange 
twaney,  but  by  this  time  they  were  nigher 
of  a  sad  color.  He  wore  roses  in  his  shoes, 
but  they  looked  as  though  they  had  grown 
in  a  chimney,  and  his  hat  was  of  that  sort 
that  are  distinguished  by  a  high  crown,  but 
a  spectator  might  look  as  high  as  the  skies 
and  yet  see  no  crown  of  any  kind.  His 
companions  were  garmented  in  no  better 
fashion — onfe  of  whom,  was  a  biear-eyed 
youth,  with  a  famous  large  mouth  drawn  on 
one  side  as  though  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  biting  round  a  corner  :  and  the  other  was 
chiefly  noticeable,  for  a  short,  stiff,  red  beard, 
that  stood  out  of  his  chin  like  a  broken  brick 
hanging  over  an  old  door-way. 

"  Ha,  truly  a  good  jest.  Master  Sugarsob, 
— a  good  jest  o'  my  life,"  cried  the  first, 
seeming  to  be  in  a  famous  mood  for  laughing. 
"  Bots  on't !"  exclaimed  he,  with  the  wry 
mouth.  "  I  see  not  the  jest,  Captain  Sack, 
and  if  a  jest  it  be,  I  like  not  the  humor  on't  I 
promise  you." 

"  By  this  hand,  my  Lord  Cinnamon,  I 
meant  no  offence  in't !"  exclaimed  the  own- 
er of  the  red-beard,  with  prodigious  earnest- 
ness. 

"  I  like  not  the  humor  on't — I  like  not  the 
humor  on't,"  muttered  he  who  had  been 
styled  Lord  Cinnamon,  twisting  his  mouth  in 


193 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


a  manner  as  though  he  had  a  marvellous 
inclination  to  bite  off  the  end  of  his  left  ear. 

"  I  tell  thee,"  'tis  a  most  exquisite  jest," 
cried  thfe  one  called  Captain  Sack,  laughing 
out  of  all  moderation.  "  What  sayst  Master 
Countryman  ?" 

The  young  traveller  felt  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  being  appealed  to  in  a  matter  of 
which  he  was  entirely  ignorant,  but  he 
could  not  help  feeling  amused  at  the  droll 
figures  of  the  persons  before  him. 

"  I  prithee  tell  me  the  jest,  and  I  will  say 
what  I  think  of  it,"  replied  he. 

"  'Tis  no  more  than  this,"  said  the  pimple- 
faced  gentleman,  as  he  very  impudently 
stared  the  other  in  the  face,  whilst  he  cut 
the  youth's  purse  from  his  girdle,  and  on 
the  same  instant,  the  other  two  stood  on 
each  side  of  him,  with  their  daggers'  points 
at  his  throat.  He  saw  at  a  glance  resist- 
ance was  useless. 

"  'Ifaith,  if  that  be  all  the  jest,  I  see  not 
much  in  it,"  observed  William  Shakspeare, 
who  could  not  resist  his  natural  tendency 
even  at  such  a  moment. 

"  Why,  how  now,  and  be  hanged  to  thee !" 
exclaimed  the  disappointed  thief,  as  he  be- 
held the  emptiness  of  the  purse  he  had  taken. 
"  Dost  put  thy  quips  upon  us  ?  How  darest 
to  come  abroad  in  such  heathen  fashion. 
'Slight  'tis  a  jest  with  a  vengeance !" 

"  I  see  not  the  humor  on't — I  see  not  the 
humor  on't!"  cried  his  wrymouthed  com- 
panion, seemingly  as  if  he  enjoyed  his  as- 
sociate's dissatisfaction. 

"  Nor  I  either,  Jemmy,"  answered  the 
cut-purse;  "but  at  least  here  is  better 
jesting. "  And  thereupon  he  snatched  away 
from  the  youth  his  little  bundle  of  linen.  At 
this  moment,  a  string  of  pack-horses  becom- 
ing viable  in  the  road,  the  three  thieves 
made  off  as  fast  as  they  could  down  a  bye 
lane,  leaving  the  young  traveller  to  continue 
his  journey  not  only  without  money  of  any 
kind,  as  he  was  before,  but  without  a  single 
thing  for  his  wearing,  save  what  he  had  on 
liis  back. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Goe,  little  Booke  !  thyself  present, 
As  child  whose  parent  is  unkent, 
To  him  that  is  the  President 
Of  Nobleness  and  Ckivalrie. 
And  if  that  envy  bark  at  thee  — 
As  sure  it  will  —  for  succor  flee 
Under  the  shadow  of  his  wing. 


METHINKS,  it  is  now  high  time,  the  courte- 
ous reader  should  know  something  concern- 


ing of  the  two  young  knights,  kinsmen  to 
Sir  Marmaduke  de  Largesse,  \\-ho  were  left 
in  so  sore  a  strait  sometime  since,  Sir  Re- 
ginald being  badly  wounded  by  one  whom 
he  had  so  unjustly  regarded  an  a  false-  friend, 
and  Sir  Valentine  seeming  to  be  still  more 
hurt  he  had  done  his  companion  in  anas  such 
dainagcment.  Little  time  was  lust  in  con- 
veying the  latter  to  his  kinsman's  residence, 
where  his  loving  cousin  night  and  day  at- 
tended on  him  better  th.in  could  have  done 
the  faithfulest  nurso  that  ever  was  known. 
The  wounded  knight  could  not  be  indifferent 
to  such  loving  service,  and  when  he  was 
told  the  exact  history  of  his  IxOiavitir  to  their 
mutual  fair  mistress,  he  loved  him  more  than 
ever  he  had  done,  and  on  the  instant,  gave 
up  all  pretension  to  her  in  favor  of  his  friend ; 
but  this  the  latter  took  no  advantage  of.  He 
remembered  the  last  words  he  had  of  the 
poor  foundling,  and  the  determination  they 
evinced ;  and  feeling  also,  that,  could  he 
succeed  in  getting  her  to  change  her  mind, 
he  could  not  with  any  satisfaction  to  himself 
enjoy  the  happiness  whereof  his  friend  was 
deprived,  he  resolved  he  would  see  her  no 
more.  As  for  her,  it  may  b«  sufHcient  to 
say,  she  was  where  she  fancied  herself  free 
from  her  vile  persecutors,  yet  was  she  much 
nigher  to  danger  than  she  iuviginod. 

Sometime  after  this,  the  two  friends  join- 
ed their  commander  and  tutor  in  chivalry, 
the  noble  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  accom- 
panied him  on  hwembassy,  to  condole  with 
the  French  king,  on  the  death  of  his  dear 
brother,  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  They  made  a 
most  gallant  figure  at  ti.e  court  of  France. 
Many  fair  ladies  gave  them  excellent  con- 
vincing proofs  they  were  well  esteemed  of 
them,  the  which  the  elder  received  very  readi- 
ly, and  lacked  not  a  suitable  return  ;  for  his 
disposition  could  accommodate  itself  to  love 
— as  he  called  it — as  many  as  would  allow 
of  his  passion  ;  but  the  younger  was  not  of 
this  sort.  He  could  give  his  afli'ctions  to 
one  only,  and  they  were  unalterably  lixed 
on  the  gentle  Mabel  ;  and  though  he  receiv- 
ed the  lavors  of  the  kind  dames  of  France 
with  the  courtesy  becoming  a  true  knight, 
his  heart  was  wandering  through  the  groves 
of  Charlcote  after  that  exquisite,  yet  most 
unhappy  creature,  who  had  the  sole  claim 
of  its  sovereignty. 

Thfcy  were  now  strolling  together  in  the 
garden  of  the  Queen's  palace  at  Whitehall, 
whilst  Sir  Philip  was  with  her  Majesty,  and 
divers  of  the  great  lords  and  officers,  hold- 
ing of  a  privy  council,  to  deliberate  on  cer- 
tain important  matters  affecting  the  national 
honor  and  safety.  Of  this  council,  inethinka 
some  description  would  here  be  in  good  place. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


199 


m  a  spacious  chamber,  richly  hung  with 
arras,  the  Queen's  Highness  sat  in  robes  of 
state — with  a  small  crown  of  gold  on  her 
head — on  a  raised  throne  covered  with  rich 
carving  and  embroidery.  One  arm  rested 
on  the  arm  of  the  seat,  with  her  jewelled 
hand  imbedded  in  a  fair  white  handkerchief, 
very  line  and  delicately  worked  ;  the  other 
elbow  rested  on  the  other  arm  of  the  chair, 
her  hand  supporting  her  head,  and  her  body 
resting  against  the  back  of  the  seat.  In 
this  position  she  remained  with  a  famous 
gravity  in  her  features,  listening  to  what 
was  advanced  by  each  speaker;  hut  she 
rarely  remained  in  it  long,  for  if  anything 
dropped  tiiat  she  liked  not,  she  would  take 
the  orator  up  with  some  tartness  ;  and  when 
the  speech  met  with  her  views,  she  would 
add  to  it  something  of  her  own,  which  show- 
ed how  much  it  was  to  her  satisfaction. 

Before  her  in  their  robes  of  office  sat  the 
chief  oalcers  of  the  crown,  save  only  the 
one  wrho  might  be  at  that  moment  speaking, 
who  stood  up ;  and  chiefest  of  these  were 
the  Lord  Treasurer  Burleigh,  the  Secretaries 
of  State,  Walshinghain  and  Davison,  the 
Earl  of  Leicester,  the  Earl  of  Sussex,  Charles 
Howard  of  Eifingham,  the  Lord  High  Admi- 
ral, Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  and  Sir  Philip  Syd- 
ney. The  subject  under  discussion  related 
to  the  state  of  affairs  in  Flanders,  and  the 
necessity  of  there  keeping  a  powerful  force. 
It  might  bo  somewhat  tedious  to  give  the 
speeches  of  the  different  members  of  the 
council.  Suffice  it  to  say,  as  was  usual  the 
case  when  anything  was  to  be  done  that  re- 
quired an  outlay  from  the  treasury,  my  Lord 
Treasurer  strongly  advised  great  caution, 
and  argued,  if  peace  could  be  procured,  even 
at  some  sacrifiee,  'twas  infinitely  better  than 
the  uncertainties  of  a  war ;  and  in  his  policy 
he  was  seconded  by  the  two  secretaries  and 
Sir  Nicholas  Bacon.  My  Lord  of  Leicester, 
on  the  other  side,  was  for  carrying  on  pre- 
parations in  that  country  worthy  of  Eng- 
land's greatness ;  and  spoke  of  the  important 
results  which  would  follow  by  so  doing.  My 
Lord  of  Sussex  was  for  a  like  dealing,  only 
he  differed  with  the  last  speaker  as  to  tho 
manner  it  should  be  done,  and  that  too  with 
an  honest  bluntness,  that  spoke  more  of  the 
soldier  than  the  courtier.  Whereupon  the 
other  replied,  defending  his  views  with  much 
apparent  calmness  and  courtesy,*  which 
brought  a  sharp  rejoinder  from  my  Lord  of 
Sussex  ;  and,  as  was  often  the  case  at  the 
council,  here  would  have  followed  a  very 
angry  disputation,  had  not  her  Highness 
quickly  put  an  end  to  the  dispute  by  rebuk- 
ing them  both.  These  two  powerful  noble- 
men "rarely  met  without  having  some  words ; 


but  my  Lord  of  Leicester,  by  a  famous  com- 
mand of  temper,  always  made  it  appear  he 
was  in  no  way  blameable ;  and  my  Lord  of 
Sussex,  who  was  usually  rash  enough  to 
express  what  he  thought,  and  manifestly 
thought  no  good  of  his  opponent,  was  by 
many  looked  upon  as  the  one  in  fault. 

The  other  commanders  there  advocated 
the  views  of  the  Queen's  favorite,  save  only 
Sir  Philip  Sydney,  who  had  not  yet  expres- 
sed his  opinions.  At  this  her  Highness,  who 
held  him  in  high  esteem,  commanded  him  to 
what  he  thought  would  be  best  in  the  handl- 
ing of  such  a  business,  upon  which  he  gave 
a  most  eloquent  and  elaborate  view  of  the 
present  state  of  Europe,  particularly  dwel- 
ling on  the  hostile  designs  of  the  King  of 
Spain  upon  this  country,  as  evinced  in  tho 
immense  warlike  preparations  he  w?as  mak- 
ing in  all  parts  of  his  dominions ;  and  show- 
ing in  the  clearest  light  what  gain  woul«i 
accrue  to  England,  by  conducting  her  opo 
rations  in  Flanders  with  sufficient  means 
and  a  proper  spirit.  It  is  utterly  impossible 
to  convey  anything  like  unto  an  adequate 
idc»  of  this  notable  speech ;  but  it  was  put 
forward  with  amazing  fineness  of  rhetoric, 
and  with  such  excellence  of  language,  that 
it  was  clear  any  who  had  the  slightest  com- 
prehension of  the  matter,  must  be  convinced 
of  the  properness  of  what  Sir  Philip  had  ad- 
vanced. 

Then  Queen  Elizabeth  spoke  at  some 
length,  expressing  how  naturally  averse  she 
was  to  any  proceedings  likely  to  give  hurt 
to  her  good  subjects  ;  but  as  war  was  forced 
upon  her  for  the  protection  of  the  kingdom 
from  Popish  snares,  and  that  to  fight  abroad 
was  better  for  the  people  than  to  fight  at 
home,  it  must  needs  be  she  could  do  no 
other  than  assist  those  who  were  combatting 
against  her  worst  enemies,  and  so  endeavor 
to  keep  the  war  from  her  own  doors.  Her 
speech  was  very  spirited  and  full  of  sage 
quotations  from  Latin  and  other  authors, 
to  show 'her  justice  somewhat — to  show  her 
learning  somewhat  more.  The  end  was, 
that  she  not  only  adopted  the  views  of  Sir 
Philip  Sydney,  but  gave  him  the  command 
of  some  forces  that  were  to  be  sent  into 
Flanders,  to  disembark  at  Flushing,  of  which 
place  she  appointed  him  governor.  Other 
things  were  also  to  be  done,  but  as  these  do 
not  much  affect  our  story,  methinks  there 
shall  be  no  need  of  the  relation.  After  this 
the  council  broke  up,  and  Sir  Philip  returned 
on  horseback  with  the  two  young  knights  to 
his  own  dwelling. 

Shortly  after,  the  three  companions  in 
arms  joined  the  Countess  of  Pembroke  in. 
the  library,  a  fair  chamber  well  stoclfed  with 


200 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


ail  manner  of  books,  especially  of  romances 
and  poems  both  English  and  foreign.  The 
countess  seemed  intent  on  a  large  manu- 
script ;  but  this  she  put  on  one  side  at  the 
entrance  of  her  brother  and  his  friends, 
whom  she  welcomed  very  gladly.  Presently 
they  i'ell  to  conversing  as  was  their  wont 
on  such  topics  as  were  of  the  most  intellec- 
tual character,  for  it  was  a  custom  with  this 
truly  famous  woman  to  endeavor  as  much 
as  possible  to  draw  out  the  minds  of  her 
associates,  and  where  she  found  them  defici- 
ent, to  show  them  glimpses  of  the  know- 
ledge they  wanted  in  its  most  delightful  as- 
pect, and  give  them  a  zest  to  acquire  it 
more  fully.  This  made  her  so  much  the 
admiration  of  the  learned  of  her  time.  In 
truth  I  have  some  reason  for  thinking  she 
diffused  the  spirit  of  intelligence  more  widely 
by  the  fascinations  of  her  eloquence,  than  did 
one  half  the  colleges  in  the  kingdom  with 
all  their  notable  efforts  at  teaching.  A 
familiarity  with  the  best  classic  writers  was 
then  the  fashion — perchance  set  by  her  high- 
ness, who  was  no  contemptible  scholar — and 
to  this  there  was  frequently  joined  consider- 
able knowledge  of  the  Italian  poets  and  the 
French  romances.  But  with  the  countess, 
and  with  her  equally  gifted  brother,  the  fashi- 
on made  itself  apparent,  arrayed  in  those 
graces  of  humanity,  which  might  make  it 
most  enchanting, — and  to  them  Socked  such 
scholars  as  wished  to  be  thought -of  the 
fashion,  and  those  more  fashionable  sort  of 
persons  who  sought  to  be  regarded  as  schol- 
ars. The  two  young  knights  were  among 
the  very  sincerest  admirers  of  the  Countess 
of  Pembroke  : — but  Sir  Valentine  regarded 
her  with  an  enthusiastic  reverence,  which 
exceeded  even  the  feeling  of  the  same  kind 
with  which  he  looked  on  Sir  Philip  Sydney, 
and  few  of  their  numerous  circle  of  friends 
were  so  well  esteemed  of  these  illustrious 
persons  as  were  those  gallant  gentlemen. 

"  1  have  had  notable  rare  company,  brother, 
since  the  morning,"  said  the  countess. 

"  Truly,  I  cannot  see  how  it  could  well  be 
otherwise,"  answered  Sir  Reginald,  with  a 
very  ready  courtesy.  "  For  even  were  you 
left  alone,  you  must  needs  be  in  such  excel- 
lent company  as  can  nowhere  else  be  met 
with." 

"  1'  faith,  Sir  Reginald,  methinks  you  are 
taking  a  leaf  from  the  book  of  my  kinsman, 
Leicester,"  observed  my  Lady  Pembroke,with 
an  exquisite  smile. 

"  JN'ay,  I  think  he  hath  been  taking  a  lesson 
from  the  courtly  Sir  Christopher  Hatton," 
observed  her  brother  with  a  laugh. 

"By  this  hand!"  exclaimed  the  young 
knight  earnestly,  "the  last  lesson  I  took 


of  any  man  was  from%.  better  master  than 
either." 

"  And  who  might  that  be  ?"  inquired  Sir 
Philip.  "  For  surely  he  must  be  exceeding 
worthy — my  kinsman  being  a  very  noble 
gentleman,  and  Sir  Christopher,  though  a 
very  courtier,  is  not  without  some  good 
qualities." 

"  I  doubt  not  I  could  make  a  shrewd  guess 
at  this  right  famous  master  of  yours  ?"  said 
the  countess,  \vith  an  approving  glance. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  one  who  knoweth  his 
excellence  so  thoroughly,  could  name  any 
other,"  replied  the  knight. 

"  Let  us  have  his  title,  and  quickly,  Sir 
Reginald,"  cried  Sir  Philip.  "  For  my  me- 
mory is  at  fault." 

"  Assuredly  it  is  one  Sir  Philip  Sydney, 
well  known  of  all  men  to  be  the  best  master 
of  knights  that  can  be  met  with  in  this  our 
age,"  replied  Sir  Reginald. 

"  And  with  all  proper  pride  I  do  acknow- 
ledge myself  also  to  have  profited  by  his 
right  admirable  lessons,"  added  Siv  Valen- 
tine, with  a  warmer  enthusiasm. 

"  Well,  although,  as  I  take  it.  you  do  over- 
rate the  master  hugely,"  replied  the  < 
of  their  eulogium,  but  not  without  a  sensible 
satisfaction  at  its  thorough  honesty,  "  I  must 
say  this — I  would  every  master  were  as  ho- 
norably off  for  pupils.  But  who  were  of  your 
comparty  this  morning,  my  dear  sister  T'  in- 
quired he,  seeming  anxious,  as  great  minds 
ever  are,  by  shifting  of  the  conversation,  to 
avoid  his  own  praises. 

"  Truly,  I  have  had  so  many,  I  scarce  can 
remember  one  half  of  them,"  replied  hi*  ac- 
complished relative.  "  First  there  came  the 
merry  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells,  to  intro- 
duce to  me  a  certain  learned'scholar  of  his 
acquaintance,  who  was  exceeding  anxious 
to  be  known  to  me,  with  whom  I  had  much 
choice  discourse,  made  more  pleasant  by 
some  droll  sayings  of  my  Lord  Bishop." 

"  Methinks  Dr.  Still  is  somewhat  of  too 
jesting  a  nature  for  a  grave  prelate,"  ob- 
served her  brother,  good-humoredly.  Ci  His 
'  Gammar  Gurton's  Needle,'  smacketh  very 
little  of  the  church,  and  his  talk  hath  just  as 
much  of  the  sermon." 

"  My  next  comer  was  a  certain  Master 
John  Lily,"  continued  the  countess.  ''  He 
hath  brought  me  a  play  of  his,  entitled  '  Alex- 
ander and  Campespe,'  which  though  I  find 
to  lack  something  in  plot  and  character,  is 
not  without  some  fair  signs  of  merit." 

"  Ah,  Master  Lily,  1  know  him  well," 
said  Sir  Philip.  "  He  hath  left  the  college 
for  the  play-house,  but  I  doubt  his  great  fit- 
ness for  either.  He  hath  lately  sought  to 
set  himself  up  as  Master  Grammarian,  to 


THE  YdtTTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


201 


teach  us  a  new  style  of  English,  but  surely 
nothinsr  so  strained  and  unnatural  was  ever 
heard  of!" 

"  Then  I  had  with  me  the  famous  author 
of  Jeronimo,"  added  his  sister. 

"  Ay,  Master  Kyd  hath  got  himself  into 
marvellous  repute,"  observed  the  other. 
"  He  hath  a  most  moving  skill  in  the  compo- 
sition of  his  plays.  His  blank  verse  is  ex- 
ceeding spirited,  and  not  without  a  proper  j 
touch  of  true  poetry — nevertheless,  he  pos- 
sesseth  many  faults  of  extravagance,  it 
would  be  advisable  in  him  to  eschew." 

"  After  him  I  had  the  knight  of  the 
smirched  mantle." 

"  Ha !  my  very  excellent  good  friend  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Philip,  with  ; 
much  earnestness  and  some  pleasantry. 
"  By  this  light  his  throwing  his  fine  cloak  ', 
into  the  puddle,  hath  put  his  acquaintance 
on  so  fair  a  footing  with  her  highness,  he  is 
like  to  make  a  gallant  stand  at  court.  But  in 
justice  I  must  acknowledge  he  is  a  truly 
valiant  young  soldier,  and  hath  in  him  the 
best  gifts  of  the  scholar  and  the  gentleman 
to  an  extent  greater  than  that  of  any  of 
whom  I  have  knowledge." 

"  At  least  so  he  hath  seemed  to  me,"  said 
the  Lady  Pembroke,  and  then  the  two  knights 
added  their  testimony  of  his  worthiness,  for 
he  was  of  their  particular  approved  friends 
— but  more  of  his  truly  noble  character-anon 
gentle  reader. 

"  After  these  there  came  persons  of  all 
kinds,"  continued  the  Countess  of  Pembroke. 
"  I  was  like  unto  a  besieged  city  sore 
pressed.  Hither  came  gallants  to  idle  their 
time — poets  to  read  to  me  their  verses — 
play  writers  to  bespeak  my  presence  at  the 
play-house  to  see"  their  play — booksellers  to 
offer  me  the  very  newest  works  they  had 
published,  hoping  for  my  commendation, — 
and  many  poor  scholars  seeking  to  be  au- 
thors, who  required  only  my  poor  influence, 
at  least  so  they  believed,  as  a  stepping  stone 
to  fame.  I  did  my  best  for  all — and  all  ap- 
peared in  excellent  content  with  their  visit." 

After  this  the  subject  of  their  converse 
turned  upon  a  certain  work  recently  written 
by  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  since  well  known  to 
every  reader  as  the  right  famous  Arcadia. 

"  Nay,  dear  brother,  but  the  merit  cannot 
be  denied,"  exclaimed  his  fair  relative,  after  j 
the  author  had  expressed  a  humble  opinion  ! 
of  it.     "  I  will  hot  hear  of  your  speaking 
of  it  slightly.     It  is  a  work  just  as  I  should 
have  expected  from  you — a  combination  of 
chivalry  and  scholarship  put  into  the  most 
delectable  apparelling." 

"  You  must  needs  be  too  partial  a  judge  to 
pass  an  honest  sentence  in'  this  case,  sweet 


sister,"  said  Sir.Philip  Sydney,  good  humor- 
edly. 

"  That  I  can  in  no  way  allow,"  cried  Sir 
Reginald,  "  That  my  Lady  Pembroke  is  a 
good  judge,  and  a  fair  judge,  methinks  would 
be  stoutly  maintained  by  every  one  who 
hath  the  honor  of  her  acqftaintance ;  not 
only  because  she  is  in  herself  peculiarly 
good  and  fair,  but  because  her  opinions  par- 
take so  largely  of  the  like  qualities ;  and 
though  she  cannot  help  regarding  the  writer 
of  so  notable  a  work  with  considerable  par- 
tiality, because  of  his  standing  in  such  near 
relationship  to  her,  it  doth  not  follow  she 
cannot  properly  appreciate  its  excellences. 
Indeed  I  am  apt  to  think  she  would  look 
more  closely  into  the  nature  of  any  produc- 
tion from  such  a  source,  and-thercfore  known 
its  quality  and  character  better  than  could 
any  other." 

"  Surely  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  this," 
added  Sir  Valentine,  more  earnestly.  "  Even 
were  my  Lady  Pembroke  less  gifted  than 
she  is,  it  is  scarcely  possible  her  love  for  the 
writer  could  mislead  her  in  her  judgment  of 
the  book '  for  as  all  that  most  perfect  wit 
could  do  would  be  to  praise,  her  affections 
are  surely  not  likely  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
so  appropriate  a  duty.  But  surely,  of  all 
persons  my  lady  ought  to  be  the  best  quali- 
fied to  be  a  judge  in,  such  case,  else  that  no- 
bleness of  nature  so  many  have  found,  can 
be  but  of  small  advantage  to  her." 

"  O'  my  word,  you  are  all  alike  !"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Philip,  seeking  to  turn  off  the 
question  as  pleasantly  as  he  could ;  then 
taking  up  a  book  which  lay  on  the  table  be- 
fore him,  he  added,  "  Want  you  now,  a  book 
deserving  of  your  warmest  encomium,  here  is 
one.  It  is  no  other  than  '  The  Shepherd's 
Calendar,'  written  by  my  esteemed  friend 
Master  Edmund  Spenser,  who  hath  done  me 
the  honor  of  its  dedication.  It  is  a  sort  of 
rustic  poem,  or  series  of  eclogues,  wherein 
the  poet,  in  the  feigned  name  of  Colin,  ex- 
presseth  very  movingly  his  infinite  griefs 
caused  by  the  treachery  of  a  false  mistress, 
to  whom  he  hath  given  the  title  of  Rosa- 
linde." 

"  I  am  apt  to  think  this  poem  of  Master 
Spenser's  is  not  altogether  a  fiction,"  ob- 
served the  countess.  "  There  is  a  heartiness 
in  it,  a  truth  and  vividness,  which  never 
come  of  the  imagination  alone." 

<;  You  are  right,"  replied  her  brother.  "  I 
heard  of  Doctor  Gabriel  Harvey,  to  whom  I 
am  indebted  for  my  introduction  to  the  poet, 
that  he  had  formed  a  deep  attachment  to  some 
female,  who,  after  seeking,  by  all  manner  of 
artifices,  to  ensnare  his  affections,  when  she 
found  they  were  hers  beyond  recall,  treated 


202 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKfPEARE. 


him  with  unexampled  perfidy,  and  soon  after 
married  some  obscure  person — doubtless  as 
worthless  as  herself.  The  general  cry  on 
hearing  of  such  instances  is, '  a  good  rid- 
dance :'  and  this  may  be  true  enough  to  a 
certain  extent ;  but  men  of  Master  Spenser's 
stamp,  when  they  do  love,  do  so  entwine  the 
filaments  of  their  hearts  with  the  beloved 
object,  that  any  disunion  is  to  them  the  ter- 
riblest  laceration  that  can  be  imagined,  and 
leaveth  a  wound  which  afflicteth  them  with 
a  continual  agony." 

"  Of  aM  men  living,  such  as  are  of  the 
highest  imaginations  are  most  likely  to  meet 
with  such  a  fate,"  said  his  gifted  sister. 
"  None  do  so  readily  become  the  prey  of  an 
artful  woman — for  their  love  of  the  pure  and 
beautiful  which  is  the  poworfullest  impulse 
of  their  natures,  leadeth  them  to  put  their 
faith,  and,  heart,  and  soul,  in  fair  appear-' 
ances;  and  when  a,  woman,  under  such 
guise,  showeth  signs  of  being  favorably  dis- 
posed to  them,  they  enrich  her  with  their 
sweetest  thoughts  and  sympathies,  and  look 
to  her,  and  to  her  alone,  for  the  realization 
of  their  happiness.  I  doubt  not,  as  it  gen- 
erally happens  in  such  a  case,  the  original 
of  Master  Spenser's  Rosalinde  was  an  ob- 
scure person,  who,  assuming  the  qualities 
with  which  such  a  disposition  as  that  of  her 
gifted  lover,  is  most  apt  to  be  taken,  was 
honored  with  his  regard  ;  and  then,  merely 
out  of  selfish  vanity  to  possess  so  proud  a 
gallant,  she  made  his  confiding  nature 
believe  she  truly  loved  him,  till  she  had 
thoroughly  enslaved  his  feelings,  and  forced 
his  adoration  to  be  subservient  to  advance 
sufficiently  her  own  pride.  I  regret  to  say 
such  women  are  by  no  means  rare.  They 
are  of  the  thoroughly  heartless,  who  reck- 
lessly enter  into  a  mischief  for  which  they 
can  never  render  adequate  compensation, 
careless  of  ought  save  the  gratification  of 
their  vanity.  'Tis  lamentable  that  such 
base  idols  should  receive  such  precious  sac- 
rifice." 

Both  Sir  Valentine*  and  Sir  Reginald, 
with  their  acccustomed  gallantry,  were  for 
asserting  that  women  so  treacherously  dis- 
posed were  not  to  be  found  ;  but  the  coun- 
tess would  not  allow  of  statements  so  flatter- 
ing. She  honored  them  for  their  opinion  ; 
but  her  own  deeper  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject, and  honesty  of  heart,  made  her  refuse 
it  as  erroneous. 

"It  matters  not,"  observed  her  brother, 
interrupting  the  disputation.  "  There  are 
epots  on  the  sun,  and  if  that  we  meet  with 
similar  blemishes  in  that  wonderful  fair  lu- 
minary, woman,  we  ought  to  remember 
how  many. are  her  admirable  qualities,  and 


how  hapless  would  be  our  case  without  her 
shining  light  to  warm  and  illumine  our 
world." 

"  I  would  grant  ah1  that  very  gladly,"  re- 
plied the  countess ;  "  and  right  proud  am  I 
to  hear  my  sex  so  considered.  But  this 
altereth  not  the  case;  there  are,  unfortu- 
nately, women  of  the  sort  I  have  alluded  to  ; 
and,  be  they  few  or  many,  the  evil  they  do  is 
out  of  any  calculation  ;  for 'they  single  out 
for  their  victims  the  truest  and  noblest  na- 
tures ;  and  the  mischief  endeth  not  with 
them,  for  the  misery  of  such  must  needs  af- 
fect the  wide  circle  whb  take  in  them  the 
interest  they  deserve.  In  the  particular  in- 
stance of  Master  Spenser,  I  feel  more  moved 
than  perchance  I  otherwise  might  be,  know- 
ing, as  I  do  his  good  qualities  so  intimately. 
He  is  the  gentlest  creature  I  ever  met,  and 
a  very  child  in  simplicity  and  affectionate- 
ness — thoroughly  ingenious,  unobtrusive,  un- 
offending, kind,  and  grateful.  Gifted,  too, 
as  he  is,  with  the  highest  powers  of  mind,  it 
seemeth  a  marvel  to  me  he  should  be  other- 
wise looked  on  by  any  woman  save  with  ad 
miration  and  homage." 

"  The  worst  feature  in  the  case  is  the  in- 
gratitude of  these  false  Rosalindes,"  added 
Sir  Philip.  "  The  poet  honoreth  such  a 
woman  by  attiring  her  in  the  exquisite  fair 
livery  of  his  genius,  to  the  complete  hiding 
of  her  natural  poor  apparelling ;  and  then 
thus  admirably  garmented,  she  quitteth  him 
to  whom  she  is  so  greatly  indebted,  and,  by 
means  of  his  gifts,  palmeth  her  worthless- 
ness  upon  some  other." 

"  Now  here  is  most  excellent  evidence  of 
the  noble  qualities  of  our  esteemed  friend," 
said  his  sister,  putting  her  hand  upon  the 
manuscript  before  her.  "  It  is  the  lirst  part 
of  a  great  poem  in  heroical  verse,  wherein 
he  intendeth  to  represent  all  the  moral  vir- 
tues, assigning  to  each  a  knight,  in  whose 
conduct  the  operations  of  that  virtue,  where- 
of he  is  the  acknowledged  protector,  are  to 
be  expressed,  and  by  whom  the  vices  and 
unruly  appetites,  that  are  opposed  to  it,  are 
to  bo  overthrown.  Truly,  a  most  compre- 
hensive design  ;  but  the  surprising  richness 
of  the  imagery — the  purely  imaginative  char- 
acter of  the  language — the  high  and  chival- 
rous feeling  which  pervades  every  part — 
and  the  perfectly  original  character  of  each 
conception,  as  far  as  I  have  read  of  it — are 
equally  manifest." 

"  Truly,  '  The  Fairy  Queen,'  promisetnto 

be  a  work  of  lasting  fame,"  added  Sir  Philip. 

"  From  the  specimen  entrusted  to  me,  I  hes- 

!  State  not  in  saying,  it  cannot  help  proving  to 

be  a  mine  of  the  very  richest  ore." 

;     "  But  what  most  deserveth  our  eulogium 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


203 


s  the  purifying  and  ennobling  tendency  of 
this  poem,"  continued  the  countess.  "  The  j 
object  appeareth  to  be  to  exalt  humanity, ! 
and  show  to  what  heights  it  can  climb ; '. 
that  those  who  may  be  ambitious  of  great-  i 
ness,  shall  iiave  proper  guidance  to  the  ele-  i 
vation  they  aim  at.  With  this  idea  in  view,  | 
the  poet  bringeth  before  the  reader,  man  in  ': 
all  his  nobleness,  and  woman  in  all  her  pu-  ', 
rity — everything  that  can  make  knighthood  j 
appear  in  such  chivalrousxcharacter,  as  must  i 
be  most  worthy  of  female  adoration  ;  and  all 
that  can  give  to  feminine  beauty  that  perfec- 
tion, which  is  the  truest  excitement  of 
knightly  achievements." 

"  Surely  Master  Spenser  hath  earned  for 
himself  the  gratitude  of  every  knight  in 
Christendom !"  exclaimed  Sir  Reginald. 

"  Ay,  that  has  he,"  added  Sir  Valentine, 
with  a  like  earnestness.  "  Indeed  I  know 
not  how  a  great  mind,  such  as  his  must 
needs  be,  could  have  found  employment  so 
profitable  to  virtuous  feeling  and  honorable 
conduct."  At  this  moment,  the  conversation 
was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  a 
serving  man,  announcing  the  name  of  Mas- 
ter Spenser,  and  presently  there  entered  a 
man  of  handsome  mild  features,  somewhat 
touched  by  the  spirit  of  melancholy,  but  not 
sufficiently  so  to  render  their  gravity  <un- 
pleasing.  His  eyes  were  clear,  and  beam- 
in.;  \vitli  the  gentlest  expressions;  and  his 
beard  short,  and  rounded  under"  the  chin, 
fie  wore  a  suit  of  a  sober  cut,  with  a  falling 
band  round  his  neck,  cut  into  points.  In 
figure  he  was  somewfiat  slim,  and  in  beha- 
vior of  a  graceful  courtesy.  All  rose  to 
welcome  him  at  his  approach,  and  though 
the  greeting  of  the  others  was  exceedingly 
hearty,  there  was  in  that  of  the  counfess  the 
tenderness  of  a  sister.  He  received  these 
tokens  of  their  good-will  with  a  modesty  of 
demeanor,  that  bespoke  the  natural  retiring- 
ness  of  his  disposition. 

The  conversation  soon  returned  to  its 
former  subject — the  writings  cf  Master ; 
Spenser.  Sir  Philip  Sydney  mingling  with  ! 
his  praises  some  show  of  criticism  ;  but  his 
gifted  sister  was  evidently  in  no  mood  for 
playing  of  the  critic,  for  she  spoke  most  elo- 
quently in  their  commendation.  The  poet 
listened  with  looks  of  delight  and  gratitude, 
attend  ing  to  the  opinions  they  expressed  with 
the  deepest  respect,  knowing  what  oracles 
his  judges  were,  and  seeming  to  marvel  any- 
thing of  his  invention  could  be  so  well 
thought  of. 

"  I  am  greatly  bound  to  you  for  such  hon- 
orable mention  of  my  poor  performance," 
observed  he,  with  an  impressive  sincerity  ; 
"  1  have  merely  trod  in  the  footsteps,  and, 


as  must  needs  be,  at  a  humble  distance  of 
those  illustrious  masters  of  the  epic  art,  Ho- 
mer, Virgil,  Ariosto,  Dante  and  Tasso ;  and 
I  will  strive  all  I  may  to  continue  in  so  glo- 
rious a  path.  But  I  am  come  here  with  the 
hope  of  seeing  justice  done  to  a  poet,  who, 
as  far  as  I  can  judge  of  the  example  of  his 
powers  that  hath  accidentally  fallen  into  my 
hands,  is  like  to  overtop  the  ablest  writers  of 
his  age." 

Tin's  speech  created  exceeding  surprise  in 
those  around  him,  and  the  speaker  was  quick- 
ly asked  to  what  he  alluded ;  whereupon  he 
continued — 

"  I  had  just  parted  with  my  gallant  and 
noble-hearted  true  friend,  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh, about  an  hour  since,  when,  as  I  was 
passing  by  Dowgate,  my  attention  was  forc- 
ibly attracted  by  a  decent-looking  young 
countryman,  struggling  in  the  rude  grasp  of 
divers  constables,  who  were  hurrying  him 
off  to  prison,  for  what  offence  I  know  not. 
Whilst  observing  him,  I  noticed  a  paper  fall 
from  his  doublet,  which  all  else  about  him 
were  too  busy  with  their  prisoner  to  regard; 
I  presently  stepped  forward  and  picked  it  up. 
I  found  it  to  be  a  poem,  the  which,  with  your 
gracious  permission,  I  would  gladly  read  to 
you." 

Permission  being  very  readily  granted, — 
for  every  one  appeared  singularly  carious 
on  so  strange  a  matter, — Master  Spenser 
produced  a  paper,  from  which  he  read  what 
is  here  set  down : — 

"  THE  POET  OWNETH  HIS  SUBMISSION  TO   THE 
SOVEREIGN  BEAUTY." 

"  Lo  !  from  the  feathery  foam  I  see  thee  rise 

'Scaped  from  the  arms  of  lh'  enamored  billow, 
A  thousand  balmy  airs  stoop  from  the  skies, 

And  round  about  thee  hold  their  pliant  pillow ; 

The  beach  is  gained — the  oak,  the  elm,  the 

willow, 
With  all  their  ancient  heraldry  appear, 

Owning  a  brighter  sunshine  in  thine  eyes, 
Streams  laugh  beneath  thy  looks  ;  and  far  and 

near, 
Doth  the  whole  landscape  thy  rich  livery  wear. 

"  First-born  of  Nature  !     Queen  of  Life   and 

Light ; 
Mother  of  Love  !  (whose  power  supports  thy 

being) 

Whose  flames  the  quenchless  lamps  of  night, 
And  flasheth  where  morn's  burning  car  i« 

fleeing, 
Hither   to    me  !     My  fettered    thoughts   be 

freeing  ; 
And,  as  the  obedient  slaves  their  mistress  own, 

With  thy  divine  apparel  make  them  bright, 
That  men  may  see  they're  thine,  and  thine  alone, 
And  where  they  go  they  may  thy  might  make 
known. 


£04 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  L  call  thee  !     I,  thy  fervent  worshipper, 
Whom  thou  hast  gazed  on  from  thy  secret 

places, 
Seeking  to  be  thy  holy  minister  ; 

Enclasp  my  spirit  in  thy  fond  embraces ! 
Delight   each   feeling  with   thy  gladd'ning 

graces ! 

Teach  every  sympathy  thy  gentle  lore  ! 
Be  for  my  hopes  a  ready  messenger  ; 
And  all  that's  best  of  me  instruct  to  soar, 
Where  thou  hast  garnered  thy  most  precious 
store. 

"  Ere  I  knew  thee  I  was  like  some  deep  nook 
O'ergrown  with  gnarled  trunks  and  weeds 

entangled, 

Where  smiling  nature  never  deigned  to  look, 
And  wind  and  water  wrestled  as  they  wran- 
gled ;  « 
I  met  thy  gaze  ; — then  all  my  verdure  span- 
gled 
With  countless  myriads  of  refreshing  dews  ; 

The  sullen  flood  turned  to  a  sparkling  brook, 
And  the  hushed  wind  no  more  would  show  his 

thews, 
Where  virgin  buds  betrayed  their  blushing  hues. 

"  Then  was  I  filled  with  store  of  sunny  gleams, 
As  some  rich  pattern  skilful  hands  are  weav- 
ing, 

All  shot  about  in  threads  with  golden  beams  ; 
Or  ears  of  grain  the  harvest  lord  is  sheaving, 
Ere  the  great  ripener  his  hot  couch  is  leaving. 

And  such  hath  been  the  magic  of  thy  glance, 
A  change  fell  o'er  my  thoughts,  my  hopes, 
my  dreams, 

And  I  became,  through  my  allegiance, 

A  wilderness  turned  to  a  fair  pleasance. 

"  I  saw  thee  when  thy  mother  Nature  held 

Thee  in  her  lap  before  my  marvelling  glances, 
When  breeze  and   billow  their  rough   music 

quelled 

To  soothing  lullabies  and  cheerful  dances, 
When  all  earth's  chivalry  of  blades  and  lances 
Leaped  into  motion  over  hill  and  dale, 

And  blooming  youth  and  patriarchal  eld 
On  bow'rs  and  banks,  the  rock,  the  wood,  the 

vale, 

Donned  in  thy  name  their  brightest  coat   of 
mail ! 

"  I  knew  thee  by  the  soul-enthralling  good 
That  threw  its  rosy  halo  round  thy  dwelling, 

By  banishment  from  thy  pure  neighborhood 
Of  things  that  show  no  token  of  excelling, 
By  tuneful  praises,  every  voice  was  telling. 

Of  plumed  courtier  grateful  for  thy  smile  ; 
And  the  sweet  incense,  not  to  be  withstood, 

Shed  by  a  thousand  censers  all  that  while 

Swung  to  and  fro  beneath  each  forest  aisle. 

"  I  loved  thee  for  the  kind  and  open  hand 

Thou  hast  at  all  times  held  out  at  my  greeting, 
For  lessons  of  the  true,  the  rare,  the  grand, 


That  made  my  entertainment  at  our  meeting; 

For  bounteous  largess  ever  more  repeating, 
Of  precious  favors  delicately  choice  ; 

And  more  than  all  for  sky,  and  sea,  and  land, 
Which,  in  thy  braveries,  thou  madest  rejoice 
With  graceful  form  and  music-breathing  voice. 

"  Seen,  known,  and  loved  of  me  so  long  and 
•    well, 

Methinks  I  hold  such  fond  familiar  footing, 
That  shouldst  thou  slumber  in  some  mo.ss-grown 

cell, 

Or  ruin  hoar  where  reverend  owls  are  hooting, 
Whilst  time  its  strong  foundations  is  uproot- 
ing, 
Unto  thy  private  chamber  I  might  hie, 

On  tiptoe,  breathless,  lest  I  break  the  spell 
Which  holds  thine  eyelids  with  so  firm  a  tie, 
And  couched  beside  thee  lovingly  might  lie. 

"  Therefore  I  call  thee  now,  sweet  lady,  mine, 
Come  forth,  my  queen,  from  thy  most  glorious 

palace ! 

Dear  Priestess,  leave  thy  star-enamelled  shrine 
That  boasts  its  river  font,  and  floral  chalice, 
To  the  storm's  rage  or  cloud's  most  gloomy 

malice, 

And  in  my  mind  make  thou  thy  present  bower  ; 
Shed  there  thy  warmest,  brightest,  purest 

shine, 

And  as  'tis  nurtured  by  the  genial  power, 
Each  fresh  idea  shall  show  a  rarer  flower. 

"  As  'tis  of  thee  that  I  essay  to  sing, 

On  me  let  thy  immortal  worth  be  grafted, 
My  nature  then  thy  precious  fruit  would  bring 

Like  odors  on  the  summer  zephyrs  wafted  ; 

Or  some  rude  weapon  gemmed  and  golden- 

hafted, 
To  be  a  sign  unto  an  after  age, 

That  I  had  been  thy  knight,  thy  lord,  thy 

king, 

Thy  scholar,  by  thy  teaching  rendered  sage, 
Thy  slave,  whose  labor  brought  a  goodly  wage. 

"  Ah  me  !  perchance  thou  -art  not  so  inclined 

And  think'st  it  better  to  be  gaily  straying, 
Giving  thy  tresses  to  the  wanton  wind 

As  thou  dost  wander  up  and  down  a  maying  ; 

Or  art  by  clearest  waters  idly  straying, 
Lost  in  delight  of  thine  own  loveliness, 

Mirrored  within  the  wave — and  there  dost 

bind 

A  delicate  garland  o'er  each  dainty  tress, 
And  all  thy  charms  doth  tire  in   such  brave 
dress. 

Well,  if 'tis  so  indeed — it  needs  must  be, 
I  cannot  give  thee  any  such  adorning, 
Still  shall  all  natural  things  witness  for  me 
In  courts  where  there  hath  never  been  sub- 
orning, 
That  noon  arid  twilight  eve,  eve  and  early 

morning, 

Only  to  gain  thy  love  I  cared  to  live  ; 
But  surely  if  'tis  vain  to  hope  for  thee, 


THE  YOUTH  OP  SHAKSPEARE. 


205 


Thco.  canst  thy  highest  power  and  purpose  give 

To  some  befitting  representative  ? 

"  And  such  a  one  know  I,  whose  great  desert 

Giveth  her  comeliness  its  noblest  garnish; 
Her  spirit,  that  makes  envy  fall  inert, 

Gleams  like  a  blade  that  Knows  no  soil  or 
tarnish, 

Or  painting  shining  in  its  freshest  varnish  ; 
Oh  ne'er  hath  been  such,  costly  carcanet ! — 

A  truth  that  none  who  live  can  controvert, 
For  in  and  out  all  Stirling  gifts  are  met, 
And  every  gem  of  price  therein  is,  set. 

"  Doubtless  so  rare  a  being  hath  obtained 

From  thee  the  title  of  her  rarity : 
For  from  what  other  source  could  she  have 
gained 

Her  embassy  of  love  and  charity  ? 

'Twixt  ye  there  is  such  small  disparity, 
I  oft  have  thought  she  was  herself  the  queen, 

Thou  her, — and  near  her  have  remained, 
Paying  that  rev'rence  to  her  shape  and  mien 
I  would  but  give  to  thee  hadst  thou  there  been. 

"  And  long  may  she  such  glorious  office  hold  ! 

And  long  to  me  present  her  fair  credentials 
May  in  each  word  her  embassy  be  told, 

Each  look  convey  the  same  divine  essentials 
Thy  mightiness  alone  hath  meaning  for  : 

Then  with  a  tribute  richer  far  than  gold 
Will  I  do  homage  as  thy  servitor' 
And  ever  honor  thy  embassador. 

"  Truly,  I'll  find  her  lodging  of  the  best, 

All  furnished  in  a  fashion  most  endearing, 
To  be  its  mistress  rather  than  its  guest  ; 

And  give  such  gallant  vestment  for  her  wear- 
ing, 

As  shall  the  best  become  her  noble  bearing  ; 
I'll  have  before  her  Fame's  loud  trumpet  sound  ; 

Upon  her  head  I'll  place  a  jewelled  crest : 
And  wheresoe'er  her  footsteps  shall  be  found, 
My  monuments  shall  glorify  the  ground. 

"  And  thus  my  whole  affections  I  subject, 
Whilst  o'er  my  cheek  the  hue  of  life  is  florid, 

To  use  thy  laws,  thy  rule,  thy  dialect, 
Forswear  all  brutal  hate  and  vengeance  horrid, 
From  zone  to  zone,  the  frigid  and  the  torrid 

Whist  of  this  world  I  am  a  denizen  ; 
And  ever  show  the  loyalest  respect 

Where'er  thy  signet  is  apparent,  when 

Thou  seekest  dealings  with  my  fellow  men." 

A  famous  marvelling  was  exhibited  by  all 
present,  at  the  reading  of  these  verses,  and 
much  was  said  of  the  unknown  author,  for 
whom  exceeding  interest  had  been  excited  ; 
and,  at  last,  Sir  Philip  Sydney  hurried 
Master  Spenser  away  with  him,  that  they 
might  learn  who  he  was,  and  where  he 
might  be  found,  with  as  little  delay  as  pos- 
sible. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

This  fool  comes  from  the  citizens, 
Nay,  prithee  do  not  frown ! 

1  know  him  as  well  as  you 
By  his  livery  gown — 
Of  a  rare  horn-mad  family. 

ANON. 
Tell  Fortune  of  her  blindness, 

Tell  Nature  of  decay, 
Tell  Friendship  of  unkindness 

Tell  Justice  of  delay ; 
And  if  they  dare  reply, 
Then  give  them  both  the  lie. 

Sis  WALTER  RALEIGH. 

BY  dint  of  constant  inquiries  of  carmen, 
pedlars  and  others,  the  youthful  Shakspeare 
found  his  way  to  the  Bankside,  where,  as 
he  had  heard,  stood  the  playhouse  whereof 
the  elder  Burbage  was  manager.  He  en- 
tered London  by  the  Uxbridge  road,  in  a 
strange  wonder  at  the  number  of  persons  he 
met,  as  soon  as  he  had  got  to  the  field  called 
the  Hay-market,  near  Charing,  where  the 
country  people  held  a  market  of  hay  and 
straw,  for  the  convenience  of  the  Londoners. 
There,  the  abundance  of  splendid  mansions 
he  passed,  and  numberless  houses  of  the 
citizens,  the  shops,  the  warehouses,  the 
churches,  the  great  din  of  traffic,  that  soun- 
ded along  the  streets,  of  itinerant  chapmen 
bawling  their  wares — witli  the  rolling  of 
carts  and  waggons,  and  the  goodly  caval- 
cade of  nobles  and  gallants  riding  their 
sprightly  palfreys,  astonished  him  exceed- 
ingly, whilst  the  more  closely  he  approached 
the  city,  the  path  became  more  thronged 
with- persons  of  all  kinds  and  conditions,  in 
such  exceeding  variety  of  appearance,  that 
it  seemed  an  endless  puzzle  to  the  young 
traveller  to  guess  their  several  characters 
and  vocations. 

By  the  time  he  arrived  at  the  Globe  play- 
house, he  was  weary  with  hunger  and  walk- 
ing. A  flag  was  flying  at  the  roof,  which 
denoted  that  the  play  had  commenced,  as  he 
learned  from  a  bystander  ;  so  he  thought  it 
would  be  most  advisable  to  wait  till  it  was 
over,  before  he  presented  himself  to  any  of 
his  old  companions  ;  therefore  he  strolled 
about  the  place  amongst  the  venders  of 
fruit,  and  crowds  of  idlers  that  stood  nigh 
the  building.  As  he  was  noting,  with  his 
accustomed  curiousness,  the  manners  of  the 
sorts  of  persons  in  his  neighborhood,  on  a 
sudden  a  horseman  rode  up,  and  alighting 
beside  him,  cried,  "  Here,  fellow,  hold  my 
horse,  and  I'll  give  thee  a  groat  at  my 
return,"  flung  him  the  bridle  and  quickly 
vanished  into  the  playhouse.  William  Shaka- 


208 


TIIE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


pcare  was  taken  somewhat  by  surprise  at 
this  occurrence,  but  remembering  that  his 
purse  was  penniless,  and  himself  both  tired 
and  hungry,  he  was  well  enough  disposed  for 
the  earning  of  any  sum,  even  though  it  came 
of  such  humble  employment  as  the  holding  of 
a  horse  :  nevertheless,  whilst  he  walked  the 
animal  up  and  down,  his  mind  was  wonder- 
fully busy  in  forming  all  sorts  of  bright  am- 
bitious prospects,  as  completely  at  variance 
with  his  present  poor  shift,  as  any  matter 
could  be. 

Thus  he  employed  himself,  till  the  people 
coming  thronging  out  of  the  doors  of  the 
playhouse,  told  him  that  the  play  was  done  ; 
and  presently,  up  comes  the  gallant,  whose 
horse  he  had  in  charge,  gave  him  the  pro- 
mised groat,  and  rode  away ;  but  it  so  haj)- 
pened,  while  he  was  engaged  with  the  latter, 
two  young  men,  very  fairly  clad,  who  were 
passing  near,  when  they  caught  sight  of  the 
young  Shakspeare  stopped  of  a  sudden,  and 
regarded  him  with  a  very  curious  and  mar- 
velling aspect. 

"  It  must  be  him,  Dick  !"  said  one. 

"  Ay,  marry,  it  is  ;  but  who  bringeth  him 
here,  holding  of  horses,  Tom  ?"  added  the 
other.  The  object  of  their  attention,  as 
soon  as  he  had  parted  with  the  gallant,  was 
for  proceeding  to  the  Globerbut  he  wasstop- 
*  ped  by  these  two  persons  making  up  to  him, 
whom  he  had  no  great  difficulty  in  recogni- 
zing as  his  old  school-fellows,  Tom  Greene 
and  Dick  Burbage.  Great  was  the  joy  of 
this  meeting  on  both  sides  ;  and  the  young 
traveller  soon  told  what  brought  hint  to 
London,  and  his  adventures  on  the  journey, 
even  to  the  .holding  of  the  horse,  which,  was 
received  by  his  merry  companions  with  some 
interest  and  mote  laughing.  The  latter 
seemed  to  be  just  the  same  careless,  free- 
hearted fellows  they  had  been  when  boys  ; 
and,  I  doubt  not,  were  quite  as  ready  to 
pass  off  an  ingenious  jest  here  in  London, 
as  ever  they  had  been  in  merry  Stratford. 

"  Where's  thy  father,  Dick  2"  inquired 
Green. 

"  Methinks,  he  must  now  be  intent  upon 
the  getting  rid  of  his  blackamoor's  face," 
replied  young  Burbage. 

"Come  thou  with  us,  Will,"  said  the 
former  to  the  youthful  Shakspeare.  "  We 
will  to  Master  Manager  at  once,  and  get 
him  to  give  thee  a  place  in  our  company — 
amongst  whom  thou  wilt  meetHemings  and 
Condell,  thy  once  chosen  associates — then, 
leave  the  rest  to  us,  and  if  we  lead  thee  not 
a  right  merry  life,  it  cannot  be  other  than 
thine  own  fault."  Talking  of  their  old 
pranks,  in  a  famous  humor  at  every  allu- 
sion to  tfiern,  the  three  proceeded  together 


into  the  playhouse,  and  after  passing  throngh 
some  strange  places — as  the  young  traveller 
took  them  to  be, — they  arrived  at  a  door  ; — 
William  Shakspeare,  in  famous  spirits  and 
full  of  pleasant  anticipation,  for  all  his  hun- 
ger and  weariness. 

"  What,  ho,  Master  Manager  !"  cried 
Tom  Green,  knocking  loudly  ;  "  Give  us 
entrance,  I  prithee!  1  bring  thee  aid — I 
bring  thee  strength — I  bring  thee  comfort — 
I  bring  thee  a  marvel,  a  prodigy,  a  phoenix, 
— J  bring  thee  present  profit  and  future 
greatness." 

"  Come  in,  a  God's  name,  Tom  !"  replied 
a  voice  from  within,  with  prodigious  ear- 
nestness. The  young  traveller  had  some 
difficulty  in  recognizing  his  old  'acquain- 
tance, in  the  smut-faced  personage  halt 
unclad  that  was  pulling  off  his  hose,  in  the 
meanly  furnished  chamber,  in  which  the 
former  now  found  himself. 

"  Heart  o'  me !"  exclaimed  Greene,  laugh- 
ingly, as  the  manager  at  the  entrance  of  a 
stranger  began  hastily  a  drawing  on  his 
hose  again."  "  Care  not  for  thy  legs  ; 
methinks  they  are  well  enough  for  a  black 
fellow." 

"  Well  enough  !"  echoed  the  manager 
glancing  at  his  limbs  with  a  \very  manliest 
pride.  "  Well  enough  for  a  black  fellow, 
saidst  thou  ?  I  tell  thee  what  it  is,  Tom, 
black  fellow  or  white  fellow,  or  even  a 
Greene  fellow,  for  the  matter  of  that,  hath 
never  been  able  to  boast  of  such  handsome 
things  to  stand  on  since  the  world  began." 

"  Bravely  said,  Legs !"  replied  the  other 
in  the  same  merry  humor.  "  But  here  I 
have  brought  with  me  a  certain  friend  of 
mine  whose  great  merit  I  can  vouch  for, 
who  desireth  to  be  a  player,  and  of  our 
company." 

"  'Tis  Will  Shakspeare,  father,  from 
Stratford,"  added  his  son. 

"Away  with  him!"  angrily  cried. the 
elder  Burbage,  to  the  extreme  astonishment 
of  every  one  else.  '•  'Slight,  I've  had  enough 
of  Will  Shakspeare  to  last  me  the  rest  of  my 


Why,  what  hast  had  of  him,  I  wonder !" 
exclaimed  Greene. 

"  Had,  quotha  !'  replied  the  manager ;  I've 
had  of  him  what  was  like  to  get  me  a  speedy 
hanging  on  the  highest  tree.  Some  six  years 
since  or  more,  I  met  him,  when,  with  my 
company  about  to  play  at  a  noble  lady'a 
mansion  in  the  country,  and  he  got  me  to 
consent  to  his  playing  of  a  part  in  a  new 
play  that  I  had  sent  me  to  represent  before 
her  visitors — well,  the  varlet  was  not  con- 
tent with  marring  the  end  on't  by  saying  of 
a  parcel  of  stuff  instead  of  what  had  been 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


207 


put  down  for  him  ;  but  scarce  an  hour  after 
he  mends  the  matter  by  assisting  of  a  com- 
panion to  run  off  with  a  young  damsel  there 
on  a  visit.  It  was  well  for  me  I  showed  my 
prudence  by  affecting  a  perfect  ignorance  of 
the  whole  proceedings,  for  had  it  come  to 
my  lord's  ears  1  had  shared  in  them  in  any 
way,  I  should  have  been  ruined  outright, 
clapped  in  a  prison  and  ordered  fdr  execu- 
tion without  hope  of  reprieve." 

William  Shakspeare  explained  the  cir- 


not  being  very  heedful,  had  taken  a  wrong 
turning  out  Fish  Street  Hill.  He  had  got 
some  distance  along  sundry  winding  nar- 
row streets,  when  all  at  once,  he  was  brought 
to  a  stand  still  by  some  authoritative  voice, 
and  lie  quickly  found  himself  surrounded 
by  persons  in  long  gowns  trimmed  with  fur, 
that  seemed  some  officers  of  the  corporation, 
and  others  who,  by  their  bills  and  apparel- 
ling, he  took  to  be  constables  of  the  watch. 
"  Stand,  fellow,  and  give  an  account  of 


cumstance  just  alluded  to,  but  the  more  he  j  yourself!"  exclaimed  one. 

explained  the  more  enraged    seemed  the  \     "  What    brought  thee    here  ?      Whose 

manager,  that  he  should  have  been  put  in  !  varlet  art  thou  ?"  inquired  another. 

such  jeopardy  as  he  had  been  to  assist  in  a  j      «  An'  he  be  not  a  masterless  man,  Master 

scheme  of  which  he  was  kept  in  entire  igno-  Fleetwood,  I  know  not  one  when  I  see 

ranee,  and  not  even  the  entreaties  of  Greene  him,"  observed  a  third. 

and  his  own  son  could  induce  him  to  alter       «  A  very  vagrom,  I'll  swear,"  cried  an 

his  resolution  to  have  none  of  Will  Shaks-   ancient  constable,  poking  his  greybeard  into 

peare  for  to  be  of  his  company.     Dick  Bur-    the  young  traveller's   face.     "  I  pray  you, 

bage  got  vexed  at  this  look,  but  Greene,  con-   Master  Recorder,  to  question  him  of  his 

fined  not  his  vexedness  to  looks.   He  spoke   calling.     I  am  in  huge  suspicion  I  have  had 

out  warmly  in  behalf  of  his  friend,  and  said   in  my  custody  some  score  of  times  already." 

such  sharp  words  to  the  elder  Burbage  that ;      «  What  is  thy  name,  caitiff  ?"  demanded 

he  grew  choleric,  and  there  would  have  been   he  who  styled  Master  Fleetwood,  in  a  very 

a  complete  falling  out  betwixt  them,  had  not   high  and  mighty  sort  of  manner. 

the  cause  of  it  interposed,  and  'implored       «  First  tell  me,  why  I  am  thus  rudely 

them  nut  to  make  him  an  occasion  for  quar-  \  questioned  and  stopped,  my  masters  ?"  said 

telling.     The  young  traveller  left  the  chain-  the  youthful  Shakspeare,  who  liked  not  being 

ber  with  a  much  heavier  heart  than  he  had   S(5  handled. 

entered  it.     Here  were  all  his  proud  hopes       «  Qh,  the  villain  !"  exclaimed  one  of  the 

overthrown  at  a  blow,  and  he,  faint  with   constables,  in  a  seeming  amazement.  "  Here 

hunger,  and  his   long  journey,  without   a   js  monstrous  behaving  to  his  worship  master 

place  to  lay  his  head  in,   q§  ought  for  his   Recorder,  and  so  many  honorable  aldermen  ! 

many  necessities  but  the  solitary  groat  he    Dost  know   no  manners  ?     Wilt  show  no 


had  received  from  the  gallant  for  holding  of 
his  horse.  He  had  only  got  a  few  steps 
from  the  playhouse  when  he  was  overtaken 
by  Tom  Greene. 


respect  of  persons  ?  Here  are  divers  of  the 
worshipful  corporation  going  about  taking 
up  all  manner  of  masterless  men  and  house- 
less vagroms  that  infest  the  city  ;  and  if  thou 


"  Care  not  for  that  old  churl ;:'  said  he,  art  one  of  them,  thou  art  a  most  graceless 
"  Perchance  thou  wilt  do  as  well  elsewhere;  fellow.  Tell  master  Recorder  thy  name  on 
so  keep  up  thy  heart,  Will  ;  and  Dick  and  I  the  instant,  or  thou  shall  to  Newgate  in  a 
will  devise  something  for  thy  advantage.  I  presently." 

have  now  an  appointment  which  will  take  i  «  You  have  no  business  with  me,  or  my 
me  an  hour  or  so  ;  in  the  meanwhile  speed  name  either,"  answered  their  prisoner,  get- 
thee  over  London  Bridge,  and  inquire  thy  ;  ting  to  be  a  little  chafed  at  his  treatment. 

way  to  the  house  of  Mistress  (\>lewort  who  !      Tin     •    ±\  -^.-rr-)  •       •    j 

,  ,  L/Tv-  "Who  is  thy  master,  caitiff,    inquired  one 

selleth  simples,  and  herbs,  an  1  such  things, '    f  ,       n         J 

at  the  sign  of  the  Phoenix,  in  Bucklersbury  I  C  e"'  .,        ,.    ,  ,,  a 

11  e        i  V*!    3\     "I  have  none,     replied  the  youth,  some- 
— there  is  my  lodging  ;  call  for  what  thou       ,    .  ,,  J 

wilt,  and  make  thyself  at  home  there,  till  I   wlM 

come."     The  kind-hearted    player  hurried  i      "  There,   he   confesses   it,   an'  it  please 

away;  and  his  old  schoolfellow  full  of  grate-  !  your   worship,"   cried   the   constable. 


ful  feelings  retraced  his  steps  the  way  he 
had  com;?,  lie  remembered  Bucklersbury, 
having  passed  it  going  from  Cheap  to  Lorn- 


could  have  sworn  he  was  a  masterless  man, 
he  hath  such  a  horrible  vagrom  look." 
"  To  prison  with  him  !"  exclaimed  Master 


bard-Streot,  therefore,  he  never  thought  of :  Fleetwood,  with  some  asperity.  "  This 
questioning  any  as  to  his  road,  but  pro-  '  country  gear  of  thine,  I  doubt  not,  is  only 
ceeded  on,  thinking  over  his  heavy  disap-  j  worn  as  a  blind.  Thou  hast  a  very  dishonest 
pointrnent  so  intently,  he  regarded  nothing  i  visage  ;  an  exceeding  cutpurse  sort  of  coun- 
else.  Be  had  passed  London  Bridge,  and  .  tenance  ;  and  1  feel  assured  that  when  thou 


aoa 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


art  hanged,  there  will  be  at  bast  one  rogue 
the  less." 

"  And  I  feel  assured,"  said  William  Shak- 
speare,  '•  that  when  thou  departest  this  life — 
no  matter  in  what  fashion — there  will  be  at 
least  one  fool  the  less." 

"  Away  with  him,  for  a  rude  rascal !" 
cried  the  enraged  recorder.  The  aldermen 
made  similar  exclamations,  and  five  or  six 
'of  the  watch  so  held  and  hustled  him,  that, 
for  all  his  struggles,  which  were  very  groat, 
he  was  presently  dragged  like  a  felon, 
through  the  public  streets  with  no  lack  of 
abuse  and  blows,  till  he  was  safely  lodged  in 
the  prison  of  Newgate.  Here  he  scarcely  had 
opportunity  for  the  noticing  of  anything  till 
he  found  himself  in  a  large  yard,  surrounded 
by  amazing  high  walls,  wherein  there  were 
several  prisoners  of  different  ages,  most  of 
whom  looked  to  be  necessitous  poor  feUows, 
who  had  most  probably  been  driven  into  dis- 
honest courses  by  the  pressure  of  some 
fierce  want ;  but  there  were  others,  whom, 
at  a  glance,  it  was  easy  to  see,  were  down- 


prisoners  and  in  return  was  told  how  he 
came  to  b?  among  them. 

"  Ah,  worthy  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "  you 
have  been  placed  here  by  the  same  meddle- 
some person  as  hath  imprisoned  me — to  wit, 
Master  Recorder  Fleetw'ood,  who  s.ekoth 
by  over-business,  to  pass  wilh  !n  r  high: 
sage  counsellors,  for  a  famous,  loyal,  and 
notable  zealous  officer.  I  have  been  thrust 


of  the  high  crime  of  being  of  the  Catholic 
faith,  and  of  attending  to  the  rites  and  sol- 
emnities of  such  religion ;  and  for  no  greater 
offence  than  this,  divers  worthy  gentlemen 
who  have  been  by  him  so  ignouuniously 
treated.  Some  sent  to  one  prison — some  to 
another ;  and  all  punished  with  heavy  tines 
and  grievous  imprisonment." 

"  I  marvel  such  outrage  upon  justice 
should  be  allowed,"  observed  the  youth, 
warmly. 

"  I  grieve  to  say  such  things  are  grown 
too  common  to  make  marvels  of,"  replied 
his  companion.  "  Perchance  the  Queen  and 


right  villains — and  some  few  whose  appear-  j  her  chief  ministers  are  not  disposed  to  coun- 
ance  bespoke  their  only  crime  to  have  been  tenance  such   pestilent  tyranny  ;  indeed,  I 


their  want  of  friends. 

Some  were  amusing  themselves  at  foot- 


question  they  ever  hear  of  it  in  any  way 
like   the  truth ;  but  such  is  the  unhappy 


ball,  others  at  bowls — some  at  cards,  others  1  state  of  things  in  the  city  in  consequence  of 
at  dice;  and  these  were  generally  of  the  I  the  meddlesomeness  of  this  same  tyrannical 

recorder,  that  for  a  man  to  dare  attend  the 
service  of  the  religion  he  conscientiously 
believeth  to  be  the  true  one,  he  shall  be  ac- 
counted the  vfjjjt  of  villains  ;  and  for  one 

as  he  had  entered  the  p'ace,  the  young  play- '  that  cometh  to  Iray  poverty  and  hath  not  a 
er  was  surrounded  by  several  of  his  fellow-  j  friend  in  the  world,  he  is  forthwith  thrust 
prisoners — some  curious,  some  abusive,-and  |  into  prison,  to  consort  with  felons  and  the 
all  apparently  thieves  outright,  for  they  pre-  vilest  of  characters.  All  this  while,  almost 


villainous  sort.  Here  and  thtie  might  be 
seen  one  walking  about  in  very  woeful  coun- 
tenance, who  joined  in  none  of  the  sports  ; 
and  these  were  of  the  friendless.  As  soon 


scntly  snatched  from  him  whatever  they 
could  lay  a  hand  on,  that  had  been  spared  in 
the  examination  of  the  constables  and  turn- 
keys ;  and  this  they  did  with  such  thorough 
artifice,  he  could  not  «ee  by  whom  it  was 
done.  However,  when  they  had  discovered 
he  had  nothing  more  they  could  readily  de- 
prive him  of,  or  saw  better  entertainment 
elsewhere,  they  left  him  to  his  own  reflecti- 
ons, which,  it  may  well  believed,'were  none 
of  the  comfortablest. 

Tired  of  the  noise  and  ribaldry  of  his 
companions — their  fierce  oaths,  and  coarse 
vulgar  manners,  the  young  traveller  took  to 
observing  those  who  kept  aloof.  Some  of 
these  appeared  to  be  of  a  much  higher  rank 
than  the  other  ;  and  with  one  he  soon  made 
acquaintance ;  for  it  was  impossible  for  any 
well-disposed  person  to  behold  the  counten- 
ance of  William  Shakspeare  and  not  feel  in- 
clined to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  him ;  and 
from  this  person  he  quickly  learned  the 
names  and  characters  of  most  of  his  fellow- 


under  the  very  noses  of  these  zealous  offi- 
cers, a^  to  be  found  houses  where  cutpur.-es 


may  be  met  with  by  scores,  teaching  their 
art  to  young  boys,  and  enjoying  of  their  ill-  got 
booty  in  every  manner  of  drunkenness  and 
riotous  infamy,  and  they  are  left  undisturbed 
to  do  as  they  list." 

"  And  how  long,  think  you,  worthy  sir,  K3 
poor  victims  of  such  intolerable  wrong,  shall 
be  kept  in  this  horrid  place  ?"  inquired  the 
other. 

"  Truly,  there  is  no  knowing,"  answered 
his  fellow-prisoner.  "  If  you  have  a  friend 
at  court  who  will  take  up  your  cause,  'tis 
like  enough  you  will  soon  get  your  liberty  ; 
but  if  you  are  not  so  provided,  there  is  no 
saying  of  what  length  may  be  your  imprison- 
ment." 

This  was  but  sorry  consolation  for  the 
young  traveller,  and  it  left  him  nothing  but 
an  endless  prospect  of  bolts  and  bars,  and 
stone  walls.  The  time  came  for  the  prison- 
ers to  be  locked  up  for  the  night  in  separate 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


209 


^ells,  and  o,  sullen  fellow  of  a  turnkey  con- 
ducted William  Shakspeare  to  a  most  dis- 
mal-looking narrow  dungeon,  furnished  with 
nothing  save  a  little  straw,  a  jug  of  water, 
and  a  loaf  of  bread.  Long  as  had  been  his 
fast,  he  felt  no  desire  to  break  it ;  but  the 
bed  was  welcome,  and  he  flung  himself  on 
it  with  a  heart  overburthened  with  most  un- 
happy feelings.  A  famous  ending  had  his 
glorious  anticipations  come  to  !  The  visions 
of  greatness  that  could  awhile  since  scarce 
be  spanned,  save  by  imagination,  were  now 
cribbed  within  a  cold  narrow  cell.  All  his 
tine  hopes  that  a  few  days  before  looked  to 
be  heir  apparent  to  the  brightest  honors  of 
genius,  now  must  needs  put  up  with  straw 
for  lying,  bread  and  water  for  victual,  and 
bare  stone  walls  for  lodging.  To  say  he 
was  not  cast  down  at  such  ill  fortune,  were 
to  depart  from  the  truth  strangely,  for  in 
very  honesty,  he  was  in  a  desperate  sad- 
ness— as  will  be  found  all  very  sanguine 
natures  when  they  come  to  lind  their  high 
expectations  overthrown  ;  and  assuredly  he 
had  some  reason,  for  when  he  should  have 
his  liberty  was  most  uncertain.,  and  to  a  free 
aspiring  mind  like  his,  confinement  in  such 
narrow  limits  was  hardly  to  be  endured. 

But  it  soon  struck  him,  that  despondency 
would  do  him  but  small  service,  and  the  only 
way  to  get  off  the  unpleasantness  of  his  pre- 
sent strait,  was  to  bear  it  patiently,  lie  lay  a 
thinking  what  lie  should  do.  He  cared  not 
how  soon  he  got  away  from  his  present  com- 
panions— for  he  had  already  had  enough  of 
them,  and  determined  as  the  first  thing  to  let 
his  old  schoolfellow,  Tom  Greene,  know 
where  he  had  been  placed,  that  if  by  his 
moans  his  liberation  could  be  effected,  it 
might  be  done  with  all  convenient  speed. — 
In  this  he  overlooked  the  difficully  there  was 
of  his  getting  any  communication  conveyed 
from  Newgate.  Had  he  any  sufficient  bribe, 
there  would  be  some  chance  of  it,  but  in  his 
penniless  state,  he  was  like  enough  to  re- 
main where  he  was  till  doomsday,  ere  his 
friends  could  know  of  his  hapless  case, 
through  the  assistance  of  his  jailors.  For- 
tunately, of  this  he  was  ignorant,  for  he  pre- 
sently fell  to  more  agreeable  thoughts,  and 
as  he  was  in  fancy  fondling  his  dear  chil- 
dren— weary  with  trouble  and  exhausted  by 
fatigue,  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

Here,  in  this  noisome  dungeon,  he  was 
again  visited  by  the  glorious  dreams  of  his 
early  days.  The  place  became  a  most  fair 
landscape,  beautifully  garnished  with  ravish- 
ing sweet  blossoms,  and  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood filled  with  a  fairy  company,  as 
choicely  apparelled  as  beautifully  featured, 
einging  as  delectably  and  dancing  with  as 
14 


delicate  a  grace  as   ever ;  and,  as  usual. 
brighter  than  them  all  shone  her  who  seem- 
ed their  queen,  and  she  regarded  him  with  a 
very  marvellous  kindness,  Jed  the  others  to 
do  him  all  imaginable  gentle  courtesies,  and 
in  music  of  exquisite  pleasantness  sung  him 
such  comfortable  words  as  appeared  to  fill 
him  with  greater  hope  than  he  had  known 
j  his  whole  life  long.     But  besides  this,  she 
I  addressed  him  with  language  of  counsel,  to 
•  the  effect  he  would  keep  his  nature  unsul- 
;  lied  by  evil  doings  ;  pointing  out  the  profit 
I  of  honorable  behavior,  and  assuring  him  of 
the  notable  truth,  that  he  who  seeks  for  fame 
never  can  hold  it  for  any  time,  save  with  pure 
hands  and  a  noble  heart. 

Then  she  bade  him  look  in  a  certain  di- 
rection, and  there  he  beheld  the  figure  of 
himself,  done  to  the  very  life,  seeming  to  be 
hungry,  weary,  and  a  prisoner  as  he  was — 
anon  the  scene  changed;  he  had  his  liberty, 
but  he  was  struggling  with  manifold  hard- 
ships, one  following  on  another  so  closely 
there  was  no  rest  for  them,  and  each  press- 
ing with  exceeding  severity  it  seemed  a  mar- 
vel how  they  could  be  tolerated  ;  they  lasted 
a  long  space,  but  gradually  appearances 
looked  more  favorable  ;  the  prospect  became 
brighter,  the  scenes  changed  rapidly  from 
one  delightful  landscape  to  another,  till  it  ap- 
peared as  though  a  whole  world  of  splendor 
and  happiness  lay  open  to  his  view.  From 
one  quarter  the  applause  of  assembled  thou- 
sands were  shouted  in  his  ears ;  from  ano- 
ther came  the  commendations  of  whole  mul- 
titudes of  the  learned  ;  here,  in  some  hum- 
ble hearth-side,  resounded  the  honest  praises 
of  the  poor  and  lowly  ;  and  elsewhere  from, 
the  hall,  the  bovver,  the  garden,  and  the  grove,, 
plaudits  as  fervent  were  breathed  from 
gallant  knights  and  honorable  fair  ladies. — 
Certes  he  would  have  been  glad  enough  to 
have  dreamt  such  a'  dream  as  this  all  his 
days  :  but  a  rough  voice  and  a  rude  shake 
put  it  to  a  sudden  ending,  and  starting  up  he 
found  one  of  the  turnkeys  standing  over 
him  with  a  lanthorn,  his  ill-featured  counte- 
nance forming  a  most  revolting  contrast  to 
the  sunny  faces  he  had  gazed  on  in  his  vi- 
sion. 

"  A  murrain  on .  thee,.  wilt  thou  never 
wake  ?"  exclaimed  the  jailor  sharply. — 
"  Why,  thou  sleepest  as.  though  thou  hadst 
no  hope  of  sleep  again,  "  Marry,  and 
thou  takest  such  rest  the  morning  thou  art 
to  be  hanged,  they  must  needs  put  thee  to 
the  rope  in  the  midst  of  it."' 

"  What  want  youiwith  me.  ?"  inquired  the 
prisoner. 

"  Thou  must  along  with  me  with  all 
speed,"  replied  the  man,. . 


210 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  For  what  purpose,  I  pray  you  ?"  asked 
the  youth.  ^ 

"  Purpose,  quotha,  how  should  I  know  ?" 
said  the  jailor.  "  Mayhap  'tis  the  pillory — 
mayhap  the  stocks — mayhap  a  goodly  whip- 
ping ;  they  be  the  only  purposes  that  travel 
to  Newgate,  I'll  warrant.  But  come  along, 
I  tell  thee,  I  can  allow  of  no  tarrying." 

Believing  it  useless  to  say  anything  more, 
William  Shakspeare  rose  and  followed  his 
guide  through  numberless  narrow  passages 
so  dark  he  could  scarce  see  his  way  along 
even  with  the  help  of  the  lantern  his  com- 
panion carried  before  him,  the  jailor  grum- 
bling at  every  step,  and  his  prisoner  in  a  mood 
hardly  more  social,  from  having  been  dis- 
turbed in  such  pleasant  dreaming.  From  all 
he  could  gather  from  the  sulky  turnkey,  his 
being  led  to  another  part  of  the  prison  boded 
him  no  good  ;  and  he  supposed  it  was  to  re- 
ceive some  degrading  punishment  or  ano- 
ther, such  as  is  commonly  bestowed  on  per- 
sons whose  chief  crime  happeneth  to  be 
their  poverty. 

In  such  manner  the  two  arrived  at  a  door 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  building,  which  the 
jailor  opening,  bade  the  other  enter  by  him- 
self. On  gaining  a'dmission  into  the  cham- 
ber, the  latter  found  three  persons  seated  to- 
gether, whom  he  took  to  be  his  judges  going 
to  sentence  him  to  the  dreaded  punishment. 
One  was  a  very  severe  looking  personage, 
from  whose  aspect  he  could  gather  but  few 
hopes,  and  was  clad  somewhat  in  jailor 
fashion,  with  sundry  large  keys  at  his  belt. 
The  others  had  much  of  the  gallant  in  their 
appearance,  and  possessed  countenances 
that  savored  considerably  more  of  humanity. 

"  An'  it  please  you  to  leave  his  examina- 
tion to  me,  I  will  have  the  truth  from  him 
speedily,"  said  the  first  to  his  companions  ; 
and  then  turning  sharply  to  the  young 
prisoner,  commenced  questioning  him  after 
the  following  fashion,  the  other  answering 
as  follows  : — . 

"  Fellow !  what's  thy  name  ?" 

"  William  Shakspeare." 

"  Where  dost  come  from  ?" 

"  Stratford  on  Avon,  in  Warwickshire." 

"  How  long  hast  been  in  London?" 

"  Only  a  few  hours." 

"  What  brought  thee  here  ?" 

"  I  came  to  be  a  player  in  the  company  of 
Master  Burbage  at  the  Bankside." 

"  Now  Master  Turnkey,  this  evidently 
proves  him  to  be  no  vagrant,"  observed  one 
of  the  gallants. 

"  I  pray  your  worship  stop  awhile,"  re- 
plied the  jailor.  "  These  fellows  have  some 
famous  fine  story  always  at  their  command- 
ment. O.'  my  life,  I  do  believe,  were  you  to 


examine  the  most  notorious  rogue  under  my 
hands,  he  would  presently  make  himself  out 
to  be  as  honest  a  man  as  any  in  the  city. 
Let  me  ask  of  him  a  few  more  questions." 
Then  turning  to  his  prisoner,  lie  added — 
"  How  long  hast  been  a  player  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say  I  have  ever  been  a  player," 
answered  the  other. 

"  There,  I  said  I  would  presently  make 
him  show  himself  for  what  he  truly  is — a 
masterless  man,  and  no  player  !''  exclaimed 
the  turnkey,  exultingly,  to  his  companions, 
and  '  then  turning  sharply  to  the  prisoner, 
added — "  Prithee  have  done  with  thy  coney- 
catching  ;  I  am  not  to  be  so  caught,  my 
young  master.  Thou  saidst  but  a  moment 
since  thou  wert  a  player,  and  now  then 
the  impudency  to  declare  thou  hast  never 
been  a  player.  What  dost  mean  by  that, 
fellow?" 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  said,"  replied  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare,  undauntedly ;  "  I  have 
many  times  played  in  plays ;  but  as  I  have 
done  it  solely  for  my  own  amusement,  I  could 
not  consider  myself  a  player,  who  playeth 
only  for  his  own  living." 

"  Truly,  a  just  distinction,"  said  one  of 
the  gallants. 

"A  monstrous  fine  story,  I'll  warrant," 
exclaimed  the  turnkey.  "  But  if  there  be 
any  trutJr  in  what  thou  hast  advanced,  per- 
chance trou  wilt  name  some  person  of  re- 
pute who  will  testify  to  thy  honesty." 

"  Very  readily,"  replied  the  prisoner ; 
"  Thomas  Greene,  a  player  at  the  Globe,  who 
hath  his  lodging  at  the  sign  of  the  Phainix, 
in  Bucklersbury,  where  I  was  proceeding 
when  I  was  taken  hold  of  by  the  constables 
and  conveyed  here  ;  he  will  vouch  for  me 
at  any  time,  for  he  hath  been  my  school-fel- 
low ;  as  have  also  the  younger  Burbage, 
Hemings,  and  Condell,  other  players  at  the 
Globe." 

"  Marry,'  players  must  make  but  sorry 
vouchers,  for,  methinks,  they  be  little  better 
than  vagroms,"  observed  the  jailor. 

"  The  persons  named  I  know  to  be  of  a 
very  fair  character,"  replied  the  gallant  who 
had  before  spoken.  "  William  Shakspeare, 
allow  me  to  ask  you  one  question  ?" 

"  Any  number,  if  it  please  you,  sir."  an- 
swered the  prisoner,  charmed  with  the  cour- 
teous manner  of  his  interrogator. 

':  Have  you  lost  anything  since  your  arri- 
val in  London  ?" 

"  I  have  lost  all  I  had,"  replied  the  other. 
"  The  constables  deprived  me  of  what  they 
could  lay  their  hands  on,  and  the  prisoners 
here  in  Newgate  took  from  me  what  was 
left.  I  should  have  cared  the  less,  if  they 


f' 

THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


211 


had  spared  me  certain  writings  I  had  about  I  secret ;  and  the  grave  itself  shall  not  be 


"  What  sort  of  writings  were  they  ?" 

"Verses  chiefly." 

"  Were  they  your  own  composition  ?" 

"  They  were." 

"  Is  this  or.e  of  them  ?"  inquired  his  ques- 
tioner, placing  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Indeed  it  is,  and  the  one  I  last  wrote  of 
them  all,"  replied  the  young  poet,  glancing 
at  his  own  lines,  as  if  glad  to  have  them 
back. 

"  I  am  convinced  of  it,"  added  the  other. 
"  It  was  picked  up  by  my  companion,  Master 
Edmund  Spenser,  on  the  spot  where  you 
had  been  struggling  with  the  constables." 

"  I  deem  myself  wondrous  fortunate  in 
having  been  there  at  such  a  time,"  said 
Master  Spenser,  warmly.  "  And  having 
read  its  worthy  contents,  I  hurried  to  my 
noble  and  esteemed  good  friend  here,  Sir 
Philip  Sydney,  and  succeeded,  as  I  expected, 
knowing  his  truly  generous  disposition,  in 
interesting  him  to  seek  you  out,  and  deliver 
you  from  your  undeserved  imprisonment." 

William  Shakspeare  was  surprised  and 
delighted  beyond  measure,  at  hearing  of 
names  he  had  for  some  time  looked  up  to  as 
the  most  honorable  in  the  kingdom,  and  ex- 
pressed himself  very  gratefully  for  the  trou- 
hle  they  had  been  at  on  his  account.  But 
the  matter  rested  not'  here.  He  presently 
walked  out  of  Newgate,  with  his  two  famous 
new  acquaintances,  without  hindrance  from 
the  jailor,  for  they  had  brought  with  them 
the  Earl  of  Leicester's  authority  for  his  li- 
beration, which  none  dared  gainsay :  and 
shortly  after,  to  the  infinite  satisfaction  of  all 
parties,  he  found  himself  seated  by  the  side 
of  his  early  patrons,  Sir  Valentine  and  Sir 
Reginald,  at  the  house  of  Sir  Philip  Sydney, 
by  whom  he  was  very  kindly  and  liberally 
entertained. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

To  you  I  have  unclasped  my  burthened  soul, 
Emptied  the  storehouse   of  my   thoughts  and 

heart, 

Made  myself  poor  of  secrets;  have  not  left 
Another  word  untold  which  hath  not  spoke 
All  that  I  ever  durst,  or  think,  or  know. 

FORD. 

Give  me  a  key  for  this, 
And  instantly  unlock  my  fortunes  here. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

"  BOY  !  can  I  trust  thee  ?" 

"  Ay,  my  lord,  with  your  heart's  deepest 


more  silent  than  your  poor  page." 

'•  I  do  believe  thee.  I  have  tried  thee  long, 
and  found  thee  the  faithfullcst  honest  crea- 
ture master  ever  knew.  That  thou  lovest 
me  I  am  assured.  I  have  had  good  proof 
on't.  I  thought  there  was  not  one  heart  in 
whicli  I  could  meet  the  slightest  sympathy, 
but  in  thee  there  are  signs  of  such  great 
abundance  as  make  me  amends  for  the  un- 
feelingness  of  others.  My  spirit  is  weary  of 
long-suffering.  My  health  is  broken.  1 
cannot  disguise  from  myself  I  am  sinking 
fast.  It  therefore  becometh  necessary  I 
should  procure  some  one  to  perform  for  me 
those  offices  I  sha,ll  soon  be  disabled  from 
attempting.  To  do  this  I  must  betray  a 
secret  I  have  kept  as  jealously  as  if  my 
whole  life  depended  on  its  preservation ;  and 
in  none  can  I  put  faith,  save  only  thee. 
Thou  canst  serve  me  if  thou  wilt,  as  page 
never  served  his  lord  before;  but  if  the  duty 
should  be  distasteful  to  thee,  as  'tis  very  like 
to  be,  I  hold  thee  free  to  refuse  ;  and  if  after 
what  I  am  about  to  tell  thee,  thou  canst  look 
on  me  no  more  as  one  worthy  to  be  thy  mas- 
ter, I  will  honorably  provide  thee  with  all 
things  necessary  for  thy  living  elsewhere." 
"  My  lord,  I  am  in  heart  and  soul  a  crea- 
ture of  your  own ;  and  \vhatever  service  I 
can  render  necessary  for  your  safety,  de- 
pend on  it,  it  shall  be  done  faithfully  and 
well,  according  to  my  poor  ability." 

This  conversation  took  place  between 
the  Lord  de  la  Pole  and  his  page,  after  one 
of  the  fearfullest  of  those  fearful  fits  to 
which  the  unhappy  Earl  was  generally  sub- 
jecf,  when  he  was  left  alone  in  the  mourn- 
ing chamber.  It  was  evident,  as  he  had 
said,  that  his  health  was  fast  declining,  for 
his  right  noble  countenance  looked  more 
haggard  than  it  was  wont ;  and  his  dark 
lustrous  eyes  appeared  to  be  rapidly  losing 
the  fire  which  had  so  brightly  lighted  them. 
His  raven  hair  too  had  been  thinned  of  its 
luxuriance,  and  all  about  him  bespoke  that 
breaking  up  of  the  constitution,  which  long 
continued  grief  marks  its  victim  for  the 
grave.  His  youthful  companion  \vore  a  si- 
milar melancholy,  doubtless  caused  from 
constant  observation  of  his  lord's  sufferings, 
and  this  gave  a  very  touching  expression 
to  his  handsome  boyish  features,  which  in- 
creased greatly  whenever  he  chanced  to 
turn  his  gaze  upon  the  Earl.  The  latter, 
still  in  his  mourning  suit,  sate  in  the  library 
before  mentioned ;  and  Bertram,  in  vest- 
ments of  the  same  color,  seated  himself  at 
a  short  distance,  where  he  remained  in  an 
attitude  of  the  profoundest  attention,  and 
with  an  expression  of  the  most  intense  in- 


212 


THE 


YOU 


JTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


terest,  whilst  the  Earl  proceeded  with  the 
promised  narration. 

"  Of  my  family,  methinks  I  need  say  no- 
thing," commenced  he;  "the  greatness  of 
the  Suflblks,  of  which  I  am  a  branch,  must 
be  sufficiently  known,  but  the  fame  of  their 
power  and  nobleness  so  influenced  my  early 
life,  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  done  some- 
thing worthy  of  the  name  1  bore.  My 
youth  was  spent  in  foreign  wars,  under  the 
most  famous  leaders  ;  and  whenever  I  heard 
of  any  one  celebrated  for  deeds  of  arms,  I 
sought  all  ways  to  surpass  him  ;  nor  would 
I  be  satisfied  till  my  pre-eminence  was  ac- 
knowledged. But  this  was  by  no  means 
the  whole  of  what  I  did.  I  had  been  well 
instructed ;  and  perchance,  I  may  add,  I  was 
ever  of  a  well-disposed  nature,  whereof  the 
consequence  was,  I  took  especial  heed  my 
conduct  elsewhere  should  be  of  a  piece  with 
my  achievements  in  the  field.  Honor  was 
my  idol — honor  I  worshipped  :  in  no  case 
could  I  be  prevailed  on  to  meddle  in  any 
matter  wherein  honor  was  not  clearly  con- 
spicuous to  all  men's  eyes ;  and  to  the  sume 
extent  that  I  strove  carefully  to  attain  every 
title  honor  could  bestow,  I  was  jealous  that 
my  right  to  it  should  have  no  questioning. 
None  could  be  more  desirous  of  good  opinion. 
To  hear  myself  well  spoke  of,  was  an  in- 
finite pleasure ;  but  to  have  any  one's  ill 
word,  to  be  ridiculed,  slandered,  or  misused 
in  speech,  fretted  me  beyond  measure.  May- 
hap this  was  a  weakness ;  but  whatever  it 
was,  it  kept  unslacked  in  me  the  impulse  to 
exert  myself  to  gain  a  lasting  reputation,  till 
the  name  of  De  la  Pole  stood,  as  I  proudly 
believed,  second  to  none  in  every  commend- 
able quality. 

"  I  pass  over  my  labors,  to  build  me  up 
this  go.odly  reputation :  suffice  it  to  say,  I 
returned  to  my  native  land  in  the  full  vigor 
of  manhood,  and  at  the  court  of  her  High- 
ness Elizabeth  was  speedily  recognized,  as 
what  I  had  sought  so  earnestly  to  be. 
Hitherto  I  had  thought  nothing  of  love  ;  my 
career  of  honor  left  me  no  time  for  tender 
dalliance,  or  else  I  was  indifferent  to  the 
charms  of  such  fair  creatures  as  I  had  seen  ; 
but  amongst  the  queen's  ladies  there  \vas 
one,  whose  youth,  beauty,  character  and  sta- 
tion, united  to  form,  as  I  then  thought,  the 
noblest  damsel  in  the '"realm.  In  her,  fame 
had  left  no  one  part  which  envy  might  as- 
sail ;  and  fortune  had  surrounded  her  with 
such  prodigality  of  gifts,  as  if  to  show  how 
delighted  she  was  in  having  so  worthy  an 
object  on  whom  to  bestow  them.  Methinks 
'tis  almost  needless  to  say  she  had  suitors. 
She  had  broad  lands  ;  she  was  of  one  of  the 
powerfu  Ifamilies  of  the  kingdom  ;  and  she 


appeared  as  peerless  in  conduct  as  she  was 
in  person ;  and  such  attractions  could  not 
fail  of  bringing  to  her  feet  a  sufficiency  of 
wooers.  I  had  heard  much  in  her  praise 
before  I  beheld  her ;  but  ere  I  had  an  hour's 
acquaintance,  I  doubted  she  had  been  done 
justice  to.  Still  I  kept  aloof  from  the  crowd 
by  whom  she  was  always  surrounded,  and 
satisfied  myself  with  observing  her  at  a  dis- 
tance. Every  day  I  saw  her  she  seemed  to 
grow  more  admirable ;  and  each  relation  I 
heard  of  her  exceeded  the  preceding  one, 
towards  proving  her  wondrous  well  disposed- 
ness. 

"  A  message  from  herself  brought  me  at 
last  to  her  side — a  message  so  expressive  of 
compliment,  I  attended  her  summons  with 
more  pleasure  than  ever  I  had  known  from 
similar  commendations,  gratifying  as  they 
had  always  been  to  me.  Once  there,  it  ap- 
peared as  though  I  must  there  stay.  At  first 
she  would  scarce  allow  me  to  be  anywhere 
else ;  but  in  a  fair  interval,  I  found  myself 
under  so  strong  a  charm,  nowhere  else  would 
I  remain  could  I  avoid  it :  in  brief,  I  loved 
her.  Some  months  afterwards,  I  gained 
from  her,  that  long  before  she  had  seen  me 
she  had  loved  me  for  my  reputation.  After 
a  delicious  sufficiency  of  most  exquisite 
courtship,  my  happiness  seemed  to  be  com- 
plete, when  I  received  her  in  marriage.  In 
a  little  while,  I  believed  my,  real  felicity  had 
only  commenced,  so  much  did  my  enjoyment 
then  exceed  all  that  I  had  known  before. 
Every  day  she  evinced  in  her  character 
some  new  and  admirable  feature ;  the  more 
I  saw  of  her,  the  more  cause  saw  I  to  con- 
gratulate myself  I  had  been  blessed  with  so 
rare  a  partner.  Her  love  for  me  looked  to 
be 'mingled  with  an  honorable  pride,  that 
made  it  all  the  more  flattering  to  one  of  my 
disposition.  None  could  seem  so  exceeding 
content — none  could  have  appeared  so  truly 
affectionate.  It  may  be  easily  imagined,  my 
love  of  praise  at  this  time  partook  largely 
of  a  desire  of  having  my  wife  as  famously 
commended  ;  in  fact  it  was  the  same  identi- 
cal feeling,  for  I  looked  on  Lady  Blanche  as 
the  best  and  dearest  part  of  myself ;  and  I 
wished  to  see  her  pre-eminence  in  every 
good  quality  universally  acknowledged,  be- 
cause any  contrary  opinions  might  reflect 
unfavorably  on  the  other  portion  of  me. 

"  At  this  period  to  add  to  her  other  pow- 
erful claims  upon  my  love,  she  promised  to 
become  a  mother — an  event  I  looked  for- 
ward to  with  an  interest  which  exceedeth 
all  conceiving.  Then  it  was  there  came  on 
a  visit  to  me  a  young  kinsman  of  mine.  I 
had  heard  rumors  of  his  being  of  a  wild 
reckless  disposition ;  and  that  he  bore  him- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAr^PEARE. 


213 


self  more  carelessly  than  became  any  one 
wishing  to  be  honorably  thought  of.  I  liked 
not  this.  It  grieved  me  that  one  in  any  way 
related  to  me  should  be  so  ill  reported.  One 
day  I  took  him  aside  and  told  him  what  I  had 
heard  to  his  disadvantage,  but  he  swore  so 
solemnly  he  had  not  deserved  what  was  said 
of  him,  that  I  could  not  help  believing  he 
had  been  maligned,  as  he  declared,  by  false 
envious  persons.  I  then  counselled  him  to 
marry  some  worthy  woman,  which  would 
put  a  stop  to  such  slanders  for  the  future, 
and  pointed  to  the  happiness  I  enjoyed  as 
the  best  inducement  to  it  he  could -have  ;  but 
he  answered  somewhat  confusedly,  that  some 
often  considered  themselves  exceeding  happy 
from  ignorance  of  matters,  which,  when 
known,  would  make  them  the  miserablest 
persons  in  the  world.  Thereupon  I  said 
such  might  be  the  c:ise,  but  as  regarded  my- 
self there  could  be  no  possibility  of  such  a 
thing.  He  replied  very  earnestly, '  long  may 
you  think  so,'  and  witli  a  deep  sigh  left  me 
to  my  own  reflections. 

"  My  kinsman  had  ever  shown  to  me  a 
marvellous  frank  and  social  spirit;  but  of 
late  I  had  noticed  that  he  had  rather  avoided 
me — gazed  on  me  with  a  countenance  full 
of  pity,  and  when  he  talked,  spoke  with  an 
ambiguous  and  mysterious  fashion,  of  which 
I  could  make  nothing,  save  a  lamentation 
that  villainy  should  be  so  fairly  disguised.  I 
marvelled,  and  not  without  an  undefinable 
uneasiness,  at  such  sort  of  speech,  but  though 
I  pressed  him  to  explain  himself,  he  would 
only  shake  his  head,  and  say  it  was  a  thing 
he  had  not  the  heart  to  do.  Following  close 
upon  the  heels  of  this,  he  would  oft  regret 
that  so  noble  a  gentleman  as  myself  should 
be  so  grossly  impos3d  upon ;  and  that,  out  of 
extreme  love  for  me,  those  who  knew  of  the 
cheat  should  be  forced  to  allow  of  its  con- 
tinuance. All  these  hints  and  inuendoes, 
and  the  mysterious  manner  in  which  they 
were  uttered,  in  time  produced  in  me  a  most 
fearful  state  of  anxiousness  and  disquietude. 

"  It  looked  as  though  some  extraordinary 
mischief  was  impending,  known  only  by 
this  kinsman,  who  liked  not  the  office  of 
breaking  such  iil  news,  but  in  what  quarter 
it  threatened,  or  in  what  shape  it  was  to  ap- 
pear, I  was  completely  at  a  loss ;  and  what 
made  the  matter  worse,  so  seemed  likely  to 
remain. 

"At  last  he  dropped  something  concerning 
of  my  dishonor.  I  fired  at  the  word.  My 
whole  nature* was  stirred  as  if  with  a  mighty 
earthquake.  We  were  alone.  I  presently 
declared  to  him  did  he  not  tell  me  on  the  in- 
stant the  cause  of  what  he  had  said,  I  would 
slay  him  where  he  stood.  He  begged  and 


prayed  most  movingly  I  would  let  him  off  a 
task  he  so  hugely  misliked,  but  the  more 
earnestly  he  strove  to  excuse  himself,  the 
more  fiercely  I  insisted  on  his  declaring  to 
me  whatever  there  might  be  to  say.  Then 
he  added  with  extreme  seriousness,  that  the 
consequences  must  rest  with  me — that  I  was 
hurrying  on  to  meet  my  misery;  but  if  I 
would  force  the  secret  from-  him,  that  I  must 
give  him  my  assurance  to  take  no  measures, 
or  to  show  to  any  one  a  knowledge  of  it, 
till  he  had  given  such  proofs  of  its  correct- 
ness as  he  had  at  his  disposal.  This  I  sol- 
emnly promised.  My  ears  xlrunk  in  with 
horror  the  tale  he  told  me ;  it  was  that  once 
being  out  late  he  had  observed  a  gallant  at 
the  dead  hour  of  the  night  ascending  by  a 
ladder  of  ropes  to  the  Lady  Blanche's  cham- 
ber— so  strange  a  sight  made  him  marvel 
exceedingly,  and  he  stopped  to  see  what 
would  follow.  The  gallant  entered  the 
chamber,  and  there  remained  upwards  of 
an  hour.  When  he  again  appeared  at  the 
window  there  was  a  female  in  his  company, 
and  they  there  embraced  very  fondly.  Then 
he  descended  to  the  ground  and  made  off, 
and  the  ladder  was  immediately  drawn  up 
into  the  chamber.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  have 
torn  my  intelligence*  lin.b  from  limb ;  for  it 
angels  had  sworn  matter  of  the  like  ten- 
dency, I  wou.ld  not  have  credited  a  word  of 
it;  but  I  dissembled  so  much  of  my  passion 
as  to  ask  him  if  he  recognized  the  female 
he  saw  at  the  window.  He  said  he  did,  for 
he  had  such  view  of  her  as  could  not  mis- 
lead him.  I  bade  him  without  fail  confess 
to  me  who  it  was.  He  replied  on  no  ac- 
count could  he  do  so,  as  it  might  lead  to  ir- 
reparable mischiefs  :  and  added  that  he  had 
gone  to  the  same  place  at  the  same  hour 
every  night  since,  and  had  witnessed  the 
same  proceedings. 

"  But  I  would  have  the  name ;  and  by  dint 
of  threat*,  and  repeated  promises  to  behold 
the  proofs  he  spoke  of,  I  gained  it  from  him. 
It  was  the  countess.  This  I  had  anticipated 
from  the  foregoing  ;  but  on  his  confirming 
my  suspicions,  I  contented  myself  for  the 
present  with  determining  in  my  own  mind 
to  bestow  a  proper  punishment  on  so  vile  a 
traducer.  However,  I  demanded  of  him  to 
lead  me  to  the  spot  where  he  had  seen  what 
he  had  related,  fully  convinced  I  should  there 
disprove  every  particular  of  his  relation.  Till 
the  hour  appointed  I  kept  myself  as  quiet  as 
I  could,  though  my  restlessness  must  have 
been  evident  to  all.  1  said  to  none  what  I 
had  heard.  The  countess  retired  to  her 
chamber  somewhat  earlier  than  usual,  but 
this  I  ought  to  have  looked  for,  knowing  the 
state  in  which  «he  was.  Her  manner  was 


314 


THE  *)UTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


in  no  way  different  from  the  ordinary,  save 
she  would  have  it  I  ailed  something,  assert- 
ing she  had  r-jver  seen  me  look  so  strangely, 
and  imploring  me  to  take  heed  of  my  health. 
To  one,  like  myself,  who  placed  such  im- 
mense importance  on  honorable  opinion, 
what  had  been  told  by  my  kinsman  was  like 
enough  to  produce  very  terrible  consequen- 
ces. Certes  I  would  not  allow  of  its  possi- 
bility ;  yet,  for  all  that,  I  was  filled  with  ap- 
prehensions almost  as  unendurable  as  the 
most  perfect  conviction  could  have  been. 

"  To  my  great  relief,  midnight  arrived, 
and  wrapping  ourselves  in  large  cloaks,  my 
kinsman  tttid  I  proceeded  behind  some  trees, 
at  a  convenient  distance  from  the  Lady 
Blanche's  chamber  window.  The  night 
was  somewhat  dusky ;  but  not  as  I  thought, 
dark  enough  to  prevent  our  seeing  objects 
as  fur  oft*  as  was  required.  There  I  stood 
with  the  full  intention  of  punishing  my 
companion's  treachery  as  speedily  as  it  might 
become  manifest.  Having  waited  a  consid- 
erable time  and  seen  nothing,  I  had  just 
commenced  denouncing,  with  the  fiercest 
bitterness,  his  baseness  in  striving  to  impose 
on  me  with  so  improbable  a  tale,  when  he 
caught  hold  of  me  forcibly  by  the  ami,  cry- 

;d  in  a  certain  direc- 
2  astonishment  I  then 


ing  '  hush !'  and 
tion. 


pointe 
To  my  exceedm- 


beheld  a  man,  closely  wrapped  up,  stealing, 
with  extreme  cautiousness,  towards  the 
house.  My  wonder  became  the  greater 
when  I  observed  him  stop  exactly  under- 
neath my  wife's  chamber  window,  and  clap 
his  hands  thrice ;  and  nought  could  exceed 
the  strange  amazement  I  was  in  when  I  no- 
ticed a  female  open  the  window  and  throw 
out  a  ladder  of  ropes,  on  which  the  gallant 
mounted  rapidly — the  two  caressed  at  the 
window  with  every  sign  of  mutual  fondness, 
and  the  next  moment  the  ladder  was  drawn 
up,  and  they  disappeared. 

';I  could  not  very  plainly  distinguish  the 
features  of  the  lady,  but  the  figure  was  man- 
ifest beyond  all  mistaking.  No  one  in  the 
house  was  in  the  same  state ;  and  the  dress, 
too,  was  equally  evident.  It  was  the  count- 
ess. The  horror,  the  shame,  the  rage,  the 
indignation  with  which  I  was  filled  at  this 
discovery,  made  me  incapable  of  motion — 
nay,  I  stood  breathless,  as  though  I  had  been 
turned  to  stone.  My.  senses  were  a  com- 
plete whirlpool  of  furious  passions.  I  knew 
not  what  to  be  about :  all  in  me  bespoke  a 
confused,  bewildered,  desperate  madness. 
My  kinsman  asking  me  what  should  be 
done,  roused  me  to  a  proper  consciousness. 
I  bade  him  remain  where  he  was,  and  if  the 
gallant,  whoever  he  might  be,  sought  to  es- 


hold  him  fast  till  I  returned.  At  that  he 
drew  his  sword,  and  swore  very  earnestly  he 
should  not  escape  alive.  I  then  hastened 
into  the  house.  All  slept — or  appeared  to 
sleep.  There  was  a  deathlike  quiet  in  every 
part  of  the  mansion,  that  seemed  in  marvel- 
lous contrast  to  the  wild  riot  in  my  breust. 
I  gained  the  door  gf  my  wife's  chamber. 
For  the  first  time  I  had  so  found  it,  it  was 
locked.  This  discovery  added  fuel  to  the 
fire.  I  strove  with  all  my  might  to  break  it 
open.  It  was  too  strong  to  be  BO  forced,  but, 
the  violence  of  the  shock  I  had  given  it 
brought  my  wife  to  it  presently.  She  in- 
quired, in  some  seeming  alarm,  ;  who  was 
there  ?'  I  answered,  commanding  her  to 
open  the  door  immediately.  It  was  done. 

"  On  my  entrance  she  complained  some- 
what of  my  disturbing  her  rest  so  strangely. 
1 ,  gave  a  rapid  survey  of  the  chamber,  and 
not  finding  him  I  sought  for,  I  fixed  a  tierce 
look  on  my  wife,  who  was  gazing  on  me  as 
it  seemed,  in  the  confusion  of  conscious 
guilt.  At  this  moment  I  heard  the  clashing 
of  swords,  and  running  to  the  casement, 
observed  my  kinsman  fighting  furiously 
with  the  same  person  I  had  seen  enter  the 
countess's  chamber.  The  ladder  of  ropes 
had  been  left  attached  to  the  window,  and  I 
was  proceeding  to  descend  by  it,  when  my 
faithless  wife  caught  hold  of  my  arm,  and 
implored  me  not  to  venture  myself  into  uny 
danger.  I  took  tin's  as  a  crafty  design  to 
assist  the  escape  »f  her  paramor,  and  with 
violent  execrations  rudely  thrust  her  from 
me,  and,  as  rapidly  as  1  could,  descended 
the  ladder.  Ere  I  had  got  to  the  bottom  I 
beheld  my  kinsman  fall  and  his  opponent 
take  to  rlight.  I  pursued,  thirsting  with 
the  horriblest  vengeance,  but  at  the  distance 
of  about  a  hundred  yards,  to  my  infinite 
rage  and  disappointment,  I  beheld  him  mount 
a  Meet  steed  and  ride  off  at  a  pace  that  left 
all  pursuit  hopeless. 

"  I  returned  to  my  kinsman,  and  found 
him  bleeding,  and  from  his  manner,  appear- 
ing to  have  been  badly  hurt.  I  assisted  him 
into  the  house ;  but  this  took  some  time  to 
do,  for  he  complained  at  every  step,  that  he 
could  scarce  endure  the  motion.  ]  at  last 
got  him  to  his  chamber.  I  found  the  house 
in  the  same  quietness  as  it  had  been  when  I 
had  entered  it  a  short  time  previous  ;  and  its 
undisturbed  state  gave  me  a  hope  I  might 
still  conceal  my  dishonor  from  the  world — a 
hope  I  eagerly  caught  at.  I  extracted  from 
my  wounded  kinsman  a  solemn  oath,  that 
what  he  had  known  and  seen  should  never 
pass  his  lips ;  then  proceeded  I  to  the  cham- 
ber of  a  servant  of  mine,  who  had  lived  all 


cape  by  the  window,  to  fall  upon  him  and  I  his  life  in  my  family,  and  in  whose  fidelity 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAK^EARE. 


216 


I  could  place  implicit  confidence.  I  called 
him  up,  and  as  briefly  as  I  could,  acquainted 
him  with  what  had  transpired.  He  readily 
enough  promised  to  do  whatever  I  might 
require  at  his  hands.  I  then  sent  him  to 
call  up  my  kinsman's  servant,  whilst  I  pro- 
ceeded to  my  lady's  chamber.  I  found  her 
lying  on  the  floor  senseless.  I  placed  her 
in  her  bed.  In  a  short  time,  she  began  to 
exhibit  signs  of  consciousness,  and  with  it 
gave  me  reason  to  believe  she  was  about  to 
become  a  mother.  Thereupon  I  hastened 
to  the  stables,  saddled  me  a  horse,  and  rode 
at  the  top  of  his  speed  to  the  nearest  mid- 
wife ;  and  blindfolding  her,  and  taking  every 
possible  precaution,  that  she  should  not 
know  where  she  was  going,  I  brought  Her 
back  with  me.  She  did  her  office.  As  soon 
as  I  became  aware  of  the  child's  birth,  I 
snatched  it  from  her  hand,  and  hurried  with 
it  to  the  next  chamber,  where  my  faithful 
Adam  was  waiting  as  I  had  desired,  and  to 
him  I  gave  it,  with  strict  commands  that 
instant  to  drown  it  in  the  deepest  part  of 
the  Avon,  which  he  vowed  to  do  in  such  a 
manner  as  should  prevent  the  slightest  clue 
to  discovery.  Then  I  hurried  the  midwife 
away  with  the  same  secrecy  with  which  ] 
had  brought  her. 

"  On  my  return,  Adam  acquainted  me 
that  he  had  fulfilled  my  intentions  to  the 
very  letter,  which  gave  me  inexpressible 
satisfaction,  for  there  w*3  at  least  a  riddance 
of  one  witness  to  my  dishonor.  To  the  false 
woman,  its  mother,  I  had  resolved  on  satis- 
fying my  just  vengeance  -by  a  punishment 
worse  than  death.  None  of  the  domestics 
were  yet  stirring,  and  I  gave  orders  on  no 
account  should  any  bo  allowed  to  go  to 
their  lady's  chamber,  on  the  plea  she  was 
in  so  bad  a  state  she  was  not  expected  to 
live.  Thus  I  prevented  her  being  seen  by 
any  of  the  domestics  for  several  days,  during 
which"  time  my  kinsman  was  confined  to 
his  own  chamber  by  the  hurt  he  had  receiv- 
ed, and  therefore  remained  in  as  perfect  ig- 
norance of  what  was  going  on  as  the  rest. 
In  the  meaflwhile,  with  the  assistance  of  my 
faithful  Adam,  every  thing  was  privily  being 
done  as  I  desired.  It  was  reported  by  him, 
that  the  countess  was  daily  getting  worse, 
and  at  last,  to  their  infinite  great  grief  and 
Borrowing,  it  was  given  out  she  was  dead. 
A  sumptuous  funeral  was  prepared.  I  had 
every  sign  of  mourning  placed  about  the 
mansion ;  and  those  signs  I  have  never  al- 
lowed to  be  removed.  But  before  the  per- 
formance of  the  funeral  obsequies,  I  had 
secretly  removed  the  countess  from  her 
chamber  to  another  part  of  the  building, 
which  had  hitherto  been  scarcely  ever  used. 


"  Here  was  she  shut  up  close  from  all 
knowledge,  save  Adam  and  myself.  He  hath 
never  seen  her  from  the  date  of  her  im- 
prisonment till  the  present  time,  nor  hath 
she  since  then  been  allowed  to  behold  any 
human  being  but  myself,  her  so  deeply  in- 
jured husband;  for  such  was  my  intended 
punishment.  All  common  necessaiies  she 
had,  but  her  clothing  was  reduced  to  a  coarse 
mourning  habit.  Thus  I  had  secured  my 
honor,  but  as  I  speedily  found,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  my  peace  of  mind.  Lady  Blanche 
made  but  one  attempt  to  turn  me  from  my 
purpose,  and  that  was  at  the  birth  of  her 
offspring  ;  but  finding  it  needless,  she  never 
after  sought  to. move  my  commiseration  with 
a  single  word,  and  seemed  to  have  resigned 
herself  to  the  justice  of  her  sentence.  At 
first,  I  took  a  sensible  satisfaction  in  show- 
ing myself  to  her,  clad  in  the  trappings  of 
woe.  I  declared  to  her  what  I  had  done, 
and  told  her  she  was  as  dead  to  me  as  she 
was  to  the  world ;  but  in  consideration  of 
the  virtues  she  had  assumed,  my  mourning 
for  her  should  only  cease  with  my  life.  She 
bowed  her  head  submissively,  and  replied, 
she  was  \vell  content  it  should  be  so  since 
I  had  so  willed  it ;  but  before  any  very  long 
time  had  passed,  I  began  to  have  doubts 
that  the  manner  in  which  I  had  endeavored 
to  keep  the  secret  of  my  dishonor,  was  less 
dishonorable  than  would  have  been  its  pub- 
licity. An  act  which  vengeance  had  not 
allowed  me  to  see  in  its  proper  colors,  now 
stood  before  me  in  all  its  horrible  injustice. 
I  could  easily  reconcile  my  conscience  to 
any  punishment  of  a  guilty  wife,  but  the 
murder  of  an  "innocent  poor  babe  seemed 
incapable  of  any  justification. 

"  Nought  in  this  world  can  exceed  the 
fierce  struggles  I  have  had  to  satisfy  myself 
with  the  deed ;  but  conscience,  instead  of 
being  overpowered  by  them,  appeared  to 
grow  the  stronger  after  every  encounter. 
I3reviously,  my  dishonor,  great  as  it  might 
be,  was  occasioned  by  no  fault  of  mine  own, 
and  by  some,  I  doubted  not,  my  reputation 
would  have  stood  in  no  way  affected  by  it ; 
but  so  ruthless  a  murder  as  that  I  had  plan- 
ned and  put  in  practice,  I  felt  was  a  crime 
of  the  blackest  die.  the  whole  guilt  of  which 
was  mine,  and  if  it  was  made  public,  I  be- 
lieved I  should  be  condemned  and  shunncn 
of  all  men.  Remorse  pursued  me  wherever 
I  went.  Sleeping  or  waking  the  deed  haunt- 
ed me.  I  was  perpetually  goaded  with  the 
reflection  that  Urban  de  la  Pole,  who  had 
won  so  many  titles  of  pre-eminence,  had 
now  made  himself  irrevocably  on  a  level 
with  the  basest  and  vilest  in  the  land.  Yet 
all  this  time  I  sought  as  urgently  as  ever  to 


216 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


excuse  myself,  by  every  manner  of  argu- 
ment. Sometimes  I  succeeded,  but  only  for 
a  brief  space  ;  and  again  I  was  tortured  by 
the  same  dreadful  feelings  of  self-condem- 
nation. 

"  Years  passed  on ;  but  every  year  ap- 
peared to  increase  my  sufferings,  and  time 
added  to  my  misery,  till  it  moved  me  like 
a  madness.  During  this  long  space  the 
countess  bore  her  imprisonment  without  a 
murmur — she  never  once  complained  of  her 
privations — she  never  once  sought  to  re- 
proach me  for  such  stern  usage  of  her — she 


must  needs  destroy  me  quite.  It  is  with 
the  knowledge  of  my  growing  weakness, 
and  noting  that  my  faithful  Adam  is  getting 
old  apace,  and  witnessing  thy  extreme  af- 
fectionateness,  that  I  came  to  the  determi- 
nation of  putting  such  confidence  in  thee  as 
to  require  thy  attendance  on  the  countess 
in  place  of  myself. 

"  Thou  hast  not  sought  this  secret  of  me. 
I  have  seen  such  vouchers  for  thy  honor- 
able nature  that  I  could  trust  thec,  as  I  now 
do,  with  the  custody  of  my  very  so*ul.  But 
remember,  as  I  told  thee,  that  if  thy  disposi- 


never  once  by  w_prd,  look,  or  sign  intimated  tion  revolteth  at  the  idea  of  serving  a  mur- 


to  me  the  slightest  desire  to  change  her  way 
of  life.  Whenever  I  presented!  myself  to 
her,  she  wore  a  contented  submissive  look ; 
which  through  twenty  years  of  rigorous  con- 
finement hath  remained  the  same,  I  found 
out  at  last,  that  instead  of  punishing  her  I 
was  punishing  myself.  My  sufferings  were 
becoming  intolerable,  whilst  she  did  not 
seem  to  suffer  in  any  manner.  Still  I  at 
all  times  noticed  in  her  an  expression  of 
countenance  which  I  felt  deeply,  but  I  can- 
not describe.  It  seemed  to  appeal  to  me 
more  strongly  than  the  most  conspicuous 
show  of  wretchedness  could  have  done ;  and 
yet  it  was  not  one  of  wretchedness.  It  in- 
variably made  me,  on  my  leaving  her,  ask 
of  myself,  why  I  continued  to  bury  her  in 
so  merciless  a  manner  ?  and  then  followed 
a  raging  storm  of  conflicting  opinions  for 
and  against  her,  in  which  remorse  for  the 
murder  I  had  perpetrated  took  its  full  share. 
But  in  the  end,  I  felt  that  death  alone  had 
the  power  of  affording  her  release. 

"  My  kinsman,  although  h'e  had  got  hurt 
entirely  in  his  zeal  for  me,  I  could  not  bear 
the  sight  of.  I  know  not  why  it  was,  but  I 
looked  on  him  as  the  cause  of  my  misery. 
He  it  was  who  had  first  wakened  me  from 
the  dream  of  happiness  and  honor  in  which 
I  had  been  indulging;  and  I  thanked  him 
not  for  his  painstaking.  When  he  was  well 
of  his  wound,  I  hastened  his  departure ;  and 
though  he  doth  occasionally  pay  me  visits, 
the  only  part  of  them  that  pleaseth  me  is 
when  he  turncth  his  back  to  be  gone. 
Since  thou  ha'st  been  with  me  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  him,  for  which  I  am  infinitely 
thankful ;  but  I  am  in  daily  expectation  of 
hearing  of  his  arrival.  His  nature  and  mine 
can  have  no  sort  of  assimilation.  He  never 
comes  but  he  goads  me  into  frenzy  with  his 
consolations  and  condolences,  and  a  thou- 
sand foolish  speeches  that  call  to  my  mind 
my  dishonor  and  my  crime.  Now  I  dread 
his  presence  worse  than  ever,  for  the  fangs 
of  remorse  have  worked  in  my  heart  such 
deep  wounds,  methinks  such  probing  as  his 


derer,  I  hold  thee  free  to  go  at  any  time, 
and  will  take  careful  heed  thy  going  shall 
do'  thee  credit.  As  for  myself  I  can  only 
say,  could  a  thousand  years  of  severest  suf- 
fering undo  the  deed,  I  would  set  about  it 
with  a  cheerful  spirit.  Now  tell  rue,  I  pri- 
thee, what  thou  art  inclined  to  do.  I  offer 
thee  no  reward  for  staying,  and  doing  me 
this  great  service,  save  my  undivided  love 
and  most  absolute  gratitude;  shouldst  thou 
choose  to  go,  I  will  enrich  thee  for  life 
Make  thy  choice." 

"  My  lord  you  surely  cannot  doubt  my 
choice,"  replied  Bertram,  in  a  most  winning, 
affectionate  manner.  "  I  do  as  sorely  la- 
ment the  deed  that  hath  been  done  as  can 
you  ;  but  our  lamentations  will  never  lessen 
its  enormity.  Still  from  wh^t  I  have  just 
learned,  I  cannot  hfelp  perceiving  you  have 
had  monstrous  provocation  ;  but  provoca- 
tion that  justified  the  crime  I  cannot  say  — 
for  methinks  there  can  be  no  justification 
where  there  is  a  crime  —  or  no  crime  where 
a  justification  can  be  allowed.  Neverthe- 


materials, were  you  twenty  times  as  guilty 
as  you  are,  were  I  to  desert  you  after  you 
have  put  such  entire  confidence  in  me.  Be- 
lieve me,  my  Lord,  my  love  for  you  is  of 
such  a  sort  that  I  desire  of  all  things  to  serve 
you  in  honesty  and  faithfulness  my  whole 
life  through;  and  shall  think  my  fortune 
desperate,  indeed,  when  it  cometh  to  me  in 
such  ill  shape  as  my  being  forced  to  leave 
so  kind  a  master." 

The  Earl  gave  no  answer  to  this  earnest 
and  loving  speech,  unless  it  were  replied  by 
his  looks  ;  which,  truly,  appeared  to  be  full 
of  right  eloquent  expression.  lie  presently 
continued  :  — 

"  Thou  hast  had  opportunity  for  noticing 
that  a  portion  of  this  book-case  hath  been 
ingeniously  contrived  to  be  a  secret  door, 


known 

Adam. 

which  is  a  chamber,  which  is  no  other  than 

the  prison  of  my  false  Countess.    There  fur 


only   to    myself    and    my   faithful 
This  opens  into  a  passage,  beyond 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


217 


twenty  years  she,  a  daughter  of  one  of  the 
noblest  families,  hath  endured  such  priva- 
tions as  the  commonest  menial  scarce  ever 
is  forced  to  resort  to.  I  would  have  thee 
now  go  to  her  and  acquaint  her  with  my 
desire  thou  shouldst  attend  to  her  wants  in 
place  of  myself." 

The  page  readily  arose  to  fulfil  his  er- 
rand, and  the  secret  door  being  opened  he 
passed  through  it.  Now  he  experienced 
most  strange  feelings — an  infinite  dread  and 
dislike  of  appearing  before  this  dangerous 
bad  woman,  who  had  done  such  terrible 
mischiefs.  He  could  not  tolerate  the  in- 
famy she  had  brought  on  herself,  knowing, 
as  he  did,  the  noble  nature  of  the  man  she 
had  so  basely  wronged,  and  therefore  thought 
not*her  confinement  to  be  too  great  a  pun- 
ishment for  her  crime.  He  therefore  pre- 
pared himself  to  meet  a  woman  whom  he 
should  thoroughly  detest  at  the  first  glance 
— one  whose  attractions  must  have  faded 
under  the  rigor  of  such  long  imprisonment, 
and  whose  state,  the  lack  of  ordinary  at- 
tendance had  made  slovenly  in  attire  and 
uncleanly  in  person.  He  pictured  too,  in 
his  mind,  her  prison  to  be  exceedingly  dirty, 
cheerless,  and  neglectful.  His  surprise  may 
be  imagined,  when  he  entered,  where  every 
thing  was  as  comfortable,  neat,  and  orderly 
as  in  the  best  apartment  in  the  mansion. 
Nothing  could  be  so  cleanly  as  seemed  every 
part  of  the  chamber,  and  the  only  sign  of 
cheerlessness  it  had  was  its  being  entirely 
covered  up  with  black  cloth. 

If  he  was  so  greatly  surprised  with  the 
prison,4ie  was  far  mor»  so  with  the  prisoner. 
He  beheld  before  him  a  lady  of  extreme 
beauty,  looking  to  be  in  the  very  prime  of 
life.  She  was  dressed  simply  in  a  black 
robe,  but  the  most  splendid  apparel  could 
not  have  shown  to  more  advantage  her  ma- 
jestic figure,  or  give  such  admirable  con- 
trast to  her  noble  countenance.  She  was 
sitting  reading  of  a  book  at  the  entrance  of 
the  page  ;  but  as  soon  as  she  noticed  him 
she  started  up  in  a  great  marvel.  •  Her  won- 
der was  not  without  cause,  for  not  having 
seen  any  human  baing  save  her  lord  for  so 
long  a  space,  she  could  not  but  be  infinitely 
astonished  at  the  presence  of  him  she  now 
beheld.  Truly,  at  any  place  Bertram  was 
no  common  sight,  for  by  this  time  the  hag- 
gard, sjckly  expression  which  long  sickness 
and  suffering  had  left  on  his  features,  when 
he  first  entered  the  house,  was  changed  to 
one  of  health  and  comfort,  wherein  the 
softness  of  early  youth  was  made  more  win- 
ning by  the  sweet  and  pensive  melancholy 
with  which  his  handsome  features  were 


overcast.  Now,  with  his  intelligent  eyes 
radiant  with  wonder  as  he  gazed  on  the 
beautiful  woman  before  him,  he  looked  more 
handsome  than  ever  he  had  been  whilst  in 
his  present  abode.  His  hair,  in  rich  profu- 
sion, fell  down  even  to  the  white  falling 
bands  spread  open  round  his  neck,  which 
added  much  to  the  picturesque  expression  of 
his  countenance,  and  his  close-fitting  suit 
was  famously  adapted  to  display  to  the  most 
notable  advantage  the  grace  and  symmetry 
of  his  limbs. 

After  having  thus  wondrously  gazed  on 
'each  other  for  many  seconds,  the  Lady 
:  Blanche  at  last  broke  the  strange  silence  by 
inquiring  of  the  youth  his  errand.  He  spoke 
it  with  so  gentle  a  courteousness  that  none 
could  help  being  charmed  with  him,  but  the 
countess  took  his  message  in  very  sorrowful 
part. 

"  I  pray  you,  tell  me,  young  sir,  for  what 
cause  is  it  my  lord  refuseth  to  see  me  2"  in- 
quired slie  in  a  most  urgent  manner. 

"  His  health,  lady,  is  getting  to  be  in  so 
decayed  a  state,  it  preventeth  him,"  replied 
the  page. 

"  Alack !"  exclaimed  the  Lady  Blanche. 
"  I  have  marked  his  changed  aspe*ct  a  long 
time  past.  Whilst  I  was  allowed  sight  of 
him  I  cared  not  for  being  shut  out  from  the 
world,  for  from  the  first  time  I  heard  of  his 
gallant  name,  he  hath  been  all  the  world  to 
me.  But  now  I  fed  I  am  punished  indeed. 
I  beseech  you,  gentle  sir,  implore  him  for 
me  that  I  may  attend  on  him  in  his  illness. 
No  servant  shall  serve  him  more  humbly  or 
truly,  than  his  once  happy  and  honored 
Blanche.  Ah,  me  !  How  wildly  do  I  talk,;" 
added  the  Countess,  suddenly  changing  her 
ardent,  impassioned  manner,  to  one  of  strict 
patience  and  submissiveness.  "  Nay,  if  it 
is  my  lord's  will,  it  must  needs  be.  Tell 
him,  gentle  sir,  I  am  ready  to  fulfil  his 
wishes." 

When  Bertram  left  her,  his  lord's  faith- 
less wife,  whom  a  short  time  before  he  had 
felt  so  disposed  to  detest  from  his  heart,  he 
found  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  mislike 
her  in  any  manner  ;  nay,  she  had  awakened 
in  him  feelings  of  a  direct  opposite  tendency. 
He  marvelled  a  guilty  woman  could  bear 
such  rigorous  imprisonment  so  long  a  time 
and  it  have  no  evident  effect  on  her,  he  mar- 
velled more,  with  the  knowledge  of  her  infa- 
mous evil  doing,  she  should  wear  so  noble, 
bright  a  countenance  ;  but  all  this  could  not 
erase  from  his  mind  the  impression  of  his 
lord's  narrative.  He  remembered  the  ter- 
ribleness  of  the  wrong  she  had  wantonly 
done  so  noble  a  gentleman,  and  strove  to 


218 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


fortify  his  heart  against  the  entrance  of 
those  feelings,  her  language,  looks,  and 
manner,  had  created  in  him  ;  nevertheless, 
he  found  his  thoughts  taking  to  themselves 
the  shape  of  this  question — "  Surely,  this 
lady,  is  not  so  wicked  as  I  though',  her." 

On  returning  to  the^arl,  he  told  him  every 
syllable  the  countess  had  uttered  in  his 
hearing,  at  which  the  former  appeared  ex- 
ceeding moved,  asked  divers  questions,  hur- 
riedly and  anxiously,  as  to  how  she  spoke, 
and  what  she  had  said ;  and  every  answer 
manifestly  did  the  more  increase  his  uneasi- 
ness. For  a  wlu'le  he  seamed  lost  in  thought 
— but  it  was  easy  to  see  from  the  changing 
expression  of  his  aspect — his  deep  sighing, 
and  violent  hard  breathing,  that  some  such 
struggle  as  had  been  but  too  common  with 
him,  was  going  on  in  his  nature.  Bertram 
stood  observing  him  \vith  a  sincere,  sweet 
sympathy,  expressed  in  every  feature  of  his 
countenance ;  but  saying  never  a>  word, 
knowing  how  useless  was  speech  on  such  j 
occasions.  After  a  time  the  Earl  recovered  i 
sufficiently  to  express  what  he  would  have  ; 
done. 

"  Methiiiks,  'tis  full  time  this  punishment 
should  cense,"  said  he  in  a  somewhat  fal-  ! 
tering  voice.     "  I  can  endure  it  no  longer.  : 
This    marvellous   sweet  patience  of  hers 
subdues  mo.    My  vengeance  is  gone,  of  my  ; 
honor  I  am  careless.     Go,  tell  her,  she  is  • 
free  to  go  where  she  will,  so  long  as  I  may 
never  have  sight  of  her  again." 

The  page  hastened  to  do  his  lord's  bid- 
ding, his  thoughts  by  the  way,  busy  in  the 
entertainment  of  every  possible  prejudice 
against  that  false  bad  woman  who  had 
brought  such  fearful  sufferings  upon  her  ; 
generous,  noble-hearted  husband.  He  de- ' 
termined  to  look  on  her  as  a  very  monster — 
an  ungrateful,  base  creature,  lost  to  every  ' 
sense  of  womanly  excellence  ;  and  expedite 
her  removal  from  the  mansion  by  all  means 
in  his  power.  He  presented  himself  to  the 
lady  a  second  time,  and  despite  of  his  recent 
stern  determinations,  delivered  his  message 
as  gently  as  though  he  spoke  to  some 
person  great  in  his  respect.  The  Countess 
heard  it  in  evident  emotion.  Her  cheek  ; 
grew  pale  and  then  red,  of  a  sudden — her 
lips  quivered  somewhat — but  in  the  end  her 
whole  countenance  expressed  a  lofty  pride 
and  noble  majesty,  which  made  her  young 
companion  marvel  more  than  ever. 

"  It  cannbt  be ;"  replied  she  at  last. 
"  Were  I  again  to  appear  in  the  public  eye, 
perchance  my  lord's  reputation  would  suffer ; 
he,  having  for  so  long  a  period  allowed  it  to 
he  closed  against  me.  If  my  character  hath  , 


gone,  my  death  is  no  fiction.  To  what  my 
lord  hath  sentenced  me  I  patiently  submit.— 
Unless  I  can  be  wholly  restored  to  his  affec- 
tions, which,  methinks,  'tis  vain  to  hope,  I 
wish  here  to  live  out  my  days,  to  the  last  his 

foor  prisoner,  and  humble,  loving  wife :  and 
will  pray  for  him  very  earnestly  on  the 
knees  of  my  heart  he  may  enjoy  every  man- 
:ner  of  happiness  that  is-most  to  his  liking. 
I  beseech  you,"  gentle  sir,  tell  him  this  much 
!  from  me — that!  will  endure  with  all  proper 
submissiveness,  whatever  he  shall  think  of 
letting  the  world  know  of  my  existence :  and 
the  only  favor  I  would  ask  of  him  is,  that 
he  will  let  me  here  remain  till  I  have  become 
!  the  thing  he  hath  feigned. " 

Again  there  was  a  change  in  the  page's 
thoughts  of  his  lord's  faithless  wife ;  his  feel- 
ings were  now  in  her  favor  as  strong  as  ad- 
miration could  make  them.     Her  language, 
her  look,  her  bearing,  savored  so  marvellous 
I  little  of  guilty  consciousness,  that  he  could 
:  not  help 'saying  to  himself  on  leaving  her, 
I "  Surely  this   lady  cannot  haX'e   done  the 
;  wickedness  with  which  she  is   charged." 
i  He  acquainted  the  Earl  with  what  had  pas- 
sed in  consequence  of  his  message,  where- 
upon, the  unhappy  man  seemed  more  moved 
;  than  before,  for  he  presently  broke  out  into 
a  wonderful  great  passion  of  self  accusa- 
tions. 

"  Every  word  of  hers  cometh  upon  me 
like  a  scourge !"  exclaimed  he,  when  his 
frenzy  had  somewhat  abated,  "  I  have  made 
a  terrible  mistake  ;  I  have  been  torturing  of 
myself  all  this  while,  instead  of  punishing 
her.  O  reputation  L  reputation !  what  a 
poor  idol  of  brass  thmi  art  !''  And^n  this 
strain  went  he  on,  so  much  to  the  exceeding 
grief  of  his  faithful  Bertram,  that  he  knew 
not  what  judgment  to  come  to.  He  could 
not  believe  his  lord  had  misstated  to  him 
anything,  having  had  such  manifold  proofs 
of  his  extreme  honorableness  of  nature, 
therefore  he  must  needs  consider  the  Count- 
ess to  be  the  very  basest  wretch  breathing ; 
and  yet  he  could  not  think  ill  of  that  lady, 
after  having  beheld  in  her  as  he  had  beha- 
vior so  thoroughly  opposed  to  an  unworthy 
disposition.  He  considered  much  of  the 
matter;  his  reflections  suddenly  turned  into 
a  new  channel,  and,  as  he  left  the  chamber, 
he  put  this  question  to  himself — "  Surely, 
there  is  some  huge  villainy  at  the  bottom  of 
these  woeful  doings !" 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


219 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

This  company  were  lightly  the  lewdest  in 
tlje  land — apt  for  pilfery,  perjury,  forgery,  or 
any  other  villainy. 

GREENE  (Groatsworth  of  Witte.) 

"  OH  twine  fresh  roses  round  thy  brow 

And  pledge  the  wine-cup  high  ; 
Leave  fears  and  cares  to  misers'  heirs, 

Leave  tears  to  those  who  sigh. 
For  is  there  neatli  heav'n  a  bliss  so  divine 
As  that  which  now  beams  in  the    sparkling 
wine  ? 

Brighter  than  gems 
In  kings'  diadems, 
And  fragrant  as  buds  upon  odorous  stems. 

Then  fill  to  the  brim  !     Fiil  to  the  brim  ! 
Fill  whilst  such  joys  on  the  green  earth  abound, 
'Ere   Pleasure   grow   pensive   or  Friendship 
look  dim, 

Fill  to  the  brim  around ! 

"  Oh  twine  fresh  roses  round  thy  brow, 

And  pledge  me  once  again : 
Till  we  have  quaff'd  the  rosy  draught 

And  warmed  the  heart  and  brain. 
Oar  life  is  but  short  and  our  pleasures  but  few, 
And  time  makes  us  old  when  our  youth  is  but 
new  :  — 

Wine  then  alone, — 
To  all  be  it  known, — 
Can  grant  us  new  life  and  a  world  of  our  own. 

Then  iiil  to  the  brim  !     Fill  to  the  brim ! 
Fill  whilst  such  joys  on  the  green  earth  abound, 
Ere   Pleasure  grows  pensive   or  Friendship 
looks  dim, 

Fill  to  the  brim  around ! 

"  Bravo,  Robin  !  '  O,-  my  life,  our  sweet 
Robin  is  a  brave  songster !" 

'•  Excellent  well  sung,  as  I  live,  Master 
Greone  ;  and  as  Kit  Marlowe  most  aptly 
calleth  thoe,  thou  art  our  own  delectable 
sweet  Robin." 

':  Nay,  Chettle,  we  will  not  have  him  so 
mean  a  bird ;  he  is  a  swan  at  the  very  least." 

';  Ay,  truly,  Master  Lodge,  by  this  hand, 
a  good  thought.  A  swan — a  very  swan ! 
What  sayest,  Peele  ?  What  sayest,  Kyd  ? 
What  sayest,  Nash  ?  Is  not  Greens  as  right 
famous  a  swan  at  singing,  as  though  he 
were  the  mighty  Jove  himself,  going  a  bird- 
ing  after  the  delicate  fashion  told  in  the  old 
story  ?" 

"Prithee  keep  to  the  Robin,  good  Kit!'' 
replied  the  singer,  in  the  same  merry  humor 
with  his  boisterous  companions  ;  methinks 
the  conceit  of  the  swan  is  somewhat  dan- 
gerous, it  being  a  bird  so  nigh  in  feather  to 
a  goose." 

"  Nay,  nay,  there  is  a  huge  difference  in 
the  holding  of  the  head,"  cried  Kit  Mar- 


lowe, laughingly ;  "  so  if*t  chance  to  be 
thou  art  only  but  a  goose,  if  thou  wilt  but 
have  thy  neck  stretched,  thou  shall  presently 
be  the  braver  bird,  beyond  all  contradic- 
tion ?" 

"  Then  is  Tyburn  a  choice  place  for 
swanhopping  ?"  observed  -Lodge,  amid  the 
uproarious  mirth  of  his  associates. 

"More  wine!  more  wine!  tapster!" 
bawled  Chettle  ;  "  'Slight !  after  such  mov- 
ing praise  of  thy  liquor,  thou  shouldst  empty 
thy  casks  for  us,  and  charge  nothing." 

"  Ay.  by  Bacchus,  that  thou  shouldst,  out 
of  sheer  gratitude,''  added  Nash. 

"Truly  my  masters;  and  for  mine  own 
part,  I  care  not,"  said  a  miserable-looking, 
threadbare  knave,  in  a  most  abject  manner, 
"  indeed,  I  care  not  in  any  sort  of  manner ; 
yet,  as  I  cannot  live  unless  I  sell  my  liquor 
at  some  profit,  I  humbly  beseech  your  wor- 
ships, pardon  me,  that  I  would  rather  live 
and  sell,  than  give  away  and  be  ruined." 

These  were  a  party  of  play-writers,  met 
together  round  a  rough  table,  in  a  mean 
chamber  of  a  common  inn,  near  the  Globe 
playhouse,  on  the  Bankside :  they  seemed  to 
be  much  alike  as  regarded  their  humors,  be- 
ing a  set  of  as  wild,  licentious,  unbridled 
roysterers,  as  might  be  met  with  in  any  tav- 
ern in  Christendom.  It  was  manifest  on  a 
little  stay  with  them,  that  they  had  more  wit 
than  discretion,  and  less  honesty  than  either ; 
for  their  talk  was  either  of  tricks  they  had 
practised,  when  reduced  to  any  shifts,  or 
abuse  of  certain  players  they  misliked,  or 
slander  of  certain  writers,  whose  success 
they  envied.  Their  dress  smacked  of  a 
tawdy  gentility ;  in  some  instances  showing 
signs  of-shabbiness,  that  could  not  be  hid,  in 
others  of  expense  that  could  not  be  afforded ; 
for  these  worthies  were  of  that  .unthinking 
sort,  who  feast  to-day  and  fast  to-morrow  ; 
carry  their  purses  well  lined  on  a  Monday, 
and  ere  the  week  hath  half  gone,  have  not  a 
groat.  So  improvident  were  they,  that  they 
would  have  their  canary  for  an  hour  or  two's 
enjoyment,  though  they  should  be  reduced  t<: 
take  their  custom  to  the  water-bearer,  for  a 
month  after  ;  and  of  so  little  principle  were 
the  greater  number,  that  as  long  as  they 
could  get  such  indulgences  as  they  most  af- 
fected, which  were  often  of  an  exceeding 
disreputable  sort,  they  cared  not  a  jot  whe- 
ther they  had  or  had  not  in  their  power  the 
means  of  paying.  Nevertheless,  divers  of 
them  were  men  of  approved  talent  in  their 
art ;  but  this,  methinks,  should  draw  on  them 
greater  censures  ;  for  when  men  have  know- 
ledge, and  use  it  not  honorably,  they  should 
be  accounted  infinitely  more  blameable,  than 
such  as  offend  through  igflorance. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


"  Ha !  ha  !  by  this  light  a  most  admirably 
conceited  jest,  my  de;ir  boy,"  exclaimed 
Greene,  who,  by  the  way,  was  a  marvellous 
different  person  from  Tom  Greene  the  player. 
"  But  what  dost  think  of  this  for  a  goodly 
example  of  coney-catching.  There  hath 
been  a  certain  publisher  to  me,  who  is  known 
\vell  enough  to  all  here,  requesting  of  rne  to 
write  him  something.  I  asked  of  him  of 
what  kind,  and  thereupon  he  spoke  so  mov- 
ingly of  the  great  good — to  say  nought  of 
the  great  profits  that  come  of  pious  writings, 
that  on  the  instant  I  offered  to  compose  a 
repentance  of  my  monstrous  sinful  life, 
which  should  be  so  forcibly  penned  that  the 
wickedest  persons  that  live  should  take  ex- 
ample of  it,  and  straightway  fall  into  godli- 
ness. At  this  surely  no  man  was  ever  in 
such  huge  delight  as  was  my  saint-like  sel- 
ler of  books ;  and  he  offered  me  such  fair 
terms  for  a  pamphlet  of  this  tendency,  that 
I  closed  with  him  presently.  Since  then,  I 
have  commenced  my  repentance  ;  and  I  carl 
say  most  truly  few  have  ever  repented  tljem 
their  sins  with  such  profit  as  have  I ;  but 
the  jest  of  it  lieth  in  this — that  my  gain  by 
such  labor  must  needs  lead  me  into  fresh 
outbreaks,  which  at  my  need  will  form 
goodly  materials  for  another  repentance,  still 
more  cunningly  to  be  wrought  out  for  the 
edification  of  strayed  sheep,  which  will  again 
enrich  my  exchequer  for  advancing  me 
through  a  new  career  of  revelry,  to  be  fol- 
lowed of  course  by  the  most  pitiful  repent- 
ance of  any.  And  in  this  manner  mean  I 
to  live  sinning  ^nd  repenting,  and  repenting 
and  sinning,  till  there  shall  be  no  good  to  be 
reaped  by  it,  either  for  myself  or  any  other." 

Riotous  shouts  of  laughter,  and  a  famous 
store  of  sharp  witty  saying,  not  worthy  of 
being  written,  accompanied  this  speech ;  and 
there  was  not  one  there  present  who  did  not 
appear  to  regard  it  as  fine  a  jest  as  ever  they 
heard. 

"  O'  my  word,  but  this  is  delicate  coney- 
catching  indeed !"  cried  Nash,  joining 
heartily  in  the  same  humor.  "  When  I  am 
hard  pushed  I  will  not  fail  following  such 
exquisite  proper  example ;  and  I  only  hope 
I  shall  have  grace  sufficient  to  turn  it  to  as 
uotable  great  advantage." 

"  This  showeth  the  utter  foolishness  of 
such  matters,"  exclaimed  Kit  Marlowe — a 
noted  infidel.  "  And  proveth  that  if  you 
bait  your  discourse  sufficiently  with  relig- 
ion, you  may  have  in  your  power  as  many 
gulls  as  can  get  within  reach  of  it.  But 
hearken  to  the  rare  trick  I  played  rny  hostess 
when  I  was  reduced  to  such  shifts  for»lodg- 
ings  I  scarce  kne*v  where  I  should  find  my 
lying  for  the  next  day.  This  woman  was 


coarse  and  fat,  and  a  desperate  shrew ;  and 
I  being  somewhat  backward  in  paying  her 
pestilent  charges,  she  opened  her  battery  on 
me  at  all  hours,  and  at  last  swore  very 
roundly  I  should  to  prison  and  out  of  her 
house,  did  I  not  settle  what  I  owed  by  a  cer- 
tain day.  Now  it  fortunately  chanced  so  to 
hap,  her  villainous  house  had  two  doors,  one 
front  and  one  back,  and  she  being  usually 
in  a  front  chamber,  put  me  upon  practising 
my  wit  in  such  a  manner  as  should  most 
punish  her,  and  most  enrich  rne.  So  I  pre- 
vailed on  a  broker  of  my  acquaintance  to 
purchase  of«me  all  the  goods  in  my  lodging, 
on  the  condition  that  they  should  be  removed 
when  I  desired.  Having  got  the  money  the 
day  before  the  day  appointed  for  my  paying 
the  grasping  old  avarice  my  hostess,  I  went 
to  her  chamber,  and  told  her  I  had  come  to 
settle  with  her,  her  charges,  which  put  her  in- 
to so  rare  a  humor,  that  I  kept  her  a  full  hour 
talking  and  jesting,  with  the  money  in  my 
hand.  Then  thinking  the  broker  had  as  I 
designed,  removed  the  old  dame's  chattels 
|  by  the  back  door  and  got  clear  off,  I  begged 
she  wo'uld  let  me  have  of  her  some  sort  of 
memorandum  of  the  cancelling  of  my  debt, 
and  quickly  commenced  counting  of  my 
money  on  the  table.  Myrequest  she  thought 
so  reasonable,  she  lost  not  a  moment  in  seek- 
ing to  gratify  it ;  but  the  instant  I  hoard  her 
proceeding  to  an  upper  room  where  I  knew 
she  kept  her  pen  and  ink,  I  whipped  up  the 
money  and  was  out  of  the  front  door  ere  I 
could  draw  breath.  Truly,  it  must  have 
been  most  absolute  and  irresistable  sport,  to 
have  noted-  the  visage  of  my  chap-fallen 
hostess  when  she  discovered  not  only  the 
loss  of  her  money  she  was  so  desperate 
about,  but  the  departure  of  her  lodger  leav- 
ing of  his  lodging  bare  to  the  very  walls." 
This  narrative  was  received  with  more 
riotous  acclamations  than  the  preceding, 
and  divers  others  of  the  company  told  the 
like  sort  of  tales,  to  the  excessive  mirth  of 
the  rest,  who  looked  upon  them  as  most  ad- 
mirable jests ;  and  thus  they  kept  drinking 
and  showing  of  their  several  humors.  After 
sometime  they  commenced  talking  of  the 
players,  and  not  one  was  named  who  in  their 
thinking  possessed  the  slightest  share  of 
merit.  Greene  was  a  mere  ape — the  elder 
Burjjage  a  scare-crow — the  younger  a  poor 
fellow  that  marred  everything  he  spoke, 
for  lack  of  sense  to  know  the  meaning  on't, 
and  Hemings  and  Condell  very  twins  of 
stupidness,  who  could  do  nought  but  strut 
and  fume,  and  blunder  through  such  parts 
as  they  uftlertook  to  play  ;  and  so  they  pro- 
ceeded with  nigh  upon  all  the  players, 
accompanying  their  opinions  with  marvel- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


221 


loos  lamentations  their  plays  should  be  so  [ 
ill  handled. 

"  Hast  marked  this  new  player,  my  mas- 
ter ?"  inquired  Greene. 

"  What,  him  they  call  Shakspeare  ?" 
asked  Marlowe.  , 

"  Ay, '•'  answered  his  companion.  "Didst 
ever  note  so  senseless  foolish  a  person  I  \ 
Marry,  if  there  shall  be  found  in  him  a 
greater  commodity  of  brains  than  may  serve 
him  to  truss  his  points  withal,  I  have  an 
infinite  lack  of  penetration." 

"  Slight,  my  dog  would  make  a  better 
player!"  exclaimed  Marlow  contemptuous- 
ly. "  Didst  ever  see  any  linger-post  hold 
itself  so  stiffly  ?  Didst  ever  find  a  drunken 
tinker  so  splutter  his  words  !  He  hath  a 
little  grace  in  his  action  as  a  costard-mon- 
ger's jackass  ;  and  as  for  his  aspect,  I  could 
get  as  much  dignity  out  of  a  three-legged 
stool.'' 

li  Well,  well,  he  cannot  do  us  any  great 
harm  by  his  playing,"  observed  Lodge.  "  He 
is  only  put  into  the  very  poorest  parts  that 
are  written." 

"  Which  he  maketh  a  monstrous  deal 
poorer  by  his  wretched  performance,"  added 
Greene. 

"  But  who  is  this  Shakspeare  ?  inquired 
Nash. 

"  A  very  clown,"  replied  Marlowe.  "  A 
fellow  that  hath  left  the  plough's  tail  and 
his  brother  clods  of  the  soil,  in  such  utter 
conceit  of  himself  as  to  imagine  he  shall 
become  a  famous  player." 

"  He  deserveth  the  whipping-post  for  his 
monstrous  impudence,"  said  Peele. 

"  Give  him  a  cap  and  bells,  and  dress  him 
in  motley,"  added  Kyd. 

"  Nay,  I  doubt  he  hath  even  wit  enough 
to  pass  for  a  fool,"  cried  Greene,  amid  the 
contemptuous  laughter  of  his  companions  ; 
and  so  went  they  on  turning  the  edge  of 
their  wits  upon  the  new  player,  till  the  door 
opening,  there  entered  with  young  Burbage 
the  very  person  they  were  so  sharp  upon. 
In  an  instant  the  whole  company  hailed  '•  the 
poor  fellow  that  marred  everything  he  spoke, 
for  lack  of  sense  to  know  the  meaning  on't," 
as  though  none  could  be  so  well  esteemed  of 
them. 

"  Sit  thee  down,  my  prince  of  players !" 
cried  Marlowe. 

"  Excellent  Dick,  I  drink  thy  health,"  ex- 
claimed Greene  in  the  same  extreme  friend- 
liness of  manner. 

"  A  pint  of  wine,  tapster,  for  Master  Bur- 
bage V  shouted  Lodge,  who  had  a  new  play 
m  fianu,  and  thought  it  good  policy  to  be  in 
a.  generous  humor  with  the  manager's  son. 

"Truly    a  good  thought,"  added  Nash, 


who  was  more  famous  for  commending  of 
another's  generosity  than  of  taking  it  as  an 
example.  "  It  would  be  a  notable  remiss- 
ness  in  us,  to  one  to  whose  admirable  choice 
playing  we  stand  so  much  indebted  for  the 
success  df  our  play,  were  we  not  at  all  times 
to  welcome  him  with  open  arms." 

"  Truly,  I  am  beholden  to  you  greatly,"  re- 
plied young  Burbage,  sitting  down  amongst 
them,  by  the  side  of  his  companion.  '•  I 
shall  be  glad  enough  I  warrant  you,  to  do 
my  best  in  your  honorable  service,  in  espe- 
cial when  it  cometh  to  be  followed  by  such 
fair  wages.  But  your  bountiful  goodness 
hath  emboldened  me  to  ask  a  liberal  welcome 
for  my  friend  here,  Will  Shakspeare,  whose 
true  social  qualities,  perchance,  will  lead 
you,  ere  long,  to  thank  me  for  his  acquaint- 
ance." Thereupon  every  one  of  the  com- 
pany greeted  the  stranger  with  as  absolute 
cordiality  as  ever  was  seen. 

"  O'  my  word,  I  have  taken  great  note  of 
you,  Master  Shakspeare,"  exclaimed  Mar- 
lowe. "  You  promise  well,  sir ;  by  this  light 
you  do  !  I  have  not  seen  a  young  player 
take  to  his  art  so  readily  since  I  rirst  beheld 
a  play." 

"  Indeed  you  have  the  requisites,  young 
sir,  of  a  complete  master  of  playing,"  added 
Greene.  "  You  will  shine.  You  will  be 
more  famous  than  any  of  your  day.  You 
will  show  the  whole  world  how  far  an  Eng- 
lish player  can  exceed  all  that  hath  been 
done  of  the  ancients."  The  others  followed 
in  the  same  vein,  as  if  one  was  striving  to 
exceed  the  other  in  the  extravagance  of 
panegyric  :  to  this  the  young  player  replied 
very  modestly,  as  he  at  that  moment  believed 
them  to  be  sincere.  This  modest  manner 
of  his  seemed  to  convey  to  his  new  associates 
an  idea  that  he  was  of  a  poor  spirit,  as  well 
as  vain  enough  to  take  to  himself  anything 
in  the  shape  of  compliment,  so  they  com- 
menced covertly  making  of  him  their  butt, 
passing  sly  jests  at  his  expense,  and  in  pre- 
tended compliments  seeking  to  be  terribly 
satirical ;  all  which  he  took  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  seemed  to  strengthen  them  in  their 
small  opinion  of  him.  Doubtless,  this  made 
them  somewhat  bolder  with  their  wits. 

"  I  pray  you  now.  listen  to  me,  Master 
Countryman,"  said  Marlowe,  as  if  with  a 
monstrous  show  of  aft'ectionateness.  "  I 
will  give  you  famous  advice,  I  promise  you. 
As  to  your  walk,  methinks  'tis  well  enough 
— it  showeth  at  least  you  are  inclined  to  put 
your  best  leg  foremost,  if  you  knew  which 
it  was ;  but  methinks  you  are  somewhat  too 
long  in  making  up  your  mind  which  should 
have  precedence.  As  to  your  look,  let  it 
pass — it  cannot  be  bettered — I  defy  any  one 


222 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


to  show  such  a  face  for  a  player.  Then  for 
your  arms — to  make  them  swing  like  the 
sails  of  a  windmill,  is  a  new  grace  in  motion, 
and,  I  doubt  not  will  take  exceedingly  with 
the  groundlings :  but,  perchance  of  the  two 
styles  you  most  affect,  that  in  which  you 
seemed  you  were  holding  of  a  plough,  is  the 
most  delicately  natural.  I  commend  it 
wondrously,  only  I  would  have  you  turn  out 
your  elbows  more  than  you  do — it  seemeth 
as  if  you  determined  to  make  for  yourself 
elbow-room.  Lastly,  of  your  voice — O'  my 
life,  I  never  heard  a  carter  with  a  better 
voice ;  and  the  way  you  deliver  your  speech- 
es, as  though  you  were  talking  to  a  horse, 
must  be  infinitely  effective  on  a  stage :  but 
I  would  have  you  speak  louder — let  the  ap- 
prentices in  the  topmost  scaffold  know  you 
have  lungs,  and  can  use  them  to  some  pur- 
pose. To  keep  up  a  good  bawling  is  highly 
commendable." 

"Ay  indeed,  that  is  it,"  added  Greene, 
after  the  same  fashion :  "  some  there  are  of 
the  sock  and  buskin  who  play  a  feeble  old 
man  with  the  throat  of  a  boatswain ;  but 
when  you  come  on  as  a  courtier,  looking  so 
much  the  sturdy  hind,  one  fancieth  every 
moment  you  will  be  feeding  of  hogs  or 
thrashing  of  corn,  which  to  my  thinking  is 
exceeding  more  wonderful." 

Others  of  their  companions  went  on  in  the 
same  biting  humor,  the  object  of  it  all  the 
whilst,  to  the  marvelling  of  young  Burbage, 
who  saw  the  drift, — taking  what  they  said 
with  a  show  of  notable  simplicity,  without 
offering  a  reply.  At  last  when  he  thought 
they  had  exhausted  their  wit  he  spoke. 

"  I  thank  you  heartily  my  masters,  for 
your  excellent  counsel,"  replied  he  very 
gravely.  "  Believe  me  I  do  not  undervalue 
it,  knowing  that  the  very  meanest  things 
that  breathe  may  oft  do  a  wondrous  fine 
service — as  witness  the  cackling  of  the 
geese  that  saved  Rome.  Some  of  you  have 
been  good  enough  in  commending  of  my 
perfections,  to  speak  famously  of  several  of 
the  notablest  parts  of  my  body  ;  but  divers 
qualities  of  them  have  been  left  untold  :  the 
which,  for  the  lack  of  a  better  chronicler,  I 
will  now  seek  to  give  you  some  notion  of. 
He  who  spoke  so  movingly  of  my  legs,  forgot 
to  add  that  on  an  occasion,  they  could  kick 
an  impudent  shallow  coxcomb  to  his  heart's 
content.  Of  my  face  it  is  as  God  made  it. 
Perchance  it  would  have  been  better  gifted, 
had  any  of  such  persons  as  are  here  given 
it  the  benefit  of  their  greater  skill,  for  I 
doubt  not  I  could  prove  in  a  presently,  some 
of  you  possess  a  very  marvellous  facility  in 
the  making  of  faces.  As  for  my  arms, 
doubtless  they  have  a  sort  of  swing  with 


them,  I  having  in  me  so  much  of  the  sturdy 
hind ;  but  though  sometimes  it  is  my  hap  to 
come  where  the  hogs  feed  themselves,  the 
thrashing  part  of  my  supposed  duty  I  am 
ready  enough  to  perform,  as  long  as  there  is 
such  necessity  for  it  as  there  appeareth  at 
present.  And  with  regard  to  my  voice, 
Master  Marlowe,  if  I  have  in  my  speech  at 
times  past  appeared,  as  though  I  were  talk- 
ing to  a  horse  ;  surely,  at  this  moment,  there 
is  m  it  a  notable  likelihood  I  am  speaking  to 
an  ass." 

No  speech  was  ever  received  with  such 
astonishment  by  any  company,  as  the  pre- 
ceding. Every  man  of  them  seemed  as 
much  confounded  as  though  they  ha/1  raised 
a  hornet ;  and,  as  the  concluding  sentences 
were  so  pointedly  directed  to  the  foremost 
of  them  in  their  sharp  attack  upon  the  so 
despised  "Master  Countryman,  he  was 
manifestly  the  most  touched  by  it  of  them 
all. 

"  Fellow,  dost  adddress  gentlemen  in  this 
styie  ?"  exclaimed  he,  as  if  half  inclined  to 
be  in  a  rage. 

"Truly  I  think  net,"  was  the  cutting 
reply. 

"  Nay,  'tis  all  a  jest  of  his,  Master  Mar- 
lowe," said  young  Burbage,  endeavoring  to 
keep  the  discomfitted  wits  in  something  like 
good  humor,  "  he  is  the  very  admirablest 
fellow  at  such  things  that  can  be  found 
anywhere ;  Mid  try  him  at  it  when  you  will, 
you  shall  find  him  so  expert  at  his  weapon, 
there  is  no  getting  the  better  of  him." 

"  O'  my  word,  I  cannot  say  much  about 
getting  the  better  of  me,"  observed  William 
Shakspcare,  laughingly.  "  But  can  I  serve 
any  of  this  worthy  company,  assuredly  they 
shall  have  the  best  of  what  ability  I  have." 

Such  of  the  worthy  company  that  had  been 
in  any  way  inclined  for  a  quarrel,  after  suffi- 
cient note  of  "  the  sturdy  hind,"  thought 
proper  to  look  as  if  they  were  famously 
amused ;  and  in  honest  truth,  whether  it 
was  from  his  natural  cheerful  humor,  or  a 
desire  to  conciliate,  the  former  so  entertained 
them  with  his  delectable  choice  wit,  that 
presently  the  whole  place  was  kept  in  a  roar 
by  him.  In  the  midst  of  this  the  tapster 
came  and  whispered  to  Master  Greene. 

"Oh,  let  him  up,  let  him  up,"  replied  he: 
then  turning-  to  the  company,  added,  seeming 
in  an  exceeding  pleasant  mood,  "  Here  is  a 
certain  well-known  honest  friend  of  mine, 
coming  to  join  us,  one  Cutting  Ball — he 
hath  done  me  many  services.  Indeed,  a 
right  excellent  good  fellow  is  he,  and  a 
useful." 

"  I  promise  you,"  replied  Marlowe,  with  a 
knowing  wink,  "  Cutty  standeth  by  you,  out 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


223 


of  return  for  your  standing  by  his  fair  sis-  j  cried  Kyd,  "  we  will  tolerate  no  such  vil- 
ter."  ;  lainy.     Restore  your  ill-got  booty,  fellow." 

"  Let  that  be  as  it  may,"  cried  the  other,  "  Ay,  truly,"  added  Greene,  as  stern- 
joining  in  the  general  laugh,  "  but  to  Master ,  ly  as  any  of  them.  "  Give  Master  Shaks- 
Ball  I  owe  much ;  for  he  is  so  vigilant  a  peare  his  goods  again,  I  prithee.  O, 
watch,  that  he  allovveth  not  a  pestilent  bai-  my  word  !  I  am  ashamed  thou  shouldst  act 
liff  to  shew  his  nose  within  a  mile  of.  me  ;  with  so  thorough  a  disgracefulness.  I  in- 
and  if  any  should  chance  to  come,  seeking  to  sist  that  thou  give  back  every  tittle  of  what 
make  me  their  prisoner,  Cutty  and  his  fel-  thou  hast  taken." 

lows  do  so  pay  them  my  debts,  that  they  are  i      '•  Of  course !  of  course  !"  shouted  one  and 
glad  enough  to  'scape  with  broken  crowns, ;  all. 
for  lack  of  better  coin."  "  I  do  confess,  I  made  bold  with  certain 

These  remarks  were  put  an  end  to  by  the  ,  things  belonging  to  this  good  gentleman," 


entrance  of  the  object  of  them  ;  but,  to  the 
surprise  of  all  present,  no  sooner  had  he  en- 
tered, than  young  Shakspeare  jumped  on  his 
legs,  stared  at  Cutting  Ball,  and  Cutting 
Ball  stared  at  him,  though  in  a  manner  as  if 
Cutty  was  somewhat  confused. 

"I greet  you  well,  Captain  Sack!"  ex- 
claimed the  former  at  last ;  "  I  pray  you  tell 
me,  how  are  your  worthy,  honorable  com- 
panions, Master  Sugarsop,  and  my  Lord  Cin- 
namon ?  Truly  I  should  have  been  right 
glad  had  you  brought  them  with  you." 
Then  addressing  Greene,  he  continued  in 
something  of  the  same  strain,  evidently  to 
the  prodigious  marvelling  of  the  company, 
':  Marry,  Master  Greene,  but  this  same  hon- 
esl  friend  of  yours,  and  I,  are  old  acquaint- 
ance. Methinks  if  I  could  forget  that 
stained  velvet  doublet,  I  could  not  put  out  of 
my  memory  a  visage  that  hath  so  many 
marks  to  know  it  by.  In  brief,  your  honest 
friend,  with  two  others  of  a  like  honesty,  de- 
spoiled me  a  short  distance  from  Loadon,  on 
the  Uxbridge  Road ;  and  I  pray  you,  make 
your  honest  friend  return  me  the  things  he 
robbed  me  of,  else  shall  I  be  obliged  to  in- 
troduce your  honest  friend  to  one  Master 
Constable,  who,  if  your  honest  friend  shall 
get  his  Deserts,  may  chance  to  assist  him  in 
making  the  acquaintance  of  one  Master 
Hangman.!' 

At  the  hearing  this,  it  was  difficult  to 
say  which  looked  the  most  confounded, 
Master  Greene  or  his  honest  friend  ;  and  as 


replied  Cutty  Ball,  seeing  there  was  no  use 
in  denying  the  robbery ;  "  but  had  I  known 
he  was  a  friend,  I  would  have  despoiled  my- 
self rather  than  have  touched  ought  that  be- 
longed to  hpn." 

"  I  thank  you,  Captain  Sack,  or  Cutty 
Ball,  or  whatever  your  name  may  be,"  an- 
swered young  Shakspeare ;  "  but  1  should 
thank  you  more  would  you  be  so  good  as 
give  me  back  those  same  things  ;  for  truly  I 
stand  so  much  in  need  of  them,  I  shall  be 
forced  to  get  them  with  the  assistance  of 
such  persons  as  I  just  now  promised  to  make 
you  acquainted  with,  should  you  not  return 
them  speedily." 

"  Ay,  without  doubt,  and  I  will  see  to  it 
myself,"  exclaimed  Marlowe  and  others  of 
his  companions,  who  appeared  equally  in- 
tent upon  making  the  thief  restore  what  he 
had  stolen. 

"  I'faith,  ..I  should  be  right  glad  enough 
to  do  it,  honorable  sir,  only  in  honest  truth, 
I  have  them  not,"  said  the  thief. 

"  By  this  hand,  that  shall  never  pass,"  ex- 
claimed Marlowe. 

"  O'  my  life,  I  will  have  thee  get  back 
these  goods,  even  if  thou  hast  parted  with 
them,"  cried  Greene,  with  equal  earnest- 
ness. 

"  Bots  on't,  so  will  I  if  I  can !"  replied 
Cutty,  somewhat  sharply,  "  although  I  have 
not  the  honest  gentleman's  things,  mcthinks 
he  shall  not  have  to  go  far  to  find  them  ;  for 
I  have  good  reason  for  knowing,  Master 


for  the  rest,  few  of  them  seemed  to  take  the  j  Greene  at  this  present  hath  on  one  of  his 


matter  very  pleasantly. 


shirts  ;  and  Master  Marlowe  a  pair  of  his 


"  Plague  on't,  Cutty,  how  couldst  act  so  ;  hose.  Master  Peele  now  weareth  his  falling 
unworthily  !"  cried  Marlowe,  as  if  in  a  fa-  j  bands ;  and  Master  Lodge  had  of  me  certain 
mous  indignation.  other  articles  of  linen,  which  make  up  the 

'Slight  man,  'tis  monstrous !"  exclaimed   \vho0of  what  I  took.'" 


Nash,  looking  to  be  exceeding  angered. 


Terrible  was  the  confusion  of  these  four 


"  O'  my  life  !  had  I  known  thee  to  be  so  ]  worthies — who  had  been  so  forward  in  call- 
desperate  a  rogue,  Cutty,  I'd  have  been  ,  ing  for  restitution,  at  finding  that  they  them- 
hanged  ere  I  would  have  tolerated  thy  infa-  •  selves  possessed  the  plunder  :  nevertheless, 
mous  company  !"'  said  Lodge,  in  a  like  fash-  \  with  the  best  grace  they  could,  they  prom- 
ion,  ised  every  thing  should  be  restored  to  the 

"  S'blood  !  but  you  must  give  up  what  lawful  owner,  protesting  most  vehemently, 
you  have  so  basely  taken,  Master  Ball,"  1  that  when  they  accepted  them,  they  believed 


224 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SIIAKSPEARE. 


them  to  be  honestly  come  by;  all  which 
their  friend  Cutty  Ball  heard  with  an  easy 
impudency,  that  did  in  some  manner  belie 
their  assertions;  and  the  young  player, 
though  having  penetration  enough  to  spy 
into  the  real  nature  of  the  transaction,  ap- 
peared to  be  satisfied.  Soon  after  Master 
Burbage  whispering  to  Lodge  that  the  read- 
ing of  his  new  play  was  fixed  for  twelve  o' 
the  clock,  took  his  leave  of  the  party,  taking 
his  friend  with  him. 

"  I  thank  thee,  Will,  for  the  very  proper 
castigation  of  those  fellows,"  exclaimed 
young  Burbage,  laughing  heartily  ;  "  me- 
thinks  they  would  now  as  lief  meddle  with  a 
mad  dog,  as  play  their  saucy  humors  on 
thee.  Surely,  never  were  a  set  of  insolent 
biting  jackanapes  so  quickly  brought  to  their 
marrow-bones." 

"  Truly,  thoy  chafed  me  somewhat,  or  I 
would  not  have  answered  them  so  sharply," 
replied  his  companion. 

It  may  here  be.  proper  to  advertise  the 
reader,  that  the  young  player  had  profited 
nothing  by  his  introduction  to  Sir  Philip 
Sydney,  or  by  his  falling  in  with  his  old 
friends,  Sir  lleginald  and  Sir  Valentine, 
he  not  having  informed  them  of  his  need  be- 
fore they  left  England  for  Flanders.  Nor 
had  his  acquaintance  with  Master  Spenser 
as  yet  availed  him  anything,  for  almost  as 
soon  as  they  became  known  to  each  other, 
that  the  right  famous  poet  had  been  forced 
to  go  a  voyage  to  Ireland.  For  his  becom- 
ing a  player,  he  was  solely  indebted  to  the 
exertions  of  his  schoolfellows,  who  absolute- 
ly forced  their  manager  to  make  him  one  of 
their  company.  This  the  elder  Burbagedid, 
and  with  an  especial  ill  grace,  for  no  man 
relisheth  doing  any  thing  against  his  will ; 
but  it  was  evident  he  had  taken  a  huge  dis- 
like to  the  young  player.  He  put  him  into 
playing  only  such  poor  characters  as  could 
gain  him  no  reputation ;  and  gave  him  for  it 
so  small  a  wage,  that  he  could  not  so  much 
as  find  himself  a  decent  living.  During  all 
this  while  he  had  to  bear  all  manner  of  priva- 
tions, and  hardships  innumerable, — now  at  a 
loss  for  lodging — now  for  victual — and  now 
for  raiment ;  and  yet  making  so  little  show 
of  the  great  straits  to  which  he  was  so  often 
reduced,  that  his  true  friends  knew  it  not  un- 
less by  some  accident  it  came  to  their  Imovv- 
1edge. 

This  sort  of  life  was  a  monstrous  differ- 
•»r,,ce  to  what  his  golden  anticipations  had 
made  out  to  him.  But  he  bore  his  ill-fortune 
with  a  most  cheerful  spirit — still  as  san- 
guine as  ever — believing  he  should  yet 
raise  for  his  dear  children  such  a  heritage 
as  should  enrich  and  ennoble  them  to  the  end 


of  time.  As  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  some 
way  of  settlement,  he  wrote  to  John  a  Combe, 
among  other  things,  inquiring  for  his  off- 
spring with  all  the  eloquence  of  a  fond 
father,  and  "of  himself,  merely  saying  there 
was  likelihood  he  should  do  as  well  as  he 
wished :  in  reply  to  which  he  received  a 
very  comfortable  letter,  marked  with  the 
caustic  sharpness  the  writer  so  much  affec- 
ted, yet  for  all  that,  betraying  such  natural 
goodness  of  heart  as  was  customary  with 
him.  As  the  young  player  expected  from 
his  knowledge  of  her  character,  it  also  in- 
formed him  that  his  wife  assumed  the  bear- 
ing of  one  horribly  ill-used.  This  intelli- 
gence brought  him  to  reflect  on  the  amiable 
sweet  qualities  of  the  accomplished  Mistress 
D'Avenant,  whose  letters  to  him — full  of  fe- 
minine purity  and  highmindedness — now 
formed  the  chiefest  pleasure  his  poor  fortunes 
set  at  his  disposal. 

At  twelve  o'  the  clock  he  was  with  the 
rest  of  the  company,  on  the  stage  assembled 
to  hear  the  reading  of  a  new  play  written  by 
Master  Lodge.  The  elder  Burbiio-e^at  in  a 
chair,  with  the  MS.  in  his  hum!;  his  brother 
players,  the  author  and  divers  of  his  friends 
standing  about  him,  or  getting  seats  where 
they  could.  The  whole  place  looked  ex- 
ceeding dismal  and  comfortless.  Below  the 
stage,  where  the  groundlings  were  wont 
to  stand,  was  an  old  woman,  busy  sweeping 
out  the  dirt,  bitten  apples,  orange-peel  .and 
nut-shells,  which  had  there  been  left.  In 
the  rooms  above,  were  one  or  two  other  such 
remnants  of  humanity,  engaged  in  scouring 
and  cleaning.  From  one  part  of  the  stage 
the  hammer  of  a  carpenter  was  heard,  noisily 
enough  putting  together  the  materials  of  a 
castle, — in  another,  a  painter  was  brushing 
away  in  a  great  hurry,  to  make  his  canvas 
assume  something  of  the  resemblance  of  a 
deep  forest — albeit  it  seemed  the  likeness 
did  not  promise  to  be  very  notable.  Here 
was  a  fellow  on  his  knees,  polishing  of  a  piece 
of  rusty  armor ;  and  there  a  tailor,  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  stitching  away  at  a  torn  doub- 
let. The  light  came  in  from  the  open  roof, 
very  brightly ;  but  for  all  that  the  building 
had  a  monstrous  miserable  sort  of  look 
with  it. 

It  was  thus  situated  the  Manager  read  the 
new  play — which  proved  to  be  a  singular 
admixture  of  talent  and  bombast — unnatural 
characters — extravagant  scenes,  and  such  a 
labyrinth  of  a  plot  nothing  could  be  made  of 
it :  yet  despite  of  these  great  blemishes,  the 
play  lacked  not  merit.  There  was  force  in 
the  language,  and  occasionally  beauty — and 
amid  heaps  of  confused  nonsense,  there  were 
a  few  clever  touches  of  nature  that  appeared 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


225 


the  more  admirable  for  being  so  surrounded ; 
nevertheless,  the  chief  players  condemned  it, 
and  the  elder  Burbage  spoke  more  against  it 
than  any.  — 

"  I  think  the  play  would  do  well  enough 
were  it  altered  somewhat ;"  observed  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare. 

"  A  good  jest,  I'faith  !"  exclaimed  the 
manager,  sarcastically,  "  what  dost  tlimi 
Imovv  of  plays,  I  wonder  ?  Marry,  but  'tis 
like  thy  irapudency  to  give  an  opinion  on 
sucli  a  matter !'' 

"  Truly,  I  think  he  knoweth  as  much  of 
the  matter  as  any  of  us,"  said  Tom  Greene. 

"  Indeed  does  he  !"  cried  old  Burbage  with 
a  look  of  seeming  great  amazement ;  "  per- 
chance, Master  Cleverslnkes,  thou  wilt  thy- 
self essay  to  make  this  play  well  enough  ?" 
t  '•'  I  doubt  not  I  could  so  make  it ;"  replied 
the  yo'ing  player. 

"  What  intolerable  presumption  !"  ex- 
claimed the  manager.  "  O'  my  life,  Will 
Shakspeare.  so  vain  a  person  as  thou  art, 
never  met  I  in  all  my  days.  Thou  art,  as  it 
were,  new  to  the  stage,  and  yet  thou  talkest 
fif  alt  'ring  plays  for  the  better,  writ  by  one 
well  iisod  to  such  writing  !" 

'  I  beseech  you,  Master  Manager,  let  him 
try  his  hand  at  it,  if  he  will,"  said  Master 
Lodge.  '•  If  I  be  nut  hugely  mistaken,  we 
shall  have  at  least  some  sport  in  his  altera- 
tions." 

"  Ay,  let  him  have  it,  Burbago :"  .added 
Tom  Greene  ;  "  Will  must  needs  have  a  fa- 
mous talent  if  he  can  mend  such  a  play  as 
this.'' 

"  Wilt  take  it  in  hand  ?"  asked  the  man- 
ager.^ 

"  Gladly,"  replied  young  Shakspeare. 

"  Heaven  help  thee  out  of  thy  conceit !" 
cried  old  Burbage  giving  him  the  MS.  as  he 
rose  from  his  seat.  Some  of  the  players 
laughed — ih-o  authors  sneered,  but  William 
Shakspeare  took  the  despised  play  to  his 
lodgings  full  "of  confidence  in  his  own  re- 
sources— and  then  by  altering,  omitting,  and 
adding,  where  he  thought  such  was  most 
needed,  he  after  many  days  stud}-,  made  it  to 
his  mind.  Certes  he  was  glad  of  such  an 
opportunity  to  distinguish  himself,  and  took 
marvellous  pains  he  should  do  well  what  lie 
had  undertaken.  At  last  lie  brought  back 
the  play,  and  it  getting  to  be  known  what  he 
had  assayed,  there  came  that  day  all  the 
chiefest  phy- writers  to  have  a  laugh  at  his 
expense — even  his  old  schoolfellows  thought 
he  had  promised  to  do  more  than  he  could 
perform. 

';  I  have  brought  you  here  the  amended 
play  of  Master  Lodge,"  said  the  young 
Shakspeare  to  the  manager — offering  him 
15 


the  MS.  back  again.     "  Perchance  you  will 
now  be  so  good  as  read  it  in  its  present  state. 

"  Nay,  an'  you  catch  me  reading  your 
foolish  stuff  you  are  cleverer  than  I  take  you 
to  be,"  replied  the  other,  and  at  this  the 
play-writers  set  up  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Well,  an'  you  will  not  do  that,  mayhap 
you  will  allow  my  reading  it,"  added  the 
young  player,  evidently  in  no  way  discon- 
certed. 

"  Read  it  or  eat  it — 'tis  all  one  to  me," 
answered  the  manager  ;  and  again  the  wits 
had  a  laugh  at  the  expense  of  "  Master 
Countryman."  With  this  permission  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  commenced  reading  the 
altered  play.  At  first,  the  players  were 
heedless,  and  the  play-writers  amused  them- 
selves by  tittering  at  the  style  of  the  young 
player's  reading ;  nevertheless,  the%  latter 
read  on.  As  soon  as  the  alterations  became 
evident,  he  iiad  a  much  more  attentive  au- 
dience,— the  players  were  surprised — the 
play-writers  amazed,  and  the  manager  lis- 
tened and  stared,  as  though  under  an  en- 
chantment. He  continued  the  play,  the 
faultless  delivery  of  which  must  of  itself 
have  been  a  sufficient  treat  to  any  one  caring 
to  hear  an  admirable  reading :  but  the  pas- 
sages of  exquisite  sweet  poetry — the  bursts 
of  passion,  the  powerful  sketches  of  charac- 
ter, and  the  thrilling  interest  of  the  scenes 
which  Master  Lodge's  play  now  possessed, 
appeared  to  all  present  something  truly 
marvellous. 

"  Shall  this  play  be  played,  my  masters  ?" 
inquired  young  Shakspeare,  something  tri- 
umphantly by  the  way,  as  he  noted  the  effect 
the  perusal  of  it  had  made  upon  his  au- 
dience. 

"  Played  !"  exclaimed  Tom  Greene,  in  a 
famous  pleasure,  "  I'faith,  we  shall  deserve 
to  count  for  precious  asses  all  our  days, 
should  we  let  so  got>dly  a  play  escape  us.'" 
k  "  By  this  light,  'tis  the  movingest,  natu- 
ralest  piece  of  writing  I  ever  heard,"  cried 
young  Burbage,  in  a  like  humor.  His  father 
said  nothing  :  for  he  was  one  of  those,  who 
when  they  contract  a  prejudice  against  a 
person  are  exceeding  slow  in  getting  it  re- 
moved ;  but  he  was  too  old  a  jiudge  of  such 
things  not  to  know  the  nature  of  the  perfor- 
mance as  it  stood.  As  f<Jr  the  play-writers, 
they  looked  at  one  another  as  if  each  was 
striving  to  exceed  the  other  in  the  expression 
of  his  wonder  ;  but  as  Master  Lodge,  seeing 
j  he  could  not  help  it,  acknowledged  his  plfry 
|  had  been  greatly  improved,  they  confessed  it 
'  needs  be  so,  as  the  author  had  said  it.  As 
all  the  players  were  of  one  mind  as  to  its 
fitness  for  being  played,  the  parts,  were  im- 
mediately given  out,  and  a  day  for  a  first 


J26 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


rehearsal  fixed.  The  most  envious  of  the 
play-writers  then  went  away,  consoling  of 
themselves  with  the  hope  it  might  be  damned. 


CHAPTER  XXXiy. 

Some,  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field 
And  plant  fresh  lainfcls  where  they  kill ; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield. 
They  tame  but  one  another  still. 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  ofate, 

And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath 

When  they,  pale  captives,  stoop  to  death. 

SHIRLEY. 

To  set  a  lavve  and  kepe  it  nought, 
There  is  no  common  profit  sought ; 
But  above  all,  natheless, 
The  la  we  which  was  made  fqr  pees, 
Is  good  to  kepe  for  the  beste  ; 
For  that  sette. all  men  in  reste 

GOWER  (Confessio  Amantis.) 
The  villainy  you  teach  me  I   will  execute, 
and  it  shall  go  hard  but  1  will  better   the   in- 


struction. 


.SHAKSrEARE. 


I  MUST  ask  of  the  courteous  reader  to  wend 
awhile  with  me  in  the  company  of  one,  of 
whom  the  historian  has  said  nothing  ;  but, 
as  is  ordinarily  the  case  when  he  hath  a 
proper  object,  he  hath  not  said  one  half  suf- 
ficient ;  I  allude  to  that  accomplished  gentle- 
man, and  truly  valiant  soldier,  Sir  Philip 
Sydney.  He  possessed  the  comprehensive 
mind  that  could  only  be  fully  developed  in  a 
wide  field ;  but,  unfortunately  it  was  con- 
tracted to  suit  the  comparative  subordinate 
parts  he  was  called  on  to  fill ;  and  it  took 
refuge  by  idling  itself  in  its  leisure,  in  the 
fashioning  of  quaint,  conceits,  that  suited  the 
age  in  which  they  were  produced,  but  were 
not  enough  true  to  catch  the  favor  of  Time ; 
besides  which  he  possessed  that  truly  intel- 
lectual nature  which  exists  entirely  free 
from  tha  clay  of  human  selfishness.  He  had 
no  absorbing  passion,  that  suck  all  into  self, 
till  the  soil  becometh  to  be  a  mass  of  abomi- 
nation, that  polluteth  what  it  touches.  His 
humanity  was  as  different  to  this  as  is  sun- 
shine to  a  cloud.  There  was  at  one  time 
some  talk  of  his  being  elected  to  the  vacant 
throne  of  Poland ;  but  Queen  Elizabeth 
would  not  have  him  leave  her,  she  held  him 
so  high  in  her  esteem.  Would  he  had  been 
s#king!  what  a  glorious  lesson  he  would 
have  set  the  community  of  crowned  heads  ! 
and,  in  honest  truth,  as  far  as  I  have  seen 
of  them  they  do  lack  infinitely  some  such 
teaching. 

It  hath  been  already  said,  that  during  the 


prosecution ,  of  the  war  in  Flandors,  Sir  • 
Philip  was  sent  out  as  governor  of  Flushing, 
which  was  to  the  huge  -content  of  the  ma- 
gistrates and  citizens.  Ik-re  he  stayed,  well 
liked  of  all  persons,  his  chiefest  companions 
being  Sir  Reginald  and  Sir  Valentin^-,  llav- 
ving  by  his  wise  rule  and  courteous  beha- 
vior won  the  love  of  the  whole  town,  he  set 
off  with  the  two  young  knights  to  join  the 
army.  Doubtless  were  all  three  sufiiciently 
desirous  of  meeting  the  enemy  in  a  fair  field  ; 
but  the  ardor  of  Sir  Reginald  and  his  young 
friend  was  very  properly  tempered  with  the 
prudence  and  circumspection  of  their  more 
experienced  associates.  They  at  last  carne 
to  the  camp  at  Zutphen,  where  were  assem- 
bled with  the  besieging  forces  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  as  lord-lieutenant,  with  some  of 
the  valiantest  of  England's  chivalry,  among 
whom  might  be  named  the.  Lord  Willoughby, 
the  Lord  Audley,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  Sir 
John  Norris,  Sir  William  Stanley,  and  Sir 
William  Russel ;  but  as  soon  as  they  knew 
he  was  amongst  them,  they  thronged  to  do 
him  honor,  with  as  great  show  of  love  and 
reverence  as  though  he  were  the  comman- 
der of  them  all.'  The  Earl  of  Leicester  pre- 
sently showed  himself  to  be  a  better  courtier 
than  a  general ;  for  he  did  little  beyond  dis- 
playing his  magnificence. 

The  siege  commenced  on  the  fifteenth  of 
September,  and  wherever  there  was  any 
fighting  there  was  sure  to  be  Sir  Philip 
Sydney  and  his  two  companions.  As  yet, 
neither  had  received  hurt ;  but  what  spare 
time  he  had  Sir  Philip  would  spend  in  his 
tent,  putting  his  papers  in  order  and  writing 
his  will  :  and  by  his  sober  discourse,  show- 
ing ho  held  himself  in  readiness  should  he 
fall  in  the  coming  battle.  But  like  a  careful 
master  he  took  every  possible  opportunity 
of  teaching  his  disci ple.s  a  knowledge  ol 
their  art.  He  showed  to  them  how  the  en- 
trenchments were  made,  explained  to  them 
the  nature  of  the  artillery,  and  made  them 
familiar  with  the  character  and  uses  of  the 
several  fortifications.  Indeed  all  that  might 
be  learned  of  the  properest  method  of  besieg- 
ing a  fortified  town  he  taught  them  in  the 
camp  before  Zutphen  ;  and  he  laid  it  down 
with  such  clear  principles  that  nothing  could 
be  so  manifest  to  the  understanding,  as  was 
his  teaching.  A  famous  scene  was  it  for 
all  young  knights. 

Great  rows  of  tents  spread  far  and/wide  with 
the  panoply  of  war  conspicuous  about  them, 
from  which  officers  at  the  head  of  their  com- 
panies issued  at  divers  times,  some  on  foot 
and  some  on  horse — some  to  forage  for  the 
army  in  the  surrounding  country — others  to 
cut  off  the  enemy's  victual  if  any  such  could 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


227 


be  found.     Then  came  the  great  guns  and  j 
the  ammunition  waggons,   with    a    strong  | 
guard  for  the  forming  of  a  battery — and  par- 
ties of  soldiers  hastening  to  relieve  those 
working  in  the  trenches.     Here  and  there 
would  b3  seen  the  captains  inspecting  the : 
different  posts  or  hurrying  to  their  coiaman-  j 
ders  to  acquaint  them  how  matters  stood.  In 
the  distance  might  be  noticed  the  flames  of! 
some  neighboring  village  where  had  been 
some  skirmish ;  and  in  another  spot  a  de- 
tachment driving  cattle  and  grain  to  the  en- 
campment— whilst   afar  off  to  the  verge  of 
the  horizon,  the  smiling  country  looked  as 
though  such  a  thing  as  war  was  as  far  from 
them  as  is  Hell  from  Heaven.    . 

The  enemy  were  of  exceeding  force  in  the 
town,  numbering  many  thousands,  composed 
chiefly  of  Spaniards  and  Italians,  with  Alba- 
noys,  both  horse  and  foot,  well  equipped 
with  all  things  necessary  for  fierce  fight- 
ing ;  and  they  had  made  their  works  of  a 
very  notable  strength,  but  they  were  some- 
what distressed  for  provisions,  which  was 
well  known  to  the  besiegers,  and  gave  them 
great  hopes  of  overcoming  the  place.  It  was 
late  one  evening,  about  a  week  after  the 
commencement  of  the  siege,  that  Sir  Philip 
Sydney  and  his  two  companions  were  pro- 
ceeding round  the  tines  to  see  that  proper 
watch  was  set,  and  note  if  the  enemy  showed 
the  disposition  to  do  them  any  molestation. 
They  were  afoot  and  not  in  their  armor. 
The  night  was  somewhat  clouded,  but  there 
was  in  the  sky  many  signs  it  would  soon 
turn  to  a  clear  starlight ;  nevertheless,  in 
the  distance  everything  lay  in  great  obscu- 
rity, save  at  the  moon's  occasional  escape 
from  her  shadowy  canopy,  when  the  chief 
features  of  the  landscape  became  more  con- 
spicuous. Sir  Philip  \vas  very  eloquently 
discoursing  to  his  young  companions,  con- 
cerning of  the  right  famous  battle  of  Azin- 
cour,  when  to  their  somewhat  astonishment 
he  came  to  a  sudden  break  in  his  speech. 

"  What  noise  is  that  ?"  said  he  very  ear- 
nestly, as  he  turned  his  gaze  towards  the 
open  country. 

"  I  hear  nought  but  the  flowing  of  the 
waters,"  replied  Sir  Valentine. 

"  Nay,  but  this  "is  no  such  sound,  my 
friend,"  added  Sir  Philip  Sydney.  "  Mark 
you  those  moving  objects  indistinctly  seen 
in  the  distance,  creeping  rapidly  along  by 
the  side  of  yonder  hedge  ?" 

'•  I  do  see  something  moving,"  answered 
the  other. 

"  Ah,  there  are  many  figures,  and  if  I 
mistake  not  a  multitude  of  carriages  of  some 
sort,"  added  Sir  Reginald,  gazing  hard 
towards  the  spot  pointed  out. 


-  True  !"  exclaimed  their  companion, 
"  and  those  figures,  my  friends,  you  may 
now  plain  enough  see  to  be  a  detachment  of 
horse,  and  those  carriages  are  some  hun- 
dreds of  ^vaggons,  doubtless,  of  victual  and 
other  necessaries  tor  the  relief  of  this  town. 
They  must  be  stayed,  or  we  are  like  to  lose 
our  labor.  See,"  continued  he,  as  he  turned 
his  piercing  glance  towards  the  besieged 
town,  on  which  the  moon  suddenly  threw  its 
brilliance.  "  There  are  numbers  of  persons 
bustling  about  very  busily,  nigh  upon  the 
church.  Of  a  surety  they  have  knowledge 
of  their  friends  coming,  and  are  preparing 
to  help  their  approach.  Speed  you,  Sir 
Valentine,  to  the  tent  of  the  lord  general  of 
the  horse,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  tell  what 
you  have  seen,  thaff  he  may  have  his  men  in 
readiness  ;  and  you,  Sir  Reginald,  to  the 
tent  of  the  Lord  Willoughby,  on  a  like  errand. 
I  will  to  his  excellency,  the  Lord  Lieuten- 
ant, my  honorable  kinsman,  where  you  can 
say  I  am  gone  ;  then  get  you  to  horse,  and  I 
will  join  you  anon." 

The  three  knights,  as  rapidly  as  they  could, 
returned  to  the  camp,  where  they  imme- 
diatetely  spread  the  alarm,  and  '  the  trum- 
pet's shrill  alarum  presently  called  up  the 
sleeping  soldiery  ;  and  then  there  was  a  con- 
fusion of  running  hither  and  thither,  for  this 
and  for  that — the  grooms  getting  ready  the 
horses — the  knights  donning  their  armor — 
the  ensign  bearers  running  to  their  compa- 
nies— the  captains  mustering  their  men.  and 
the  commanders  hastening  to  the  tent  of  the 
Earl  of  Leicester  for  to  receive  his  orders; 
as  turned  the  peaceful  encampment  that  a 
minute  or  two  since  sounded  of  nought  else 
but  the  measured  tread  or  startling  challenge 
of  the  guard,  into  a  very  Babel  of  confused 
noises  and  thronging  multitudes.  Sir  Philip 
Sydney  quickly  wakened  up  his  kinsman, 
but  ere  the  latter  was  in  readiness,  the  com- 
manders came  hastening  in,  desiring  to  be 
placed  where  they  could  reap  the  most  glory  ; 
all  talking — all  pressing — all  urgent  to  set 
out  against  the  enemy  without  delay.  Leav- 
ing these  for  awhile,  I  must  here  describe 
other  matters  that  well  deserve  mention. 

There  was  in  the  camp  two  notable  brave 
gentlemen,  to  wit,  Sir  William  Stanley  and 
Sir  John  Norris,  who  a  long  time  back  had 
had  a  quarrel  in  Ireland,  and  had  been  at 
enmity  ever  since.  It  chanced  so  to  hap 
Sir  William  was  first  ready  with  his  <"un- 
pany — some  two  or  three  hundred  strong 
which  was  of  foot,  and  was  sent  to  stand  as 
a  bescado,  when,  as  he  was  on  his  way,  Sir 
John  Norris,  who  commanded  among  the 
horse,  overtook  him — being  sent  to  the  same 


228 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


service.     Then  thus  spoke  these  enemies 
one  to  another  : —  ' 

"  There  hath  been,"  said  Sir  John, "  some 
words  of  displeasure  between  you  and  me  ; 
but  let  it  all  pass, — for  this  day  we  both  are 
employed  to  serve  her  Majesty.  Let  us  be 
friends  ;  and  let  us  die  together  in  her  Ma- 
jesty's cause."  Then  quoth  the  noble  Sir 
William — 

"  If  you  see  me  not  this  day,  by  God's 
grace,,  serve  my  Prince  with  a  valiant  and 
faithful  courage,  account  me  forever  a  cow- 
ard ;  and  if  need  be  1  will  die  by  you  in 
friendship."  Thereupon  these  brave  s'oldiers 
embraced  very  lovingly,  td  the  exceeding 
content  of  all  present ;  and  as  soon  after  as 
might  be,  Sir  William  Stanley  marched  with 
his  footmen,  intending  to  take  up  a  position 
at  a  church  in  the  suburbs,  but  this  the 
t'.iK'iay  had  entrenched  before  hand,  and  there 
•  lay  to  the  number  of  more  than  two  thou- 
sand muskets  and  eight  hundred  pikes. 
Before  he  could  come  to  skirmish  with  them, 
the  Lord  Audley  joined  him  with  a"  hundred 
and  fii'ty  men — in  desperate  haste  to  be  in 
the  first  conflict.  The  fight  soon  began  with  i 
hot  voil'es  of  musket-shot.  The  English ! 
pressing  upon  their  opponents  at  the  push 
of  the  pike,  till  they  drove'  them  into  their 
hold  ;  and  then  they  retreated  out  of  the ; 
range  of  the  muskets,  there  to  make  a  stand. 
At  this  the  enemy  issued  in  great  strength 
of  horse,  mostly  Spaniards  and  Italians, and 
at  that  moment  there  came  up  on  the  Eng- 
lish side,  the  Lord  General  of  the  Horse, 
the  Earl  of  Essex,  the  Lord  Willoughby, 
Sir  William  Riisscl,  and  Sir  John  Norris, 
and  other  valiant  officers  of  a  like  fame  with 
their  companies ;  and  these  presently  charged 
the  enemy  with  such  fury,  that  they  were, 
after  some  hard  lighting,  fain  to  retreat  to 
their  pikes,  leaving  a  famous  number  of 
dead  and  wounded,  beside  some  twenty  of 
their  principal  commanders  who  had  been 
made  prisoners. 

In  this  charge  Sir  John  Norris  led  with 
his  wonted  valor,  but  in  discharging  of  his 
pistol  it  would  not  go  off,  which  seeing,  he 
stroke  it  at  the  head  of  his  enemy  and  over- 
threw him.  His  associates  used  their  lances 
till  they  broke ;  then  plied  they  their  curtel- 
axes  with  such  vigor  of  arm,  that  the  enemy 
took  them  'to  be  more  of  devils  than  men, 
they  were  so  terrible. 

"  For  the  honor  of  England,  my  fellows, 
follow  me  !"  shouted  the  Earl  of  Essex,  as 
he  threw  his  lance  in  rest,  and  wherever 
he  saw  six  or  seven  of  the  enemies  together, 
he  would  separate  their  friendship  with  more 
speed  tlian  might  be  in  any  way  comfor- 
table to  them.  But  surely  of  all  these  valo- 


rous noble  soldiers,  none  so  behaved  him- 
self as  did  Sir  Philip  Sydney.  His  two  com- 
panions kept  close  to  him  wherever  he 
charged,  and  witli  lance  and  with  curtel-axe 
so  played  their  parts,  that  each  was  an 
honor  to  the  other.  Even  in  the  great  ex- 
citement of  this  hot  conflict,  Sir  Valentine 
thought  of  his  humble,  yet  noble  hearted 
mistress  ;  and,  inwardly  resolved  to  do  such 
feats  for  her  at  that  time,  as  might  any 
knight  for  the  proudest  lady  that  lived.  Sir 
Reginald's  valor  also  was  impelled  by  a  fair 
lady  whom  he  had  left  in  England,  and 
loved  since  he  had  last  seen  the  gentle 
Mabel  ;  but  the  valor  of  Sir  Plu'lip  was  all 
for  the  honor  of  England.  His  war  cry 
might  be  heard  in  the  loudest  uproar  of  the 
battle,  rising  amid  the  din  of  the  artillery, 
and  the  shouts,  groans,  shrieks-and  cries  of 
the  wounded,  and  the  lighting. 

His  lance  had  long  since  been  shivered, 
and  his  curtel-axe  seemed  to  have  the  power 
of  Jove's  thunder-bolt,  for  nothing  was  like 
unto  the  dreadful  destruction  he  spread 
around.  None  won  so  much  admiration  as 
did  he,  although  every  one  appeared  to  be 
endeavoring  to  signalise  himself  above  the 
bravest  of  those  brave  soldiers  that  were  on 
his  side.  He  charged  the  enemy  thrice  in 
one  skirmish,  spreading  terror  and  death 
wherever  he  appeared  ;  at  last,  as  he  was  in 
the  very  fury  of  the  conflict,  he  fell  to  the 
grgund,  shot  through  the  leg.  His  fall  was 
(juickly  avenged,  especially  by  Sir  Valen- 
tine and  Sir  Reginald  ;  and  when  they  had 
beaten  back  the  enemy,  they  carefully  con- 
veyed their  wounded  friend  to  the  tent  of  his 
kinsman.  All  his  old  associates  were  pre- 
sently about  him,  in  most  anxious  suspense, 
whilst  the  chirurgeon  examined  his  wound  ; 
and  when  it  was  pronounced  to  be  mortal, 
there  was  most  doleful  visages  in  every  one 
present. 

"  O  Philip,  I  am  sorry  for  thy  hurt !"  ex- 
claimed Leicester,  as  though  he  was  deeply 
affected. 

"  O  !  my  lord,  this  have  I  done  to  do  your 
lordship  and  her  majesty  service,"  replied 
that  great  ornament  of  his  age.  Then  came 
to  him  Sir  William  Russel,  who  kissed  his 
hand,  and  said  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 

"  O,  noble  Sir  Philip !  there  was  never 
man  attained  hurt  more  honorably  than  you 
have  done,  nor  any  served  like  unto  you." 
And  after  him,  others  of  that  valiant  com- 
pany did  testily  their  love  and  grief  after 
much  the  same  moving  fashion;  but  he  an- 
swered them  every  one  very  cheerfully,  and 
seemed  as  though  he  \vere  the  only  content- 
ed person  in  the  place.  As  speedily  as  wa« 
possible  he  was  removed  from  the  tent  under 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


229 


the  especial  guardianship  of  his  sorrowing 
disciples — the  t\vo  young  knights — to  a 
neighboring  place  called  Arnarn  ;  and  the 
skilfullest  chirurgeons  in  the  nnny  were 
sent  to  him  to  see  if  anything  might  be  done 
to  save  one  whose  true  greatness  could  be 
so  ill  spared.  But  it  was  soon  seen  his 
hours  were  numbered.  Then  the  priest  was 
sent  for,  that  he  might  have  proper  Christian 
consolation  in  his  extremity. 

There  lay  the  dying  Sir  Philip  Sydney  on 
a  couch,  supported  by  pillows,  with  one  hand 
clasping  Sir  Valentine, — the  other  laying  as 
affectionate  hold  of  Sir  Reginald,  as  they 
knelt  beside  him  in  great  tribulation — his 
old  companions  grouped  about,  looking  on  as 
though  their  hearts  would  break  ;  and  even 
the  chirurgeons,  seeming  by  their  aspects 
to  regard  their  honorable  patient  with  ex- 
ceeding sympathy.  He  had  already*  ex- 
plained his  last  desires,  which  he  had  done 
with  such  singular  sweetness  of  humor  and 
quietness  of  mind,  that  none,  when  they  had  in 
their  remembrance  the  severity  of  his  hurt, 
and  the  extreme  painfulness  which  naturally 
come  of  it,  couid  sufficiently  -marvel.  He 
was  now  intent  upon  expressing  his  opinion 
on  his  approaching  death,  which  he  did 
with  so  much  calmness  of  true  philosophy 
that  every  one  present  appeared  to  listen  in 
a  perfect  amazement.  At  this  moment  en- 
tered the  priest.  He  had  a  venerable  mild 
countenance,  and  his  bearing  was  altogether 
that  of  a  worthy  minister  of  the  Christian 
Church. 

"  Welcome,  excellent  sir  !"  exclaimed  Sir 
Philip,  with  the  same  marvellous  cheerful- 
ness he  had  shown  ever  since  he  had  re- 
ceived his  deadly  hurt,  "  I  am  heartily  glad 
to  see  you,  more  especially,  because,  had 
you  not  come,  I  might  never  more  have  en- 
joyed the  sweet  comfort  of  your  honorable 
society.  Methinks  there  can  be  no  dis- 
course so  precious,  as,  when  the  soul  hover- 
eth  over  its  mortal  dwelling,  pluming  its 
wings,  as  it  were,  for  its  last  long  night. 
that  which  cometh  of  a  religious  friend. 
Then  is  the  fittingest  time  of  all  for  grave 
counsel ; — for  he  that  is  departing,  is  like 
to  a  knight  about  setting  upon  a  journey,  he 
scarce  knoweth  where,  and  requireth  some 
wiser  mind  to  advise  with  him,  exhort  him 
to  honorable  valor,  and  acquaint  him  with 
those  infinite  delectable  consolations  that 
spring  from  a  life  well  spent.  Surely  wick- 
edness must  be  very  foolishness  ;  for  he  that 
is  unjust,  or  doeth  any  manner  of  evil,  put- 
teth  away  from  him  every  hope  of  contenta- 
tion  in  his  extremity — he  can  only  procure 
for  himself  a  disreputable  living  and  a  miser- 
able end ;  but  what  absolute  sweet  solace 


hath  a  go'xl  man  when  death  claimp'Ji  his 
acquaintance  !  He  looketh  back  to  the 
bright  vista  of  bygone  years,  and  beholdeth 
so  fair  a  landscape,  it  cannot  help  being  the 
delight  of  his  heart.  There  lie  before  his 
gaze  charitable  thoughts,  chaste  feelings, 
and  noble  achievements,  blooming  like 
flowers  in  Paradise,  whose  freshness  and 
beauty  know  no  fading  ;  then  when  he  seek- 
eth  to  peer  into  the  future,  it  spreadeth  out 
for  him  such  glorious  store  of  starry  hopes, 
that  it  seemeth  as  though  the  brightest  Hea- 
vens were  opening  of  their  treasures  to  re- 
ward him  for  his  desert." 

"  Surely,  I  have  no  need  here  !"  cried  the 
priest,  evidently  in  some  wondering,  as  he 
stood  by  the  couch  of  the  dying  soldier,  wit- 
nessing his  extreme  patience. 

"  O  my  master  !  my  father  1  Alack  'tis 
pitiful,  most  pitiful  thou  shouldst  leave  us  !" 
exclaimed  Sir  Valentine,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
audible  for  the  greatness  of  his  emction. 

"  His  last  hour  is  come,"  whispered  one 
of  the  chir urgeons  to  another  ;  and  this,  the 
increasing  paleness  of  his  lips  in  some  man- 
ner testified. 

"  Yet  of  all  deaths  for  a  Christian  knight," 
continued  Sir  Philip,  with  the  same  mar- 
vellous composure,  "surely  that  is  mostly 
to  be  coveted  which  cometh  in  defence  of 
his  country.  To  die  in  defending  the  rights 
of  the  oppressed  orphan  or  wronged  widow, 
is  doubtless  exceeding  honorable ;  to  fall 
whilst  advancing  the  Christian  banner 
against  the  approaches  of  villainous  heathen 
Pagans,  must  also  be  a  death  to  be  envied  ; 
but  the  enemy's  of  one's  country  must  needs 
be  the  oppressor  of  its  orphans,  the  wronger 
of  its  widows,  and  the  subverter  of  its  reli- 
gion ;  and  he  who  falleth  in  his  country's 
defence,  hath  all  the  glory  that  can  be  gain- 
ed in  the  combined  cause  of  liberty  and 
virtue.  The  Spaniard  is  the  ruthless  enemy 
of  England  ;  he  secketh  her  disgrace,  he 
seeketh  her  dishonor  ;  he  would  trample  on 
her  laws,  violate  her  liberties,  desecrate  her 
altars,  enslave,  tyrannize,  and  bring  to 
shame  all  her  gallant  men  and  admirable 
fair  women,  who  could  not  endure  his  rule. 
Against  such  an  enemy  I  have  received  my 
hurt.  Surely  then  I  ought  to  account  my- 
self infinitely  fortunate  ;  and  you,  my  friends, 
instead  of  sorrowing  for  my  loss,  should 
rather  envy  me  my  proper  ending. 

"  Sir  Valentine,  1  know  you  to  be  a  truly 
valiant  knight,  and  a  most  honorable  gentle- 
man," added  he,  turning  his  eyes  affection- 
ately towards  his  favorite  pupil ;  "  grieve 
not  forme,  I  beseech  you  :>  so  much  faith 
have  I  in  your  well  disposedness  and  gallant 
qualities,  I  feel  convinced  you  will  do  fa- 


330 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


mous  credit  to  my  instruction.  Believe  me, 
I  experience  exquisite  comfort  in  knowing 
I  leave  behind  me  a  young  knight  of  such 
rare  promise." 

"  Oh,  noble  Sir  Philip,"  exclaimed  «Sir 
Valentino  right  piteously,  "  O  my  dear  mas- 
ter !  I  cannot  help  but  grieve  with  all  my 
heart ;  I  shall  never  behold  so  worthy  a  com- 
mander." Then  thedying  soldier  addressed  Sir 
Reginald  and  the  other  officers  one  after  an- 
other, and  every  one  he  commended  for  such  ! 
qualities  as  he  had  taken  note  of  ;  and  each 
he  exhorted  to  continue  in  the  like  behavior. 
After  this,  he  courteously  and  gravely  talked 
with  tha  priest  on  religious  matters,  and  feel- 
ing his  end  drawing  nigher,  he  asked  to 
have  liis  prayers.  Thereupon  the  good  man 
prayed  by  his  couch  very  fervently,  Sir 
Philip  joining  in  such  devotions  with  a  pla- 
cid countenance,  his  lips  moving  though  he 
made  no  sound  ;  and  nothing  else  was  audi- 
ble iu  the  chamber,  save  the  half-suppressed 
sobs  of  those  who  could  not  conceal  their 
grief.  The  prayer  was  finished,  but  the  lips 
of  the  dying  man  still  moved  occasionally, 
with  a  sort  of  indistinct  muttoring ;  once 
only  ha  spoke  audibly,  and  then  the  words 
were,  "  For  the  honor  of  England,"  which 
plain  enough  told  what  lay  next  his  heart ; 
and  these  were  the  last  words  he  was  heard 
to  utter,  ^iis  eyes  wero  rapidly  getting  to 
be  more  dim,  and  aspect  of  a  more  deathly 
paleness.  At  last,  there  was  a  sound  heard 
in  his  throat,  which  set  every  one  to  hiding 
of  his  face ;  and  the  bravest  commander 
there  present  did  groan  outright. 

"  In  my  life  I  have  seen  many  deaths," 
said  the  priest,  a  few  minfites  after  all  was 
over,  "  but  never  saw  I  the  dying  of  so  esti- 
mable a  man,  or  so  Christian  a  soldier  !" 

And  thus  perished,  in  the  very  flower  of 
life,  one  of  the  noblest  examples  of  chivalry 
England  hath  produced ;  but  numerous  as 
may  have  been  her  heroes,  never  before  or 
since  hath  she  set  up  one  so  truly  worthy  of 
the  title.  In  him  there  seemed  to  ba  ever 
manifest,  manhood  in  its  brightest  attributes, 
the  noblest  properties  of  mind,  and  the  purest 
influences  of  feeling.  His  valor  was  divest- 
ed of  that  animal  dross  which  is  too  gene- 
rally found  mingled  with  it,  in  the  shape  of 
cruelty,  love  of  strife,  outrageous  violence, 
or  coarse  unfeelingness ;  and  it  arose  out  of 
one  motive,  the  honor  of  England,  which 
was  in  his  nature  a  very  Pactolus,  enriched 
with  golden  sands.  Of  the  sterlingness  of 
his  intellect,  methinks  he  hath  left  good  evi- 
dence ;  yet  it  cannot  in  any  way  be  com- 
pared with  what  might  have  resulted  from 
such  a  source,  had  he  lived  to  disencumber 
himself  of  the  affectations  of  his  age.  But 


of  his  virtues,  surely  there  cannot  be  such 
excellent  witness, — for  no  knight  ever  died 
more  lamented  of  the  brave,  the  noble,  the 
just,  the  true  and  the  wise.  Old  and  young 
rich  and  poor,  and  all  sexes  and  conditions, 
received  the  intelligence  of  his  decease  with 
the  deepest  grief.  Few  men  have  been  so 
loved — none  so  sore  lamented.  But  from  a 
scene  so  instructive  as  the  death  of  so  in  'at 
a  man,  I  must  now  hurry  the  reader  to  one, 
which,  mayhap,  hath  also  its  lesson,  though 
never  could  difference  be  so  complete,  as 
shall  be  found  in  their  chief  features.  It  is 
necessary  to  say,  that  the  event  about  to  be 
related  followed  upon  the  foregoing,  after 
some  lapse  of  time. 

The  noble,  of  whom  the  reader  hath  al- 
ready some  knowledge  through  his  base 
attempts  on  the  poor  foundling,  sat  wjth  his 
ordinary  companion  in  iniquity,  the  g.illant 
before  described,  in  a  chamber,  which  for  the 
sumptuousnessof  its  furnishing,  might  justly 
be  styled  regal.  He  no  longer  seemed  as 
though  he  sought  concealment.  b'>iug  attired 
in  such  gorgeousness  as  language  can  L;ive 
but  a  faint  idea  of ;  his  countenance,  full  of 
confidence,  ever  and  anon  brightened  with  a 
social  sort  of  smile,  as  he  listened  to  his 
dependant.  The  latter  looked  more  the 
worn-out  profligate  than  ever  ;  but  he  was 
more  bravely  clad  thin  was  his  wont; 
and  appeared  as  though  his  infamous  ser- 
vices earned  him  liberal  wiues.  In  what 
he  spoke  there  was  the  triumphant  villain, 
rejoicing  in  the  success  of  some  foul  scheme 
just  brought  to  a  foul  conclusion — -with  a 
manner  half  laughing,  half  sneering,  in  re- 
lation to  the  subject,  yet  as  regarded  his 
hearer,  marked  with  a  mingled  assurance 
and  security  that  sufficiently  bespoke  the 
nature  of  his  service,  and  his  dependance 
on  his  employer. 

The  table  before  them  contained  vessels 
of  wine,  with  silver  cups,  and  dishes  of  gold, 
filled  with  dried  fruit,  cakes,  conserves,  and 
other  delicates,  as  if  they  had  been  making 
good  cheer.  The  chamber  was  of  s(uch 
dimensions  and  of  so  fair  a  structure,  as 
made  it  evident  it  appertained  to  some  prince- 
ly castle,  and  the  battlements  and  towers 
seen  from  the  windows  appeared  as  strong 
witnesses  to  the  same  purpose.  The  noble 
sat  on  a  richly  embroidered  chair,  in  great 
state,  resting  of  his  feet  on  a  cushion  of 
costly  stuff,  beside  the  table,  carelessly  using 
of  a  diamond-hafted  tooth-pick;  and  the 
gallant  sat  over  against  him  on  as  proud  a 
seat,  telling  the  staple  of  his  discourse,  and 
making  the  whilst  as  famous  cheer  as  he 
could. 

'Twas  well  done,  if  no  suspicion  fellow  it 


THE  YOUTH  OF  S^IAKSPEARE. 


231 


Sir  Piers,"  obsen  ad  the  former,  as  if  musing 
somewhat. 

"  Nay,  suspicion  is  clean  impossible,  my 
lord,"  replied  the  other.  "  The  man  is  dead, 
and  I  defy  the  scarchingest  pryers  to  discover 
how  lie  came  to  his  death.  As  for  me,  my 
disguise  was  so  perfect,  none  could  suspect 
who  I  was,  and  even  could  that  be  possible 
— believing  me  as  I  affected  to  be  your  bitter 
enemy,  they  would  as  lief  suspect  themselves 
of  the- deed  as  your  honorable  lordship." 

"  Did  he  make  no  outcry  ?"  inquired  the 
noble. 

"  Not  a  whisper,"  replied  the  gallant. 

"  Was  there  no  fierce  convulsions  ?"  ask- 
ed the  former. 

"  Scarce  a  struggle !"  answered  his  com- 
panion, "  the  poison  is  the  most  subtle  I  ever 
heard  of.  It  seemed  to  have  entered  into 
his  very  marrow,  ere  you  could  say  he  had 
well  taken  it,  and  left  the  face  unmarked  by 
any  blackening, f>r  disfigurement,  like  one 
who  dieth  of  a  sudden,  without  apparent 
disease.  Truly,  'tis  a  notable  ridder  of  ene- 
mies, I  knew  not  so  invaluable  a  mixture 
could  be  had  anywhere." 

"  I  had  it  of  an  Italian  woman  who  was 
reputed  the  skilfullest  compounder  of  such 
things  that  ever  lived,"  said  his  lord  care- 
lessly. "  But  tlu's  is  not  the  first  trial  I  have 
made  of  it.  Thou  hast  managed  the  affair 
most  cleverly  I  must  confess.  I  would  tliou 
hadst  succeeded  as  well  in  procuring  me  the 
beauteous*  Mabel." 

"  O'  my  life,  my  lord,  I  did  all  that  most 
extreme  cunning  could  accomplish,"  replied 
his  dependant  very  earnestly.  "  Some  pes- 
tilent tiling  or  another  ever  thwarted  me 
when  I  thought  myself  to  be  securest ;  and 
her  long  interest  came,  a  murrain  on't ! 
when  I  believed  the  devil  himself  could  not 
have  snatched  her  from  my  net." 

"  'Tis  strange,  Sir  Piers,  thoti  shouldst 
never  have  heard  ought  of  her  since."  ob- 
served the  noble. 

"  Nay,  who  could  have  supposed  the 
wench  would  have  given  me  the  slip  when 
the  physicians  said  she  was  scarce  able  to 
leave  her  chamber,"  replied  the  gallant.  li  I 
have  searched  for  her  since  then  far  and 
near,  and  my  man  hath  penetrated  into  all 
sorts  of  places  the  whole  country  round 
where  it  was  supposed  she  might  have  got 
shelter,  but  not  so  much  as  glimpse  of  her 
have  either  of  us  gained. " 

"  She  was  a  noble  creature  !"  exclaimed 
his  companion.  "  I  have  seen  nought  to 
compare  with  her  either  amongst  our  court 
beauties  here  in  England,  or  the  lovely 
dames  I  met  during  my  stay  abroad.  •  I 
never  have  been  so  monstrously  disappoint- 


ed as  in  her  escape.     I  would  have  given 
thousands  to  have  prevented  it." 

"  By  this  hand  I  was  never  so  vexed  all 
my  days  !"  added  the  other  with  similar 
earnestness.  After  this  there  was  a  pause 
of  a  minute  or  so,  in  which  the  former  seem- 
ed thinking  of  his  loss,  whilst  the  other  re- 
plenished the  cups  with  wine,  and  helped 
himself  freely  to  the  tempting  cates  before 
him. 

"  Does  that  follower  of  thine  know  any- 
thing of  what  thou  hast  lately  done  for  me  ?" 
inquired  the  noble. 

"Not  a  syllable,"  replied  the  gallant. 
"  He  is  faithful  enough  I  doubt  not,  but  I 
would  trust  none  in  so  dangerous  a  matter." 

"  Doth  think  he  hath  any  suspicion  of  it?" 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"  Nor  any  of  the  menial  people  about 
me?" 

"  'Tis  utterly  impossible,  my  lord,  I  have 
been  so  close." 

"  'Tis  well,"  exclaimed  the  noble.  "  Thou 
hast  managed  this  matter  very  delicately, 
Sir  Piers.  Thou  hast  proved  thyself  a  true 
friend  withal,  and  I  assure  thee  I  will  reward 
thee  fittingly." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  lord,"  replied  his  associ- 
ate. "  You  have  already  bestowed  on  me 
many  marks  of  your  honorable  favor,  and 
methinks  I  cannot  do  enough  to  show  my 
readiness  to  serve  so  bountiful  a  master." 

"  Depend  on't  what  I  have  done  is  nought 
to  what  I  intended  doing,"  answered  the 
other.  ".Thy  knighthood  is  but  a  small 
honor  to  what  I  can  now1  gain  for  thee.  I 
am  paramount  in  the  council,  and  with  her 
highness  I  have  so  fixed  myself,  I  can  do  as 
I  will.  Go  getfthee,  good  Sir  Piers,  to  my 
privy  chamber — there  is  my  George-collar  I 
would  have  out  of  the  jewel-case  on  the 
dressing-table.  Bring  it  me  straight,  I  pri- 
thee, and  tell  my  grooms  not  to  come  to  me 
unless  I  send  to  them." 

"  Readily,  my  lord,"  answered  Sir  Piers, 
and  taking  the  key  of  the  jewel-case  from 
his  patron,  the  newly  made  knight — surely 
never  was  knighthood  so  dishonored — pro- 
ceeded out  of  the  chamber.  Directly  the 
door  closed  on  him,  the  noble  sprung  from 
his  seat,  and  very  carefully  took  a  small 
paper  packet  from  beneath  the  silken  lining 
of  his  velvet  doublet,  and  cautiously  opening 
it,  poured  its  contents  into  the  silver  cup  of 
his  dependant,  and  then  briskly  stirred  up. 
the  wine  with  his  jeweled  dagger.  The 
latter  he  first  wiped  on  his  handkerchief, 
and  replaced  in  its  sheath ;  and  then  saun- 
tered to  the  window,  gaily  humming  of  a 
popular  tune.  Sir  Piers  presently  returned 
with  what  he  had  been  sent  for,  and  took  it 


233 


THE  YOUTI*OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


to  the  table,  and  his  lord  remained  a  minute 
or  so  at  the  window,  as  if  intent  on  noting 
something  in  the  base-court  that  had  attract- 
ed his  attention,  and  then  sauntered  back  to 
his  seat  humming  of  his  tune  with  the  same 
careless  manner  as  he  had  commenced  it. 

"  You  are  'merry,  my  lord  !"  exclaimed 
the -knight,  who  had  now  regained  his  seat. 

"  Merry  !  ay,  and  why  not,  my  friend  ?" 
replied  the  other  very  socially,  as  he  put 
round  his  neck  the  magnificent  chain  he 
had  sent  for.  "  Melhinks,  I  have  right 
famous  cause,  Sir  Piers.  Everything  con- 
ypireth  to  make  me  the  greatest  man  in  these 
realms.  I  have  no  peer,  look  where  I  will '; 
and  I  have  borne  myself  hitherto  with  such 
marvellous  prudence,  none  can  urge  against 
me  ought  to  my  prejudice." 

*."  Marry,  then  you  have  famous  cause  for 
singing,"  cried  his  dependant. 

"  Truly,  have  I,  my  faithful  worthy  friend," 
said  his  companion,  taking  the  wine  cup  in 
his  hand,  with  the  look  and  manner  of  a 
true  reveller,  "  Come,  Sir  Piers,  prithee 
pledge  me.  As  them  shalt  share  my  for- 
tunes, 'tis  but  fitting  thou  shouldst  drink  to 
my  lasting  prosperity." 

"  Most  gladly  will  I,"  answered  Sir  Piers, 
quickly  rising  from  his  seat,  and  following 
his  lord's-  example  in  grasping  his  wine  cup. 

"  Now,  mark  me,  and  do  thou  likewise — 
or  I  will  proclaim  thee  a  sorry  drinker !"  and 
thereupon  the  noble  drunk  off  at  a  draught 
the  contents  of  his  cup. 

"  Bravely  done,  my  lord  !"  cried  the  other, 
very  merrily  ;  and  I  will  now  show  how  apt 
a  scholar  I  am.  My  lord  I  drink  to  your 
continual  prosperousness."  And  then  Sir 
Piers  finished  his  draught  in  as  rapid  a 
fashion  as  his  lord  had  done. 

"  Thou  art  indeed  an  apt  scholar  !"  replied 
the  noble,  manifestly  with  more  than  'ordi- 
nary satisfaction,  as  he  placed  his  empty 
cup  on  the  table,  and  reseated  himself — the 
knight  at  the  same  time  doing  the  like 
thing ;  and  then  the  former  commenced 
humming  of  his  tune  again,  and  using  of  his 
toothpick,  with  as  careless  a  look  as  if  no 
person  could  be  so  content  as  was  he.  Sir 
Piers  poured  out  more  wine  for  himself,  and 
continued  eating  of  the  dried  fruit.  All 
at  once  he  smiled  somewhat,  and  just  at  that 
moment  his  patron,  taking  a  sudden  glance 
at  him,  noticed  it. 

"  Ha,  are  thy  thoughts  so  pleasant,  Sir 
Piers  !"  cried  tho  other,  and  then  went  on 
humming  of  his  tune. 

•'  Exceeding  pleasant,  my  lord,"  said  his 
companion,  and  smiled  more  evidently  than 
before.  At  this  the  noble  looked  at  him 
very  hard,  saying  never  a  word ;  and  the 


knight  kept  his  eyes  on  those  of  his  employer 
as  if  he  cared  not  for  such  scrutiny,  for  his 
srnile  continued  to  become  more  palpable. 
The  lord  now  looked  surprised — then  amaz- 
ed— then  distrustful — his  tune  ceased  ere  it 
had  half  ended — the  tooth-pick  fell  from  his 
hand,  and  laying  convulsive  hold  of  the 
arms  of  his  chair,  he  leaned  forward,  fixing 
a  stare  of  ^horror  on  his  companion.  The 
smile  of  the  latter  now  had  a  sort  of  devilish 
derision  in  it,  and  his  eyes  glared  on  the 
other  with  a  very  fiendlike  mockery.  The 
noble  now  snatched  at  his  dagger,  holding 
himself  up  with  the  strength  of  the  other 
arm,  whilst  the  agony  expressed  in  his  face, 
whence  the  blood  had  all  rushed,  leaving  it 
of  a  deadly  paleness,  and  the  strange  manner 
in  which  he  began  twisting  his  body,  be- 
spoke in  him  some  terrible  suffering  ;  but  at 
this  his  companion  laughed  outright. 

"Caught  in  thine  own  trap!"  cried  his 
triumphant  partner  in  guilt.  "  O'  my  life, 
never  was  traitor  so  well  served  !  What  ? 
After  I  had  done  at  thy  bidding  all  manner 
of  villanies,  a  dog's  death  was  to  be  my  re- 
ward ;  and  so  thou  get  rid  of  every  evidence 
of  thy  matchless  infamy  !  Prithee,  my  lord, 
stop  up  thy  key-hole  whilst  preparing  to 
poison  thy  familiars,  when  thou  hast  sent 
them  out  of  the  way  awhile,  else  they  may 
do  as  I  have  done,  spy  thy  intention,  and  on 
their  return  make  so  bold  as  change  the 
drugged  cup  for  another,  and  so  the  poisoner 
get  the  poison  for  himself." 

Here  the  knight  laughed  again  more  scorn- 
fully than  before.  At  this,  his  lord  made  a 
convulsive  effort  to  rise — his  horrible  fierce 
looks  distorted  as  if  with  the  most  racking 
intolerable  pains — his  eyes  seeming  to  dilate 
to  a  wonderful  bigness,  and  flashing  forth 
most  dreadful  deadly  malice  —  his  teeth 
gnashing  together,  and  his  every  limb  start- 
ing and  trembling  with  the  mightiness  of 
his  agony ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  got  him- 
self to  stand  upright,  his  eyes  rolled  in  their 
sockets  most  frightfully  ;  violent  fierce 
spasms  and  convulsions  shook  him  in  every 
part — the  uplifted  dagger  dropped  from  hia 
nerveless  grasp,  and  the  next  moment  it3 
lordly  owner  fell  to  the  ground  a  corpse. 

"Ko  ends  my  Lord  of  Leicester!"  ex- 
claimed his  villainous  associate,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  body.  "  Truly  a  very  suitable 
ending.  But  it  will  scarce  be  proper  to 
leave  him  here,  else  I  may  chance  to  follow 
him  more  quickly  than  I  desire."  Saying 
this,  Sir  Piers  carefully  placed  the  dead  man 
leaning  back  in  his  seat  as  if  he  slept,  and 
then  hurried  out  of  the  chamber.  Thus 
finished  his  career,  the  most  accomplished 
villain  of  his  age,  who  was  EO  admirable  a 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


233 


master  of  duplicity,  that  his  real  character 
was  suspected  of  but  few  ;  and  so  cautious 
in  the  doing  of  his  villainies,  that  he  rarely 
left  the  slightest  ground  for  suspicion.  At 
last,  his  over-anxiety  to  secure  himself  ended 
in  his  own  destruction,  as  hath  been  related. 
Nevertheless,  few  know  him  to  bj  what  he 
was  ;  and  by  those  few  he  was  so  thorough- 
ly detested  for  Tiis  extraordinary  craft  and 
treachery,  that  amongst  lin'-m  he  was  usually 
called  by  the  nickname  of  ^  The  Gypsey." 
By  the  majority  he  hath  been  held  in  re- 
membrance as  ';  The  Great  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter ;"  but  his  title  to  such  greatness  as  they 
would  confer  on  him.  was  grounded  on  his 
magnificence,  his  unrivalled  power  in  the 
kingdom,and't!i.e  consummate  policy  of  his  en- 
deavors to  retain  it.  He  was  a  brilliant  char- 
acter, but  it  was  t;i?  brilliance  that  cometh 
of  a  base  metal,  where  the* art  used  to  give 
it  a  shining  appearance,  out  of  all  comparison 
exceedeth  the  value  of  the  stuff  on  which  it 
is  exerted. 

Many  such  men  there  are,  who  by  their 
high  position  in  the  social  fabric  and  won- 
drous subtlety  in  outwardly  conforming  with 
established  opinions,  pass  for  monuments 
worthy  of  admiration  and  reverence,  whilst 
divers  of  the  truly  great,  who  have  no  other 
title  than  honesty,  and  little  wealth  beyond 
their  daily  crust,  are  passed  over  as  of  no 
account,  and  all  that  cometh  of  thsir  noble 
aims  as  far  as  the  world  is  concerned — is 
the  oblivion  of  an  unhonorod  grave.  Never- 
theless, be  sure  Nature  taketh  a  proper  heed 
of  these  last,  and  whenever  that  vile  partial 
chronicler,  History,  braggeth  most  loudly  of 
his  proud  lords  and  sanguinary  conquerors, 
ehs  whispers  in  the  ears  of  all  just  men, 
the  loving  .kindnesses,  the  generous  self- 
denials,  the  true  nobility,  and  imperishable 
worth  of  her  own  peerage.  Thus,  among 
the  well-judging  few,  models  of  true  great- 
ness are  ever  to  be  found  worthy  of  close 
copying,  which,  age  after  age,  lead  to  the 
production  of  others  of  a  like  merit;  and 
thus  nature  fulfilleth  the  mission  of  truth, 
and  laugheth  the  mere  brags  of  history  in 
utter  and  everlasting  scorn. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Behavior,  what  wert  thou, 
fill  this  man  showed  thee  1  and  what  art  thou 
now? 

SHAKSPEARE. 

WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE  sat  in  a  miserable 
garret  which  boasted  of  no  better  furniture 


than  an  old  table,  on  which  were  some  booka 
and  papers,  an  old  stool  to  match,  whereon 
he  was  sitting,  a  truckle  bed  of  a  like  hum- 
bleness, that  served  for  his  nightly  rest ;  and 
a  worm-eaten  chest  that  played  the  part  of 
cupboard,  of  press,  and  of  book-case  also. 
The  casement  was  small  and  dirty,  and 
the  wainscot  and  ceiling  crumbling  in  many 
places.  I  said  amiss  when  I  asserted  there 
was  no  better  furniture  in  the  chamber,  for 
there  .was  in  it  its  gifted  tenant ;  and  this 
made  the  poor  place  to  be  more  richly  fur- 
nished than  could  have  been  the  stateliest 
hall  throughout  the  kingdom.  Mayhap  ho 
was  studying  of  a  part  in  some  play,  for  he 
sat  leaning  his  arms  on  the  table,  with  his 
hands  supporting  hisliead  immediately  over 
a  written  paper ;  and  so  serious  was  he  in 
this  studying,  that  he  heard  not  the  opening 
of  the  door,  and  the  entrance  of  a  visitorl* 

"  Ha !  there  thou  art,  by  this  hand  !"  ex- 
claimed Master  Greene,  the  play-writer,  with 
as  much  seeming  gladness  as  though  the 
young  player  was  his  dearest  friend ;  and 
thereupon  he  went  hastily  up  to  him.  and 
shook  him  famously  by  the  hand,  inquired 
after  his  health,  and  making  such  bountiful 
show  of  friendship  as  was  quite  refreshing 
to  see.  Master  Shakspeare  was  courteous 
as  WAS  his  wont ;  but  still  he  could  not  help 
marvelling  what  brought  his  visitor  to  him, 
for  they  had  never  been  on  any  notable  inti- 
macy. After  awhile,  Master  Greene  sat 
himself  on  the  end  of  the  bed,  for  he  would 
not  accept  of  the  stool,  though  it  was  pressed 
on  him  with  some  urgency.  Then  he  talked 
of  the  Queen  of  Scots'  execution,  and  the 
last  conspiracy  of  the  papists,  and  other 
matter  of  news,  as  glibly  as  an  intelligencer ; 
to  which  the  other  listened  with  the  utmost 
civilness.  joining  in  the  discourse  when  it 
seemed  necessary,  yet  wondering  exceed- 
ingly such  a  person  should  put  himself  to 
the  trouble  of  calling  on  him  merely  to  talk 
to  him  on  subjects  with  which  every  one 
was  familiar.  At  last  the  conversation 
gradually  approached  the  subject  of  plays. 

"That  play  of  Lodge's  went  bravely," 
said  he ;  "  but  I  said  it  needs  must  succeed 
when  I  heard  it  read  by  you.  Surely  you 
must  have  made  marvellous  alterations.  I 
detected  them  on  the  instant.  I  did,  by  this 
hand !  Indeed  they  were  filled  with  such 
exquisite  beauty,  it  was  clean  impossible 
they  should  pass  for  the  invention  of  Lodge, 
who,  between  ourselves,  is  exceeding  shal- 
low— a  sorry  scribbler,  who  hath  written 
nought  deserving  of  serious  commendation." 

"  Nay,  Master  Lodge  is  not  without  mer- 
it," replied  his  companion. 

li  Merit  he  hath,  it  may  be  allowed,"  re 


234 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


sponded  the  other;  "but  be  assured  'tis 
monstrous  little.  He  could  never  write  a 
play  of  any  judgment,  believe  me.  Mere 
bombast  for  passion,  dullness  for  wit :  and  by 
way  of  dialogue,  the  inost  tedious  poor  stuff 
that  e\er  \vas  writ.  A  knowledge  of  this 
made  me  the  more  admire  your  wondrous 
excellent  genius  iti  fashioning  so  admirable 
fine  a  play  out  of  such  sorry  materials." 

':  I  did  as  well  as  my  jwor  ability  would 
allow,"  observed  the  young  player.  "  But 
for  mine  owu  part,  I  think  not  so  highly  of  it. 
J  trust  I  may  live  to  do  much  better  things." 

"  Ay,  that  shall  you,  Master  Shakspeare !"' 
exclaimed  Master  Greene,  very  earnestly. 
"  And  I  will  do  all  that  in  my  power  lieth  to 
put  you  in  the  way  of  attaining  the  excel- 
lence you  desire." 

"  I  am  much  beholden  to  you,  good  sir," 
safcl  William  Shakspeare. 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all— O'  my  life !  my 
sweet  friend,  cried  the  play  writer ;  "  it  is 
your  merit  commands  it.  I  am  right  glad 
and  happy  to  bo -of  service  to  so  estimable  a 
gentleman.  By  the  way,  I  prophesied  from 
the  moment  I  noted  your  first  appearance  on 
the  stage,  you  would,  ere  long,  distinguish 
yourself  famously.  I  saw  it  in  you  ;  I  did 
by  this  hand."  Now,  considering  that  the 
speaker  was  one  of  the  bitterest  of  ^iose 
who  spoke  so  slightingly  of  the  young  player 
at  the  tapster's,  it  was  somewhat  bold  of  him, 
and  impudent  withal,  to  venture  such  an  as- 
sertion as  this  last,  but  his  companion  was 
not  of  a  nature  to  treasure  up  slights,  and 
he  took  what  was  told  him  as  truly  genuine 
kindness. 

"  It  is  scarce  fitting  of  me  to  speak  of  my 
own  works,"  continued  Master  Greene,  in 
some  manner  that  was  meant  to  be  hugely 
modest.  "  Methinks  they  should  speak  for 
themselves.  There  is  my  play  of  '  The 
History  of  Orlando  Furioso,'  which,  as  it 
hath  taken  so  well  of  all  judges,  leaveth  me 
nought  to  say  of  it.  There  is  another  of 
mine,  '  A  Looking-Glass  for  London  and 
England,'  the  popularity  of  which  is  even 
greater  than  the  preceding.  Again,  there 
is  '  The  honorable  History  of  Briar  Bacon 
and  Friar  Bungay,'  that  hath  been  no  less 
praised ;  and  also, '  The  Comical  History  of 
Alphonsus,  King  of  Arragon,'  held  in  simi- 
lar great  liking  :  but  surely  my  plays  must 
be  familiar  enough  to  you,  they  having  had 
such  marvellous  success." 

"  In  most  of  them  I  have  played,"  replied 
the  other ;  "  and  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 
they  were  amazingly  relished  of  the  audi- 
ence." 

"  Indeed,  I  have  no  reason  to  be  dissatis- 
fied with  my  writings,"  added  his  compan- 


ion ;  therefore,  it  seemeth  to  me  that  I  should 
be  an  exceeding  proper  person  to  give  you 
assistance  in  any  such  performances,  design 
you,  as  you  should,  to  essay  further  efforts 
at  the  writing  of  plays." 

William  Shakspeare  remembered,  that 
Master  Greene  was  of  some  note  for  his 
learning,  having  taken  degrees  at  both  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge ;  and,  being  an  experi- 
enced play-writer,  seemed  a  very  fit  person 
to  give  instructions  in  whatever  he  might  be 
deficient. 

"  Truly  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  friendly 
advice,  worthy  sir,"  replied  he ;  "  and  I  thank 
you  very  heartily  for  being  so  kindly  dis- 
posed toward  me."  • 

"  Believe  me,  it  all  cometh  of  my  love  of 
your  extreme  worthiness,  Master  Shaks- 
peare !"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  a  seem- 
ing wonderful  sincerity.  "  O'  my  life,  I  would 
do  anything  within  my  compass  for  your  ad- 
vantage ;  and  this  affectionateness  leadeth 
me  now  to  offer  to  write  a  play  with  you  as 
speedily  as  may  be  most  to  your  liking,  after 
the  manner  usual  in  such  cases  ;  that  is  to 
say,  you  shall  write  such  a  part  of  it,  and  I 
will  write  another  part  of  it,  on  a  design 
beforehand  approved  of  us  both." 

"  I  care  not  how  soon  we  set  about  it, 
Master  Greene,"  answered  his*  companion 
very  readily. 

"  Then  meet  me  at  Paul's,  after  the  play 
is  over  to-day,  and  we  will  talk  the  matter 
more  atlength,"  said  the  play-writer,  rising  to 
take  his  leave,  with  an  aspect  of  considera- 
ble satisfaction.  "  But  one  thing  before  I 
leave  you,  my  dear  sweet  friend — on  no  ac- 
count mention  what  we  are  about  doing  to 
Kit  Marlowe,  or  any  other  writer  of  plays. 
Between  ourselves,  Kit  is  a  horrible  slippery 
sort  of  a  person,  a  desperate  coney-catcher ; 
and  his  companions  Lodge,  Peele.  and  Nash, 
are  no  better  than  lie.  You  will  do  well  in 
having  nought  to  do  with  such." 

The  young  player  promised  to  say  nothing 
of  the  matter;  and  soon  after,  with  an 
abundance  of  friendliness,  the  visitor  took 
his  leave.  He  had  not  been  gone  many 
minutes,  when  a  quick  step  was  heard  as- 
cending the  stairs,  and  presently  in  came 
Kit  Marlowe,  apparently  in  an  exquisite 
good  humor,  full  of  boisterous  greeting,  and 
laughing  and  talking  as  though  his  young 
ho^t  and  he  had  been  boon  -companions  a 
thousand  years.  He  too  sat  himself  at  the 
bed's,  foot,  and  after  the  first  great  gladness 
of  meeting  was  over,  talked  very  freely  all 
manner  of  gossip,  intermixed  with  jests,  or 
such  as  were  intended  to  pass  for  such,  and 
a  continual  accompaniment  of  laughing, 
which  proved  at  least,  he  could  relish  hi* 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSgEARE. 


235 


own  wit,  He  too,  after  a  fit  interval,  led 
the  discourse  almost  imperceptibly  to  plays, 
and  when  he  got  fairly  hold  of  Master 
Lodge's  production,  he  broke  out  into  such 
praises  of  the  amendments,  as  far  exceeded 
what  Master  Greene  had  said. 

"  As  for  Lodge,  I  marvel  he  should  attempt 
play-writing,"  added  he  ;  "  there  is  more  wit 
in  a  sour  hedge  crab,  than  in  ail  he  hath 
dona,  which  showeth  what  sweet  grafting  he 
must  have  had,  to  have  produced  such  good- 
ly fruit  as  the  last.  Indeed,  it  hatii  a  most 
luscious  flavor ;  as  different  to  that  of  the 
old  stock  as  is  honey  to  verjuice.  But  'tis 
natural  enough,  that  whatsoever  forceth  one 
to  make  a  wry  face,  as  have  I  scores  of 
times,  I  warrant  you,  at  Lodge's  poor  per- 
fonnancos,  must  needs  bs  of  manifest  un-« 
ripeness." 

"  Surely,  you  hardly  do  him  justice,  Mas- 
ter Marlowe  ?"  observed  the  young  player. 

'•  Justice,  quotha  !"  exclaimed  his  com- 
panion, with  a  loud  laugh ;  "  by  this  light, 
had  ha  justice,  he  would  be  badly  off  indeed. 
Nay,  nay,  Master  Sliakspeare,  he  is  as  bar- 
ren as  a  whipping  post;  therefore  am  I  bet- 
ter able  to  acknowledge  the  merit  which  is 
your  due  in  altering  of.his  play.  You  have 
transmuted  his  baseness  into'a  most  sterling 
commodity.  But  you  must  not  rost  here,  my 
friend;  you  are  let  slip,  and  you  must  for- 
ward now  like  a  true  hound." 

"  lie  assured,  I  would  not  throw  away  an 
opportunity  for  advancing  myself,  came  it  in 
my  way,"  said  William  Shakspeare. 

"  I'faith,  you  would  be  notably  to  blamo, 
were  you  to  do  so,"  added  the  other.  "  Now, 
you  know  I  have  written  some  few  trifles  ; 
for  instance,  there  is  my  '  Tamburlaine  the 
Groat ;'  there  is  my  'Doctor  Faust  us  ;'  there 
is  my  '  Jew  of  Malta ;'  there  is  my  '  Massa-* 
ere  of  Paris  ;'  and  there  are  also  one  or  two 
other  similar  affairs  of  my  unworthy  endit- 
ing;  I  think  but  poorly  of  them — but  it  hath 
pleased  his  worship  the  World  to  have  a 
different  opinion.  Mayhap,  his  worship  is 
an  ass  ;  but  trust  me,  I  will  not  quarrel  with 
him,  whilst  he  bcareth  ma  on  his  back  as 
bravely  as  he  doth.  Nevertheless,  be  my 
plays  well  or  ill,  they  take,  which  methinks 
is  the  main  point ;  and  it  showeth  I  have 
some  sort  of  skillfulness  in  knowing  what 
will  please." 

"  Doubtless  !"  replied  his  companion. 

"  Now  my  dear  sweet  friend,"  continued 
the  other  very  cordially,  "  it  is  evident  you 
are  possessed  of  a  like  quality,  else  could 
not  Lodge's  play  have  the  success  it  hath 
met  with :  therefore  I  have  devi'sed  a  plan, 
by  which  we  may  both  profit  exceedingly, 
and  hold  the  field  against  all  comers." 


"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  William  Shaks- 
peare, in  some  sort  of  surprise. 

"  Ay,  my  dear  rogue,  and  this  is  my  plan>" 
replied  Kit  Marlowe,  "  we  two  will  club  our 
wits  and  write  a  play  in  conjunction.  1 
will  bring  forth  what  gifts  I  have  that  have 
so  long  been  wont  to  please  the  public,  and 
you  shall  add  to  them  the  same  inimitable 
[  choice  talent  you  have  already  shown  in 
:  your  first  efforts  ;  and  the  result  cannot  help 
•  being  such  a  play  as  the  world  hath  never 
yet  seen,  and  which  shall  at  once  place  us 
far  above  the  paltry  bombastic  scribblers 
|  who  now  thrust  their  worthless  inventions 
on  the  stage.  What  sayest,  Master  Shaks- 
i  peare  ?  How  dost  affect  this  plan  of  mine 
my  sweet  friend  ?" 

"  In  honest  truth  I  like  it  well  enough, 
Master  Marlowe,"  replied  his  companion, 
holding  in  mind  the  other's  reputation*as  a 
writer  of  plays,  which  at  that  time  stood  se- 
cond to  none.  "If  you  think  it  will  be  at- 
tended with  such  famous  results,  we  will 
commence  it  as  soon  as  you  please." 

"  Well  said,  my  heart  of  oak  !"  cried  the 
other,  now  rising  with  a  notable  pleased 
|  countenance,  "  I  will  call  on  you  this  time 
to-morrow  to  confer  further  on  the  matter. 
But  I  charge  you,  break  not  a  word  of  it 
to  Greene,  or  Peele,  or  Nash,  or  any  of  that 
set ;  and  have  no  dealings  with  them  on  any 
account.  There  is  neither  conscience, 
truth,  nor  honesty  in  them.  They  are  coz- 
eners all ;  and  that  Greene,  he  is  the  very 
blackest  sheep  of  the  flock.  Keep  aloof 
from  them,  I  beseech  you,  else  you  will  suf- 
fer for  it  terribly ;  and  I  promise  you,  if  you 
will  allow  of  my  true  friendship,  I  will,  ere 
any  very  long  time  hath  passed,  put  you  in 
such  good  case,  you  shall  consider  fortune 
and  yourself  are  sworn  brothers."  So  say- 
ing, and  with  as  prodigal  a  show  of  affec- 
tion iteness  as  Master  Greene  had  exhibited 
in  his  leave  taking,  Kit  Marlowe  also  de- 
parted. 

The  young  player  marvelled  somewhat 
that  persons  of  such  reputation  as  were  his 
two  visitors,  should  come  to  one  obscure  as 
himself  on  such  an  errand  ;  but  he  thought 
there  might  be  advancement  for  him  in 
availing  himself  of  their  offers,  and  there- 
fore very  gladly  accepted  them.  Their 
abuse  of  each  other,  and  of  their  compan- 
ions, amused  him,  for  he  saw  thoroughly  in- 
to it.  Whilst  he  was  engaged  in  reflections 
upon  these  visits,  another  step  on  the  stairs 
betokened  another  visitor,  and  in  came 
Peele.  He  went  through  much  the  same 
sort  of  scene  as  his  predecessors,  exhibited 
the  like  extravagant  joy  at  meeting — gos- 
sipped  about  similar  indifferent  subjects,  till 


236 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


he  skilfully  led  the  converse  to  plays — 
abused  Lodge  as  heartily  us  the  others  had  , 
done,  and  spoke  with  the  s:une  liberality  of 
commendation  on  the  amendments  of  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare,  proposed  to  write  a  play 
conjointly  with  the  young  player— and  after 
warning  him  against  his  brother  play  wri- 
ters, more  especially  against  Greene  and 
Marlowe  as  notorious  bad  characters,  he 
took  his  leave.  He  was  followed  by  Chet- 
tle,  Kyd,  Nash,  and  others  of  the  play  wri- 
ters, all  of  whom,  in  much  the  same  sort  of 
routine,  either  offered  to  write  plays  with 
him,  or  brought  him  plays  they  had  already 
writ,  to  do  as  he  liked  by,  or  some  they  had 
commenced,  to  get  him  to  finish  as  it  pleased 
him  best.  And  pvery  one — albeit,  forgetful 
how  greatly  they  had  previously  abused  him, 
came  in  such  fashion  as  seemed  most  to  ap- 
prove their  extraordinary  love  of  him ;  and 
none  departed  without  denouncing  all  of  his 
companions,  who  had  gone  before,  or  were 
like  to  come  after. 

The  young  player  answered  them  as  well 
as  he  could — monstrously  amused  at  the 
whole  aifiir,  for  he  had  wit  enough  to  see 
what  they  aimsd  at;  but  resolved,  a,s  far  as 
he  could,  to  make  them  subservient  to  his 
own  particular  advancement.  In  this  me- 
thinks  he  showed  his  wisdom  ;  for  as  affairs 
stood,  it  was  not  at  all  possible  for  him  to 
make  way  either  as  a  player,  or  <i  play  wri- 
ter without  some  such  assistance.  The 
manager^was  as  inveterate  against  him  as 
ever,  becklise  the  success  of  the  piece  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare  had  taken  in  hand,  convic- 
ted him  in  the  eyes  of  his  associates  of  pos- 
sessing a  marvellous  lack  of  judgment  He 
could  plain  enough  see  the  great  m^t  of  the 
alterations,  but  his  wounded  seif-lcve  now 
made  his  prejudices  all  the  stronger,  and  he 
seemed  for  it  only  the  more  disposed  to  keep 
the  young  player's  talents  as  much  in  the 
back  ground  as  he  could.  This  unworthy 
treatment  the  latter  bore  with  wonder- 
ful sweet  patience  and  dignity ;  neverthe- 
less it  fretted  his  high  aspiring  mind  exceed- 
ingly at  timps,  and  the  bitter  poverty  in  which 
it  kept  him,  exposed  him  to  such  humiliations 
and  sufferings  as  were  scarce  endurable. 

His  chiefest  pleasures  lay  in  hearing  of 
his  children,  which  he  never  failed  to  do 
with  a  famous  regularity,  by  the  kind  as- 
sistance of  John  a  Combe  ;  and  in  the  con- 
tinuance of  his  correspondence  with  the 
lovely  Mistress  D'Avenant,  who  more  and 
more  developed  to  his  quick  perceptions  the 
prodigal  gifts  of  mind  and  heart  of  which 
she  was  possessed.  It  is  to  be  expected  that 
their  correspondence  should  be  marked  with 
a  tone  of  more  endearing  earnestness  as  they 


made  more  familiar  acquaintance  with  each 
other's  manifold  loving  virtues.  This  in- 
sensibly took  place  as  their  intimacy  pro- 
ceeded. The  language  of  passionate  devo- 
tion mingled  in  greater  portion  with  graver 
discourse.  Intellect  came  warmed  with  a 
more  endearing  philosophy,  and  sympathy 
took  on  itself  sweeter  and  deeper  feeling. 
This  change  was  first  evident  in  Mistress 
D'Avenant,  and  indeed  it  continued  most 
conspicuous  in  her  correspondence.  It 
seemed  as  though  she  could  set  no  bounds 
to  her  affection  for  one  of.so  truly  loving  a 
nature,  and  that  it  would  scarce  be  justice  if 
her  admiration  of  his  genius  came  not  to  the 
utmost  extravagance  of  idolatry.  Never  did 
any  woman  show  a  more  generous  self- 
abandonment  upon  the  altar  of  true  devo- 
tion ;  but  in  this,  as  she  imagined  no  ill,  she 
believed  no  ill  could  exist.  She  felt  herself 
ennobled  by  her  feelings,  and  thought  she 
could  not  sufficiently  testify  her  gratitude  to 
the  honorable  source  whence  they  sprung. 

Her  frequent  writing  was  of  essential  ser- 
vice, for  she  never  failed  to  hold  out  to  him 
the  most  brilliant  hopes.  Nothing  seemed 
she  to  love  so  much  as  the  picturing  of  his 
future  greatness ;  and  her  appreciation  of 
his  worth  was  such,  that  these  anticipations 
were  beyond  all  things  magnificent.  She 
piled  up  a  very  pyramid  of  hopes  to  his 
honor,  which  she  fondly  believed  should  last 
unto  eternity.  This  not  only  firod  his  am- 
bition, but  kept  the  flame  burning  with  an 
increasing  brightness — but  it  did  more — the 
high  opinion  of  his  desert,  which  it  evinced, 
awakened  and  kept  alive  in  him  a  deep  con- 
tinual anxiousness  to  make  his  conduct  ac- 
cord with  it  as  much  as  was  possible.  Per- 
chance this  occasioned  that  marvellous 
sweet  patience  he  exhibited  under  the  petty 
tyranny  of  the  elder  Burbage,  and  that  free- 
dom from  every  sort  of  discreditablenesa 
shown  by  him  whilst  suffering  the  fiercest 
pressure  of  poverty.  It  is  here  necessary 
to  add  that  in  his  frequent  letters  to  his  af- 
fectionate sweet  friend  at  Oxford  he  gave  no 
intimation  of  the  poorness  of  his  estate,  so 
that  she  was  in  complete  ignorance  of  his 
sufferings  and  privations.  This  arose  partly 
from  a  certain  delicacy  which  kept  him  from 
acquainting  her  with  such  matters;  and  in 
some  measure,  from  a  peculiar  pride  which 
allowed  him  not  to  betray  the  immense  dif 
ference  of  his  case  betwixt  what  she  desired 
and  what  he  endured.  But  to  give  the  rea- 
der a  proper  understanding  of  her  character, 
mcthinks  it  will  be  necessary  to  introduce 
hero  some  specimen  of  the  style  and  matter 
of  her  writing.  Here  followeth  an  extract 
from  one  of  her  letters : — 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


287 


*  Let  me  beseech  of  you  to  take  sufficient 
heed  of  yourself,  so  that  no  hurt  follow  those 
deep  studies  to  which,  you  tell  me,  you  give 
all  your  leisure.  Remember  that  this  con- 
stant wear  and  tear  of  the  mind  is  infinitely 
destructive  of  the  body.  I  am  fearful  your 
extreme  ardor  to  fulfil  your  glorious  destiny 
may  bring  you  to  a  halt  ere  half  the  journey 
hath  been  accomplished.  Think  of  this.  I 
pray  you  essay  to  curb  in  your  impetuous 
spirits.  Ha  who  would  win  a  race  starteth 
not  off  at  the  top  of  his  strength,  whereby 
he  might  soon  spend  his  energies ;  but  be- 
ginnoth  at  a  fair  pace,  which  he  can  keep 
up  without  fear  of  exhaustion,  and  mayhap 
incroasj  where  there  shall  appear  need  of  it. 
Ever  bear  in  mind  the  greatness  of  the  prize 
for  which  you  are  running;  and  never  part 
with  ths  conviction  that  it  cannot  help  being 
yours,  use  you  but  common  prudence  in  its 
attainment.  I  often  find  myself  wishing  I 
were  with  you,  that  I  might  see  your  Wealth 
suffered  nothing  by  your  studiousness.  I 
doubt  not  I  should  keep  such  excellent 
watch  for  your  safety  as  should  be  an  ex- 
ample to  all  vigilant  officers  ;  and  surely 
this  is  the  more  fitting  of  me,  knowing  as  I 
do,  above  all  others,  the  exceeding  covetable 
preciousness  of  such  a  charge. 

"  But  as  with  you  I  cannot  be,  I  hope  you 
will  allow  of  my  desires  exerting  their  salu- 
tary influence  as  my  poor  thoughts  express 
them  in  this  present  writing.  To  live  to 
see  you  so  proudly  circumstanced  as  your 
merit  gives  you  fairest  title  to,  is  what  I  most 
fervently  hope  for.  This,  as  it  seemeth  to 
me,  can  only  be  marred  by  your  own  want 
of  proper  care  of  yourself;  and  having 
marked  how  marvellous  little  of  the  selfish 
principle  exists  in  your  disposition,  I  cannot 
help,  at  times,  dreading  the  consequence. 
Pardon  me  my  importunity — I  must  again 
beseech  you  to  be  heedful.  Let  me  at  least 
have  the  exquisite  consolation  of  knowing 
that  my  life  hath  been  for  some  good  pur- 
pose ;  for  should  it  be  my  ill  hap  to  behold 
you,  from  want  of  proper  guardianship,  fall 
short  of  my  expectations,  I  shoulii  from  that 
moment  consider,  and  with  strict  justice,  my 
existence  to  have  been  a  blank.  But  what 
I  am,  or  may  be,  must  be  of  little  moment 
ill  so  important  a  matter.  I  would  rather 
you  should  keep  in  mind  the  thousands  and 
ten  of  thousands  to  whose  delight  your  bril- 
liant destiny  calleth  you  to  minister.  In 
brief,  do  for  yourself  as  I  desire  of  you  ;  and 
all  people,  all  times,  and  all  countries  shall 
look  to  you  as  their  chief  debtor. 

"  I  believe  the  amount  of  human  happiness 
to  be  none  so  large  in  comparison  with  the 
countless  numbers  that  would  draw  upon  it ; 


|  and  look  upon  such  persons  as  yourself — 
1  Ah  !  where  shall  I  find  me  such  another ! — 
as  keepers  of  banks  who  are  wont  to  issue 
their  own  coinage  for  to  be  circulated  gener- 
ally— to  the  vast  increase  of  comfort  in  the 
whole  community.  Having  this  office,  never 
forget  for  one  single  moment  how  great  is 
your  responsibility.  Should  any  accident 
i  happen  to  prevent  the  proper  fulfilment  of 
I  your  services,  how  much  will  the  world  lose 
of  what  is  most  sterling  and  necessary. 
Perchance  for  lack  of  such,  all  manner  of 
baseness  may  be  made  to  pass  for  the  true 
coinage,  and  poverty  become  more  general 
by  reason  of  the  spreading  of  such  worthless 
counterfeits.  I  conjure  you  be  regardful  in 
tin's  point.  Take  what  recreation  cometh  to 
your  hand.  Meet  you  with  disappointments 
or  mishaps,  look  on  them  as  the  natural  lets 
of  rife,  and  pass  them  by  with  the  proper  in- 
!  differency  that  should  belong  to  a  philoso- 
1  phic  mind.  Envy  you  may  meet  with — slan- 
der you  may  meet  with — which  with  injus- 
tice, insolence,  and  oppression,  mayhap  will 
seek  to  stop  your  way — for  these  are  the 
common  obstacles  to  greatness  in  its  early 
development;  but  of  such, — I  know  you 
will  make  of  them  mere  straws  that  shall 
not  hinder  you  a  step.  It  is  of  yourself  I 
fear.  No  one  else  can  prove  himself  your 
real  enemy.  Take  care  then  of  yourself. 
Watch  yourself  narrowly.  Strengthen  your- 
self by  all  possible  means  ;  and  by  so  doing, 
marvel  not  that  you  weaken  the  power  of 
yourself  to  do  your  fortunes  injury. 

"  I  expect  you  to  bear  with  me  for  my  so 
constant  repetition  of  this  my  request.  My 
zeal  will  not  allow  of  my  stopping  short  in 
endeavors  so  paramount  for  the  securing  of 
your  welfare.  You  are  to  me  all  wisdom, 
virtue,  and  excellence — all  nobleness,  all 
honor,  all  truth,  charity,  and  love.  In  the 
spirit  of  the  devout  worshippers  of  old,  I  am 
not  content  with  the  conviction  that  the  tem- 
ple at  which  I  pay  my  devotions  is  the  wor 
thiest  in  the  whole  world  ;  I  would  lay  such 
liberal  offerings  on  the  altar  as  should  go  far 
to  make  it  so.  I  devote  all  my  acquirements 
to  its  use — such  treasures  as  I  have  in  my 
thoughts,  feelings,  hopes,  blessings,  and 
prayers,  I  give  as  jewels  to  enrich  so  admi- 
rable a  shrine — and  all  I  dare  desire  for  my- 
self for  so  doing,  is  that  when  the  edifice 
hath  attained  its  deserved  celebrity, — and 
far  and  near  come  throngs  of  earnest  wor- 
shippers,— in  the' innermost  sanctuary  there 
should  be  one  little  nook  concealed  from  the 
vulgar  eye,  wherein  should  be  entombed  the 
heart  of  her  whose  deep  affections  helped  to 
secure  its  fame." 
On  a  nature  like  that  of  William  Shaks- 


238 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


peare,  it  was  not  possible  for  such  an  inti- 
macy so  conducted,  to  exist  without  produ- 
cing the  best  effect.  There  could  not  be  a 
more  different  person  than  was  he  at  this 
time  to  what  he  had  been  the  first  two  years 
of  his  marriage.  He  was  proud  of  being 
loved  by  so  noble  a  woman.  He  felt  there 
was  in  it  an  honor,  which  for  real  value  the 
objects  of  his  highest  ambition  could  not  ex- 
ceed ;  and  this  raised  him  so  far  above  the 
lowness  of  his  condition  that  he  was  enabled 
to  endure  it  as  well  as  he  did.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  this  last  letter  remained  unan- 
swered a  long  while,  which  made  him  write 
again ;  but  he  heard  not  of  her  any  the  more, 
which  filled  him  with  some  uneasiness,  for 
she  was  ordinarily  most  punctual  in  her 
writing.  Not  knowing  whether  his  letters 
had  miscarried,  or  that  she  had  been  taken 
with  any  sudden  illness,  he  felt  in  some  way 
perplexed  as  to  what  would  be  best  for  him 
to  do.  On  the  morning  that  the  play-writers 
had  shown  towards  him  such  exceeding 
friendliness,  after  he  had  got  rid  of  the  last 
some  half  hour  or  so,  and  believed  he  should 
have  no  more^uch  visits,  he  heard  another 
footstep  which  put  him  into  no  little  discon- 
tent, for  he  was  tired  of  such  company. 
Nevertheless  seeing  he  could  not  well  do 
otherwise,  he  resigned  himself  to  his  fate, 
and  when  a  knock  was  heard  at  his  door, 
bade  his  new  visitor  enter.  Thereupon  the 
door  opened,  and  to  his  exceeding  wonder, 
who  should  appear  at  it  but  Mistress  D'Ave- 
nant,  and  to  his  greater  astonishment  she 
was  attired  in  the  ordinary  mourning  of  a 
widow. 

The  sort  of  greeting  may  be  imagined  be- 
tween two  such  persons  under  such"  circum- 
stances ;  but  still  there  was  something  in  it 
not  likely  to  be  conceived  of  any.  It  ap- 
peared that  John  D'Avenant  had  been  at- 
tacked with  a  fierce  disease,  and  all  the  time 
it  lasted  his  wife  attended  him  so  closely  day 
and  night,  she  had  not  a  moment  to  spare 
for  any  other  purpose.  It  is  true  he  had 
been  any  thing  rather  than  a  proper  hus- 
band to  her  ;  and  his  own  unworthiness  had 
brought  him  to  his  present  condition  ;  but  in 
her  eyes  these  facts  could  be  no  bar  to  her 
showing  of  him  in  his  extremity  the  proper 
duties  of  a  wife  :  whereof  the  consequence 
was  her  unremitting  kind  nursing  of  him  to 
the  very  moment  of  his  death,  so  exhausted 
her,  that  she  was  fain  to  keep  her  bed  for 
some  weeks  after.  On  her  recovery  she 
thought,  instead  of  writing  to  the  young 
player,  she  would  be  herself  the  bearer  of  the 
intelligence,  and  thereupon  proceeded  to 
London.  At  the  play-house  where  she  had 
been  used  to  direct  her  letters,  she  learned 


his  address,  and  not  long  after  that  she  ar- 
rived at  his  lodgings.  Perchance,  this  be- 
havior of  hers  may  be  thought  monstrous  ir 
regular  by  many  ;  but  as  she  sought  no  evil, 
she  took  in  no  sort  of  consideration  any  one's 
opinion  on  the  matter.  In  their  meeting 
there  seemed  a  mutual  restraint — in  her  it 
seemed  to  arise  from  the  overpowering  in- 
fluence of  her  feelings — in  him  it  wus  tho 
result  of  an  embarrassing  idea,  that  at  once 
and  for  the  first  time  presented  itself  to  his 
mind. 

During  his  stay  at  Oxford  he  had  never 
alluded  to  his  own  marriage,  perchance  as 
much  from  dislike  of  the  subject  as  from  im- 
agining such  allusion  to  be  unnecessary  ; 
and  in  his  after  correspondence  the  feeling 
which  prevented  him  troubling  her  with  his 
own  particular  griefs,  kept  him  silent  on  the 
matter.  Thus,  his  youth  and  his  general 
conduct,  might,  he  thought,  have  impressed 
her  with  the  belief  that  he  was  unmarried  ; 
and  his  ardent  affection  for  her  which  he  had 
made  too  conspicuous  to  be  mistaken,  might 
now  have  brought  her  to  London,  with  the 
conviction  he  would  immediately  make  her 
his  wife.  There  is  no  doubt  nothing  would 
have  given  him  such  true  pleasure  as  the 
fulfilling  of  such  expectations,  had  he  the 
power  of  so  doing,  but  knowing  its  utter  im- 
possibility, and  the  terrible  disappointment 
the  knowledge  of  it  might  create  in  a  confi- 
ding loving  woman,  he  was  for  some  min- 
utes perfectly  bewildered  as  to  what  he 
should  do  for  thelbest.  However,  being  well 
convinced  that  to  delay  making  her  acquain- 
ted with  his  real  situation,  would  but  in- 
crease the  likelihood  of  evil,  he  determined 
to  break  it  to  her  as  gently  as  he  could  with- 
out loss  of  time.  Thereupon  lie  took  occa- 
sion as  they  conversed  together,  to  speak  of 
his  children,  doing  it  in  such  a  manner  as 
might  gradually  prepare  her  for  the  know- 
ledge of  his  marriage  ;  after  which  he  in- 
formed her  of  the  circumstances  under  which 
it  had  taken  place,  and  without  imputing 
blame  to  any  save  himself,  gave  her  such 
insight  into  its  unhappiness,  as  he  thought 
necessary. 

Perchance  Mistress,  D'Avenant  had  en- 
tertained some  notion  of  being  made  his  wife, 
as  she  could  not  but  be  aware  how  dear  she 
was  to  him,  for  on  her  perceiving  the  purport 
of  his  converse,  her  beautiful  countenance 
suddenly  took  on  it  the  paleness  of  death. 
There  was  a  fixed  unmeaning  stare  in  her 
|  brilliant  eyes,  and  a  sort  of  quick  swallow- 
ing at  her  throat ;  bnt  these  signs  passed  al- 
most on  the  instant  they  made  their  appear- 
ance, and  she  presently  listened  to  this  unex- 
pected intelligence  with  scarce  more  than 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


239 


an  ordinary  interest.  Doubtless  the  disap- 
pointment had  been  poignant  enough*,  but 
she  was  of  too  noble  a  disposition  to  betray 
her  real  feelings,  seeing  it  could  only  contri- 
bute to  her  lover's  unliappiness ;  and  heard 
him  out  without  interruption. 

';  'Tis  marvellous  our  fortunes  should 
have  been  so  much  alike,"  observed  she. 
"  Like  you  I  married  too  young  to  know 
what  I  was  preparing  for  myself,  and  in  per- 
fect ignorance  of  the  nature  of  the  person 
to  whom  I  was  united.  Like  you  I  have 
been  deceived  by  fair  appearances,  and  after 
the  discovery  of  the  huge  mistake  I  had 
made,  lived  a  life  of  hopes  overthrown,  and 
cares  which  every  day  made  less  endurable. 
When  I  became  honored  with  your  acquain- 
tance, a  new  light  shone  on  my  path.(  I  felt 
I  could  endure  a  martyrdom  but  to  seem 
worthy  in  your  eyes.  Although  I  quickly 
loved  you  with  my  every  feeling,  from  the 
moment  I  coveted  your  affection,  I  bent  my 
mind  and  my  heart  so  to  my  duties  as  a 
wife,  that  the  most  exacting  husband  could 
have  found  in  me  no  manner  of  fault — for  I 
had  in  me  the  conviction,  that  one  who  was 
amiss  as  a  wife,  must  needs  be  unworthy  as 
i  woman,  and  that  such  a  woman  had  no 
shadow  of  title  to  the  sympathy  of  a  dispo- 
sition so  allied  to  excellence  as  your  own." 

The  young  player  replied  not  to  this  ; 
saye  only  as  he  sat  by  her  side,  the  hand  he 
had  hitherto  held  in  his  own,  he  fondly 
raised  to  his  lips.  She  continuq^Hk 

"  When  I  learned  I  was  .lovecroy  you,  it 
gave  me  a  value  in  mine  own  eyes  I  knew 
not  till  then.  I  appeared  as  though  I  had  at- 
tained the  very  noblest  and  most  glorious 
dignity  a  woman  could  possess.  How  liber- 
ally you  garnished  my  poor  state  with  the 
wondrous  magnificence  of  your  genius,  I 
have  not  power  enough  of  language  to  state  ; 
but  on  every  fresh  occasion,  you  bound  my 
nature  to  you  with  a  chain  more  precious 
than  gold,  and  more  durable  than  adamant. 
Believe  me  I  am  grateful ;  but  I  despair  of 
ever  being  grateful  enough.  In  the  after 
time,  when  I  hear — as  hear  I  must — the  uni- 
versal voice  breathing  your  immortal  praises 
over  the  land,  methinks  I  cannot  help  being 
the  proudest  creature  on  the  earth,  for  I  can 
feed  my  heart  with  the  exquisite  sweet  truth 
that  I,  a  humble  creature  of  no  worldly  rank 
or  quality  whatsoever,  was  singled  out,  es- 
teemed, and  loved  of  so  truly  honorable  a 
person." 

•'  Ay,  dearest,  truest,  and  best  of  all  wo- 
men !"  exclaimed  her  lover  as  he  rapturously 
pressed  her  to  his  breast.  "  But  there  is  a 
truth  that  methinks  would  be  still  more  satis- 
factory to  you  at  such  a  time,  and  that  is — 


your  (tesert  alone  made  me  enamored,  and 
by  the  proper  influence  of  the  same  admira- 
ble cause,  I  continued  in  the  same  fond  feel- 
ing. Think  you  I  have  no  call  for  gratitude  ? 
Surely  I  have  far  more  need  to  show  it  than 
yourself  ?  I  doubt  not  at  all,  had  it  not  been 
my  inestimable  good  fortune  to  have  found 
myself  at  such  a  time  supported  by  your  en- 
couraging and  ennobling  hopes,  I  should 
have  sunk  under  the  harrassing  vexatious 
toils  and  troubles  which  met  me  at  every 
turn.  Truly  1  am  wondrously  indebted  to 
you  ;  never  was  service  so  great  as  that  which 
you  have  done  me  ;  and  if  ever  I  should  rise 
to  that  lofty  summit  your  affections  have  de- 
clared accessible,  believe  me  I  shall  attribute 
— in  nought  but  strict  justice — the  whole 
honor  of  it  to  her  whose  bountiful  sweet 
goodness  brought  it  within  my  compass.  At 
present  I  have  nought  better  to  offer  as  a 
proof  of  the  grateful  sense  I  entertain  of 
your  most  prodigal  kindness,  save  the  im- 
perishable feelings  it  hath  awakened.  All 
of  me  which  I  believe  to  be  worthy  of  com- 
mendation— every  proper  thought — every 
excellent  sympathy — each  sensation,  impulse 
and  sentiment  that  most  deserves  entertain- 
ment, do  declare  my  love  of  you.  If  such 
love  content  you  well,  count  on  it  for  the 
lasting  of  my  life.  I  am  yours,  and  if,  as 
you  have  afforded  me  such  indisputable  evi- 
dence, I  may  claim  a  loving  property  in  your 
affections,  I  beseech  you  very  earnestly,  con- 
tinue me  in  the  inexpressible  delicious  com- 
fort of  believing  you  are  mine." 

':  Ah,  Master  Shakspeare,  methinks  I  lack 
not  readiness  to  do  that,"  exclaimed  Mistress 
D'Avenant  with  marvellous  impressive  ten- 
derness. ""  That  I  should  be  greatly  con- 
demned for  my  conduct  is  more  than  proba- 
ble ;  but  such  condemnation  frighteneth  not 
rue.  It  seemeth  that  my  loving  you  is  ne- 
cessary to  your  happiness,  and  that  your 
happiness  cannot  help  but  produce  a  very 
cornucopia  of  delights  unto  the  many  thou- 
sands that  may  come  within  your  influence 
The  conviction  of  -the  universal  good  J  may 
effect,  maketh  my  love  to  know  no  bounds. 
I  ask  nothing — I  wish  for  nothing  but  the 
enviable  office  of  driving  all  discqmforts 
from  your  neighborhood,  and  so  securing  for 
you  a  gladdening  existence.  That  my  merit 
is  so  little  I  regret,  but  if  you  hold  me  in 
such  appreciation  as  you  have  oft  made  me 
imagine,  I  am  here  the  creature  of  youi 
love.  If  it  be  necessary  for  your  welfare 
here  am  I,  ready  to  live  for  you  in  all  loving- 
ness,  devoting  the  best  energies  of  my 
nature  to  afford  you  the  necessary  facilities 
for  fulfilling  your  glorious  ministry,  till  you 
become  what  I  would  have  you  be — the 


240 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


pride,  the  ornament,  and  the  benefactor  of  all 
humanity." 

How  this  loving  speech  was  received  it 
mattereth  not  to  tell  ;<  but  doubt  not  the 
nobleness  it  breathed  was  as  nobly  regard- 
ed. Perchance  there  shall  bo  found  many, 
who  would  spy  in  the  conduct  of  Mistress 
D'Avonant  something  to  take  offence  at,  the 
which  their  own  prejudices  shall  speedily 
distort  into  matter  not  to  be  tolerated ;  but 
such  persons  are  of  that  close  watching, 
magnifying  sort,  who,  if  they  find  a  flea  on 
a  neighbor's  jerkin,  straightway  hie  them 
with  a  very  microscopic  malice,  to  show  the 
world  what  a  monster  they  can  make  of  it. 
Such  methinks  are  entitled  to  no  manner  of 
consideration. 


•       CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

She  stirs !     Here's  life  ! 

Return  fair  soul  from  darkness  and  lead  mine 
Oat  of  this  sensible  hell.     She's  warm  ;  she 

breathes ! 

Upon  thy  pale  lips  I  will  melt  my  heart, 
To  stort  them  with  fresh  color.     Who's  there  1 
Some  cordial  drink ! 

Her  eye  opes, 
And  Heaven  in  it  seems  to  one,  that  late  was 

shut 
To  take  me  up  to  mercy. 

WEBSTER. 

THE  Page  was  alone,  sitting  in  one  of  the 
unfrequented  chambers  of  his  Lord's  man- 
sion, where  he  had  of  late  been  wont  to  re- 


prove her  guiltless  of  the  horrible  offences 
laid  to  her  charge. 

All  this  time  the  Lord  Urban  seemed  to 
be  fast  sinking  to  the  grave.  He  gave  him- 
self up  more  than  ever  to  solitary  rambles  ; 
and  his  fits  of  remorse  became  daily  more 
terrible.  The  murder  he  had  done  appeared 
to  be  everlastingly  in  his  thoughts ;  and  the 
sufferings  that  came  of  it  were  of  so  moving 
a  sort,  the  beholding  of  them  must  needs 
have  softened  the  sternest  heart  in  his  favor. 
On  one  so  affectionately  inclined  as  was  his 
youthful  attendant,  their  effect  may  readily 
be  conceived :  Bertram  did  all  that  faithful- 
ness and  love  could  do,  towards  bringing  his 
lord  into  a  proper  comfort ;  but  the  iron  had 
entered  too  deep  to  be  withdrawn  by  such 
gentle  surgery.  Often  and  often,  when  he 
found  his  efforts  fruitless,  had  he  stolen  into 
this  unfrequented  chamber,  and  there  be- 
moaned»his  uselessness,  and  strove  to  hit  on 
some  plan  which  might  restore  peace  to  this 
noble  family.  Alack!  there  seemed  not  the 
slightest  hope  of  such  a  thing.  lie  liked 
not  questioning  of  the  servants  ;  and  Adam, 
who  alone  knew  the  facts  of  the  case,  as  he 
believed — though  he  was  communicative 
enough  on  every  other  matter,  from  affection 
for  the  youth,  never  spoke  on  the  subject. 

At  this  time  it  was  that  the  Earl's  kins- 
man before  alluded  to,  arrived  with  his  serv- 
ing man  at  the  mansion.  He  came  lale»at 
night,  and  Bertram  knew  not  of  his  visit 
till  the  ilBaing.  The  unhappy  De  la  Pole, 
as  soon  ^S  he  had  intelligence  cf  his  kins- 
man's arrival,  rushed  out  of  the  house  in  a 
desperate  frenzy,  as  if  he  could  in  no  man- 


tire  for  the  sake  of  more  perfect  privacy  in  :  ncr  endure  the  sight  of  a  person,  who, 
the  indulgence  of  his  own  thoughts.  He  !  whether  his  intentions  had  been  good  or 
had  for  some  time  been  in  an  exceeding  otherwise,  had  been  so  instrumental  to  his 


comfortless  state  of  mind.  Doubts  of  the 
Lady  Blanche's  guilt  had  grown  stronger  in 
him  at  each  succeeding  interview,  and  his 
huge  dislike  of  her  had  turned  to  an  affec- 
tionate sympathy,  as  deep  and  true  as  ever 
rose  out  of  unmerited  suffering.  That  the 
Earl  was  the  dupe  of  some  base  villainy,  of 
which  his  wife  and  child  were  made  the 
victims,  he  could  not  help  believing ;  and 
yet  the  story  of  her  shame  looked  to  be  so 
proved  against  her,  that  he  knew  not  at 
times  whether  to  regard  her  conduct  as  the 
evidence  of  a  sincere  repentance,  or  of  a 
consciousness  of  perfect  innocence.  To 
him  there  appeared  something  so  truly  beau- 
tiful in  her  uncomplaining  endurance,  that 
whatever  she  might  have  been,  there  could 
not  be  a  doubt  in  his  mind,  she  was  of  a 
most  sweetly  disposed  nature ;  and  this  so 
won  upon  his  own  gentleness  of  character, 
he  felt  he  would  gladly  lay  down  his  life  to 


long-continued,  unspeakable  misery ;  and  his 
youthful  attendant,  scarce  less  sad  at  heart, 
retired  to  the  privacy  before  mentioned,  to 
consider  with  himself  how  he  could  best  get 
rid  of  so  unwelcome  a  person.  Whilst  he 
was  so  engaged,  he  heard  footsteps  approach 
the  door,  and  with  them  voices  he  recogniz- 
ed on  the  instant.  In  an  agony  of  dread  he 
rushed  bshind  the  arras ;  and  there  conceal- 
ed himself,  just  before  two  persons  entered 
the  chamber. 

"  Here  we  are  safe,"  observed  one,  as  he 
closed  the  door  after  him.  "  We  need  fear 
no  spies.  Now,  as  I  take  it,  the  surest  and 
profitablest  thing,  is  to  put  him  out  of  the  way 
without  any  further  delaying ;  what  sayest  ? 
Shall  we  live  like  persons  of  worship,  or 
starve  like  contemptible  poor  villains?" 

"  Nay,  I  am  for  no  starving,  an  it  please 
you,  master,"  replied  the  other;  "  I  can  have 
no  sort  of  objections  to  such  a  course,  see- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


241 


ing  how  many  of  the  sort  I  have  already 
had  a  hand  in ;  but  methinks,  I  have  hither- 
to been  looked  over  somewhat.  Here  are 
you,  advanced  to  honor  chiefly  by  my  good 
help,  and  likely  to  be  put  in  possession  of 
abundant  great  wealth  and  broad  lands,  by 
the  same  seasonable  aid,  whilst  I  am  kept 
to  no  better  state  than  a  humble,  poor  slave ; 
and.  as  far  as  I  can  see,  in  such  paltry  case 
I  may  ever  chance  to  continue." 

"  By  God's  body,  that  shall  never  be !" 
exclaimed  his  master,  with  wonderful  ear- 
nestness; "  serve  me  in  this  matter,  which 
shall  be  the  last  aid  I  will  seek  at  thy  hands, 
I  will  make  thee  a  gentleman,  and  settle  on 
thee  in  lands  or  money  at  least  two  hundred 
pounds  a  year." 

"  That  contenteth  me  well  enough,"  an- 
swered his  associate  ;  "  I  want  only  to  live 
in  some  sort  of  peace  and  comfort,  for  I  am 
getting  to  be  tired  of  the  life  I  have  led : 
but  let  us  heed  our  courses.  My  lord  hath 
store  of  powerful  friends,  and  get  we  sus- 
pected, it  must  needs  come  to  a  speedy 
hanging  with  us." 

"  Tut !  where  didst  pick  up  so  silly  a 
thought  ?''  cried  the  other ;  "  I  have  good 
reason  for  knowing,  his  death  would  be  in- 
finitely acceptable  to  persons  in  authority ; 
for  since  I  have  been  at  court,  I  have,  noted 
how  much  the  Poles  are  hunted  after,  be- 
cause of  their  nearness  to  the  royal  blood, 
and  though  my  Lord  Urban  is  but  a  distant 
branch,  he  is  of  the  family,  and  that  is  suf- 
ficient to  make  his  destruction  exceeding  de- 
sirable in  high  places." 

"  I  would  lie  had  died  of  his  own  accord," 
exclaimed  his  companion  ;  "  I'faith,  I  won- 
der he  hath  lived  so  long  in  such  monstrous 
misery." 

"  Methinka  we  have  waited  for  his  dying 
long  enough,  of  all  conscience,"  said  his 
master ;  "  and  as  I  am  circumstanced  at  this 
present,  his  death  is  my  only  help." 

"  How  desire  you  it  shall  be  done  ?"  ask- 
ed the  meaner  villain. 

"  There  is  nought  so  easy,"  answered  the 
other;  "  he  is  doubtless  now  wandering  in 
the  neighboring  wood ;  there,  whilst  he  is 
wrapped  in  his  miserable  humor,  we  can 
steal  on  him  unseen,  and  despatch  him  with 
our  daggers,  ere  he  hath  opportunity  for  de- 
f -ijjjg  aci1ieve(j)  nothing  is  so  easy 


fence 


as  preventing  all  suspicion  falling  on  our- 
selves, and  making  it  appear  it  was  done  by 
thieves,  or  other  lewd  characters  :  then  our 
fortunes  are  made,  and  we  shall  live  plea- 
santly the  rest  of  our  days." 

"  Prithee,  let  us  about  it  at  once,  then ; 
for  I  care  not  how  soon  it  be  over,"  added 
his  companion. 

16 


The  page  at  first  marvelled  how  such  vil- 
lains as  he  knew  thpm  to  be,  got  into  the 
house,  and  feared  only  for  himself;  but 
when  he  heard  the  vile  deed  they  were  plot- 
ting, his  senses  seemed  utterly  confounded 
with  horror.  His  fear  was  now  entirely  for 
his  lord,  and  he  dreaded  every  moment  the 
violence  of  his  excitement  would  betray  him, 
and  so  he  be  prevented  from  defeating  the 
intended  villainy.  At  last,  having  suffici- 
ently matured  their  plan,  the' murderers  left 
the  chamber,  to  proceed  to  its  instant  exe- 
cution ;  and  the  page  emerged  from  his 
hiding  place,  with  infinite  terror  and  intense 
anxiousness. 

"  Haste  you  Adam  to  the  wood,  or  my 
lord  will  be  foully  murdered !"  exclaimed 
lie,  distractedly,  as  he  passed  through  the 
hall,  wherein  were  several  of  the  domestics ; 
"  to  the  wood  !"  cried  he  ;  and  stopping  not 
to  be  questioned  of  the  astonished  serving 
men,  he  bent  his  steps  as  fleetly  as  he  could 
towards  the  place  he  had  named.  Here  he 
for  some  time  continued  running  along  every 
path  where  he  had  hope  of  falling  in  with  the 
Earl,  in  a  state  of  such  alarm  for  his  lord, 
as  exceedeth  all  conceiving.  Every  minute 
lost  might  secure  to  the  murderers  the  suc- 
cess of  their  horrible  plot ;  yet  many  such 
minutes  passed  in  fruitless  hurrying  from 
one  part  of  the  wood  to  another.  Almost 
hopeless,  breathless  and  exhausted,  on  a 
sudden  turn  he  caught  sight  of  those  of 
whom  he  had  been  in  search.  At  a  dis- 
tance was  the  Earl  leaning  abstractedly 
against  a  tree,  as  was  his  wont,  his  back 
being  to  the  path,  and  his  senses  so  entirely 
given  up  to  his  melancholy  reflections,  he 
could  have  no  knowledge  that  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a,  few  yards  a  man  was  creeping 
stealthily  towards  him  armed  with  a  dagger, 
closely  followed  by  another,  coming  on  with 
a  like  caution  and  a  similar  weapon ;  and 
these  latter  were  too  intent  on  their  wicked 
object  to  note  that,  in  a  few  seconds,  they 
were  being  rapidly  gained  on  by  the  quick 
light  footsteps  of  their  young  pursuer. 

Bertram,  in  a  very  agony  of  fear  he  should 
be  too  late,  seeing  how  near  the  murderers 
were  getting  to  their  intended  victim,  pres- 
sed on  with  a  noiseless  pace.  The  villain 
who  followed  his  companion  was  almost 
within  the  youth's  touch,  but  the  latter  was 
fearful  that  whilst  he  attacked  him,  the  other 
might  strike  the  fatal  blow,  and  so  render 
his  assistance  of  no  service.  At  a  bound 
he  presently  passed  the  fellow  before  him. 

"  To  your  defence,  my  lord  !"  cried  he  as 
loudly  as  he  could,  and  in  the  same  moment 
he  sent  the  foremost  villain  reeling  to  the 
earth  with  a  blow  of  his  dagger.  The  earl 


242 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


started  from  his  reverie,  gazed  amazedly  to 
find  his  kinsman  standing  a  few  paces  from 
him  with  a  drawn  weapon — the  kinsman's 
servant  stretched  on  the  ground,  as  though 
with  a  deep  wound,  and  his  page  grasping  a 
reeking  dagger,  facing  his  kinsman  with 
looks  of  terribls  determination.  But  the 
murderer  waited  not  a  moment  of  such  fac- 
ing, for  directly  he  beheld  his  servant  fall, 
and  the  youth's  bloody  weapon  before  him, 
he  fled  with  such  precipitancy  into  the  thick- 
est of  the  wood,  that  he  was  quickly  lost 
sight  of.  Scarce  had  Bertram  acquainted 
the  Lord  de  la  Pole  of  the  meaning  of  what 
he  had  witnessed  with  such  extreme  aston- 
ishment, when  old  Adam  came  up  in  great 
haste  and  alarm,  accompanied  by  divers  of 
the  serving-men  well  armed.  No  pursuit 
was  made  after  the  treacherous  kinsman; 
and  finding  that  the  wounded  man  was  not 
dead — though  apparently  no  great  way  from 
it — he  was  carried  to  the  mansion.  Surely 
no  one  could  be  so  happy  as  the  page,  in 
having  saved  his  lord,  and  none  so  truly 
grateful  as  was  the  earl  for  such  timely 
rescue  at  his  hands ;  but  with  this  service 
the  former  rested  not  satisfied.  It  seemed  to 
Bertram  something  more  might  be  done,  and 
to  the  surprise  of  Adam,  his  companions, 
and  their  master,  he  went  to  the  side  of 
the  couch  whereon  the  wounded  man  was 
lying,  and  took  him  kindly  by  the  hand. 
The  dying  villain  opened  his  eyes ;  but  as 
soon  as  he  beheld  the  youth's  features,  he 
started  in  a  strange  amazement. 

•'  Saul,"  said  the  page  to  him  in  an  ex- 
ceeding earnest  and  impressive  manner, 
'^fou  have  long  sought  my  destruction,  and 
f  never  harmed  you  by  word  or  thought. 
You  have  now  fallen  by  my  hand  ;  but  from 
no  desire  of  vengeance  for  my  own  wrongs. 
As  I  hope  for  mercy  hereai'ter,  I  never  wish- 
ed you  hurt,  till  to  prevent  my  lord's  murder, 
I  was  forced  to  lift  my  weapon  against  your 
life.  I  have  before  this  knocked  at  yonr 
heart,  and  found  you  not  so  great  a  villain  as 
you  seemed.  I  would  think  well  of  you  if 
I  could.  I  beseech  you  forget  not  that  your 
wound  is  mortal ;  and  that  but  a  brief  inter- 
val remains  to  allow  of  your  crowning  your 
bad  life  witli  an  honest  repentance.  I  im- 
plore you  to  do  it.  I  am  confident  you  can 
effect  a  great  good  by  a  free  confession  of 
certain  deeds,  whereof  there  remaineth  no 
doubt  in  my  mind  you  had  the  principal 
handling.  I  allude  to  the  Lady  Blanche.  I 
charge  you  as  you  look  for  your  soul's  com- 
fort, reveal  the  whole  truth." 

At  this  the  man  fell  to  a  pitiful  lamenta- 
tion of  his  monstrous  wickedness,  and  very 
readily  confessed  that  the  countess  was  in- 


nocent of  all  that  ,had  been  laid  to  her 
charge,  and  that  his  master,  for  certain  de- 
signs of  his  own.  had  got  one  of  the  Lady 
Blanche's  attendants  to  represent  her  mis- 
tress, after  she  was  in  bed  and  asleep, — and 
that  he,  Saul,  was  the  cloaked  person  whc 
had  ascended  the  ladder  of  ropes,  entered  the 
chamber,  and  caressed  the  waiting  woman, 
who  was  his  leman,  and  that  this  woman 
was  afterwards  privily  made  away  with  to 
prevent  her  from  declaring  the  part  she  had 
taken  in  the  deception,  which  she  seemed  apt 
enough  to  do,  believing  it  had  caused  the 
death  of  her  mistress. 

"  God  help  me,  I  have  murdered  mine  own 
child  !"  groaned  the  unhappy  earl ;  and 
thereupon  he  fell  into  such  a  paroxysm  of 
anguish  as  was  fearful  to  look  on. 

"  My  lord !  my  lord !  as  I  am  a  sinful 
man,  that  child  received  no  hurt,"  exclaimed 
Adam. 

"  Speak  that  again,"  shouted  his  master, 
wildly  catching  the  old  man  by  the  arm. — 
"  Repeat  it — assure  me  of  it,  and  I  will  bless 
thee  to  my  life's  end." 

"  An'  it  please  you,  my  lord,  it  is  as  I  have 
said,"  replied  Adam.  "  I  liked  not  the  deed, 
though  I  felt  bound  to  do  you  whatever  ser- 
vice you  required  of  me.  I  took  especial 
heed  of  the  babe  till  morning,  and  soon  as  I 
thought  'twas  fit  time,  I  rode  to  a  charitable 
lady's  some  miles  off,  and  placed  the  new- 
born child  so  conspicuously,  she  could  not 
fail  seeing  it  on  her  going  her  morning's 
walk.  I  waited  in  concealment  till  she  ven- 
tured out  of  her  dwelling,  as  I  knew  she 
was  wont  to  do  ;  and  I  saw  her  take  up 
the  child  and  carry  it  within  doors.  I  made 
you  believe  I  had  done  as  you  desired,  and 
having  no  doubt  of  my  lady's  guilt,  I  never 
thought  it  necessary  to  say  the  truth." 

"  But  what  name  hath  that  place  ?"  in- 
quired his  lord  hurriedly,  and  with  a  wond- 
rous eagerness.  "  To  horse,  my  fellows  !  to 
horse  !  we  must  there  on  the  instant." 

"  The  place  was  called  Charlcote,  and  ly- 
eth  cenvenient  to  Stratford  on  the  Avon," 
replied  the  old  man. 

"  Look  to  the  page — by  heaven,  he  hath 
swooned !"  exclaimed  the  earl,  as  he  beheld 
his  faithful  attendant  fall  senseless  to  the 
ground. 

"  My  lord  !"  murmured  the  dying  man,  as 
he  raised  himself  a  little  on  the  couch,  "  let 
me  at  least  make  some  lasting  happiness 
where  I  have  produced  such  dreadful  mise- 
ry. That  is  no  page.  That  is  Mabel,  the 
foundling.  To  escape  from  the  plots  of  Sir 
Piers  Buzzard  and  myself,  then  set  on  by 
hopes  of  great  reward,  and  striving  all  we 
could,  to  get  her  into  the  power  of  my  Lon? 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


243 


of  Leicester,  who  was  enamored  of  her,  she 
a*  last  disguised  herself  and  got  away  from 
Charlcote,  and  hath  hither  fled.  My  lord, 
be  assured  of  it,  she  is  your  daughter,  and 
none  other." 

"  Will  my  heart-strings  cracl^f'  exclaimed 
the  bewildered  happy  parent,  as  he  pressed 
the  still  senseless  page  within  his  arms, 
with  such  marvellous  affection  as  none 
could  see  unmoved.  "  Help,  I  prithee, 
knaves — or  my  brain  will  turn  at  this  sight. 
Open  thy  lids,  my  child,  and  behold  that  un- 
natural fierce  father,  who  doomed  thee  to 
death ;  and  to  whom  thou  since  played  so 
loving  a  part — my  faithful  servant, — my 
brave  preserver, — my  gentle-hearted,  true" 


she  astonished  to  behold  him  kneel  at  her 


her,  then  proceed  to  state  he  cause  of  her 
sufferings,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
discovered  her  innocence  :  and,  in  the  page 
whose  gentleness  had  so  won  on  her  affecti- 
ons, gave  her  back  the  child  she  had  ever 
since  its  birth  believed  had  suffered  a  cruel 
death.  Mother  and  daughter  in  a  moment 
were  so  fondly  clasped,  and  there  was  such 
a  prodigal  sweet  show  of  smiles,  of  tears, 
of  caresses,  and  the  like  exquisite  affection- 
ateness,  as  did  all  hearts  good  to  look  on. 

"  Blanche  !"  exclaimed  the  suppliant,  "  I 
know  not  what  amends  to  make  you  for  the 
unjust  treatment  you  have  had  of  me.  As 


daughter !     In  mercy  revive.     Unworthy !  for  myself,  I  have  had  such  punishment  of 
though  I  am,  I  do  beseech  thee  afford  me  it-already,  nothing  I  might  be  sentenced  to 


the  exquisite  comfort  of  thy  full  forgiveness. 
Ha !  she  stirs  !  My  head  swims  with  excess 
of  joy.  Oh,  my  dear  sweet  noble  child,  from 
what  a  hell  of  torment  has  this- discovery  re- 
lieved me  !' 

The  feelings  of  the  poor  foundling,  so  sud- 
denly raised  to  greatness  and  honor,  passeth 
description.  She  whom  no  lowness  of  cir- 
cumstance could  render  servile,  and  that  the 
desperateness  of  danger  turned  from  maiden 
gentleness  to  most  fearless  heroic  valor,  was 
not  of  a  nature  to  meet  such  an  event  as 
hath  just  been  described,  without  her  whole 
being  experiencing  its  influence  ;  but  during 
all  the  time,  she  poured  out  her  heart's  ex- 
quisite affections  on  the  bosom  of  her  father, 
there  was  one  whom  she  was  longing  most 
ardently  to  join,  whose  love  could  alone 
make  perfect  the  happiness  she  was  enjoy- 
ing :  and  waiting  till  the  earl's  transports 
became  more  calm,  she  whispered  to  hyn  the 
words  "  my  mother  !"  which  in  truth  was  all 
she  could  at  that  moment  utter. 

"  How  shall  I  appear  before  that  most 
wronged  of  women  ?"  replied  he.  "  But 
justice  commandeth  it.  We  will  to  her  on 
the  instant."  Then  turning  to  the  astonish- 
ed domestics,  and  pointing  to  the  funeral 
hangings  that  still  covered  the  walls,  he  add- 
ed, "  Pluck  down  that  mockery  of  woe. — 
Your  mistress,  for  whom  you  have  so  long 
mourned,  is  still  alive.  Follow  me,  and  you 
shall  have  sight  of  her."  Thereupon,  hold- 
ing of  his  daughter  by  the  hand,  he  led  the 
way  to  the  library,  followed  by  his  wonder- 
ing household ;  and  throwing  open  the  se- 
cret door  in  the  old  book-case,  they  proceed- 
ed through  the  passage  into  the  adjoining 


could  come  in  any  way  nigh.  Truly  never 
was  punishment  so  merited.  For  a  phantom 
of  mine  own  creating — that  fantastic  idol, 
reputation,  I  hurried  myself  into  deeds  that 
were  far  more  completely  its  enemies  than 
either  the  deed  I  suspected,  or  the  know- 
ledge of  it  I  so  sought  to  prevent.  My  guilt 
is  none  the  less  because  things  have  turned 
out  as  they  are.  I  might  have  been  the 
murderer  of  my  own  child — I  have  been  a 
merciless  tyrant  to  a  faithful  loving  wife. — 
Your  humiliation  I  kept  secret ;  but  I  would 
have  my  own  a  spectacle  for  the  whole 
world.  Thus  publicly  I  crave  your  pardon. 
Banish  me  from  your  presence — do  with  me 
according  to  my  desert ;  but  to  my  last  hour 
I  will  hold  your  name  in  my  heart  as  the 
gentlest,  lovingest,  and  truest  wife  that  ever 
suffered  of  an  unworthy  husband." 

"  My  lord  !"  replied  the  countess,  as  she 
raised  him  very  fondly  to  her  embrace,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  and  deepest  love  in  every 
look,  "  I  beseech  you  no  more  of  this.  You 
have  been  the  dupe  of  your  false  treacherous 
kinsman,  who  poisoned  your  ear  with  vil- 
lainous wicked  perjuries,  for  his  own  base 
ends.  I  have  suffered  scarce  any  thing.  I 
had  always  with  me  the  conviction  that  your 
noble  mind  had  been  abused  in  some  such 
manner  ;  and  that  the  day  would  come  when 
my  innocence  would  be  proved  to  you  :— 
therefore  I  waited  in  patience  till  such  happy 
time  should  arrive.  Although  my  return  to 
your  affections  I  expected,  never  expected  I 
sight  of  my  dear  child  again :  methinks  the 
happiness  of  that  should  counterbalance  all 
offences.  My  lord,  I  ever  was  your  fond 
obedient  wife  ;  this  nothing  can  change. — 


chamber,  where,  to  their  equal  marvel  and  i  And  now,  as  there  can  be  no  hindrance  to 


delight,  they  beheld  their  long  lost  lady. — 
Doubtless,  she  was  the  most  amazed  of  all 


my  leaving  of  this  my  prison, — seeing  you 


to  see  her  husband  coming  to  her  with  so 
great  a  company  ;  but  how  much  more  was  i  you 


have  yourself  made  it  known  and  are  satis- 


fied of  my  perfect  loyalty — i 
you,  I  will  live  differently  ;  1 


— if  it  so 

but  let  me  live 


244 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


as  I  may,  if  I  exist  not  for  the  securing  of 
your  honor  and  happiness,  be  assured,  in 
mine  own  opinion,  I  shall  live  exceeding  ill." 

Shortly  after,  this  fair  model  of  womanly 
patience  and  every  other  womanly  virtue, 
departed  out  of  that  chamber,  supported  on 
one  side  by  a  daughter,  in  all  respects  wor- 
thy of  such  a  mother  ;  and  on  the  other  by 
a  husband,  saving  some  -faults,  worthy  of 
such  a  wife — amid  the  honest  boisterous  joy 
of  every  member  of  the  household.  Mabel 
blessed  the  hour  she  thought  of  disguising 
herself  in  a  left-off  suit  of  young  Lucj's, 
and  friendless,  penniless,  and  scarce  able  to 
proceed  from  long  illness,  trusted  herself  .to 
the  uncertain  chance  of  fortune  :  but  more 
fervently  she  blessed  that  exhaustion  which 
led  to  her  becoming  an  inmate  with  persons 
who,  after  exciting  her  powerfullest  sympa- 
.thies  for  months,  till  she  loved  them  more 
dearly  than  her  life,  proved  to  be  those  who 
by  nearness  of  blood  and  excellence  of  na- 
ture, were  best  entitled  to  hold  such  place  in 
her  affections.  Here  methinks  'tis  but  pro- 
per to  add,  that  despite  of  her  many  anxie- 
ties and  cares,  she  had  oft  thought  and  with 
exceeding  gratefulness,  of  that  honorable 
and  gallant  young  gentleman,  Sir  Valentine, 
who  had  loved  her,  and  desired  to  make  her 
his  wife,  when  she  was  a  poor,  despised 
foundling.  But  we  must  now  leave  her  to 
the  care  of  her  good  parents,  whilst  taking 
to  matter  more  necessary  here  to  be  handled. 

Sir  Piers  Buzzard  fled  from  the  scene  of 
his  intended  murder,  cursing  of  his  unlucky 
stars  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  baffled  villain, 
and  scarce  knowing  where  to  go  or  what  to 
be  about.  Truly  he  would  have  been  glad 
enough  now  to  have  remained  Master  Buz- 
zard, roystering  with  Sir  Nathaniel  the  cu- 
rate, Stripes  the  schoolmaster,  and  others 
of  his  boon  companions  he  was  wont  to  ca- 
rouse with  at  Stratford,  before  he  set  upon 
plotting  against  his  kinsman's  happiness, 
that  it  might  cause  him  to  die  without  issue, 
and  so  he  profit  by  it — or  even  the  life  he 
led  immediately  afterwards  when  he  gam- 
bled away  his  patrimony  at  the  dice,  and  so 
being  ready  for  any  sort  of  service  to  retrieve 
his  fortune,  readily  became  an  agent  for  my 
lord  of  Leicester,  who  never  lacked  such  ser- 
vants, or  proper  employment  to  set  them  up- 
on. At  last,  he  seemed  in  so  desperate  a 
strait,  he  thought  it  might  have  been  better 
had  he  swallowed  the  poison  his  noble  mas- 
ter had  prepared  as  a  reward  for  his  ser- 
vices of  a  like  sort  upon  others,  the  earl's 
enemies ;  for  he  had  become  a  dfsgraced 
man,  his  character  was  known,  and  he  knew 
not  where  to  look  for  even  so  much  as  a  bare 
subsistence. 


In  a  mood  of  extreme  desperation  he  came 
to  a  narrow  causeway  that  led  close  by  the 
mouth  of  a  pit, — once  worked  for  coal,  but 
now  rilled  with  water, — of  a  famous  depth 
and  vastnea^  He  saw  an  old  man  ap- 
proaching ••  nearly  bent  double,  as  if  by 
infirmity,  anoadvancing  slowly  with  the  aid 
of  his  staff.  Wjien  they  came  to  within  a 
few  yards  of  each  other,  the  old  man  looked 
up.  In  an  instant  such  a  change  was  ap- 
parent in  him  as  surely  had  never  before 
been  witnessed.  All  traces  of  age  or  weak- 
ness in  him  vanished  as  if  they  had  never 
been.  He  stood  up  firm  and  erect,  with  eyes 
flashing  and  a  look  as  fierce  as  human  aspect 
could  express. 

"Mine 'enemy!"  muttered  he  at  last,  be- 
tween his  teeth,  as  his  staff  fell  from  his 
hand,  and  his  sword  leaped  from  its  scab- 
bard. 

"  John  a  Combe,  get  thee  hence  quietly,  or 
thou  shalt  dearly  rue  it !"  said  Sir  Piers, 
drawing  his  weapon  as  quickly  as  he  could. 

"Hence,  sayest !"  shouted  the  usurer ; — 
';  have  I  lived  for  this  hour  to  go  at  thy  bid- 
ding ?  Expect  not  so  idle  a  thing.  I  have 
an  account  to  settle  with  thee  of  long  stand- 
ing ; — intolerable  foul  wrongs  cry  for  re- 
venge— years  of  hopeless  misery  demand 
recompense.  The  time  hath  come  at  hist. 
Prepare  !  Hell  yawns  for  thee,  thou  match- 
less damnable  villain !" 

At  this  he  leaped  towards  the  man  who 
had  done  him  such  unspeakable  injury,  and 
commenced  with  him  most  desperate  battle. 
Sir  Piers  knew  his  enemy's  cunning  of  fence 
of  old,  and  took  to  his  defence  with  such 
caution  as  the  fear  of  death  generally  gives. 
He  had  hoped  that  age  had  weakened  the 
usurer's  arm,  or  loss  of  practice  had  lessen- 
ed his  skill ;  but  never  was  hope  so  vain. — 
The  old  man,  as  he  looked  a  moment  since, 
plied  his  weapon  with  such  briskness  the 
eye  could  not  follow  its  rapid  movement  :— 
and  though  his  opponent  was  in  the  full  vi- 
gor of  manhood,  and  had  of  late  years  been 
in  the  constant  practice  of  his  weapon,  John 
a  Combe  beat  his  defence  aside  as  though 
he  had  been  but  a  weak  unskilful  youth. — 
There  seemed  a  supernatural  fury  in  his  at- 
tack. He  breathed  hard  through  his  clenched 
teeth  ;  and  gazed  on  his  enemy  so  wild  dead- 
ly a  glance,  it  might  of  itself  have  appalled 
the  stoute.-t  heart. 

Sir  Piers,  for  all  he  strove  his  best,  pre- 
sently found  himself  wounded.  At  the 
sight"  of  his  trickling  blood  the  usurer  set  up 
a  scream  of  exultation  that  setteth  all  de- 
scription at  defiance,  and  fell  on  his  opponent 
with  a  fiercer  hostility  than  ever,  ever  and 
anon  reminding  him  of  the  treacherous  foul 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


245 


villainy  he  had  perpetrated  against  his  peace. 
Thrust  followed  thrust,  and  all  craft  in  par- 
rying was  of  no  help  in  avoiding  blows  so  hot- 
ly put.  One  wound  soon  succeeded  another, 
till  the  efforts  of  the  knight  for  his  own  de- 
fence, from  loss  of  hlood  and  despair  of  heart, 
became  more  like  those  of  a  reeling  drunk- 
ard than  of  aught  else.  Still  the  relentless 
weapon  of  his  enemy  pressed  upcin  him — 
pierced  his  flesh,  and  drew  such  streams 
from  his  veins  that  his  path  became  slippery 
with  his  own  gore.  In  the  end;  his  rapier 
fell  from  his  relaxed  grasp,  and  tottering 
with  a  faint  supplication  for  mercy,  he  lost 
his  footing,  and  fell  with  many  wounds  to  the 
ground. 

"  Mercy  !"  shouted  John  a  Combe.  "  By 
God's  passion  thou  shall  have  the  same  mer- 
cy thou  didst  show  to  me." 

"  Spare  my  life  !  I  beseech  thee  kill  me 
not !  good  John  a  Combe  !  worthy  Sir !" — 

"Away  with  thee,  thou  abhorred  and  in- 
famous villain  !"  cried  the  usurer  ;  and  de- 
spite of  the  other's  struggles  and  abject 
pleadings,  he  took  him  in  his  grasp  as  though 
he  'were  a  child,  and  with  a  giant's  strength 
hurled  him  into  the  pit.  There  chanced  to 
grow  just  below  the  brink  of  this  fearful 
chasm,  a  bush,  a  branch  of  which  in  his  de- 
scent the  knight  caught  hold  of,  and  there 
he  hung  clinging  to  it  with  so  powerful  a 
hold,  as  if  the  terribleness  of  his  danger  had 
given  him  new  strength.  Below  him  lay 
the  unfathomable  depths  of  the  mine,  cloth-. 
ed  with  a  thousand  horrors,  and  nought  pre- 
vented his  being  dashed  to  pieces  against  its 
rugged  sides,  arid  then  swallowed  in  its 
pitchy  waters,  save  the  twig  by  which  he 
swung  above  them.  In  this  fearful  situa- 
tion he  made  the  abyss  echo  with  his  pierc- 
ing screams  as  he  clung  convulsively  to  his 
hold.  John  a  Ccoibe  stretched  himself  on 
the  ground,  with  his  head  leaning  over  the 
pit's  mouth,  and  fierce  as  he  was  against  his  j 
enemy,  gazed  in  horror  at  beholding  the  ter- 
rible spectacle  that  met  his  eyes.  Sir  Piers 
looked  up  with  an  aspect  so  marked  with 
terror  and  agony,  that  it  savored  more  of  a 
tortured  demon  than  of  a  human  being,  his 
countenance  was  black  and  distorted  fright- 
fully, his  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets — 
and  he  grasped  the  branch  of  the  bush  with 
such  terrible  force,  that  the  blood  oozed  out 
of  his  finger  nails.  But  the  struggle,  though 
horribly  violent,  was  exceeding  brief.  It  was 
manifest  he  was  monstrous  loath  to  die,  or  he 
would  not  so  desperately  have  sought  to 
prolong  his  existence. 

Weak  as  he  must  have  been  from  his  re- 
cent wounds,  and  certain  as  was  his  destruc- 
tion, he  struggled  and  screamed  to  the  last 


moment  in  a  manner  awful  to  sac  or  hear. 
As  if  to  add  to  the  extremeness  of  his  de- 
spair, he  felt  the  bough  by  which  he  hung 
giving  way  from  the  fierceness  of  his  tugs. 
He  saw  it  crack  and  peal — fibre  after  fibre 
snapt — and  the  tough  green  substance  of 
the  branch  was  gradually  breaking  away. 
John  a  Combe,  unable  to  bear  so  dreadful  a 
scene,  stretched  out  his  arm  with  the  hope 
of  saving  his  enemy,  but  at  that  moment  the 
branch  was  severed  from  the  bush,  and  he 
beheld  the  screaming  villain  turning  over 
and  over  as  he  fell  into  the  yawning  chasm, 
till  a  loud  splash,  followed  by  a  death-like  si- 
ence,  told  him  that  all  was  at  an  end. 

And  in  the  manner  related  in  this  pre- 
sent chapter,  perished  Master  Buzzard  and 
his  man  Saul — a  pair  of  those  pests  of  so- 
ciety which  occasionally  are  allowed  to  run 
their  career  of  crime — to  do  their  vile  mis- 
chiefs unchecked — nay,  in  divers  instances 
to  obtain  honor  and  profit  by  effecting  the 
misery  of  the  noble  and  the  good  ;  and  then, 
when  they  fancy  themselves  to  be  most  se- 
cure in  their  villainy,  are  overtaken  and 
overthrown,  and  by  shameful  and  terrible 
ends,  become  moiHime'Rts  of  avenging  jus- 
tice. And  may  all  such  manner  of  men 
meet  such  fit  reward,  till  the  world  becometh 
to  be  purged  of  their  baseness,  and  the  ever- 
lasting heart  of  nature  rejoice  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  generous,  loving,  and  honorable 
humanity. 

John  a  Combe  sheathed  his  own  weapon, 
and  flung  that  of  his  slain  enemy  into  the 
pit  ;  then  kicking  of  his  staff  on  one  side  aa 
a  thing  no  longer  necessary,  he  went  his 
way.  Truly,  there  was  little  in  him  of  the 
infirm  ••man  now,  for  he  walked  as  proud 
and  ereot  as  he  had  done  in  his  best  days. 
It  seemed,  that  in  the  fulfillment  of  the  ven- 
geance he  had  so  long  and  vainly  sought,  he 
had  cast  from  him  the  load  of  suffering  that 
had  bowed  him  to  the  earth.  The  sense  of 
intolerable  wrong  that  had  effected  in  him 
so  fearful  an  alteration,  appeared  to  have 
left  him  the  instant  his  idea  of  justice  had 
been  accomplished,  and  with  it  had  departed 
forever  every  sign  of  the  change  it  had  pro- 
duced. His  miseries  had  died  with  the 
cause  of  them,  and  his  truly  benevolent  na- 
ture, that  no  wrong  or  suffering,  however 
monstrous,  could  affect  to  any  great  extent, 
now  returned  to  all  its  natural,  healthy,  and 
generous  influence. 

It  must  not  be  imagined,  that  it  is  in  any 
way  unnatural  for  a  gentle-hearted  liberal- 
minded  man,  as  was  Master  Combe  in  his 
early  manhood,  to  become  so  fierce  and  un- 
relenting as  hath  been  shown  ;  for  it  hath 
ever  been  found  that  such  ardent  trusting 


246 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


dispositions  do  readily  leap  to  violent  ex- 
tremes, at  the  sudden  discovering  of  their 
happiness  destroyed  by  such  villainous 
means  as  were  used  by  Master  Buzzard.  A 
rankling  wound  giveth  sore  pains,  and 
wounds  that  come  of  over-confidence  in 
honorable  appearances,  and  deepest  truest 
love  outraged  and  put  to  shame,  rankle  most, 
and  are  the  longest  healing.  This  breedeth 
and  keepeth  alive  a  sense  of  wrong,  which 
feeds  on  hopes  of  fitting  vengeance,  till  long- 
suffering  giveth  to  it  so  great  a  strength  as 
to  make  it  the  moving  impulse  of  existence. 
Methinks  it  followeth  as  a  natural  conse- 
quence, that  one  so  fiercely  used  should  be 
uo  less  fierce  in  his  resentment. 


CHAPTER  XXXVH. 

Thus  far,  with  rough,  and  all  unable  pen 

Our  bending  author  hath  pursued  the  story  ; 
In  a  little  room  confining  mighty  men, 

Mangling  by  starts  the  (all  course  of  their 

glory. 

Small  time,  but  in  thq^small,  most  greatly  lived, 
This  Star  of  England. 

SHAKSPEARE. 
Why  do  you  dwell  so  long  in  clouds, 

And  smother  your  best  graces. 
*Tis  time  to  cast  away  those  shrouds, 
And  clear  your  manly  faces. 

SHIRLEY. 
Now  all  is  done  ;  bring  home  the  bride  again, 

Bring  home  the  triumph  of  our  victory  ; 
Bring  home  with  you  the  glory  of  her  gain, 

With  joyance  bring  her  and  with  jollity. 

Never  had  man  more  joyous  day  than  this, 

Whom  Heaven  would  heap  with  4^s- 

SfENSER. 

"I  PRAY  you  tell  me,  Master  Spenser, 
your  honest  opinion  of  this  my  play,"  said 
William  Shakspeare  to  his  friend,  after  as 
it  seemed,  reading  a  manuscript  he  had  be- 
fore him,  as  they  sat  together  in  his  lodging. 

"  Truly,  I  scarce  know  what  to  say  of  it, 
Master  Shakspeare,"  replied  the  other,  with 
a  look  of  as  sincere  delight  as  ever  was  seen. 
"  Nothing  I  have  met  with  either  among 
ancient  or  modern  writers  cometh  at  all  nigh 
to  it  for  truth,  beauty,  or  sweetness.  De- 
spite the  sad  unhappy  deaths  of  these  ex- 
quisite young  lovers,  Romeo  and  Juliet  will 
live  as  long  as  the  language,  out  of  which 
you  have  carved  their  imperishable  story, 
shall  endure." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  infinitely  pleased  to  hear 
you  say  so,"  observed  his  companion ;  "your 
acknowledged  admirable  taste  and  judgment 
qaaking  you  the  fittest  person  whose  opinion 


should  have  greatest  weight  with  me,  and 
your  excellent  friendliness  creating  in  me  a 
confidence  you  would  give  me  your  advice, 
saw  you  anything  amiss  in  it." 

'  Believe  me,  it  hath  such  abundance  of 
merit  as  to  put  all  faultiness  qut  of  the 
case,"  answered  Edmund  Spenser :  "  I  am 
enraptured  beyond  expression  that  I  left  Ire- 
land at  this  time.  I  would  not  have  missed 
the  hearing  of  so  choice  a  performance  for 
a  king's  ransom.  jOh,  I  would  the  noble  Sir 
Philip  Sydney  were  living  at  this  time,  what 
extreme  pleasure  he  would  have  taken  in  its 
manifold  rare  beauties  !  But  I  will  shortly 
find  means  of  making  you  known  to  a  gal- 
lant gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  who  I 
take  to  be  the  only  man  in  the  world  capa- 
ble of  filling  the  void  left  by  my  glorious  do- 
parted  friend." 

"  Be  assured,  I  should  be  right  glad  of  hia 
countenance,  it  he  is  so  worthy  a  person," 
observed  the  young  player. 

"  He  is  no  other  than  Sir  Walter  H  aleigh," 
replied  his  celebrated  brother  poet.  "  As 
ripe  a  scholar  as  was  Sir  Philip,  and  no  less 
perfect  a  gentleman.  But  how  came  you  to 
hit  on  so  truly  charming  a  subject,  and  work 
it  out  with  such  inimitable  delicacy  ?  Have 
you  writ  more  such  plays  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  answered  William 
Shakspeare;  "for  sometime  past,  I  have 
taken  to  the  altering  of  plays  of  divers  play- 
writers,  who,  finding  any  of  their  perfor- 
mances in  which  I  had  a  hand,  went  better 
with  the  public  than  those  I  had  not  meddled 
with,  took  -care  to  employ  me  sufficiently. 
With  some  I  wrote  conjointly,  and  the  plays 
of  others  I  amended ;  but  all  that  I  gained  by 
so  doing,  the  affair  having  in  every  case  been 
kept  secret  beUvixt  us — was  the  denial  1 
had  done  them  any  such  service,  with  no 
lack  of  slander  behind  my  back.  This  put 
me  on  attempting  something  on  mine  own 
account ;  nevertheless,  in  consequence  of 
the  intrigues  and  enmity  of  my  rivals,  as  I 
believe,  though  I  have  already  produced 
more  than  one  play  of  my  own  writing 
solely,  I  have  not  met  that  success  which 
would  be  most  to  my  liking.  Certes,  none 
of  my  performnnces  have  failed  ;  nor  have 
they  been  as  yet  in  any  notable  admiration 
of  the  public." 

"  I  would  wager  my  life,  that  is  the  effect 
of  sheer  malice  of  those  paltry  play-writers," 
observed  his  companion,  warmly. 

"  So  I  have  been  told,"  answered  the 
'other ;  "  I  have  therefore  been  advised  to 
act  with  some  cautiousness.  Meeting  with 
the  story  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  I  saw  its  ca- 
pability for  the  stage,  and  have  written  it  as 
you  see.  This  I  mean  to  have  read  pri- 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


247 


rately  to  the  company,  eve 
save  the  manager,  I  belk 
friends  ;  and  though  old 


be  my  true 
irbage  is  chur- 
lish, I  do  not  think  him  capable  of  caballing 
against  me  with  my  rivals.  Afterwards-  it 
shall  he  got  up  with  a  great  secresy  as  to 
the  author,  and  performed  without  their 


estimable  teaching  unto  all  persons,  unto  the 
uttermost  end  of  time. 

I  pass  over  the  effect  produced  on  his 
brother  players,  by  the  reading  of  that  honey- 
sweet  play  ;  suffice  ft,  that  every  one  took 
to  the  studying  of  his  part  with  such  boun- 
tiful good  will  as  he  had  never  known  be- 


having suspicion  of  its  relationship  to  one  j  fore.  Even  the  elder  Burbage  hoped  great 
they  manifestly  mislike  so  hugely.  I  am  things  of  it ;  and,  as  some  symptom  his 
apt  to  think,  from  what  you  have  so  hand-  churlishness  was  giving  way  before  an  in- 
somely  expressed,  it  cannot  fail  of  succeed-  creasing  knowledge  of  his  young  associate's 


ing ;  and  if  I  chance  to  meet  such  good  for- 
tune, methinks  I  shall  have  famous  cause 
for  laughing  at  the  whole  herd  of  play-writers 
from  that  time  forth." 

"  Ay,  that  shall  you,  Master  Shakspeare," 
said  his  gentle  friend  ;  "  and,  believe  me,  I 
am  most  earnest  to  aid  you  with  what  help 
I  may,  that  they  shall  afford  a  sufficiency  "of 
sport.  I  will  now  take  my  leave  of  you 
for  a  brief  space,  having  had  such  delectable 
conviction  of  your  resources  in  expressing 
the  beautiful  and  the  true,  that  all  my  life 
long  I  shall  have  but  one  longing,  which 
must  needs  be,  that  in  after  ages,  the 
name  of  Edmund  Spenser  may  be  found  in 
honorable  companionship  with  that  of  his 
estimable  rare  brother  in  love,  and  associate 
in  letters,  William  Shakspeare." 

To  this  handsome  speech,  the  young 
player  replied  in  a  like  admirable  manner, 
and  these  bright  planets  of  their  age  sepa- 
rated in  perfect  mutual  appreciation  of  each 
others  unrivalled  genius.  Nor  could  this 
be  in  any  way  extraordinary,  for  in  many 
things  were  they  marvellously  alike.  Each 
was  possessed  of  that  greatness  of  soul, 
which  payeth  ready  homage  to  excellence 
wherever  it  may  be  found.  The  mind  o'f 
either  was  embued  with  that  lofty  spirit, 
which  emanates  from  the  universal  wisdom  ; 
and  in  their  several  hearts  were  those  feel- 
ings of  gentleness,  of  purity,  of  sweetness — 
of  love  of  truth,  and  sympathy  for  wrong, 
which  can  exist  only  in  such  as  are  selected 
by  nature  to  be  the  chief  priests  of  her  im- 
macular  temple.  William  Shakspeare  liad 
more  studied  the  humors  of  men — Edmund 
Spenser  had  acquired  greater  acquaintance 
into  the  learning  of  books.  The  latter 
sought  to  purify  mankind  of  unmanly  im- 
pulses, by  bringing  before  their  eyes  the 
noblest  achievements  of  the  most  romantic 
chivalry ;  but  the  other  was  disposed  to  show 
-  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  actual  world 
— the  virtues,  merits,  vices  and  follies  that 
do  commonly  make  for  themselves  homes,  in 
( very  age  and  condition — and,  embodying 
in  their  portraiture  so  palpable  and  imperish- 
able a  philosophy,  that  they  shall  afford  most 


manifold  excellences  of  heart  and  mind,  he 
insisted  on  drawing  him  out  of  his  obscurity 
as  a  player,  and  pressed  him  to  take  the 
principal  part  in  his  new  play.  William 
Shakspeare  gladly  accepted  this  offer ;  for 
it  was  a  character  written  after  his  own 
heart,  and,  to  a  great  extent,  the  expression 
of  his  own  feelings.  The  full  strength  of 
the  co-jipany  was  employed  in  the  perform- 
ance ;  and  every  precaution  taken  to  keep 
the  authorship  a  secret. 

The  young  player  was  in  such  excitement 
during  the  whole  time  it  was  in  rehearsal, 
as  he  had  never  known  on  any  other  occa- 
sion. He  knew  that  the  life  of  hardship  he 
had  led  for  some  years  past,  could  only  have 
an  ending  through-the  complete  success  of 
this,  his  recent  and  favorite  production — he 
saw  that  there  was  no  way  to  attain  the 
greatness  his  ambition  aimed  at,  save  by 
giving  to  the  world  something  of  his  which 
should  be  stamped  by  the  seal  of  universal  ap- 
proval ;  and  he  felt  that  a  failure  was  likely 
to  give  so  rude  a  check  to  his  proud  aspir- 
ings, that  it  would  go  nigh  to  deprive  him 
of  that  confidence  in  his  own  resources, 
without  which  no  truly  great  work  can  be 
produced.  In  brief,  he  was  well  aware  that 
his  every  hope  depended  on  the  manner  in 
which  his  Romeo  and  Juliet  should  be  re- 
ceived of  the  audience.  He  studied  his  part 
very  carefully,  and  not  without  the  belief, 
an  imperfect  personation  of  the  lover  might 
mar  the  whole  performance  ;  but  the  praises 
he  received  at  the  rehearsals  assured  him, 
and  the  more  perfect  he  got,  the  more  com- 
pletely he  abandoned  himself  to  the  true 
spirit  of  the  character. 

The  day  of  the  first  representation  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet  arrived.  In  a  state  of 
monstrous  anxiousness  he  was  leaving  his 
lodgings  to  proceed  to  the  playhouse,  when, 
who  should  he  meet  but  his  old  tried  friend 
John  a  Combe.  Not  a  sign  had  he  of  the 
miserable  crabbed  usurer ;  but  in  dress  and 
manner  looked  to  be  as  true  a  gentleman  as 
might  be  met  with  anywhere.  He  had  come 
expressly  to  look  after  the  young  player, 
believing  he  was  not  advancing  his  fortunes 


248 

so  rapidly  as  he  desired. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


After  most  hearty 


greeting,  the  two  bent  their  steps  towards 
the  Globe,  at  the  Bankside,  Master  Combe 
relating  all  the  news  at  Stratford,  his  own 
recent  adventures,  ana  the  state  in  which  he 
had  left  his  companion's  wife  and  children, 
parents  and  friends, — whereof  the  greater 
portion  was  exceeding  comfortable  to  the 
hearer ;  and  William  Shakspeare  in  his  turn 
acquainting  the  other  with  all  he  had  been 
about  of  late,  and  the  to  him,  important  ex- 
periment he  was  now  on  the  eve  of  trying ; 
whereupon  John  a  Combe  swore  very  lustily 
he  would  not  take  bit  or  sup  till  this  same 
play  he  had  seen,  and  so  encouraged  the 
young  player  with  his  prophecies  and  praises, 
that  he  arrived  at  the  playhouse  in  as  mar- 
vellous pleasant  content  as  though  success 
was  certain. 

When  he  entered  upon  the  stage,  a  scene 
disclosed  itself,  which  more  than  any  other 
thing  was  like  to  fill  him  with  a  proper  en- 
couragement. As  far  as  his  experience 
went,  the  audience  used  to  be  chiefly  com- 
posed of  idlers  of  different  classes,  with  oc- 
casionally some  person  of  note  and  credit 
drawn  to  the  place  by  curiosity.  The  play- 
house was  rarely  full  in  any  part ;  for  the 
sports  of  the  bear-garden  seemed  much  more 
approved  of  those  persons  of  chiefest  fashion 
arid  influence,  who  were  wont  to  draw  crowds 
aft'.T  them  wherever  they  go — but  now, 
wVjn  his  eye  fell  upon  the  space  where  the 
groundlings  stand,  it  met  a  complete  den  of 
faces,  crammed  to  very  suffocation.  The 
rooms  above  were  filled  with  so  brilliant  a 
company  as  he  had  never  seen  before,  com- 
posed principally  of  the  noblest  ladies  and 
gallants  of  the  court — and  up  to  the  topmost 
scaffold,  every  place  was  as  full  of  specta- 
tors as  close  pressing  could  make  it.  This 
was  in  a  great  measure  the  result  of  the 
friendly  exertions  of  the  gentle  Edmund 
Spenser,  who  so  moved  his  friend  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh — then  the  Queen's  especial  favorite 
— with  the  infinite  merits  of  the  new  play, 
and  the  surpassing  genius  of  its  author,  that 
he  presently  took  in  its  success  such  interest 
as  though  it  had  been  his  own,  and  prevailed 
on  all  his  acquaintances  to  accompany  him 
to  witness  its  representation.  Where  the 
Queen's  favorite  went  there  hurried,  of 
course,  the  courtiers  ;  and  where  the  court 
came,  all  persons  of  fashion  were  sure  to 
follow — and  where  fashion  appeared,  all  who 
were  desirous  of  some  claim  to  respectability,' 
were  right  eager  to  make  themselves  of  the 
party.  It  followeth  from  these  premises, 
that  Romeo  and  Juliet  was  like  to  have  as 
fair  and  full  an  audience  as  playhouse  ever 
held. 


The  young  j^yer  could  not  help  seeing, 
among  the  nJ^Rwominent  of  the  ground- 
lings, Greene,^TSIarlowe,  Lodge  and  their 
companions,  seemingly  in  a  monstrous  curi- 
ousness  to  see  a  play  that  none  could  name 
the  author  of.  He  saw  these  his  envious 
rivals,  of  whose  readiness  to  work  him  injury 
he  had  had  sufficient  experience ;  but  his 
confidence  gained  by  the  sight  of  them. 
With  such  an  audience  before  him,  he  felt 
that  nothing  was  to  be  feared  ;  and  he  en- 
tered into  the  playing  of  his  part  with  a  spirit 
which  had  never  till  then  been  seen  upon  the 
stage.  It  is  scarce  possible  any  could  have 
been  so  fit  to  have  personated  the  passionate 
lover,  as  he  who  drew  him  in  such  imperish- 
able rosy  coloring.  William  Shakspeare 
was  possessed  of  all  the  graces  of  early 
manhood,  an  intellectual  handsome  counte- 
nance, that  could  take  on  itself  the  most  elo- 
quent enamored  expression  with  exceeding 
readiness,  and  a  figure,  which  for  manly 
symmetry  of  limb  and  graceful  motion  in 
exercise,  was  not  to  be  excelled  search 
where  you  would;  added  to  which,  his  voice 
was  so  rich,  mellow,  and  sweet,  and  he  de- 
livered the  exquisite  poetry  of  his  sentences 
with  such  ravishing  expression,  that  with 
music  so  delicate  and  new,  no  ear  had  hith- 
erto held  acquaintance. 

The  young  player  soon  forgot  audience, 
rivals,  and  all  other  present  matters,  in  the 
intensity  with  which  he  entered  into  the 
feelings  he  was  expected  to  feign.  Now  it 
seemed  he  had  before  him  the  gentle  fair 
foundling,  whose  exquisite  beauty  had  won 
the  secret  adoration  of  his  boyhood — anon, 
the  yeoman's  blooming  daughter  appeared 
in  the  most  seductive  charms  of  loving 
womanhood,  to  rouse  in  him  the  uncontrol- 
lable passionate  impulses  of  his  youth — and, 
lastly,  the  trusting,  self-denying,  noble-heart- 
ed Mistress  D'Avenant,  enriched  with  those 
sterling  gifts  of  mind  that  afford  a  woman 
her  truest  title  to  divinity,  seemed  ready  to 
pour  out  the  treasures  of  her  bountiful  sweet 
affections,  as  if  to  call  on  him  to  meet  her 
marvellous  bounty  by  an  immediate  out- 
pouring of  every  thought,  feeling,  hope  and 
sentiment,  that  existed  in  his  nature,  as  the 
proper  inheritance  of  manhood.  With  such 
deep  moving  stimuli,  his  exertions  may  in 
some  measure  be  imagined.  As  for  the 
effects  they  produced,  it  looked  as  if  every 
spectator  was  spell-bound.  One  would  be 
seen  in  the  pauses  of  the  playing,  gazing  on 
another  with  such  strange  delight  and  mar- 
velling as  he  could  not  find  words  to  express. 
All  the  females  from  the  noblest  to  the  hum- 
blest, were  so  stirred  by  the  thrilling  lan- 
guage and  the  passionate  manner  of  the 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


249 


young  lover,  that  their  very  hearts  were 
bound  up  in  the  story,  and  ere  he  had  half 
played  his  part  he  had  both  old  and  young  at 
his  devotion.  Such  unanimous  hearty  plaud- 
its had  never  before  resounded  in  a  play- 
house ;  but  proud  as  ne  felt  at  them,  he  was 
not  a  whit  less  pleased  at  the  honest  prodi- 
gal pleasure  of  his  old  schoolfellows  and 
brother  players,  with  his  worthy  friend  John 
a  Combe,  who  every  time  he  came  off  the 
stage,  rivalled  each  other  in  their  commen- 
dations, and  sent  him  on  again  with  fresh 
assurances  and  renewed  happy  spirits. 

In  brief,  the  whole  performance  .vas  a 
triumph  from  the  commencement;  and  so 
brilliant  a  one,  perchance  no  player  or  play- 
writer  had  ever  enjoyed.  His  envious  rivals 
were  forced  into  the  expression  of  the  gen- 
eral voice ;  doubtless  much  against  their 
several  wills,  but  as  they  believed  his  share 
in  the  popular  approbation  proceeded  solely 
from  his  skill  in  playing,  they  beheld  not  in 
It  any  particular  injury  to  themselves.  As 
for  the  play,  never  were  men  put  in  so 
strange  a  state  by  one.  They  saw  how  vain 
must  be  p,ny  effort  of  theirs  to  mar  its  success, 
and  kept  perplexing  of  themselves  with  fears 
of  the  author's  topping  them  in  the  public 
eye  ;  and  wondering  more  and  more  who  he 
was.  At  the  end  the  curtain  fell  amid  such 
an  uproar  of  shouts  and  plaudits,  as  is  be- 
yond conceiving.  Every  man  seemed  to 
triumph  in  'the  triumph  of  the  play ;  and 
every  woman  regarded  the  author's  success 
as  the  cause  of  true  love  and  honorable  de- 
votedness. 

William  Shakspeare,  thoroughly  exhausted 
by  his  wondrous  exertions,  was  receiving  the 
earnest  congratulations  of  his  friends  in  a 
chamber  of  the  playhouse,  when  the  manager 
rushed  towards  him,  and  pulling  him  by  the 
arm,  implored  him  to  come  with  him  on  the 
instant,  before  the  curtain,  for  the  audience 
were  making  of  such  a  terrible  din  and 
racket  he  expected  he  should  have  the  whole 
house  pulled  about  his  ears,  if  the  young 
player  did  not  speed  to  pacify  them.  At  this 
the  latter  made  what  haste  he  could — for,  in 
truth,  he  heard  such  a  disturbance  as  was 
enough  to  frighten  the  boldest  manager  that 
lived.  As  he  came  nearer  the  stage, he  could, 
amid  the  universal  uproar,  plain  enough  dis- 
tinguish his  own  name  shouted  by  hundreds 
of  voices.  This  was  gratifying  enough — 
but  as  soon  as  he  made  his  appearance,  the 
plaudits  and  shoutings  recommenced  with 
tenfold  fury.  The  ladies  and  gallants  stood 
up  in  the  rooms  ;  the  former  waving  of  their 
fair  white  handkerchiefs,  and  the  latter  clapp- 
ing of  their  hands  and  crying  out  all  manner 


of  praises.  As  for  the  groundlings  and  those 
in  the  scaffolds,  such  a  storm  of  shouts  and 
cries,  and  other  boisterous  noises,  came  from 
them  as  gave  to  no  one  the  chance  of  a  hear- 
ing. Some  few  appeared  aware  of  who  was 
the  author,  but  by  far  the  majority  were  aa 
ignorant  of  it  as  the  play-writers.  The 
young  player  acknowledged  the  honor  that 
was  done  him  by  the  approval  of  the  audi- 
ence, with  a  graceful  courtesy  that  lacked 
not  a  sufficiency  of  admirers ;  and  so  he 
waited  to  know  their  will,  as  he  could  not 
at'  first  make  out,  among  the  confusion  of 
sounds,  what  it  was  they  were  crying  for. 
At  last,  one  of  famous  strong  lungs  made 
himself  heard  above  the  rest  by  putting  of  the 
question,  "  Who  wrote  this  play  ?"  Where- 
upon the  young  player  advanced  nearer,  to 
the  audience,  which  they  taking  as  a  sign 
he  was  about  to  tell  them  what  they  so  much 
desired  to  know,  and  there  was  a  silence  in 
a  presently.  His  rivals  listened  with  all 
their  ears. 

"  An'  it  please  you,  I  wrote  this  play," 
replied  William  Shakspeare.  In  an  instant 
the  storm  burst  out  more  furiously  than 
ever.  Hats  and  handkerchiefs  were  waved 
by  every  hand,  and  a  chorus  of  cheers  and 
praises  broke  forth  from  every  throat.  The 
chief  nobles  and  gallants  left  their  company 
and  got  upon  the  stage,  thronging  publicly 
around  the  young  player,  to  give  him  their 
countenance  and  commendation;  and  his 
gentle  friend,  Edmund  Spenser,  who  ap- 
peared to  enjoy  his,  success  as  though  it  had 
been  his  own,  made  known  to  him  as  many 
as  were  of  his  acquaintance.  William 
Shakspeare  felt  that  all  his  hardships  and 
sufferings  were  more  than  recompensed  by 
the  proud  triumph  of  that  hour.  As  for  his 
envious  rivals,  never  men  wore  such  black 
visages  as  did  they  at  hearing  the  young 
player  acknowledge  himself  the  author  of 
that  choice  performance ;  and  they  slunk 
out  of  the  playhouse  as  quickly  as  they 
could.  It  may  here  be  necessary  to  say  of 
them,  that  Greene  died  of  great  poverty, 
brought  on  by  his  own  notorious  ill  living, 
after  finishing  his  last  "  Repentance"  — 
wherein,  with  a  sufficiency  of  canting  la- 
mentation of  his  own  vileness,  he  stoutly 
abused  his  quondam  friends,  and  secretly 
slandered  his  fortunate  rival ;  that  his  asso- 
ciate, the  infamous  Cutting  Ball  —  whose 
sister  he  kept  as  his  leman — was  hanged  at 
Tyburn  for  his  many  crimes  and  wicked  dis- 
honest courses — a  fate  he  richly  merited ; 
and  his  chief  companion,  Kit  Marlowe,  in 
seeking  to  stab  a  dissolute  associate  with 
whom  he  had  quarrelled  at  tables  in  a  low 


250 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


tavern  at  Dcptford,  was  miserably  slain  by 
him  on  the  spot,  with  a  stroke  of  a  dagger 
thrust  througli  his  eye.  Of  the  others, 
though  they  lived  and  produced  plays,  little 
is  known  to  their  credit,  either  of  them  or 
their  publications. 

But  the  success  of  William  Shakspeare's 
admirable  performance  appeared  to  increase 
every  day  it  was  repeated  ;  crowds  came  to 
see  it,  who  went  away  so  charmed  that  it 
presently  became  the  talk  both  of  the  court 
and  of  the  citizens.  This  can  be  in  no  way 
surprising,  when  the  monstrous  difference 
is  considered,  that  lies  betwixt  the  graceful 
perfections  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  the 
poor  contemptible  bombast  of  the  Jeronimos, 
the  Tamberlaine  the  Greats,  and  Orlando 
Furiosos,  which  had  previously  been  favo- 
rites of  the  public.  The  appearance  of  a  play 
in  every  way  so  amazingly  superior,  and  so 
filled  with  the  sweet  graces  of  natural  beauty, 
worked  a  prodigious  change  in  favor  of  the 
playhouse.  It  shortly  became  the  most  po- 
pular as  well  as  the  most  fashionable  enter- 
tainment of  the  time ;  and  the  players,  from 
being  looked  upon  as  little  better  than  vaga- 
bonds, were  now  resorted  to  by  the  best 
company  in  the  land.  The  throngs  which 
the  performance  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  brought 
to  the  Globe,  completely  obliterated  the  ma- 
nager's prejudices  against  the  author;  and 
when  in  consequence  of  the  favor  in  which 
that  production  was  viewed  in  high  places, 
it  was  ordered^  that  the  company  should  be 
styled  the  Queen's  Players,  old  Burbage,  to 
show  his  gratitude  to  the  one  who  had  been 
of  such  important  service,  made  him  a 
shareholder  in  the  property  of  the  company. 
By  this  measure  the  young  player  found 
himself  in  the  possession  of  a  fair  provision, 
and  saw  that  nought  was  wanting  but  pro- 
per exertion  on  his  part  to  lead  him  to  for- 
tune and  greatness. 

As  soon  as  his  circumstances  allowed,  he 
resolved  on  paying  a  visit  to  his  native- 
Stratford,  fondly  longing  to  see  his  dear 
children,  and  to  make  such  arrangements 
for  his  parents,  as  would  place  them  beyond 
the  reach  of  those  bitter  necessities  they  had 
had  such  prolonged  experience  of ;  and  tak- 
ing John  a  Combe  to  be  of  his  company,  they 
started  on  their  journey.  The  day  before 
their  departure  from  London,  the  latter  in 
passing  along  one  of  the  streets  with  his 
friend,  was  attracted  by  the  appearance  of  a 
ragged  filthy-looking  woman,  in  a  state  of 
evident  drunkenness,  dragged  along  by  a 
party  of  the  city  watch,  who  loaded  her  with 
such  abuse,  as  if  she  had  been  the  most  no- 
torious vibe  creature  that  lived,  which,  in 


honest  truth,  she  went  nigh  to  be. '  Master 
Combe  suddenly  left  his  companion,  and 
went  close  up  to  her,  regarding  her  with  a 
searching  scrutiny ;  but  directly  she  cast 
eyes  on  him  she  screamed  fearfully,  and 
tried  to  hide  her  face  "with  her  hands. 

"  'Tis  she !"  exclaimed  her  former  lover, 
and  left  her,  with  an  aspect  of  mingled 
horror  and  disgust.  This  woman  was  the 
pretended  Lady  Arabella  Comfit,  the  leman 
of  Master  Buzzard,  who  was  so  conspicu- 
ous an  agent  in  the  vile  attempt  upon  the 
foundling;  and  having  gone  through  all 
the  grades  of  infamy,  was  now  in  the  hands 
of  justice,  about  to  answer  for  a  whole  ca- 
talogue of  her  wicked  base  offences. 

William  Shakspeare  travelled  very  dif- 
ferently at  this  time  from  the  manner  in 
which  he  made  his  journey  to  London,  for 
he  rode  a  good  horse,  as  did  also  his  com- 
panion, whom  he  amused  famously  on  the 
road  by  recounting  his  adventures  and  mis- 
haps in  his  former  travels.  The  country 
now  was  in  no  way  like  what  it  was.  The 
poor  Queen  of  Scots  had  long  ceased  to  be 
made  an  engine  for  harassing  the  people 
with  vain  alarms  ;  and  wherever  the  travel- 
lers went,  the  inhabitants  seemed  mad  with 
the  recent  triumph  of  England  over  the 
Spanish  Armada.  Bonfires  were  lit  in  every 
town,  and  divers  of  the  worthy  country 
people,  if  they  might  have  had  their  will, 
would  have  made  logs  of  such1  "  wretched 
villainous  papists"  as  were  nighest  at  hand. 
Little  of  note  occurred  on  the  journey.  The 
young  player  passed  but  one  night  at  Ox- 
ford ;  but  doubtless  that  visit  was  infinitely 
to  his  contentation.  They  were  nearing 
their  destination,  when  they  approached  a 
cavalcade  of  horsemen,  who  seemed  going 
the  same  road.  Among  them  William 
Shakspeare  quickly  recognized  his  former 
venerable  benevolent  patron,  Sir  Marma- 
duke  de  Largesse,  and  putting  spurs  to  his 
steed  he  was  soon  by  his  side. 

Great  was  the  gratification  on  both  sides 
at  this  meeting ;  the  old  knight  acquainting 
his  young  companion,  that  after  arming  his 
vassals,  and  marching  at  their  head  to  help 
guard  the  coast  during  the  threatened  inva- 
sion, he  had  disbanded  them,  and  having 
then  proceeded  to  court  to  attend  upon  her 
Highness,  he  was  returning  home,  first  in- 
tending to  call  in  his  way  on  an  old  ac- 
quaintance and  brother-in-arms,  who  was 
about  giving  a  grand  tournament. 

"  Truly  I  should  be  glad  to  see  it,"  re- 
plied the  other. 

"  Well,  wend  with  me  to  my  Lord  de  la 
Pole's,  and  you  shall  have  as  good  a  sight  of 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


251 


it  as  any,"  said  Sir  Murmaduke  ;  "  besides 
which  you  shall  behold  l-.\s  fair  daughter,  the 
Lady  Mabel,  whose  histtvy  is  so  marvellous 
strange." 

"  De  la  Pole  !— Mabel  •"  exclaimed  Wil- 
liam Shakspeare,  in  exceeding  astonish- 
ment. "  Surely  that  cannoi  be  the  exquisite 
sweet  creature  brought  up  as  a  foundling*  by 
Dame  Lucy." 

"  The  same,  Master  Shakspeare,  the 
same,  o'  my  life  !  I  know  the  whole  story," 
answered  the  old  knight. 

"  Never  heard  I  anything  so  wondrous," 
said  the  young  player.  "  As  I  live,  Sir 
Marmaduke,  that  very  Mabel  travelled  with 
me,  disguised  in  male  apparel,  from  close 
upon  Stratford  to  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Lord  Urban's  mansion.  Despite  her  gar- 
ments, I  recognized  her  ere  I  had  been  long 
in  her  company  ;  but  fancying  she  might 
feel  some  disquietude  if  she  thought  I  knew 
who  she  was,  I  treated  her  for  what  she  ap- 
peared to  be.  She  gave  me  to  understand 
she  fled  from  some  villainous  intentions  : 
and  believing,  when  my  Lord  de  la  Pole 
benevolently  took  charge  of  her,  taking  her 
to  be  what  she  represented,  that  there  was 
no  likelihood  of  her  being  so  safely  disposed 
of  elsewhere,  I  took  my  leave  of  her ;  but  I 
have  often  thought  of  the  gentle,  graceful 
cre.iture  since  then,  and  this  present  moment 
am  journeying  to  my  lord's  mansion  to  make 
inquiries  concerning  of  her  fortunes." 

At  this  Sir  Marmaduke  marvelled  greatly, 
and  not  without  a  famous  admiration  of  the 
honorableness  of  his  young  friend's  deli- 
cate behavior  to  the  distressed  damsel. 
After  some  further  talk  on  the  subject,  he 
spoke  of  his  nephews :  Sir  Reginald  had 
lately  married ;  and  Sir  Valentine,  after 
distinguished  himself  very  notably,  had  pro- 
mised in  a  few  months  to  visit  his  kinsman. 

"  He  might  have  had  the  most  covetable 
matches  in  the  kingdom,"  added  the  old 
knight ;  '-  but  he  seemeth  in  no  way  in- 
clined to  marry.  Methinks  the  death  of  his 
noble  friend,  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  hath  so 
grieved  him,  he  cannot  be  got  to  care  to 
love  any  other  person." 

"  Doth  he  know  of  this  aRnge  in  the 
foundling's  fortunes  ?"  inquired  the  young 
player. 

"  Not  a  word,"  replied  the  knight ;  "  for  I 
received  not  advice  of  it  myself  till  I  was  on 
the  point  of  starting  from  London — he  being 
then  with  the  court  at  Greenwich  ;  and  from 
what  I  have  learned — my  intelligence  coming 
from  no  other  than  the  happy  father — that 
though  the  earl  hath  sent,  far'and  near,  in- 
vitations to  his  entertainment,  he  doth  not 


intend  making  any  acquainted  with  the 
proper  cause  of  it,  till  the  whole  company 
are  assembled." 

"  I  have  had  excellent  evidence  for  know- 
ing Sir  Valentine  loved  the  Lady  Mabel," 
observed  William  Shakspeare,  "  and  I  doubt 
not  at  all  his  refusals  of  marriage  were  cre- 
ated from  his  affection  being  engrossed  by 
the  humble  beauty  at  Charlcote  whom  he 
must  long  have  lost  sight  of." 

"  I  hope-  it  may  be  the  case  with  all  my 
heart !"  exclaimed  his  companion  earnestly, 
"  for  doubt  I  not — to  say  nought  of  his  own 
merit,  which  methinks  should  make  its  way 
anywhere — my  old  friendship  with  the  earl 
will  give  no  little  help  to  my  nephew's 
successful  wooing  of  his  daughter :  and  I 
should  be  right  glad  to  see  him  happy,  for 
i  he  hath  seemed  in  very  woful  case  a  long 
time  past." 

"  Think  you  he  will  be  at  the  tournament  ?" 
inquired  the  other. 

"  Surely,  he  cannot  fail,"  replied  Sir  Mar- 
maduke.     '  He  taketh  great  delight  in-such 
things ;  and  it  is  scarce  possible  he  should 
!  not  have  intelligence  of  it.     Nevertheless,  if 
'  I  find  him  not  amongst  the  company,  I  will 
'  use  all  despatch  in  making  him  acquainted 
with  whatsoever  is  most  desirous  he  should 
I  know."     Here  the  conversation  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  approach  of  Master  Peregrine 
I  and  Sir  Johan,  to  whom  John  a  Combe,  in 
the  meanwhile,  had  been  relating  Ms  young 
:  friend's  notable  success.  , 

"This  cometh  entirely  of  those  proper 

studies  we  pursued  together,"  gravely  ob- 

!  served  the  chaplain,  after  a  sufficiency  of 

!  congratulation : — "  be   assured,  young  sir, 

|  there  is  nought  so  like  to  lead  to  greatness 

I  as  deep  study  of  the  classicjfirritings  of  the 

ancient  Greeks  and  Romans. ' 

"  Ancient  pudding !"  exclaimed  the  anti- 
quary, in  a  monstrous  indignation.  "  Dost 
claim  my  admirable  rare  scholar  of  me  on 
such  weak  pretences?  Hast  forgot  the 
many  hours  I  have  passed  in  Sir  Marma- 
duke's  library  teaching  of  this  my  pupil  ? 
Ancient  Greeks  !  Ancient  fig's  ends  !  I 
tell  thee  all  his  fame  proceeded  from  my  ex- 
treme pains-taking  he  should  be  familiar 
with  every  one  of  those  sweet  repositories 
of  delectable  knowledge,  the  old  ballads." 

"  Old  fiddlesticks  !"  retorted  Sir  Johan, 
less  inclined  now  than  ever  to  lose  the  repu- 
•  tation  of  having  instructed  so  worthy  a 
scholar ;  and  there  was  like  to  be  again  very 
desperate  war  between  them  on  this  point, 
had  not  the  young  player  made  such  ac- 
knowledgments as  went  far  towards  the 
satisfying  of  both  parties.  For  all  which, 


252 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


to  the  day  of  their  deaths,  each  considered 
Master  Shakspeare' s  infinite  genius  came 
exclusively  of  his  teaching. 

Before  the  latter  could  get  sight  of  the 
Lady  Mabel,  she  and  her  noble  parents  had 
been  informed  of  his  arrival  by  Sir  Marma- 
duke,  who  took  especial  care  aught  he  knew 
to  his  advantage  should  have  a  faithful  in- 
telligencer ;  and  there  could  scarce  be  any 
persons  who  could  so  perfectly  appreciate 
the  conduct  of  his  young  friend  as  those  to 
whom  he  spoke.  The  yojuthful  student  the 
poor  foundling  had  beheld  with  such  intenest 
asleep  under  the  tree,  and  who  had  rescued  her 
so  gallantly  from  the  power  of  the  licentious 
lord  and  his  villainous  assistants,  and  had 
moreover  behaved  so  brotherly  during  her 
painful  travelling  after  her  escape  from 
Charlcote,  was  sure  to  be  received  by  the 
high-born  lady,  with  sincere  welcome  and 
gratitude.  Indeed,  the  earl  and  the  count- 
ess did  vie  with  her  how  they  could  best 
show  their  respect  to  one  to  whom  they 
considered  themselves  so  deeply  indebted ; 
but  her  particular  delight  seemed  to  be  to 
have  him  with  her  on  every  occasion,  to 
hear  him  discourse,  which  on  all  matters  he 
could  right  eloquently,  but  if  there  was  one 
subject  she  preferred  to  others,  doubt  not  it 
•was  his  former  companion  and  excellent  gal- 
lant friend,  Sir  Valentine. 

In  honest  truth,  her  thoughts  had  been 
in  that  channel  far  more  than  ever, 
since  the  discovery  of  her  parentage  ;  and, 
with  a  woman's  gratitude,  she  longed  for 
nothing  so  much  as  some  opportunity  to  tes- 
tify to  the  generous-hearted  gentleman  who 
would  have  taken  her  to  wife  though  she 
was  of  such  liumble  poor  condition,  that  she 
lacked  not  a  Moper  estimation  of  his  true 


affection.  Whilst  preparations  were  going 
on  for  a  grand  chivalrous  entertainment 
which  the  earl  had  decided  on  giving  for 
purposes  of  his  own,  a  little  plot  was  got  up 


a  careless  eye,  and  took  no  sort  of  interest  in 
the  scene,  Her  attention  was  now  almost 
entirely  devoted  to  Master  Shakspeare,  whom 
she  had  made  sit  close  behind  her.  All  at 
once  a  great  shouting  arose  from  the  crowd, 
which  made  her  look  again  upon  the  con- 
tending knights,  and  then  she  beheld  one 
whom  she  had  not  seen  before,  and  whose 
title  she  had  not  heard.  He  had  entered  the 
barriers  when  she  was  most  deeply  engaged 
in  conversing  with  the  young  player,  h 
arrived  late.  He  was  clothed  in  a  complete 
suit  of  black  armor,  with  his  visor  down. 
Noting  that. this  knight  overthrew  all  who 
opposed  him,  she  asked  who  he  was ;  there- 
upon Master  Shakspeare  gave  her  a  very 
moving  history  of  him,  stating  that  he  waa 
called  the  black  knight,  and  was  an  exceed- 
ing mysterious  personage,  of  whom  none 
knew  anything,  whereof  the  consequence 
was  no  person  was  so  much  talked  of. 
Among  other  things,  he  said  he  had  hoard 
his  aspect  was  so  marvellously  ill-favored 
that  he  rarely  made  it  visible.  - 

Nevertheless,  of  that  press  of  chivalry 
none  showed  such  skill  as  the  Black  Knight 
— ill  favored  as  he  might  be — and  he  was 
publicly  declared  to  be  the  chiefest  of  all 
for  knightly  accomplishments.  When  the 
tourney  was  over,  the  Lady  Mabel  left  her 
seat,  exceedingly  dull  at  heart,  her  lover 
had  not  fulfilled  her  expectations  by  being 
one  of  the  actors  in  the  scene  she  had  just 
witnessed.  She  was  in  one  of  the  principal 
chambers  in  the  mansion,  in  the  midst  of  a 
most  courtly  company,  in  her  attire  rival- 
ling the  splendor  of  the  noblest  dame  pre- 
sent, and  in  her  beauty  far  surpassing  the 
loveliest.  The  young  player  was  beside 
her,  seeming  to  be  very  intent  on  affording 
her  some  sort  of  amusement,  by  telling  her 
strange  tales  of  the  Black  Knight  in  which 
it  was  difficult  to  say  whether  the  horrible 
or  the  ludicrous  most  predominated.  Whilst 


by  him  and  others — of  whom-  was  William  j-he  kept  her  attention  engaged,  there  ap- 
Shakspcare — to  assist  in  carrying  it  on  to  ]  proached  towards  them  the  very  object  of 
the  conclusion  all  desired.  On  the  day  ap-  their  conversation,  with  his  vizor  up,  accom- 
pointed,  the  principal  nobles  and  gallants  in  I  panied  by  the  Earl  and  Sir  Marmaduke.  He 
the  land  came  thronging  to  the  lists,  and  a  :  stopped  suctthly  as  he  caught  sight  of  her, 


crowd  of  curious  spectators,  from  far  and 
near,  assembled  in  the  great  park,  to  see  them 
engage.  Proper  buildings  had  been  there 
erected  ;  and  in  a  commanding  situation  the 


and  gazed 


astonishment  on  her  ex- 


quisite fair  countenance  and  majestic  figure. 
"  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  Earl,  after  ho  had 
allowed  the  other,  as  he  thought,  to  marvel 


Countess  and  her  daughter  sat  surrounded  ;  to  an  absolute  sufficiency,  "this  is  my  daugh- 
by  the  chief  nobility  of  the  country,  to  wit-  ter  of  whom  I  spoke.  It  grieveth  me  to  the 
ness  the  proceedings.  Among  the  knights  \  heart  I  cannot,  after  all  I  have  said,  get  you 
present  the  Lady  Mabel  looked  in  vain  for  the  !  to  entertain  the  idea  of  becoming  my  son-in- 
one  she  most  desired  to  see.  She  heard  their  j  law." 

titles,  she  beheld  their  cognizances,  but  all  j  "  Mabel !"  rapturously  exclaimed  the 
were  strange  to  her ;  and  she  looked  on  with  ;  Black  Knight,  and  so  audibly,  the  iaay 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


turned  her  gaze  upon  him  on  the  instant. 
The  voice  stirred  her  deepest  affections  ; 
and  one  glance  sufficed  to  call  them  into 
fulle*.  action.  The  knight  was  Sir  Valen- 
tine, who  had  worn  black  armor  since  the 
death  of  his  lamented  and  valiant  friend  Sir 
Philip  Sydney.  All  traces  of  the  Earl's  suf- 
fering had  vanished,  under  the  gladdening 
influence  of  those  excellent  ministers  of 
good,  whom  he  had  treated  with  such  mon- 
strous injustice;  and  their  happiness  was 
now  his  sole  care.  He  took  care  to  make 
public  the  wrong  he  had  done,  that  his  story 
might  be  a  lesson  unto  all  such  mere  slaves 
of  reputation,  and  their  merit  might  be  ex- 
amples to  every  honest  wife  and  affectionate 
daughter,  as  long  as  the  world  lasted.  His 
efforts  were  crowned  with  a  deserved  suc- 
cess. The  Countess,  who  was  hailed  by 
her  friends  as  one  risen  from  the  grave,  was 
in  such  content  as  she  had  never  till  then 
had  knowledge  of;  and  her  daughter,  in  the 
fond  devotion  of  Sir  Valentine,  enjoyed  such 
extreme  happiness,  as  was  the  fittest  recom- 
pence  for  her  many  painful  troubles.  Of 
the  spectators,  not  one  so  much  enjoyed  the 
spectacle  of  her  felicity,  as  he  whose  boyish 
dreams  she  had  made  so  radiant  with  her 
early  beauty.  He  had  entered  heart  and 
s:>ul  into  the  little  plot  that  had  been  design- 
ed for  the  purpose  of  bringing  the  lovers  to- 
gether; and  witnessed  the  mutual  delicious 
pleasure  of  their  recognition^with  a  heart  as 
pregnant  with  true  enjoyment  as  had  either. 

Having  promised  every  one  of  that  now 
happy  family,  to  their  united  earnest  pressing, 
he  would  be  present  at  the  nuptials  of  Sir 
Valentine  and  Lady  Mabel,  he  once  more 
pursued  his  journey,  accompanied  by  the 
same  party  with  whom  he  had"  visited  the 
Earl's  mansion.  As  he  drew  nigh  the  fami- 
liar places  bordering  on  Stratford,  every  spot 
called  up  a  thousand  delightful  associations. 
Far  different  were  his  feelings  at  approach- 
ing his  native  town,  to  what  they  had  been 
when  he  last  left  it.  Then,  desperate  unhap- 
piness  had  banished  him,  friendless  and  ob- 
scure— but  now,  he  returned  full  of  pleasure 
in  the  present,  and  hope  in  the  future,  lack- 
ing neither  store  of  friends,  nor  sufficiency  of 
reputation ;  and  having  no  sort  of  anxieties, 
save  for  those  from  whom  he  had  been  so 
long  parted.  Whilst  his  mind  was  filled 
with  sweet  loving  thoughts  of  his  dear  chil- 
dren and  parents,  kindred  and  friends,  he  was 
accosted  by  a  voice  he  could  not  fail  of  re- 
cognizing in  a  moment. 

"  Said  I  not  so,  my  lambkin  ?"  exclaimed 
Nurse  Cicely,  seeming  to  be  overjoyed  at 
beholding  her  foster-child  returning  to  his 


native  town  in  so  gallant  a  fashion.  She 
stood  in  the  very  same  spot  where  he  had 
last  seen  her  and  he  now  remembered  the 
fair  hopes  she  had  given  him  when  he  was 
in  so  despairing  a  humor.  He  gladly  stop- 
ped and  greeted  the  old  affectionate  creature 
in  his  kindest  manner,  and  bid  her  be  of  good 
heart,  for  he  would  visit  her  anon,  which  put 
her  in  such  garrulous  contentation,  she  went 
off  to  her  gossips,  and  would  talk  of  nothing 
else.  Everything  seemed  just  as  he  had  left 
it,  and  his  old  acquaintances  appeared  in  no 
way  altered, — save  only  Skinny  Dickon, 
who  had  grown  to  be  as  stout  a  man  as  any 
in  the  town.  As  he  rode  by,  there  stood 
the  Widow  Pippins,  leaning  over  the  rail  in 
her  gallery,  laughing  with  as  notable  a 
heartiness  as  ever,  at  no  other  than  that  still 
most  miserable  of  constables,  Oliver  Dumps, 
upon  whom  it  looked  monstrous,  like  as  if 
she  had  been  playing  some  of  her  jests. — 
There  sat  the  two  merry  wives-,  Mistress 
Dowlas  and  Mistress  Malmsey,  gossipping 
at  the  iatter's  casement,  whilst  the  worthy 
aldermen,  their  husbands,  were  standing  at 
their  several  doors,  shouting  little  matters  of 
news  across  the  street ;  there  was  Mother 
Flytrap  and  Dame  Laaibswool,  Maud  and 
her  partner  Humphrey,  gaping  with  open 
mouths  at  the  approaching  cavalcade  till  the 
latter,  recognizing  his  old  master's  son, 
threw  up  his  cap  in  the  air,  and  shouted  hia 
congratulations  in  so  hearty  a  manner,  the 
whole  town  were  soon  made  acquainted 
with  their  visitor.  All  this  was  exquisite 
to  William  Shakspeare ;  but  when,  on  en- 
tering Henly  Street,  he  beheld  his  honest 
old  father  in  his  homely  jerkin,  standing  at 
the  door  looking  to  see  what  made  that  sud- 
den outcry,  his  feelings  became  so  powerful, 
he  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  rode  up  to  the 
door  as  rapidly  as  he  could  ;  but  the  joyful 
cry  to  his  dame  of  John  Shakspeare,  as  he 
beheld  his  son,  brought  out  the  fond  mother 
in  a  marvellous  haste,  and  the  young  player 
was  scarce  free  of  his  saddle  when  he  found 
her  loving  arms  around  his  neck.  A  few 
minutes  after,  his  happiness  was  completed 
by  holding  in  his  tender  embraces  first  one 
and  then  the  other  of  his  dear  children  ;  and 
this  he  did  in  such  a  manner  as  seemed  to 
show  he  knew  not  which  of  the  three  he 
ought  to  love  the  most. 

"  Ah  !"  exclaimed  the  youthful  father,  in 
an  impassioned  burst  of  tenderness,  as  he 
pressed  them  in  his  fond  embrace, — the 
others,  with  delighted  aspects,  noting  his 
famous  enjoyment,  "  Such  sweet  happiness 
never  tasted  I  all  my  days  !  Who  would 
not  toil — who  would  not  suffer — who  would 


264 


THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


not  school  his  affections  unto  virtuous  hon- 
est purposes  through  the  bitterest  pangs  hu- 
manity hath  knowledge  of,  to  crown  his  la- 
bor with  pleasure  of  so  sterling  a  sort  ? — 


Truly,  methinks  such  glad  otMviions  prove 
with  the  choicest  of  argun-«n*,  all  else  but 
goodness  is  utter  folly,  and  as  abssrtrtv  des- 
perate ignorance  as  ever  existed." 


j  HERE   ENDETH   THE    STORY    OF 

THE   YOUTH   OF   SHAKSPEARE. 


NOTE. — The  courteous  reader,  with  a  very  bounteous  kindness,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped,  not 
without  a  fair  entertainment,  hath  thus  far  proceeded  with  the  moving  history  of  this  truly  glo- 
rious character  ;  yet  if  he'loveth  the  subject  as  it  deserves  he  should,  he  ought  in  no  manner  to 
be  content  here  to  stop  ;  but  proceed  with  a  proper  diligence  to  the  perusal  of  what  is  set  dowh 
concerning  of  his  after  brilliant  career,  and  likewise  of  those  master  spirits  of  the  age  by  whom 
he  got  to  be  surrounded,  which,  with  other  matters  of  a  like  enticing  sort,  to  wit,  most  stirring 
adventures — most  delicate  love-scenes — most  choice  humors^ind  exquisite  witty  jests,  he  may 
count  on  having  famous  store  of  (else  sundry  notable  critics  err  hugely)  in  the  company  of 
"  Shakspeare  and  his  Friends." 


/;i\B 

Itzfl&r    ^^si&^^r ,-,  w\  WK 


SHAKSPEARE 


(Efjc  ©olton  age  of  itterrg  €nalanii 


BY   THE    AUTHOR    OP 

THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE." 


s      e  was  gente,  an    te  eements 
So  mixed  in  him.  that  Nature  might  stand  up. 
And  say  to  k»l  the  world.—"  This  was  a  man." 
JUL  'is  CXSA* 


NEW  YORK : 

STRINGER  &  TOWNSF.ND 


OF 


SHAKSPEARE  AID  HIS  FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come, 

And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine 

Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 

Why  should  a  man  whose  blood  is  warm  within 

Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster  ? 

Sleep  when  he  wakes  ? — and  creep  into  the  jaundice 

By  being  peevish?  SHAKSPEAKE. 


•  Soul  of  the  age  ! 


Th'  applause,  delight,— the  wonder  of  our  stage  ! 
My  Shakspeare,  rise  !  BEN  JONSON. 

I  PRYTHEE  have  patience,  courteous 
reader !  the  whilst  I  describe  a  certain 
chamber  well  worthy  of  most  minute  de- 
lineation— as  thou  wilt  see  anon — from 
its  having  been  the  retreat,  or  closet,  or 
place  retired  from  the  public  eye,  in 
which  the  master  spirit  of  his  age,  and 
the  glory  of  all  times  to  come,  did  first 
develop  those  right  famous  qualities  from 
which  the  world  hath  received  such  in- 
finite profit  and  delight.  I  will  not 
trouble  thee  with  a  vain  show  of  phrases 
architectural,  which  crabbed  antiquari- 
ans do  much  affect ;  for  I  am  not  learned 
in  the  mystery  of  stone  and  timber;  but 
what  true  heart  and  simple  skill  can  do 
with  language,  will  I  essay,  to  give  thee 
an  accurate  conception  of  a  place  that 
hath  so  many  admirable  recommenda- 
tions to  thy  attention. 

It  was  a  room  of  no  extraordinary  di- 
mensions, yet  was  it  not  stinted  to  space. 
The  ceiling  was  of  a  moderate  height, 
and  the  sides  of  the  chamber  were^  of 
oak,  the  panels  of  which  were  adorned 
with  a  goodly  show  of  delicate  tracery, 
like  unto  the  folds  of  linen :  and  round 
the  chimney-piece  was  a  most  liberal  dis- 


play of  carving,  in  fruits  and  foliage. 
A  large  vase  of  living  flowers,  that  filled 
the  chamber  with  a  ravishing  sweetness, 
stood  beside  the  fire-dogs.  One  broad 
casement,  con^posed  of  many  little  panes 
let  into  pieces  of  lead,  looked  out  upon 
the  river,  and  the  centre  part  of  it  being 
open  like  a  door,  at  divers  times  might 
be  heard  the  mellow  "  ye,  ho !"  of  the 
bargeman  working  his  oar,  as  he  piloted 
his  heavy  craft  toward  the  city  wharves , 
or,  mayhap,  softened  in  the  distance,  the 
burden  of  a  popular  ballad,  sung  by  a 
party  of  merry  apprentices  going  a  pleas- 
uring on  the  water.  At  one  end  of  the 
room  there  rested  on  the  oak  floor  a  large 
heavy  press  of  dark  walnut-tree  wood, 
ornamented  with  rude  carvings  of  Adam 
and  Eve,  and  the  tree  of  knowledge  ;  and 
opposite  stood  an  ancient  bookcase,  the 
shelves  of  which  supported  a  number  of  fa- 
mous black-letter  volumes,  folios  and  oth- 
ers, cased  in  parchment  or  roan  bindings. 
On  several  narrow,  high-backed  chairs, 
of  carved  oak,  might  be  seen  different 
articles  of  apparel — a  hat  on  one,  a  cloak 
on  another,  and  mayhap,  a  rapier  resting 
against  a  third.  In  one  corner  were  sup- 
dry  swords  and  a  matchlock  ;  in  another, 
divers  pieces  of  old  armor.  An  empty 
tankard,  and  the  remains  of  the  morning 
repast,  stood  upon  a  large  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  chamber;  and  near  the 
window,  before  a  smaller  table  covered 
with  papers,  and  in  an  antique  arm-chair, 
sat  its  illustrious  occupant. 

Although  his  hose  were  ungartered, 
and  his  doublet  had  been  left  unbraced, 
his  right  noble  countenance  and  worship- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Ail  bearing  left  not  the  spectator  opportu- 
nity to  notice  the  negligence  of  his  attire. 
His  face,  which  was  of  a  manly  age — 
two  years  short  of  thirty — had  been  most 
providentially  fashioned, — with  a  fore- 
head of  marvellous  capacity — eyes  mild, 
yet  lively  withal — a  mouth  impressed 
with  a  very  amatory  eloquence — and  a 
beard  of  a  perfect  gravity.  Nor  were  his 
limbs  of  a  less  favorable  mould.  In  fact, 
he  was  a  man  of  multitudinous  good 
graces.  I  would  there  were  more  such. 
Many  such  there  never  can  be,  for  admi- 
rable as  he  was  in  person,  he  was  siill 
more  estimable  in  mind  ;  and  the  union 
of  these  excellences  in  a  like  liberal  pro- 
portion is  of  such  rarity,  that  peradven- 
ture  the  example  will  last  out  the  world. 

I  am  but  a  sorry  limner  ;  but  had  I  the 
art  of  Master  Holbein,  of  famous  mem- 
ory, I  could  not  hope,  in  a  portrait,  to  do 
him  justice ;  nevertheless,  as  what  the 
original  hath  done  hath  been  so  singu- 
larly well  liked,  I  despair  nol  that  pos- 
terity will  give  him  proper  countenance. 
However,  suffice  it  to  say,  he  sat  writing 
with  a  creditable  diligence ;  ever  and 
anon  leaning  against  his  seat,  abstracted- 
ly as  it  were ;  and  when  he  had  suffi- 
ciently pqndered  on  the  matter  with 
which  he  was  in  progress,  his  pen  re- 
sumed its  path  along  the  paper  with  ad- 
ditional speed.  Sometimes  he  would 
smile  as  he  wrote,  as  if  tickled  with  the 
creations  of  his  own  fancy ;  and  once  his 
humor  seemed  so  touched  with  some  pal- 
pable conceit,  that  he  cast  down  the  pen, 
and  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
did  laugh  right  heartily.  At  other  times, 
when  he  appeared  to  have  written  pas- 
sages of  a  graver  purport,  which  gave 
him  more  than  passable  satisfaction,  he 
took  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and  did  read 
aloud,  with  a  rich  voice  and  a  most  feli- 
citous expression  ;  and  of  a  verity,  never 
was  the  air  so  filled  with  delectable 
thoughts.  At  this  time  there  was  heard 
a  knocking  at  the  door.  "  Come  in  !" 
exclaimed  he  ;  and  thereupon  entered 
one  apparelled  like  a  young  gallant,  with 
hat  and  feather  of  a  goodly  fashion,  a  del- 
icate satin  doublet,  an  excellent  fine  ruff, 
a  cloak  worn  daintily  on  the  shoulder, 
and  a  long  rapier  fastened  to  his  side  : 
trunks  prettily  cut  and  embroidered,  with 
silk  hose  and  ruffled  boots. 

"  Ah,  Dick !"  said  he  in  the  chair, 
laughingly,  as  he  recognised  the  good- 
humored  features  of  his  visiter,  and 
scrutinizing  his  attire  as  he  closed  the 
door  and  was  advancing  into  the  room, 
"  I'faith  thou  lookest  as  fine  as  a  snake 


that  hath  just  cast  its  skin  ;  and,"  added 
he,  with  more  emphasis,  "  art  as  useful 
to  any  good  purpose  I'll  be  bound." 

"Will!  Will!  thou  hast  a  most  ma- 
lignant wit !"  cried  the  other,  as  he  ap- 
proached his  friend  with  mock  gravity, 
and  shook  him  earnestly  by  the  hand. 
"  But  what  thinkest  thou  of  these  brave- 
ries ?"  said  he,  standing  as  upright  as  he 
might,  spreading  out  his  cloak,  and  read- 
justing his  hat.  "  I  fancied  that  we,  the 
queen's  majesty's  poor  players,  ought  to 
dress  as  becomes  the  queen's  majesty, 
and  therefore  have  I  robed  myself  anew. 
What  thinkest  thou  of  the  cock  of  this 
hat?  'Tis  in  admirable  conceit,  is  it 
not  ? — and  the  feather — doth  it  not  hang 
marvellously  well  ?  Doth  not  this  cloak 
become  me  infinitely  ?  and  the  slashing 
of  this  doublet,  is  it  not  of  the  most  super- 
lative fashion  ?" 

"  In  truth,  Dick,"  remarked  his  com- 
panion, drily,  as  he  pushed  back  his 
chair  to  take  a  better  view  of  his  visiter, 
"  I've  seen  many  a  jackdaw  cut  a  finer 
figure  ?" 

"A  plague  on  thy  pestilent  jests  !"  ex- 
claimed the  other  with  assumed  indigna- 
tion. 

"  But  as  thou  askest  for  my  opinion," 
he  resumed,  "  I  will  tell  thee.  Didst  thou 
wish  to  attire  thyself  as  becometh  the 
queen's  majesty,  thou  shouldst  have  had 
recourse  to  the  queen's  majesty's  ward- 
robe :  for  in  honest  truth,  Dick,  I  do  not 
think  thy  present  dress  would  become 
that  illustrious  princess  in  the  smallest 
degree" 

"  Oh  thou  pernicious  varlet !" 

"As  for  the  cock  of  thy  hat,  'tis  cer- 
tainly in  admirable  conceit,  or  rather,  the 
conceit  is  in  it,  for  thy  head  is  in  it ;  and 
I  do  not  flatter  thee  when  I  say  there  is 
no  lack  of  conceit  there." 

"Perdition  seize  thy  wit !" 

"  Thy  feather  doth  hang  marvel- 
lously well — i'faith  I  doubt  much  if  thou 
wouldst  hang  better  thyself." 

"Enough,  enough,  Will,"  t,3.gerly  ex- 
claimed his  associate,  putting  his  hands 
together,  as  if  begging  for  mercy ;  "  if 
thou  hast  any  bowels  of  compassion, 
spare  me." 

"  And  if  thou  wert  half  as  well  slashed 
as  thy  doublet,"  continued  his  friend,  in- 
attentive to  his  remonstrance,  "  I  think 
thou  wouldst  be  in  a  much  more  superla- 
tive fashion  than  thou  art  now." 

"O'my  word,  Will,"  said  the  other, 
laughing,  as  he  took  off  his  hat  and  flung 
himself  into  a  chair,  "  thou  art  all  points, 
like  a  I'^dgehog,  or  like  the  naughty  girl 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


in  the  story-book,  out  of  thy  mouth  there 
cometh  nothing  but  venemous  things." 

"  But  what  mercer  art  thou  attempting 
to  ruin  ?"  inquired  his  companion. 

"  A  fig  for  the  mercer — 'tis  the  mer- 
cer's daughter  I  seek  !"  replied  his  guest. 

"  Attempt  to  ruin  a  mercer's  daugh- 
ter !"  exclaimed  the  other,  half  starting 
from  his  chair  with  affected  surprise. 
"  Fie  on  thee,  for  a  reprobate!  thou  art 
enough  to  corrupt  us  all ;  thou  wilt  have 
the  whole  city  up  in  arms  against  us,  and 
we  shall  be  obliged  to  fly  from  the  Bank- 
side  to  escape  the  stocks." 

"  I  meant  not  that,  Will — I  am  a 
neathen  if  I  meant  that ;  but  thou  know- 
est  my  failing — I  am  always  after  the 
women.  Oh,  those  exquisite,  sweet  crea- 
tures !" 

"  Thou  shouldst  have  more  ambition, 
Dick  ;  precedency  is  man's  natural  right 
in  such  instances,  but  if  thou  art  always 
after  the  women,  thou  canst  never  hope 
to  get  before  them." 

"  Thou  hast  me  again,"  cried  his  com- 
panion, as  he  threw  himself  back  in  his 
seat  to  give  vent  to  his  laughter;  "I 
would  as  soon  attempt  to  parry  jests  with 
thee  as  to  eat  thistles  with  a  jackass ;  so 
take  thy  fill,  and  be  hanged  to  thee.  But 
I  tell  thee  how  it  is,  Will :  This  mercer's 
daughter  is  said  to  be  the  richest  heiress 
in  the  city.  I  saw  her  at  the  Bear  gar- 
den with  the  old  hunks  her  father,  whom 
she  ruleth  most  filially  ;  and  observing 
that  she  had  an  eye  like  Venus" 

"  Only  one,  Dick  ?"  inquired  his  com- 
panion, innocently. 

"  Two,  or  I'm  a  sinner,"  replied  he — 
"and  a  bust  like  Juno:  ay,  and  every 
grace  that  all  Olympus  possessed.  In 
brief,  a  beauty  of  such  ravishing  perfec- 
tions, that  immediately  I  found  her  gaze 
upon  me,  I  felt  as  many  of  Cupid's  ar- 
rows in  my  heart  as  there  are  pins  in  her 
huswife,  and  thereupon  fell  most  conti- 
nently in  love." 

"  With  her  father's  strong  box,  Dick  ?" 
asked  the  other. 

"With  her  own  sweet  self,  thou  ag- 
gravating varlet.     I  presently  made  up 
to  the  father,  and  did  enter  into  very  so- 
oer  discourse,  till  I  found  I  had  got  hold 
of  the  daughter's  ear,  and  then  I  pointed  ', 
out  the  persons  of  distinction  in  the  com- 
pany, and  seasoned  my  conversation  with 
some   delicate   compliments,   all   which 
she  did  receive  in  very  good  fashion,  re-  ; 
warding  me  with  such  looks  from  her 
soft  hazel  eyes  as  warmed  my  veins  like 
£  stoup  of  canary.    The  old  fellow  courte-  i 
ously  invited  me  to  his  house,  and  the 


dear  wench  did  repeat  some  most  enti- 
cing words,  which  sent  me  to  the  mer- 
cer's in  a  presently.  To  please  him,  1 
ordered  these  fallals,  and  to  please  her,  I 
wear  them.  I  met  her  by  appointment 
since  then  in  Paul's  Walk,  and  after  that 
she  gave  me  some  delicious  interviews 
alone  in  her  father's  dwelling,  of  which 
I  made  right  profitable  use.  I  tell  thee, 
she  is  ready  to  melt  in  my  arms." 

"A  wax  doll  would  do  the  same,  Dick,*' 
drily  remarked  the  other,  "if  thou  wert 
warm  enough." 

"Away  with  thy  pestilent  similes!" 
exclaimed  his  guest,  starting  up  from  his 
seat,  as  if  in  anger ;  then,  resuming  his 
place,  continued  :  "  She  showed  me  yes- 
terday a  sonnet,  or  some  other  pernicious 
mischief  of  the  kind,  which  had  been 
written  in  commendation  of  her  beauty 
— perhaps  by  some  crazy  engrosser  of 
parchments.  The  plague  of  bad  clients 
be  upon  him  ! — and  asked  me  to  try  what 
I  could  do  in  that  way.  Now,  unless  I 
can  produce  some  such  verses — my  mal- 
ediction rest  upon  Apollo  and  all  his  gen- 
eration ! — I  feel  assured  I  may  spare  my- 
self the  trouble  pf  venturing  within  the 
precincts  of  her  tenement.  Thou  know- 
est  I  could  as  soon  fly  as  rhyme.  I  have 
scratched  my  head  till  it  ached,  and 
looked  up  to  the  ceiling  till  my  neck  was 
as  stiff  as  my  ruff;  but  if  ever  I  succeeded 
in  making  reason  of  my  rhyme,  or  rhyme 
of  my  reason,  I'm  worse  than  a  Jew.  So 
I  tell  thee  what,  sweet  Will,  thou  shalt 
help  me  in  this  strait  with  thine  own  un- 
paralleled talents,  and  if  I  be  not  grate- 
ful, call  me  a  dog." 

"  Dog,  quotha !"  cried   the  other,   in 
seeming  amazement ;  "art  thou  not  the 
j  veriest  dog  that  howls  o'  nights  ?    What 
:  a  face  hast  thou,  thou  impudent  varlet, 
after  having,  with  thy  miserable  breath, 
cursed  Apollo  and  all  his  generation,  to 
come,  cap  in  hand,  to  one  of  the  humblest 
of  his  followers !     Go  to,  I'll  ha'  none  o' 
thee  !     I  abandon  thee  to  the  fury  of  the 
immortal  gods." 

"  Nay,  but,  sweet  Will." 

"  Ay,  '  sweet  Will '  thou  callest  me 
now  ;  yet  a  moment  since  I  was  likened 
to  a  jackass  eating  thistles.  Hast  thou 
no  shame?  Dost  think,  because  thine 
own  wretched  hack  will  not  stir  a  foot, 
that  thou  shalt  ride  on  my  Pegasus  ?  I'm 
an  oyster  if  I  let  thee." 

"What!  not  assist  thy  old  friend  and 
co/nrade  ?"  asked  the  other,  in  the  same 
bantering  tone  he  had  used  from  the  first : 
"  how  often  have  I  done  thee  a  good  turn 
that  way  ?  Dost  remember,  in  merry 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Stratford,  when  we  were  both  boys,  yet 
with  an  intolerant  inclination  for  the  hon- 
ors of  manhood,  how  often  I  did  lead  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy's  gamekeeper  in  search  of 
imaginary  deer-stealers,  whilst  thou  wert 
courting  his  niece  in  the  shrubbery  ?" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  thou  hast  me  there,  Dick," 
replied  his  friend,  unable  to  refrain  from 
laughing  at  the  odd  associations  which 
came  crowding  to  his  memory  ;  "  thou 
hast  me  there  of  a  surety.  Ah,  Kate ! 
she  was  a  delectable  little  gipsey,  with  a 
most  enticing  ankle,  and  a  smile  that 
would  thaw  a  six  weeks'  frost.  But  dost 
forget  thine  own  tricks,  old  memoran- 
dum ?  Hast  forgot  when  thou  wert  lay- 
ing siege  to  Barbara,  the  sexton's  pretty 
daughter,  behind  the  church,  how  I,  with 
a  sheet  I  had  stolen  for  the  nonce,  and 
a  turnip-lantern  and  candle,  did  stalk 
through  the  churchyard,  to  keep  the  folks 
from  disturbing  thee — to  the  horror  of 
the  whole  neighborhood,  and  the  near 
frightening  to  death  of  three  ancient 
spinsters,  two  drunken  ploughboys,  and 
the  parish  constable  ?" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  shouted  the  other, 
with  an  obstreperous  fit  of  mirth,  "  'tis  as 
true  as  life ;  I'm  nothing  better  than  a 
Turk,  if  every  word  isn't  gospel.  But," 
added  he,  gravely,  "  who  could  imagine 
Master  William  Shakspeare  playing  the 
ghost  in  a  country  churchyard  ?" 

"  Or  Master  Richard  Burbage  playing 
the  lover  to  a  sexton's  daughter  ?" 

And  thereupon  the  two  worthies  did 
.augh  till  the  tears  ran  down  their  cheeks, 
and  for  some  time  every  word  they  added 
seemed  to  act  as  a  provocative  to  their 
mirth. 

"  I'faith,  after  all's  said  and  done,"  ob- 
served Master  Shakspeare,  when  he  had 
recovered  his  gravity,  "  'twas  most  ex- 
quisite fooling." 

"  I'faith  it  was,"  said  Master  Burbage. 
"  But  thou  wilt  let  me  have  the  verses  ?" 
he  added,  as  he  sauntered  up  to  the  table. 
"  Ay,  marry  will  I,  for  old  acquaint- 
ance sake,"  replied  his  friend,  and  imme- 
diately did  search  among  his  papers,  from 
which  he  presently  selected  one.  Scru- 
tinizing it  earnestly,  he  continued — "  Ha  ! 
here  is  a  string  of  idle  rhymes  that  may- 
hap may  suit  thy  purpose,  and  thy  mer- 
cer's daughter  also.  I  think  of  it  indif- 
ferently ;  nay,  I  will  acknowledge  I  fancy 
'tis,  rather  discreditable  to  me ;  but  each 
has  his  own  taste,  and  therefore  it  may 
stand  a  chance  of  pleasing  thy  inamorata. 
Listen,  and  I  will  read  it  to  thee." 

Master  Burbage  did  lean  his  elbow  on 
the  table,  having  his  body  bent  forward, 


and  supporting  his  head  with  h;s  nand  , 
and  kept  a  profound  attention  whilst 
Master  Shakspeare  read  the  following 
lines : — 

"  The  Time  hath  passed  for  godlike  forms 

To  leave  awhile  their  starry  homes, 
And  throw,  'mid  human  clouds  and  storms, 

Elysian  joy  on  mortal  domes. 
The  Time  hath  passed  when  Phoebus  flung 

His  golden  spells  on  laughing  earth  ; 
And  ev'ry  field  and  forest  rung 

With  hymns  of  bliss,  and  shouts  of  mirth. 
Chaste  Dian's  silv'ry  voice  is  mute, 

The  Sea  Nymphs  dance  not  on  the  shore  , 
Sjlent  Is  now  the  Dryad's  flute, 

And  Pan's  sweet  reed  is  heard  no  more. 
E'en  Love  hath  folded  up  his  wings, 

And  from  his  hand  his  bow  hath  cast  ; 
Apollo's  lyre  hath  lost  its  strings, 

Its  tune  hath  fled— THE  TIME  HATH  PASSSB 

"  Gone  are  the  glorious  visitants 

Who  gave  this  world  so  bright  a  grace, 
And  Grief  and  Care — a  thousand  wants, 

And  endless  crimes,  are  in  their  place  ; 
Unhonored  is  the  poet's  lay 

That  once  made  all  Olympus  glad  ; 
And  Worth  is  left  to  beg  its  way, 

Or  perish  with  the  mean  and  bad. 
And  I,  who  strove  with  heart  and  mind, 

That  famished  souls  might  break  their  fa»t, 
Discover  now  that  Heaven  is  blind, 

The  world  is  dead— THE  TIME  HATH  PAIMJ  i 

"  Oh,  no,  the  Time's  restored,  again, 

And  with  it  all  its  gladdening  shapes. 
The  whilst,  from  off  the  breast  and  brain, 

The  cloud  in  which  they  lay,  escapes. 
Phcebus  in  thy  bright  shape  returns. 

Thy  word's  chaste  Dian's  voice  enslave, 
For  thee  the  Sea  Nymphs'  crystal  urns, 

When  in  the  bath  thy  limbs  must  lave. 
Love  in  thine  eyes  hath  ta'en  new  ground, 

And  keeps  his  sharp  artillery  there  ; 
The  breeze  Apollo's  strings  hath  found, 

And  stirs  them  in  thy  golden  hair  ; 
And  as  for  Pan's  Arcadian  reed, 

Tuned  with  the  Dryads'  measured  trips, 
What  blissful  melodies  exceed 

The  music  breathing  from  thy  lips  ? 
Well  cared  for  is  the  green  earth  still, 

When  round  thee  all  Olympus  glows  ; 
Well  honored  is  the  poet's  skill, 

When  worth  like  thine  its  praise  bestows. 
Then  blessings  be  upon  thy  path, 

And  joy  that  no  ill  breath  can  blast 
Be  with  thee — now  the  world's  poor  wrath 

Can  harm  me  not— THE  TIME  HATH  PASSED  !" 

"  Excellent  good,  i'faith  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Burbage,  delightedly.  "  Excel- 
lent good  !  If  she  tie  not  satisfied  with 
it,  nothing  less  than  another  Iliad  will 
gratify  her  cormorant  fancy.  Give  me 
the  paper,  sweet  Will !  Dan  Homer  was 
a  blind  ballad-monger  to  thee,  thou  prince 
of  rhymers." 

"  A  vaunt,  thou  horrid  flatterer  !"  cried 
Master  Shakspeare,  as  he  allowed  his 
companion  to  conceal  the  verses  in  his 
purse.  "  But  'tis  poor  fishing  with  other 
folks'  tackle,  Dick,"  he  added,  in  his  own 
facetious  way. 

"  Faith,  I  care   not  an'  I   have  good 

sport:   and  I'll  pay  thee  for  thy  tackle 

with  a  loose  fish  or  two,"  replied  the  oth- 

i  er,  with  a  '•Buckle  of  inward  satisfaction. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  I'll  ha'  none  o'  thy  gudgeons,"  said 
his  friend,  with  mock  disdain.  "  When 
I  fish  I  catch  whales." 

"  Then  hast  thou  a  very  blubberly 
taste,"  rejoined  Master  Burbage,  "  and 
when  I  want  salve  for  a  wound  I'll  come 
to  thee ;  for  thou  must  have  a  most  in- 
finite stock  of  spermaceti." 

Thus  they  proceeded,  bantering  and 
laughing  at  one  another,  and  indulging 
their  humors  with  perfect  satisfaction  to 
themselves,  when  a  knock  was  heard  at 
the  door,  and  admittance  being  granted, 
there  entered  a  man  of  a  pleasant  aspect, 
and  of  spare  figure,  not  so  gayly  gar- 
mented as  Master  Burbage,  yet  having 
much  of  the  outward  appearance  of  re- 
spectability. 

"  Welcome,  good  Lazarus  Fletcher. 
Welcome  !"  cried  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Hail  to  thee,  Lazarus  !"  added  Mas- 
ter Burbage,  in  his  usual  jocose  manner. 
"  Hast  thou  come  to  the  rich  man's  table, 
Lazarus  ?  Look  for  the  crumbs,  man  ! 
Look  for  the  crumbs !  and  thou  art  not 
like  to  get  anything  else ;  for  the  table 
hath  nothing  better  than  a  bare  trencher 
and  an  empty  tankard.  Catch  the  crumbs 
that  hath  fallen  then,  for,  in  truth,  thou 
lookest  wofully  like  a  right  .hungry  Laz- 
arus. " 

"If  I  look  as  hungry  as  Lazarus,  thou 
lookest  as  fine  as  Dives,"  retorted  Master 
Fletcher. 

"  What,  be  there  no  dogs  to  lick  this 
Lazarus,  that  he  seemeth  so  woundily 
sore  ?"  said  the  other.  "  But  I  tell  thee 


Fletcher ;  for  that  there  is  something  in 
the  book  is  evident  in  the  index — thou 
looke'st  as  important  as  a  tailor's  wife 
threading  her  husband's  needle." 

"  O'  my  troth,  I  have  something  worth 
the  telling,"  replied  he. 

'  Disburthen  thyself  then,  and  quickly, 
good  Lazarus,"  observed  Master  Shaks- 
peare. 

"  There  hath  a  message  come  from  the 
master  of  the  Revels,  worthy  Master  Ed- 
mond  Tilney,"  said  Master  Fletcher,  "  to 
the  intent  that  it  be  the  design  of  the 
queen's  majesty,  with  divers  of  her  hon- 
orable court,  to  honor  her  poor  players 
with  a  visit ;  and  leaving  Hearings  and 
Condell  and  the  rest  to  prepare  for  her 
reception,  I  posted  off  here,  as  Master 
Burbage  had  left  word  that  he  would  be 
found  at  Master  Shakspeare's  lodgings. 

"  Hurrah  !"  shouted  Master  Burbage, 
snatching  up  his  hat  and  waving  it  over 
his  head,  "  we'll  have  a  right  worshipful 
audience.  Heaven  preserve  her  majesty, 
and  enrich  her  servants,  say  I.  Come 
along,  good  Lazarus  !"  he  added,  as  he 
caught  his  brother  actor  by  the  arm,  "  we 
must  to  the  playhouse." 

"  I  will  be  with  thee  anon,  Dick,"  said 
Master  Shakspeare,  as  his  visiters  were 
proceeding  to  the  door.  "  But  I  have  a 
letter  to  write  to  my  Lord  Southampton, 
to  thank  him  for  yonder  exquisite  present 
of  flowers  he  hath  sent  me  from  his  own 
garden,  and  to  acquaint  him  with  our 
proceedings  with  the  court  of  aldermen, 
touching  our  threatened  liberties,  at  the 


Blackfriars." 

Success  attend  thee,  Will,  in  all  thy 


what,  Lazarus,    an'  thou    ever   liest  in 
Abraham's  bosom,  thou  hadst  best  tuck 

up  thine  ankles,  for  thou  must  needs  find  ;  doings,"  exclaimed  his  friend,  and  put- 
there  a  plentiful  lack  of  bed-room."          1  ting  on  his  hat  he  led  his  companion  out 

"  Mind     not    the     reprobate,    worthy  I  of  the  chamber. 

Fletcher,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare —  j      Master  Shakspeare    being  left  alone, 
yet  unable  to  refrain  from  laughing.  '  did  presently  draw  up  his  chair  closer  to 

"  Marry,  why  should  I  mind  him,"  re-  the  table  on  which  he  had  been  writing, 
plied  the  other,  "  he  only  showeth  that  and  did  recommence  his  labors  with  an 
he  hath  a  spice  of  the  ability  of  Sam-  admirable  diligence.  Mayhap  he  was 
son :  for  he  maketh  a  goodly  use  of  the  engaged  in  the  inditing  of  one  of  those 
jawbone  of  an  ass."  ;  right  famous  plays  which  did  bring  so 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  shouted  Master  Shakspeare,  much  honor  to  his  name  ;  but  know  I  not 
chafing  his  hands  in  the  intensity  of  his  this  for  a  surety  ;  and  as  a  trusty  chroni- 
delight.  "  Spare  him  not,  good  Lazarus :  cler,  I  will  only  subscribe  to  that  of  which 
an;  thou  loveth  me,  spare  him  not.''  I  have  a  perfect  knowledge.  However, 
Then  looking  toward  his  friend,  he  added,  it  be  certain  that  he  had  not  been  long 
"  I'faith,  Dick,  thou  hast  found  thy  ,  so  engaged,  when  a  third  knock  was 
match."  '  heard  at  the  door,  so  gentle  it  was  scarce- 

"  Match  !"  exclaimed  Master  Burbage,  ly  audible  ;  and  although  he  seemed  at 
turning  sharp  rouad  from  the  casement  first  somewhat  impatient  of  interruption 
out  of  which  he  had  that  moment  been  (for  no  man  liketh  to  be  much  disturbed 
leaning,  "ay,  marry!  and  like  other  in  his  privacy),  when,  upon  his  giving 
matches — all  the  good  lieth  in  the  brim-  permission  to  the  person  to  enter,  he  ob- 
s'one.  Bur  tell  us  thy  news,  Master  served  his  visiter,  he  gave  him  most  cour- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


teous  welcome  He  was  a  youth,  aged 
seventeen,  or  thereabouts,  tall,  slim, .and 
elegant,  and  though  clad  in  homelv  rus- 
set, there  was  that  in  his  graceful  car- 
riage, and  in  his  mild  yet  thoughtful  coun- 
tenance, that  did  signify  something  of  a 
far  higher  quality  than  such  poor  apparel 
did  denote.  But  most  remarkable  was 
me  exceeding  modesty  of  his  deportment. 
He  opened  and  closed  the  door  almost 
tremblingly,  and  respectfully  taking  off 
his  hat,  advanced  into  the  room  witn 
downcast  eyes,  t«  the  great  marvel  of  our 
illustrious  poet. 

"  I  took  the  boldness,  Master  Shaks- 
peare,"  said  the  youth  falieringly,  as  he 
kept  smoothing  his  hat  with  his  hand 
where  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
chamber — "  I  took  the  boldness  some 
time  since  to  send  you  a  tragedy  of  my 
poor  contrivance ;  hoping,  from  what  I 
had  heard  of  your  worthy  disposition, 
that  you  would  honor  that  humble  at- 
tempt to  such  an  extent  as  to  give  it  your 
perusal ;  and  peradventure  if  such  an  ob- 
scure individual  be  not  thought  altogether 
unworthy  of  attention  from  one  so  excel- 
lently gifted  as  yourself,  you  will  favor 
me  so  far  as  to  grant  me  your  opinion  of 
its  matter  and  management." 

"  That  will  I,  worthy  sir,  without  fail," 
replied  Master  Shakspeare,  regarding 
his  young  visiter  with  a  more  'ban  ordi- 
nary interest.  "But  you  must  first  ac- 
quaint me  with  your  name,  and  the  title 
of  the  play  you  intrusted  to  my  custody  ; 
for  my  reputation,  however  little  deserved 
it  may  be,  and  my  influence  at  the  play- 
house, which  is  thought  to  be  greater 
than  it  is,  are  the  causes  of  my  being 
continually  applied  to  for  a  similar  pur- 
pose." 

"  The  tragedy  was  called  '  Hero  Lean- 
der,'  and  I  signed  my  name  '  Francis,'  " 
murmured  the  youth. 

"  Let  me  beg  of  you  to  be  seated,  wor- 
thy Master  Francis,"  exclaimed  (he  other, 
as  he  hastily  handed  him  a  chair.  "  I 
remember  it  well,"  he  added,  as  he 
searched  among  his  papers  on  the  table, 
"  by  the  token  that  it  did  contain  many 
passages  that  exhibited  no  mean  ability." 

The  melancholy  aspect  of  the  young 
stranger  did  brighten  up  marvellously  at 
the  hearing  of  this  commendation,  and 
his  eyes  looked  abundance  of  thanks. 
He  argued  the  most  favorable  conclusion 
from  so  promising  a  commencement,  for 
it  is  the  nature  of  youth  to  be  sanguine 
-pon  very  little  occasion. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Master  Shakspeare, 
as  he  laid  hold  of  the  manuscript  ;  and, 


opening  it,  sat  himself  down  in  the  chair, 
a«if  to  gi  veil  a  careful  examination  :  then 
added,  •'  but  in  all  honesty.  I  must  ac- 
knowledge that  it  hath  a  total  unh'tness  for 
representation."  At  this  the  youth's  coun- 
tenance became  blanched  with  a  sudden 
paleness.  "  It  haih  a  lack  of  everything 
which  is  most  necessary  for  a  drama  to 
have  :  to  wit,  action — interest — and  char- 
acter ; — the  which,  if  i  I  have  not,  were 
it  written  by  King  Solomon  himself,  or 
the  seven  wise  masters  in  conjunction,  it 
would  have  no  chance  with  our  modern 
audiences.  The  time  of  mysteries  and 
moralities  hath  gone  by.  People  now  will 
not  listen  to  dialogues  without  an  object, 
and  plays  without  a  plot.  David  hath 
ceased  to  abuse  Goliath  in  a  set  speech 
an  hour  long,  and  Joseph  lingereth  no 
longer  to  preach  a  thrice  tedious  sermon 
to  Potiphar's  wife.  If  a  play  have  not  ac- 
tion it  must  needs  have  but  little  interest ; 
for  although  something  may  occasionally 
be  done  in  a  narrative  form,  if  the  ball 
be  not  kept  up — that  is  to  say,  if  the 
dramatis  persona  be  doing  of  nothing — 
even  if  the  sentences  be  proverbs  of  wis- 
dom, then  shall  the  play  be  a  bad  play. 
Again,  if  the  characters  who  form  the 
plot  have  no  individuality  or  distinct  fea- 
tures, in  accordance  with  nature  or  prob- 
ability, though  they  look  like  Alexanders 
and  argue  like  Aristotles,  shall  the  play 
be  a  bad  play-  Your  tragedy,  Master 
Francis,  hath  these  particular  defects,  and 
I  should  be  hugely  deficient  in  candor,  and 
in  no  way  deserving  the  confidence  you 
have  been  pleased  to  place  in  me,  were  I 
to  refrain  from  telling  you  that  it  can  not 
be  acted  with  any  profit  either  to  your- 
self or  others.  There  is  another  objec- 
tion to  it — the  subject  hath  already  been 
done  by  Kit  Marlowe." 

Master  Shakspeare  observing  for  the 
first  time  that  the  lips  of  his  visiter  had 
lost  their  accustomed  ruddiness,  and  that 
he  did  look  most  despairing  and  wo-be- 
gone,  with  that  sweet  sympathy  which 
maketh  the  generous  so  fearful  of  giving 
pain  to  another,  instanily  began  to  turn 
over  the  leaves  of  Master  Francis  his 
play,  and  resumed  his  discourse.  "  But 
let  me  not  cause  you  to  imagine  that  I 
think  naught  of  your  tragedy,  Master 
Francis.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  so.  I 
do  consider  the  blank  verse  very  musical 
and  eloquent,  and  full  of  right  admirable 
conceits.  Here  is  a  passage  in  which  a 
lover,  expostulating  with  his  mistress, 
who  doth  affect  inconstancy  in  no  small 
measure,  sayeth  this  much  as  argument 
to  prove  the  unity  of  love : — 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


•"  Eff«t  and  cause— (tne  lover  and  the  loved) 
Are  consequence  and  origin  of  one 
Pure,  single,  and  connective  property — 
The  proud  desire  of  human  happiness  : 
Which  leads  one  spirit  to  another  one, 
One  heart  unto  its  fellow.    This  is  love, 
Which,  with  an  inclination  natural, 
And  fond  and  sweet,  and  generous  and  good, 
Ever  inclineth  one  sex  to  the  other 
To  realize  a  mutual  bliss.    The  two, 
In  pairs,  from  other  pairs  apart,  are  joined 
In  bonds  of  budding  hopes  and  blushing  joys  ; 
The  whilst  the  Social  Virtues  hand  in  hand, 
Linked  like  the  golden  rings  that  form  a  chain 
Of  precious,  priceless  worth,  circle  them  round, 
And  keep  off  from  the  temple  of  their  bliss, 
Unholy  thoughts,  false  gods,  and  evil  deeds.' 

"And   again,   in    continuation  of  the 
same  subject : — 

"  '  The  forest  tops 

Give  voices  to  the  wind,  and  there  the  dove 
Sits  with  her  mate  secure — with  heart  all  joy — 
In  inclination  uncorrupt— in  dreams 
That  are  reality :  and  still  her  breast 
With  passionate  ecstacy  heaves  tremblingly  ; 
There  is  a  stirring  gladness  in  her  eyes; 
There  is  a  thrilling  music  in  her  voice  ; 
For  she  doth  own  a  blessed  tranquillity. 
No  other  winged  one  can  seek  that  nest  : 
They  find  a  perfect  pleasure  in  themselves ; 
Their  lives  are  lor  each  other  ;  and  unknown 
Beyond  the  little  sanctuary  of  their  loves. 
Is  any  rapture  which  they  there  enjoy. 

14  '  If  Nature  then  declare  her  law  to  be 
That  one  alone  should  unto  one  be  fixed 
In  sacred  love  and  pure  devotedness. 
Shall  human  kind,  of  loving  things  the  best, 
The  noblest,  wisest,  and  the  most  divine, 
Give  that  in  partnership  to  more  than  one 
Which  one  alone  can  know  in  purity  ? 
Divide  this  precious  influence — 'tis  lost. 
The  moment  that  in  other  hands  'tis  placed 
Gone  is  the  golden  virtue  it  possessed. 
The  sage's  wisdom  is  his  own — the  wand 
Of  the  magician  doth  torget  its  charm 
With  one  who  hath  no  magic — strike  the  harp 
A  moment  since  so  eloquent  with  song 
Raised  by  the  Poet's  skill,  and  nothing  speaks 
But  what  is  dull,  and  harsh,  and  dissonant. 
And  why  is  this? — Because  in  natural  things, 
There  is  an  ownership  :  and  Love,  of  all 
Our  natural  gifts  most  natural, 
Admits  of  no  division  of  its  worth. 
We  can  not  set  one  gem  in  many  rings.' 

"  I  do  opine,  Master  Francis,"  contin- 
ued our  illustrious  dramatist,  with  a  look 
of  kindness  toward  his  young  companion, 
who  had  been  listening  with  delighted 
attention  to  Master  Shakspeare's  fault- 
less delivery  of  his  lines — "  I  do  opine 
that  there  is  much  admirable  matter  in 
these  words  ;  and  the  same  opinion  holds 
good  toward  other  passages  in  your  play, 
of  similar  excellence ;  which  plainly 
prove  to  me  that  there  is  no  lack  of 
promise  in  you.  But  be  not  too  hasty ; 
pluck  not  the  fruit  before  it  be  ripe,  else 
they  who  may  chance  to  taste  it  will 
make  wry  mouths.  If  you  would  take 
the  advice  of  one  willing  to  do  you  all 
manner  of  good  offices" — 
•  "  If  I  do  not,  I  should  be  the  most  un- 
worthy varlet  that  lives,"  exclaimed  Mas- 
ter Francis  warmly. 


"  You  will  wait  awhile  before  you  offer 
any  composition  to  the  public  eye,"  said 
Master  Shakspeare,  affecting  not  to  no- 
tice the  interruption  he  had  received,  yet 
being  much  pleased  thereat. — "  You  are 
young — your  knowledge  of  the  world 
must,  therefore,  be  scanty  :  and  although 
I  do  perceive  in  your  writings  a  compre- 
hensive acquaintance  with  books,  he  who 
writeth  tragedies  should  possess  an  equal 
knowledge  of  men  ;  therefore  I  do  advise 
you,  for  some  years  to  come,  to  study 
mankind,  if  you  entertain  any  desire  of 
taking  your  stand  among  our  English 
dramatists.  Moreover,  you  have  as  yet 
acquired  no  information  as  to  the  busi- 
ness of  the  stage — a  matter  of  vast  mo- 
ment toward  the  success  of  even  the  best 
play.  This  you  can  only  inform  yourself 
of  by  noting  what  others  have  done.  The 
most  effective  way  for  you  to  do  this  is  to 
come  to  us  at  the  playhouse,  where  you 
shall  have  free  ingress  and  egress  upon 
every  fitting  occasion :  and  I  will  forward 
your  interest  in  all  that  my  poor  skill  or 
influence  can  effect." 

The  tone  of  kindness  with  which  these 
last  sentences  were  delivered,  seemed  to 
have  a  most  powerful  effect  upon  the  lis- 
tener;  indeed  it  had  gone  direct  to  his 
heart,  and  he  sat  for  some  seconds  per- 
fectly unable  to  utter  a  syllable. 

"  Is  there  anything  more  I  can  do  for 
you?"  inquired  Master  Shakspeare,  re- 
garding the  changing  color  and  modest 
demeanor  of  his  visiter  with  increasing 
interest.  •'  Though  I  seek  not  to  make  a 
i  boast  of  it,  I  have  some  powerful  friends, 
to  whom,  peradventure,  my  recommenda- 
tion would  do  good  service,  if  ventured  in 
behalf  of  one  of  your  excellent  parts  and 
disposition." 

"Oh,  Master  Shakspeare!"  murmured 
the  youth,  looking  up  to  him  with  eyes 
made  humid  by  his  grateful  emotions,  "  I 
would  I  had  language  to  thank  you;  but 
my  heart  is  too  full." 

•'  Nay,  nay,  worthy  Master  Francis," 
said  the  other,  encouragingly,  "  if  you 
love  me  you  must  not  think  of  that.  He 
who  looks  for  thanks  deserveth  them  not. 
Such  a  one  am  not  I.  I  will  acknowl- 
edge I  feel  a  regard  for  you,  and  would 
wish  to  be  your  friend :  and  if  you  will 
intrust  me  with  your  confidence,  rest  as- 
sured it  shall  not  be  abused.  Tell  me, 
!  is  your  way  of  life  agreeable  to  you  ?" 

"Indeed  it  is  not,"  replied  his  visiter, 
|  with  a  melancholy  expression  of  counte- 
nance that  completely  attested  the  truth 
of  the  avowal.     "  But  why  should  I  take 
I  advantage  of  the  goodness  of  your  dispo- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


sition  ?  or  why  trouble  you  with  my  com- 
plaints ?  I  have  already  taken  up  too 
much  of  your  valuable  time?"  Then  he 
added,  as  he  rose  from  his  chair  to  de- 
part, "  I  thank  you  very  heartily  for  your 
kindness,  which,  in  all  times  to  come, 
shall  be  tne  most  delightful  of  my  re- 
membrances ;  and  if  it  please  you  to  give 
me  my  papers,  I  would  gratefully  take 
my  leave." 

"We  part  not  thus,"  said  Master 
Shakspeare,  quickly,  as  he  rose  from  his 
seat,  and  taking  hold  of  Master  Francis 
his  shoulder,  did  affectionately  push  him 
back  into  his  chair  ;  then  sitting  carelessly 
on  the  edge  of  the  table  adjoining,  with 
one  hand  of  his  visiter  kindly  pressed  in 
his  own,  and  with  a  most  benevolently 
smiling  countenance  he  proceeded.  "We 
part  not  thus.  Sit  you  down,  Master 
Francis — sit  you  down :  and  let  not  the 
modesty  of.  your  disposition  be  a  stum- 
bling-block to  the  advancement  of  your 
fortunes.  The  world  hath  not  used  you 
well,  or  I  mistake  countenances  hugely. 
Let  me  try  to  make  amends  for  the  un- 
kindness  of  others.  I  have  both  the  in- 
clination and  the  power  to  serve  ;  and  it 
seemeth  to  me  that  I  should  do  myself 
credit  by  any  service  I  could  render.  Let 
me  be  your  friend,  Master  Francis.  I  as- 
sure you,  on  the  honor  of  a  Christian  gen- 
tleman, and  an  humble  follower  of  the 
Muses,  that  you  will  do  me  a  great  wrong 
if  you  allow  me  not  the  satisfaction  of 
befriending  you." 

"  Indeed,  Master  Shakspeare,  you  are 
too  good,"  exclaimed  his  visiter,  warmly 
returning  the  pressure  of  the  hand  he  had 
received.  "  I  know  not  what  to  say — I 
lack  words — I  am  quite  overpowered." 

"  What  a  wittol  am  I,  and  one  shame- 
fully neglectful  of  the  duties  of  hospital- 
ity !"  said  Master  Shakspeare,  suddenly, 
as  he  sprung  from  the  table  and,  pro- 
ceeding to  a  cupboard  in  a  recess  of  the 
chamber,  did  presently  return,  bringing 
a  flask  and  two  drinking-horns. 

"  I  would  you  would  excuse  me,  wor- 
thy Master  Shakspeare,"  said  the  youth, 
modestly,  as  soon  as  he  observed  the 
movement  of  his  host. 

"  Excuse  me  no  excuses,"  replied  the 
other,  with  a  smile,  as  he  made  room  on 
the  little  table,  and  poured  out  the  wine 
into  the  vessels.  "  What  !  shall  it  be 
said  that  Will  Shakspeare  denied  a  broth- 
er poet  a  draught  of  the  fountain  from 
which  he  hath  so  often  drawn  inspira- 
tion ?  Tell  it  not  at  the  Mermaid.  A 
cup  of  this  excellent  sherris  will  warm 
both  our  hearts." 


"  You  have  made  my  heart  warm 
enough  as  it  is,"  observed  Master  Fran- 
cis, still  hesitating  to' take  the  proffered 
cup. 

"  Tush,  man  !"  replied  Master  Shaks- 
peare, hospitably  forcing  the  cup  into  his 
guest's  almost  reluctant  hand,  will  you 
not  drink  to  my  health  ?" 

"Ah,  that  will  I,  with  all  true  earn- 
estness,'' exclaimed  the  other,  as  he  im- 
mediately raised  the  wine  .to  his  lips. 

"  And  I  most  heartily  wish,  as  all  Eng- 
land must  wish,  that  your  life  be  long 
preserved  to  delight  and  enrich  this  island 
with  your  right  excellent  labors." 

"  Thank  you,  worthy  Master  Francis, 
thank  you,"  said  his  host,  shaking  his 
companion  cordially  by  the  hand  :  "  it  is 
gratifying  to-be  praised  at  all,  but  to  be 
praised  by  those  who  can  appreciate,  is 
the  most  exquisite  of  flattery.  And  now 
let  me  pledge  you  to  our  better  acquaint- 
ance," added  he,  as  he  poured  out  a 
brimming  cup  for  himself,  "  and  may 
success  attend  you  equal  to  your  deserts 
— which  be  of  no  common  order." 

"  You  are  too  liberal  in  your  commen- 
dation— indeed  you  are,"  observed  the 
youth,  as  a  slight  blush  appeared  upon 
his  countenance. 

"Not  a  whit,  man,  not  a  whit,"  re- 
plied his  host,  as  he  finished  his  draught. 
"  There  can  be  no  harm  in  praising  a 
modest  man ;  for  if  the  desert  be  not  equal 
to  the  praise,  he  will  not  rest  till  he  make 
it  so.  But  your  cup  is  empty." 

"  Nay,  good  Master  Shakspeare,"  ex- 
claimed the  other,  as  he  noticed  his  host 
refilling  the  cup — "  if  it  please  you,  no 
more." 

"  But  it  does  not  please  me,  Master 
Francis,"  said  his  companion,  jocosely. 

"  I  am  not  used  to  drinking  of  wine  of 
a  morning,  and  it  may  chance  get  in  my 
head." 

"  No  vessel  can  be  the  worse  for  con- 
taining good  wine,  Master  Francis.  So 
you  must  e'en  drink  another  cup." 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  would  rather  not," 
said  Master  Francis,  falteringly,  as  the 
vessel  was  handed  to  him. 

"What,  hesitate  to  drink  the  queen's 
health?"  exclaimed  Master  Shakspeare 
in  seeming  astonishment.  "Why,  how 
now  ?  Surely  loyalty  hath  gone  out  of 
the  land,  if  the  guest  of  one  of  her  majes- 
ty's poor  players  refuse  to  join  him  in 
drinking  the  health  of  Queen  Elizabeth." 

"I  thought  not  of  that,"  remarked  the 
other,  quietly  taking  the  wine,  "I  will   • 
join  you  gladly."  Thereupon,  with  much 
sincerity  of  heart,  these  two  did  drink  to 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


ii 


the  queen's  majesty.  "But  I  must  be 
going,  or  my  uncle  will  be  angered  with 
me ;  and  he  is  a  man  of  a  most  ungra- 
cious humor,"  said  Master  Francis. 

"A  murrain  on  him!"  cried  Master 
Shakspeare.  "And,  if  I  may  make  so 
free  as  to  a?k,  who  is  he?" 

"He  is  Gregory  Vellum,  the  scrivener, 
of  St.  Mary  Axe,"  replied  the  youth  ; 
"  and  though  report  say  that  he  abounds 
in  riches,  one  would  suppose  that  he  hath 
not  sufficient  to  furnish  a  beggar's  wal- 
let." 

"Have  you  no  father  living?"  asked 
his  host. 

"  It  is  uncertain,"  responded  Master 
Francis  more  seriously.  "My  mother's 
was  a  private  marriage  with  a  gentleman 
much  above  her  in  -station,  and  as  he 
said  it  would  injure  him  in  the  estima- 
tion of  his  family  if  his  union  became 
known,  she  kept  his  quality  a  secret  from 
all  who  knew  her.  He  went  to  the  wars 
a  short  time  before  she  gave  birth  to  me, 
and  has  never  since  been  heard  of:  and 
my  pour  mother  died  in  childbed,  with- 
out leaving  any  other  memorial  of  her 
husband  than  this  miniature,  which  I 
always  carry  about  with  me." 

Master  Shakspeare  silently  examined 
the  trinket,  which  was  in  a  gold  frame, 
that  the  youth  wore  round  his  neck.  On 
one  side  was  the  likeness  of  a  very  lovely 
woman  ;  the  other  had  contained  another 
miniature,  mayhap,  of  a  cavalier  ;  but  it 
was  now  empty. 

"The  initials  E.  V.,  on  one  side  the 
frame,  are  for  my  mother  Eleanor  Vel- 
lum," continued  the  youth,  "and  the  F. 
H.,  on  the  empty  frame,  are  doubtless 
the  initials  of  my  father;  of  which  one 
must  be  Francis,  for  so  she  always  called 
him,  as  I  have  heard,  and  therefore  by 
that  name  have  I  been  christened;  but 
what  the  other  standeth  for  I  know  not, 
and  perchance  may  never  know  till  the 
day  of  judgment." 

"Be  of  good  heart,  Master  Francis," 
said  his  companion,  encouragingly,  "  per- 
adventure  the  secret  may  be  discovered 
sooner  than  you  look  forv  But  what  says 
your  uncle  ? — knoweth  he  nothing  ?" 

"Sometimes  I  am  apt  to  think  that  he 
knows  more  than  he  is  inclined  to  tell," 
replied  Master  Francis ;  "for'in  his  un- 
guarded moments,  he  hath  dropped  some 
mysterious  hints  which  savor  a  little  of 
the  purpose.  But  he  is  so  continually 
upbraiding  me  for  the  troubles  and  the 
charges  I  put  him  to — he  so  stints  me  in 
all  sorts  of  necessaries,  and  so  begrudges 
me  the  little  pleasure  I  enjoy — that  he 


hath  made  my  life  a  daily  burthen,  an(? 
I  should  be  right  glad  to  get  from  under 
his  roof,  to  labor  in  any  capacity  for 
which  I  may  be  properly  qualified." 

"  That  shall  not  be  fong  first,  or  my 
name  be  not  Will  Shakspeare,"  ex- 
claimed his  host,  as  he  poured  out  an- 
other cup  of  wine  for  his  guest. 

"  Nay,  good  Master  Shakspeare,"  cried 
the  youth,  rising  up  and  taking  his  hat, 
as  he  noticed  the  brimming  vessel  pro- 
ceeding toward  him, "  prythee  let  me  go ; 
I  have  drunk  most  bountifully,  I  thank 
you." 

"One  more  cup,  and  it  shall  be  the 
last." 

"  Indeed  I  would  rather  not." 

"Now,  look  at  this  !"  exclaimed  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  in  apparent  wonder. 
"Here  is  a  youth  of  some  eighteen  years 
or  so,  who  confesses  that  he  hath  met 
with  no  fair  damsel  with  soul-enkindling 
eyes  and  roseate  cheeks,  whose  health 
he  deems  worthy  of  being  drunk  in  a 
bumber  of  sherris." 

"  I  said  not  that,  Master  Shakspeare," 
replied  his  young  companion,  hastily,  as 
the  color  mounted  to  his  cheek — "  Be- 
lieve me,  I  said  not  that." 

" I  believe  you  most  heartily, "said  his 
host  with  a  laugh,  as  he  noticed  the 
youth's  increasing  confusion.  "  I  see 
conviction  in  your  complexion.  Her 
health,  Master  Francis." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must,"  observed 
his  guest,  as  if  anxious  to  be  quickly  re- 
lieved from  his  embarrassment.  "  I  thank 
you  kindly.  She  is  a  right  noble  crea- 
ture, and  I  should  be  the  basest  wretch 
alive  were  I  to  refuse  to  drink  her  health 

— considering "  Here  the  young  poet 

stopped  suddenly ;  his  complexion  ac- 
quhed  a  warmer  glow  ;  and  a  shadow 
of  deep  melancholy  overspread  his  fea- 
tures." 

"  Hath  she  no  name,  Master  Francis  ?" 
inquired  the  other  earnestly,  and,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  somewhat  mischiev- 
ously. 

"  Indeed  she  hath,"  he  replied.  "  It  is 
a  good  name — a  name  of  excellent  credit 


"  I  doubt  it  not,"  observed  Master 
Shakspeare,  with  more  than  his  u?ml 
gravity ;  "  but  to  the  point,  man.  Dost 
hesitate  to  tell  it  ?  Take  my  word  for  IT, 
you  are  paying  her  no  compliment  if  you 
do." 

"  Her  name  is  Joanna,"  said  the  youth 
m  a  voice  scarcely  audible,  and  trying 
unsuccessfully  to  hide  his  confusion. 

"  Then  drink  I  your  Joanna's  health  in 


12 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


a  brimming  cup,  and  with  a  most  heart- 
felt wish  that  «he  may  be  worthy  of  you, 
and  that  you  may  be  happy  with  her." 

Master  Francis  said  nothing,  but  hast- 
ened to  drink  the  wine  that  had  been 
placed  in  his  hand. 

"And  now,  Master  Francis,  here  is 
your  tragedy,"  said  his  companion,  as  he 
gave  him  the  manuscript,  with  a  benevo- 
lent countenance  and  a  cordial  shake  of 
the  hand  ;  "  and  henceforth  consider  me 
your  friend,  for  I  wish  to  prove  myself 
such.  Something  shall  be  done  for  you, 
rest  assured,  and  that  very  shortly.  Good 
day,  Master  Francis,  good  day,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  kindly  led  his  visiter  to  the 
door,  and  opened  it  for  him. 

Master  Francis  could  only  look  his 
thanks,  and  then  threading  the  narrow 
staircase  of  the  house,  made  the  best  of 
his  way  to  St.  Mary  Axe. 


CHAPTER  II. 

My  heart  allows 

No  gums,  nor  amber,  but  pure  vows  ; 
There's  fire  at  breathing  of  your  name, 

And  do  not  fear — 

1  have  a  tear 
Of  joy  to  curb  any  immodest  flame. 

SHIRLEY. 

Oh,  Sir,  the  wonder ! 

A  beauty  ripe  as  harvest, 
Whose  skin  is  whiter  than  a  swan  all  over, 
Than  silver,  snow,  or  lilies  !    A  soft  lip 
Would  tempt  you  to  eternity  of  kissing, 
And  flesh  that  melteth  in  the  touch  to  blood  ; 
Bright  as  your  gold,  and  lovely  as  your  gold. 
BEN  JONSON. 

"  FRANCIS  !  FRANCIS  !"  screamed  out  a 
little  old  man,  meanly  apparelled,  as  he 
stumped  about  with  his  stick  in  a  gloomy 
room,  that  appeared  from  its  deficiency 
in  all  furniture,  save  a  desk  with  a  tall 
stool,  and  several  papers  and  parchments 
tied  up  and  placed  on  shelves  about  the 
fireplace,  that  it  was  an  office.  "  Fran- 
cis !  Francis,  I  say  !  A  murrain  on  thee 
for  a  lazy  varlet !  thou  art  sure  to  give  me 
the  slip  as  soon  as  my  back  is  turned. 
Francis!"  he  shouted  again,  and  then 
muttered  to  himself,  "a  wasteful,  idle, 
good-for-naught,  that  be  always  consu- 
ming my  substance  or  misspending  my 
time ;  I  would  I  were  well  rid  of  him. 
Francis,  I  say!  Here  have  I  been  bawl- 
ing about  the  house  for  the  better  part  of 
an  hour  searching  for  him — the  graceless 
vagrant.  Francis!"  Thus  he  went  on, 
growling  and  grumbling,  and  poking  inlo 
every  hole  and  corner,  with  a  physiogno- 
my most  unnaturally  crabbed,  and  a  voice 
feeble  and  shrewish.  At  last  he  sat  him- 


self down  on  the  stool,  laid  aside  his  stick, 
and  began  examining  the  loose  papers  on 
the  desk  ;  first  putting  on  a  pair  of  cracked 
spectacles  to  assist  his  sight.  Besides 
being  short  and  old — that  is,  of  some  sixty 
years  or  more — he  was  of  a  marvellous 
spare  body  ;  and  his  sharp  nose  and  point- 
ed chin,  small  eyes  and  saturnine  com- 
plexion, did  not  appear  to  more  advan- 
tage, surrounded  by  a  scanty  beard  that 
had  become  quite  grizzled  by  age.  His 
attire  was  of  the  homeliest — nay,  it  gave 
evidence  of  more  than  ordinary  thrift — 
for  his  trunks  were  patched,  and  his  hose 
were  darned,  and  his  shoes  would  have 
looked  all  the  better  had  they  been  in- 
debted to  the  craft  of  the  cord  wainer.  As 
for  his  doublet,  it  was  of  a  most  ancient 
fashion,  and  though  the  cloth  was  origi- 
nally a  Lincoln  green,  it  had  become,  by 
long  use,  and  exposure  to  all  sorts  of 
weathers,  more  resembling  the  dingy  hue 
of  a  smoked  rafter. 

As  he  scrutinized  the  papers,  he  broke 
out  into  such  vehement  ejaculations  as 
these : — 

"  This  account  not  finished  !  Here's  a 
villanous  neglect  of  my  interests !  Here's 
a  shameful  contempt  of  my  authority ! 
Here's  flat  contradiction  and  horrible  in- 
gratitude !  Oh,  the  abominable  and  most 
pestilent  knave !  whilst  he  eats  me  out 
of  house  and  home — costs  me  a  world 
and  all  in  tailoring  and  other  charges — 
he  leaveth  my  business  to  take  care  of 
itself.  But  what  have  we  here  ?"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  he  commenced  examining  a 
paper  that  had  evidently  been  concealed 
among  the  others.  "Verses,  or  I'm  a 
heathen  !"  cried  he  in  a  tone  of  consterna- 
tion. "Nay,  if  he  takes  to  such  evil 
courses,  it  must  needs  come  to  hang- 
ing." 

While  he  was  intent  upon  perusing 
with  angry  exclamations  the  contents  of 
the  object  that  had  excited  his  displeas- 
ure, he  suddenly  felt  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  turning  round  with  no  small 
degree  of  alarm  impressed  upon  his  un- 
amiable  features,  he  observed  a  young 
female — by  her  dress  probably  of  the  mid- 
dle ranks.  She  wore  on  the  back  of  her 
head  a  small  velvet  hat,  from  under  which 
escaped  several  long  dark  tresses,  that 
parted  in  the  front,  set  off  to  great  advan- 
tage a  right  comely  face,  of  a  very  rich 
complexion,  which  was  made  infinitely 
more  attractive  by  a  pair  of  delicate,  dark 
hazel  eyes,  peculiarly  seductive  in  their 
|  expression.  Her  age  might  be  somewhat 
beyond  twenty ;  for  her  form  was  fully 
!  rounded,  and  moulded  into  the  most  ex- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


13 


cellent  proportions,  which  were  admira- 
bly apparelled  in  a  neat  boddice  and  a 
dainty  farthingale.  In  truth,  she  was  a 
damsel  possessed  of  all  the  perfections  of 
womanhood. 

"  You  sweet  rogue,  how  you  frightened 
me  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  the  surprise 
and  alarm  he  had  exhibited  in  his  counte- 
nance now  giving  place  's  pleasure  and 
admiration,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  smiling 
beauty  before  him. 

"  But  what  hath  so  put  your  temper  into 
vital  jeopardy,  good  Gregory  Vellum?" 
added  she  coaxingly,  as  she  leaned 
over  his  shoulder,  seemingly  the  better 
to  observe  the  writing  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"  Marry,  matter  enough,  sweetest,"  re- 
plied he;  "that  undutifuland  most  hard- 
ened reprobate,  my  nephew — a  plague  on 
all  parents  that  can  not  provide  for  their 
own  offspring,  say  I — unmindful  of  the 
great  expenses  he  hath  put  me  to,  not 
only  leaves  my  business  unattended, 
whenever  I  am  not  watching  his  move- 
ments, but  passeth  the  times  he  should 
employ  for  my  advantages  in  destroying 
my  paper,  pens,  and  ink,  in  scribbling  a 
whole  host  of  pernicious  verses." 

"Oh,  the  profligate  !"  cried  the  oiher, 
as  if  marvelling  greatly;  but  still  stretch- 
ing out  her  pretty  neck  to  see  what  was 
written  on  the  paper. 

"lam  glad  to  see  that  you  regard  his 
atrocious  wickedness  with  a  proper  detes- 
tation," repeated  the  other.  "  But  that  be 
not  the  worst  of  his  villany.  Only  think 
of  the  pestilent  varlet  robbing  me  of  these 
fine  bits  of  candle,  which  in  my  search 
for  him  a  moment  since  I  found  secreted 
away  in  his  chamber."  And  thereupon, 
with  a  look  of  terrible  indignation,  he 
brought  out  of  his  vest,  carefully  wrapt 
up  in  an  old  rag,  three  candle-ends,  each 
about  an  inch  long. 

"  What  wonderful  iniquity  !"  exclaimed 
she,  giving  a  hasty  glance  at  the  contents 
of  the  rag,  and  then  again  quickly  fixing 
her  gaze  upon  the  paper. 

"Ay,  that  is  it  wiih  a  vengeance,''  re- 
plied the  old  man.  "Now,  he  stealeth 
these  pieces  of  candle — a  murrain  on  him 
for  his  abominable  dishonesty — and  burn- 
eth  them  when  I,  his  too  indulgent  uncle, 
am  fast  asleep  ;  and  there  he  sits,  wearing 
out  the  night  in  studying  a  most  unprofit- 
able lot  of  heathenish  books.  But  take 
this  trumpery  and  read  it,  Mistress  Joan- 
na, for  he  writes  such  an  unnatural  fine 
hand  that  my  poor  eyes  ache  with  look- 
ing at  it." 

The  fair  Joanna  rook  the  paper  some- 


what eagerly,  and  without  a  second  sum- 
mons or  a  word  of  reply,  stood  before  the 
old  man,  and,  as  he  wiped  his  spectacles 
and  put  them  away,  and  carefully  folded 
up  the  candle-ends  she  read  what  fol- 
lows:— 

A  RIGHT  EARNEST  EXPOSTULATION  •. 

ADDRESSED  TO  HER  WHO  WILL  BEST  UNDERSTAND  IT 

HAVING  so  oft  and  fondly  sung  thj* praise, 

I  lind  I  can  not  thy  defects  portray  ; 
My  pen  is  ready  for  most  flatt'ring  lays, 

But  censures  not :  it  knoweth  not  the  way. 
Thou,  to  my  heart,  hast  given  deep  offence, 
Yet  see  I  in  thee  naught  but  excellence. 

'Tis  passing  strange — but  pity  'tis  too  true  ! 

Thy  goodness  toward  me  doth  seem  to  halt ; 
Things  manifold  thou  dost  unkindly  do 

Which  pain  me  much — yet  know  I  riot  thy  fault  ; 
For  ev'ry  day  thou  heapest  on  me  wrongs 
Find'st  thou  a  perfect  creature  in  my  songs. 

Wherefore  is  this  ? — 'Tis  thus — no  loner  time  since 
Each  day,  each  hour,  each  moment  found  me  blest  j 

All  the  fond  love  thy  nature  could  evince. 
All  the  sweet  goodness  of  thy  gentle  breast. 

Didst  thou  in  pure  devotion  render  mine, 

To  teach  me  what  of  earth  was  most  divine. 

As  a  rude  heathen  who  to  stock  and  stone 

Prostrates  his  soul  in  worship — when  he  knows 

THE  TRUTH  that  reigns  almighty  and  alone, 
He  evermore  with  the  true  worship  bows  ; 

My  idols  I  cast  down,  and  knelt  and  prayed 

Where,  1  knew  well,  my  hopes  of  Heaven  were  laid. 

Then  bountifully  were  thy  blessings  showered  ; 

And  1,  the  sole  receptacle  ihey  sought, 
Have  known  my  grateful  spirit  overpowered 

'Keath  the  delighting  burthens  thou  hast  brought, 
Olt  didst  thou  say  tliou  couldst  love  none  but  me  ; 
And  much  1  stnved  to  be  worthy  thee. 

But  now — unhappy  chance  that  brought  this  tuni ! 

Thou  dost  ueny  rne  with  excuses  weak 
!  The  fondnesses  for  which  rny  soul  doth  yearn, 

And  dost  within  another's  eyeballs  seek 
The  charm,  the  spirit,  and  the  joy  that  shone 
In  my  rapt  gaze  reflected  from  thine  own  ! 

Nothing  thou  doest  doth  rny  eyes  escape  ; 

M  know  my  purposes — thy  thoughts  l.ehold  . 
Alas,  that  they  should  often  take  a  shape 

Which  inuluphes  my  cares  a  thousand  fold  ! 
Alas,  that  thou  art  changed  ! — alas,  indeed, 
A  plant  so  fair  should  bear  such  worthless  seed  . 

But  these  stern  words  on  thee  must  never  fall ; 

"I'is  my  unlucky  fortune  that's  to  blame, 
In  my  own  heart  1  censure  not  at  all  ; 

For  all  thy  goodnesses  such  looting  claim, 
That  thy  unkindnesses  there  find  no  place- 
There  is  no  loom  for 'things  that  seem  so  base. 

Cease  I  to  be  of  value  in  thy  sight? 

The  worth  I  owned  hath  vanished  utterly  : 
The  pebbles  upon  which  th)  feet  alight 

To  me  more  estimable  seem  than  1; 
For  as  tiie  moon -doth  borrow  all  her  sliine. 
My  worthiness  hath  hud  its  source  in  thine. 

Fnu  t  ruiiie  of  mine  is  it  that  I  am  not 
So  precious  as  thy  love  hath  made  me  seem  . 

Thou  prized  me  then  for  worth  1  hiid  nut  got  ; 
Ai'.d  now  tl,,m  dust  my  meed  too  lowiy  doom 

Vet  it  tliou  Uunkest  me  such  sort  as  this, 

Am  1  the  very  poorest  thing  that  is. 

1  know  not  why  trial  thou  shoiitast  now  prefer 
Another  lu  a  u.  ait  so  much  thine  own  : 

I'd  say  no  moie  if  it  were  worthier. 
But.  doubt  I  much  it  love  like  mine  h;Un  known 

Oh,  would  J  Cou;d  loigbt  that  Ihou  Weil  kiiiu, 

or  tluiu  would*!  act  more  truly  to  my  nun6  ' 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Remember  this»-the  threat'ning  cataract 
That  loudest  roars,  is  used  for  no  man's  hands  ; 

And  'mid  thy  minds  best  stores  retain  this  fact— 
The  humblest  waters  may  have  golden  sands : 

Then  scorn  not  thou  the  lowliest  things  that  toil— 

The  treasures  of  the  earth  are  in  the  soil. 

"Flat  disobedience  and  rank  athe- 
ism !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  after  he 
had  listened  with  evident  impatience  to 
the  perusal  of  the  poem — "Didst  ever 
hear  of  such  heathenish  notions  ?  not  to 
say  that  I  understand  it — I'd  rather  be 
hanged  than  understand  any  such  villany. 
But  what  think  you  of  it,  Mistress  Joan- 
na ?  I  see  the  horrible  impiety  of  it  hath 
quite  discomposed  you." 

In  truth,  what  Gregory  Vellum  had 
stated,  was  nigh  unto  the  fact ;  for  Joanna 
had  quickly  discovered  that  the  verses  she 
was  reading  were  written  for  her,  and  in- 
tended for  her  eye  alone ;  and  as  the  al- 
lusions they  contained  struck  upon  her 
mind,  her  changing  color  denoted  how 
much  she  was  moved  by  them.  When 
she  came  to  the  end  she  was,  for  a  few 
minutes,  utterly  disconcerted.  She  seem- 
ed lost  in  a  maze  of  conflicting  thoughts; 
her  brow  became  dark,  and  her  eyes 
fixed,  and  so  completely  had  she  given 
herself  up  to  her  own  reflections,  that 
she  heard  not  the  question  that  had  been 
put  to  her. 

"What  say  you,  sweetheart?"  said  he 
familiarly,  laying  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder.  "  Doth  not  your  hair  stand  on 
end  to  see  how  he  misuseth  me  ?  Why, 
he  costs  me  a  matter  of  a  groat  a  week 
for  his  diet — for  he  hath  the  appetite  of 
two  carriers — and  then— the  cahiff!  to  be 
robbing  me  in  this  monstrous  manner, 
when  candles  are  threepence  to  the  pound 
—and  to  be  scribbling  his  preposterous 
atrocities  when  stationary  is  at  so  high  a 
cost.  By  my  troth  he  hath  no  more  vir- 
tue than  an  addled  egg !  But  what  think 
you  of  the  verses?" 

"Sad  stuff,  Master  Vellum,"  she  re- 
plied, having  perfectly  recovered  from 
her  confusion ;  "  but  be  assured  there  is 
no  harm  in  them.  I  think  he  ought  not 
to  be  encouraged  in  these  practices ;  so  I 
will  e'en  take  the  paper  with  me,  and 
tear  it  to  pieces  as  I  go  along." 

"Ah,  do,  good  Joanna!  show  upon  it 
proper  detestation  of  such  thorough  and 
most  inconceivable  villany,"  said  he,  as 
he  observed  her  take  possession  of  the 
poem.  "  But  I  must  turn  the  rogue  out 
of  doors;  he  will  ruin  me  straight  an  I 
do  not ;  and  I  would  as  lief  live  among 
savages  as  exist  with  a  knave  who  plun- 
dereth  me  by  wholesale  of  such  estima- 
ble candles'  ends,  and  destroys  me  so 


many  fair  sheets  of  paper  in  inditing 
matters  it  would  be  a  scandal  to  under 
stand." 

"  Nay,  good  Master  Vellum,"  observed 
his  fair  companion,  "  do  not  be  so  harsh 
with  him.  He  is  but  young :  and  boys 
have  a  natural  tendency  for  the  perpe- 
tration of  these  offences.  When  he  at 
taineth  the  becoming  gravity  of  his  un 
cle,  he  will  give  over  all  such  primi 
live  delinquencies." 

"  Dost  think  so,  sweetest  ?"  inquired 
the  old  man  eagerly,  as,  with  a  most  pre- 
posterous leer,  he  thrust  his  ungraceful 
countenance  close  to  her  beautiful  face. 
"You  are  a  woman  of  admirable  discre- 
tion, and  of  a  truly  excellent  fancy.  Dost 
despise  these  raw  youths ;  and  couldst 
affect  a  man  of  more  mature  years  ?" 

"  Ay,  marry,  anJwhy  not  ?"  inquired 
she  very  innocently. 

"You  are  a  most  excellent  wench!" 
exclaimed  he  with  unaffected  delight,  as 
he  seemed  to  feast  his  eyes  upon  the 
graces  of  her  countenance — "one  of  ten 
thousand.  Think  you,  you  could  rest 
content  with  an  old  man— nay,  one  not  so 
old  either — who  would  never  be  gadding 
from  you  like  your  young  gallants,  none 
of  whom  are  ever  to  be  trusted  out  of 
sight,  but  would  nourish  you,  and  cherish 
you,  and  fondle  you,  and  make  much  of 
you,  and  none  but  you ;  and  make  you 
mistress  of  all  his  gold,  his  house,  and 
chattels  ?" 

"Ay,  marry,  why  should  I  not?"  re- 
peated she  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Then  you  shall  have  me,  sweet- 
heart !"  cried  the  old  man  in  an  ecstasy  ; 
and  seeming,  by  the  unsteady  movement 
of  his  hands,  with  great  difficulty  to  re- 
frain from  throwing  his  arms  round  her 
neck.  "  I  have  loved  you  for  some 
months,  sweetest !  and  all  the  little  gifts 
I  have  bestowed  upon  you,  were  to  show 
you  how  enamored  I  was  of  your  most 
blessed  condition.  And  I  will  tell  you  a 
secret,  my  love  !  my  dove  !  my  angel ! — 
my  paragon  of  womanhood  !"  continued 
he  fidgeting  about,  and  gloating  upon 
her  with  his  lack-lustre  eyes  as  if  he 
were  bewitched.  "  Although  I  seem  so 
poor — yet  am  I  richer  than  I  seem.  Ay, 
am  I.  I  have  store  of  gold — bright  yel- 
low gold  !  Hush,  there  s  no  one  listen- 
ing, is  there  ?"  he  all  at  once  exclaimed, 
as,  fearing  he  had  said  too  much,  he  gave 
a  restless  glance  around  the  room. 

"Not  a  soul,"  replied  Joanna,  still  re- 
taining the  same  unmoved  countenance. 

"  Yes,  sweetheart,"  he  continued,  ev- 
ery now  and  then  giving  a  suspicious 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


15 


glance  about  him,  "I  have  saved,  and 
scraped,  and  hoarded  up  a  goodly  store 
of  weahh,  the  result  of  infinite  painsta- 
king, and  exceeding  self-denial  ;  and  you 
shall  enjoy  it ;  you,  my  life,  my  queen  ! 
Oh,  how  I  long  to  hug  you  in  my  most 
fond  embrace." 

"Softly,  softly,  Gregory  Vellum,"  ex- 
claimed  she,  quietly  disengaging  his  arms 
from  her  neck  ;  for,  unable  any  longer  to 
resist  his  impatient  wishes,  he  had  en- 
deavored, as  our  great  dramatist  hath  it, 
to  suit  the  action  to  the  word.  "  Modest 
maids  are  not  to  be  won  in  such  boister- 
ous fashion,  and  it  little  becometh  the  re- 
spectability of  your  deportment  to  exhibit 
such  unseemly  violence.  As  for  your 
love,  you  must  prove  it  by  something 
besides  words.  You  have  professed  for 
some  time  to  be  hugely  taken  with  me ; 
but  all  professions  are  naught  when  un- 
accompanied by  that  which  proveth  their 
value.  You  are  right  liberal  in  promises, 
but  your  performance,  as  yet,  hath  been 
but  scanty.  If  you  have  such  store  of 
gold  as  you  talk  of — 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  not  so  loud,  I  prythee, 
sweetheart,"  whispered  the  old  man,  go- 
ing cautiously  to  the  door,  on  tiptoe, 
opening,  and  looking  out,  and  closing  it 
carefully  after  him. 

"  Of  a  surety  you  would  act  more  gen- 
erously toward  me  than  you  have  yet 
done,"  continued  Joanna,  without  attend- 
ing to  the  interruption  ;  "your  true  lov- 
ers are  always  bountiful.  Now  there  is 
a  certain  Venetian  chain" — 

"  Ay,  'tis  of  gold,  and  of  most  admira- 
ble workmanship,"  exclaimed  Gregory 
Vellum,  "  it  cost  me  fifty  crowns,  or  I'm 
a  villanous  Jew.  I  did  promise  it  you,  I 
remember  well ;  but  if  it  please  you, 
sweetest,"  continued  the  old  man,  sidling 
up  to  her,  and  leering  in  her  face,  "  it 
shall  be  yours  for  a  kiss.  Accept  you  the 
conditions  ?" 

"  For  your  sake,  I  will  say  yes,  good 
Gregory  Vellum,"  replied  she,  without 
hesitation. 

"  It  shall  be  yours — it  shall  be  yours," 
cried  the  old  man,  chafing  his  hands,  and 
every  limb  of  him  shaking  with  excite- 
ment. "  Now  give  me  the  kiss,  my 
heart !  my  soul !  my  life !  give  me  the 
kiss,  I  prythee." 

"The  chain  first,  Gregory  Vellum," 
said  the  other  quietly,  as  she  retreated 
from  his  proffered  caresses. 

"  Ay,  but  wait  awhile — wait  awhile, 
sweetheart,  and  I  will  fetch  it,"  said  he, 
Hastening  to  the  door,  in  an  agony  of  im- 
patience, and  immediately  returning  to 


her  side,  before  he  had  got  half  WHJT  , 
"but  when  shall  be  the  happy  day? — 
name  it,  name  it,  excellent  Joanna,  for  I 
do  long  for  the  time  when  we  two  shall 
be  one.'* 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  anon  ; — but,  the 
chain,"  replied  she. 

11 1  fly,  sweetest,"  cried  the  old  man, 
shuffling  off  toward  the  door ;  but,  just 
as  he  was  about  to  open  it,  he  came  back 
hastily,  with  his  eyes  glistening,  and  his 
leaden  countenance  all  of  a  glow,  "  we 
will  spend  all  the  yellow  gold  ;  we  will 
live  a  right  merry  life.  I'faith  you  shall 
have  all  that  heart  can  desire,  you  shall, 
you  shall,  you  shall,  my  queen  of  beauty  !" 

"  The  chain,  worthy  Gregory  Vellum," 
repeated  his  fair  companion,  as  she  elu- 
ded his  eager  advances. 

"  I  am  gone,"  said  he,  again  hasten- 
ing off;  but,  before  he  opened  the  door, 
he  turned  round,  clasped  his  skinny  hands 
together,  and  turning  up  the  whites  ot 
his  eyes,  exclaimed,  "  Indeed,  I  love  thee 
infinitely." 

"  That  for  thy  love,"  cried  she  spitting 
on  the  floor,  with  every  mark  of  indigna- 
tion and  disgust,  as  soon  as  she  heard  him 
rapidly  ascending  the  stairs — "  that  for 
thy  love,  thou  most  abhorred  and  infa- 
mous old  dotard :  but  I  will  use  thee. 
For  the  sake  of  one  whose  little  finger  is 
dearer  to  me  than  thy  old  moth-eaten 
carcase,  I  will  make  thee  bring  out  thy 
long  hoarded  gold,  and  squander  it  right 
liberally."  Then  hearing  a  noise  at  the 
door  which  opened  into  the  street,  she 
looked  to  see  who  it  was.  The  same 
modest  youth  entered  to  whom  the  reader 
hath  been  introduced,  at  Master  Shaks- 
peare  his  lodging,  on  the  Bank  Side. 

"What,  Joanna!"  he  exclaimed,  has- 
tening toward  her,  with  a  most  smiling 
countenance — "nay,  this  is  a  pleasure  I 
dreamt  not  of." 

"  'T  is  I,  Francis,"  she  replied,  allow- 
ing him  to  take  her  hand,  which  he  pas- 
sionately pressed  to  his  lips;  "but  thy 
cheek  is  flushed,  and  thine  eye  unsteady, 
What  ails  thee  ?" 

"  Nothing,  dearest,"  said  he,  "  I  have 
been  detained,  and  I  thought  my  uncle 
would  be  angered  with  me  for  stopping; 
for  thou  know'st  how  easy  he  is  of  provo- 
cation, so  I  ran  all  the  way  home." 

"  Thou  hadst  best  make  haste,  and 
conceal  thyself  somewhere  for  the  nonce,' 
responded  she,  "for  thy  uncle  hath  jus* 
left  me,  meaning  to  return  straight;  and 
he  is  out  of  all  temper  with  thee,  for  sun- 
dry offences  which  he  saith  thou  hast 
committed.  So  go  thy  ways,  and  let  ma 


16 


SHAKSPEARE  AxND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


see  thee  soon,  for  I  have  much  to  say  to 
thee." 

"  I  will  do  thy  bidding  lovingly ;  yet  it 
is  a  most  regretful  thing  to  be  obliged  to 
leave  thee,"  he  said,  as  with  reluctant 
steps,  and  slow,  he  made  toward  the 
door.  Then,  keeping  his  eyes  upon  her 
till  the  last  moment,  eloquent  with  a 
most  impassioned  tenderness,  he  left  the 
room. 

"  Poor  boy !"  murmured  she,  as  with 
a  countenance  full  of  melancholy  inter- 
est, she  watched  his  departure — "poor 
boy!  he  little  knoweth  how  many  dis- 
tasteful things  I  do  for  his  dear  sake." 

At  this  moment  Gregory  Vellum  was 
heard  upon  the  stairs.  There  was  a 
marked  difference  betwixt  his  going  and 
his  returning ;  for,  whereas,  in  the  first 
instance,  he  had  gallops. d  like  an  ostrich, 
now  he  was  heard  descending  step  by 
step,  so  slow  that  it  would  not  be  a  great 
stretch  of  fancy  to  say,  he  might  have 
fallen  asleep  between  whiles.  Presently 
\ie  opened  the  door,  and  instead  of  hast- 
ening toward  Joanna,  with  enamored 
ooks  and  impatient  gestures,  as  might 
jaave  been  expected  from  his  previous  be- 
havior, he  advanced,  at  a  laggard's  pace, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  glittering 
chain  of  gold,  that  he  kept  turning  about 
in  his  hand,  and  with  a  face  in  which 
the  demon  of  avarice,  had  evidently  got 
the  better  of  the  demon  of  sensuality. 

"  How  now  !"  exclaimed  his  compan- 
ion, as  she  noticed  his  approach,  "you 
went  out  as  quick  of  motion  as  a  young 
colt — you  creep  in  with  the  preposterous 
tediousness  of  a  snail." 

"  It  cost  me  fifty  crowns!"  remarked 
he,  still  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  precious 
metal,  as  if  there  was  a  fascination  in  it 
he  could  not  \vithstand. 

"  Well,  and  what  then?"  inquired  Jo- 
anna ;  "  that  is  nothing  to  the  store  of 
gold  of  which  you  mean  to  make  such 
generous  use,  you  know." 

"Ay,  said  I  so  !"  said  he  quickly,  and 
with  a  monstrous  serious  look,  "  no, 
'twas  a  mistake.  Gold  !  I  huve  no  <rold  ; 
where  should  I  get  gold  ?  I  am  poor, 
miserably  poor,  as  you  see.  Tis  a  most 
admirable  chain,  and  of  riffht  delicaie 
workmanship,"  he  continued  feastin.ghis 
eyes  upon  it,  as  it  glittered  in  his  huiul. 

"  I'faith  your  love  is  of  a  most  miserly 
disposition,"  responded  she,  smiling  most 
bewitchingly  all  the  time,  "  it  preferreth 
a  furry  chai  i  to  the  object  of  i;«  prutc-ndcd 
adoration.  By  my  troth,  if  I  marrv  you 
a  for  tbi-,  I'll  vex  myself  iu.o  iidtile- 
struigs."' 


"  Ah!  talked  you  of  marrying,  sweet- 
est ?"  asked  the  old  man  eagerly,  as  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  her  face  ;  and,  immedi- 
ately they  rested  upon  her  well-fa  voml 
countenance,  they  again  began  to  twinkle 
with  delight.  "Truly  have  you  the  soft- 
est and  most  insinuating  looks,  and  your 
smile  is  most  absolute  and  irresistible. 
Your  eyes,  sweetheart,  are  as  bright  as 
this  Venetian  gold — but  it  cost  me  fif.y 
crowns ;  and  the  pouting  ripeness  of  your 
lips  hath  as  much  temptation  as  the  pol- 
ish upon  the  links;  and,  in  good  truth, 
'lisa  most  rare  and  costly  trinket."  And 
thereupon  he  continued,  now  fixing  his 
eyes  upon  the  chain,  and  gloating  upon 
its  brilliance ;  and  anon  raising  them  to 
the  face  of  his  fair  companion,  as  if  doat- 
ing  upon  its  beauty.  It  was  evident  that 
there  was  a  struggle  in  his  soul,  about 
parting  with  his  property.  He  longed 
for  a  caress  from  the  seductive  Joanna  ; 
.  but  the  Venetian  trinket  had  wound  itself 
.round  his  heart  so  strongly,  that  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  part  with  it.  Sev- 
eral times  it  appeared  that  her  soft  fflano.es 
,  had  subdued  his  selfish  nature  ;  but  just 
as  he  was  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the 
,  object  of  his  miserly  regard,  a  look  at 
its  glittering  links  would  again  awake 
his  avarice,  and  he  would  hesitate  about 
•  its  disposal. 

j  "  Good  morning  to  you,  Gregory  Vel- 
i  lurn,"  said  Joanna,  as  she  turned  upu:i 
!  her  heel,  with  the.  intention  of  departing 
|  by  the  door  that  led  into  the  street. 

"  Nay,  nay  sweetest!"  exclaimed  the 
old  man,  as  he  hastened  after  her,  and 
held  her  by  the  arm,  "you  go  not  yet ;  I 
part  not  with  you  in  this  way.  Shall  I 
have  the  kiss  you  promised  me  ?" 

"  By  my  troth  you  shall,"  replied  she  ; 
"  but  why  ask  you  ?  You  love  your  pal- 
try gold  better  than  me,  or  you  would 
seem  less  loath  to  part  withii;  so  I'll 
e'en  have  none  of  you." 

"  There  is  the  chain,  sweetheart,"  said 

he,  eagerly  throwing  it  round  her  neck, 

"and  now  for   the  kiss — the    kiss — :hi- 

1  kiss — my    angel    upon  earth  ! — ilu:   kiss, 

I  sweet  mistress  Joanna:  throw  your  sou 

i  arms  around  me,  and  press  me  your  dt-li- 

I  cate  lips." 

"There's  my   hand,"  quietly    repln .••! 

she,   as   all   impatience   und    eagerness, 

spite  of  her  retreating,  he  advanced  low- 

.  ard  her,  intent  upon   having  her  in   his 

t'liitrace. 

"Your   hand!"    he    exclaimed,    wi:h 
some  surprise,  as  he  slill  strove  tu  uj> 
I  proach  her  more  closely,  "  'tis  your  rvsi 
!  meuth  ihiit  1  wx'uld  have,  hwettlit  •* <>." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


17 


"Nay,  nay;  a  bargain  is  a  bargain," 
said  she  gravely  ;  "  you  gave  me  a  chain, 
and  I  promised  you  should  have  a  kiss 
for  it.  There  was  nothing  said  about  my 
lips  ;  and  I  intend  only,  as  a  great  favor, 
that  you  should  kiss  my  hand  ;  so,  fulfil 
your  contract :— here's  my  hand." 

At  this,  nothing  could  exceed  the 
change  that  took  place  in  the  old  mafn's 
countenance.  His  delight  and  impatience 
forsook  him  of  a  sudden.  From  being 
exceeding  restless  in  all  his  limbs,  he 
stood  as  still  as  a  stone,  and  he  looked 
perfectly  confounded,  and  unable  to  say 
a  word. 

"Well,  if  you  will  not>  mayhap  an- 
other time  will  suit  you  better,"  observed 
Mistress  Joanna  very  courteously,  as  she 
proceeded  toward  the  door.  "I  thank 
you  for  the  chain  very  heartily  ;  'tis  a 
gift  worthy  of  the  gravity  of  your  affec- 
tions ;  and  I  know  not,  if  you  go  on  ma- 
king a  show  of  such  liberal  behavior,  to 
what  extent  you  may  be  rewarded.  You 
ought,  however,  to  be  aware,  that  a  pru- 
dent woman  granteth  but  small  favors  at 
first;  she  will  not  give  largely,  or  she 
may  be  undone  straight.  I  wish  you  an 
increasing  generosity  ;  and  with  this  de- 
sire, worthy  Gregory  Vellum,  I  do  most 
delightedly  take  my  leave  of  you."  And 
thereupon  she  made  a  courtesy  to  the 
ground,  and  with  one  of  the  sweetest 
of  smiles,  departed  from  the  office. 

"Fool!  dolt!  idiot!  madman!"  cried 
he  vehemently,  as  he  beat  his  head  with 
his  clenched  fist,  "to  be  tricked, cozened, 
and  imposed  upon,  in  this  barefaced  man- 
ner, by  a  woman.  Oh  !  Gregory  Vellum, 
Gregory  Vellum,  what  a  very  ass  thou 
art!  My  chain  of  Venice  gold  is  lost 
irretrievably,  that  I  took  for  a  debt  of 
fifty  crowns,  and  for  which  Master  Ingot, 
the  goldsmith,  would  have  given  me  forty 
at  any  time.  Oh  !  fool,  that  can  only 
cozen  boys  and  folks  afar  off,  thou  art 
cheated  past  all  redemption  !"  Then  he 
went  and  sat  upon  the  stool,  and  leaned 
his  head  upon  his  hand,  apparently  in  a 
monstrous  melancholy  humor.  "  Fifty 
crowns  gone  for  nothing.  Oh !"  exclaimed 
he  frantically,  beating  his  heels  against 
the  stool,  and  then  wringing  his  hands ; 
"  what  a  poor,  wretched,  miserable  lu- 
natic am  I,  to  think  of  courting  at  my 
time  of  day.  Such  a  brilliant  chain  !  Oh  ! 
most  preposterous  idiot !  fifty  crowns ! 
Oh  !  thou  incomprehensible  blockhead ! 
I  could  beat  out  my  brains  with  a 
whisp  of  straw,  out  of  very  vexation." 
And  thereupon  he  jumped  off  the  stool, 
being  perfectly  restless,  and  unable  to 
2 


contain  himself,  and  did  begin  to  shuf- 
fle up  and  down  the  room  with  his  stick, 
flinging  himself  about,  ejaculating  all 
sorts  of  condemnations  upon  his  folly  and 
insanity,  and  looking  with  a  physiogno- 
my as  woful  and  enraged  as  ever  miser 
exhibited  at  the  loss  of  a  part  of  his  gain. 
Presently  he  stood  still  of  a  sudden ; 
for  a  voice — a  rich,  clear,  mellifluous 
voice — was  heard  singing  the  following 
words : — 

"  I  gave  my  Love  a  posie  gay, 
Of  all  the  sweetest  flowers  of  May, 
And  bade  her,  till  their  leaves  might  die, 
Upon  her  breast  to  let  them  lie. 

•  I'faith,'  quoth  she, 

•  Are  these  for  me  ? 

Like  thy  sweet  words,  how  sweet  they  be. 

But  if  thy  maid 

Thy  love  should  aid, 
Oh !  bring  her  gifts  that  never  fade.' " 

"  A  murrain  on  him !  that's  my  pesti- 
lent nephew,"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  in 
high  dudgeon ;  "  but  I  marvel  infinitely 
how  he  got  in ;  or  hath  he  been  in  the 
house  all  the  time?"  He  stopped,  for 
the  singer  proceeded. 

"  I  gave  my  Love  a  riband  rare 
To  tie  around  her  silken  hair. 
'  Sweetheart,'  quoth  1, '  long  may  it  grace 
So  brave,  so  proud  a  resting  place.' 

'  Ah  me,'  she  cried, 

And  looked  and  sighed, 
'  In  this  bright  garb  thy  looks  I've  spied  ; 

But  see  !  'twill  fray 

And  wear  away — 
Oh  !  bring  me  gifts  that  last  for  aye.'" 

"  A  pernicious  varlet,  will  he  never 
have  done  with  his  coxcombical  sing- 
ing," cried  Gregory  Vellum:  -but  the 
singer  continued  his  song. 

"  I  gave  my  Love  a  golden  ring, 
To  prize  above  each  meaner  thing, 
And  on  her  finger  bade  it  rest, 
While  truth  had  footing  in  her  breast. 

4  Dear  heart,  I  vow, 

Thou  hast  me  now,' 
She  said,  all  blushing  to  her  brow; 

'  The  sterling  ore 

Lasts  evermore, 
And  binds  fond  hearts  unbound  before.' " 

"  Oh  !  the  unwhipped  rogue  !  he  sings 
of  love  at  his  .age,"  exclaimed  the  eld 
miser,  in  seeming  consternation.  "  Well, 
who  can  doubt  the  wickedness  of  the 
world  after  this !  But  I'll  trounce  him, 
I'll  warrant  me.  Francis  !"  he  bawlea, 
as  loud  as  he  could,  first  opening  the  door, 
that  he  might  be  heard,  and  then  mutter- 
ing to  himself,  and  crying  out  by  turns, 
proceeded  thus  :  "A  young  profligate,  to 
think  of  singing  love  ditties  at  his  time 
of  life ; — was  ever  such  iniquity  in  this 
world?  Francis!"  again  screamed  he, 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  lungs.  "  An' 
I  do  not  make  him  hear,  I'll  make  him 
feel.  Francis !  Francis  !  Francis !  I  say." 


18 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Did  you  call,  uncle  ?"  said  the  youth 
quietly,  as  he  presented  himself  at  the 
door. 

"  Call,  sirrah !"  replied  the  old  man, 
shaking  with  rage—"  Call,  varlet !  have 
T  not  been  bawling,  and  squalling,  and 
tearing  my  lungs  piecemeal  after  thee 
for  these  two  hours  past  ?" 

"  I  did  not  hear  you  till  this  moment, 
or  I  should  have  come  down,"  observed 
the  youth. 

"  Hear  me !"  exclaimed  Master  Vel- 
lum vehemently — "  how  couldst  thou  ex- 
pect to  hear  me,  thou  reprobate!  when 
thou  wert  making  the  place  ring  with 
thy  amorous  ballads !  Be  that  proper 
matter  to  sing  at  an  honest  scrivener's ! 
Why,  the  passengers  will  take  the  house 
for  a  bagnio.  Fie  upon  thee !  when  I 
was  of  thy  age  I  sung  psalms  and  godly 
hymns — but  I  was  noted  as  a  youth  of  a 
most  modest  discretion.  What  art  thou 
noted  for,  I  wonder? — for  impudency, 
disobediency,  and  all  manner  of  dishon- 
esty." 

"  Dishonesty,  uncle !"  said  Master 
Francis,  with  unaffected  surprise. 

"Ay,  dishonesty,  sirrah  !  Look  here  !" 
and  he  took  from  his  vest  the  dirty  rag 
that  hath  previously  been  described,  and 
begun  carefully  to  unfold  it — "  here  be  a 
foul  robbery  thou  hast  committed.  How 
didst  get  these  fine  pieces  of  candle  I 
found  in  thy  room  ?  Hast  no  shame  ? 
What !  pilfer  from  thy  poor,  yet  too  lib- 
eral uncle,  when  candles  stand  me  in  fifty 
crowns  to  the  pound  !" 

"  Fifty  crowns,  uncle  !"  exclaimed  his 
nephew,  with  increasing  astonishment — 
"  why,  I  bought  them  myself  of  Tobias 
Mottle,  the  chandler  over  the  way,  and 
then  they  had  only  rose  to  threepence  for 
the  pound,  in  consequence  of  the  exceed- 
ing scarcity  of  kitchen  stuff." 

"  Well,  no  matter,  sirrah,  no  matter  !" 
cried  the  old  man,  in  no  way  abating  his 
passion,  "  thou  hast  robbed  me — that  is 
manifest.  Thou  hast  taken  advantage 
of  the  natural  generosity  of  my  disposi- 
tion, and  art  in  the  habit  of  consuming 
my  substance  without  my  privity.  I  tell 
thee  it  be  infamous — I  tell  thee  it  be  a  fel- 
ony— I  tell  thee  it  be  hanging,  whipping, 
and  the  pillory.  What  a  monster  of  in- 
gratitude thou  art,  to  defraud  me  of  such 
exquisite  gold  of  Venice  of  which  they 
are  made." 

"  Gold  of  Venice,  uncle  !"  exclaimed 
the  youth,  almost  inclined  to  laugh  at  the 
idea  ;  "  nay,  if  they  be  not  made  of  the 
most  notorious  tallow,  I  am  a  heathen." 

"  Tush  !    I  forgot,"  replied  Gregory 


Vellum,  striking  his  stick  violently 
against  the  floor ;  "  but  it  availeth  thee 
nothing  ;  thou  art  a  thief." 

"I  am  no  thief,  sir,"  said  the  youth, 
reddening  in  the  face  ;  "  I  do  confess  that 
I  took  what  you  have  in  your  hand,  that 
I  might  have  light  to  assist  me  in  my 
studies ;  but  if  the  loss  grieve  you,  they 
can  not  be  worth  more  than  a  halfpenny, 
and  you  may  either  keep  them,  or  I  will 
pay  you  for  them." 

"Pay,  pay !  why,  how  now?  who  talks 
of  paying?  where  dost  get  the  money 
from,  fellow?"  rapidly  inquired  the  old 
man,  fixing  on  his  nephew  a  searching 
and  inquisitive  look;  "and  how  earnest 
thou  by  those  heathenish  books  of  which 
thou  hast  such  goodly  store  *" 

"  I  had  them  from  a  hiend,"  replied 
Master  Francis ;  "and  I  am  obliged  to  be 
indebted  to  the  same  quarter  for  such  as- 
sistance as  my  necessities  require — which 
are  caused  by  those  who  should  have  ta- 
ken care  that  I  lack  nothing." 

"  Lack  ! — what  dost  lack  ?  thou  un- 
grateful vagabond  !"  demanded  his  uncle 
angrily,  yet  not  ill  pleased  that  such 
things  were  not  done  at  his  cost ;  "  do  I 
not  find  thee  a  most  comfortable  home  ? 
— do  I  not  keep  thee  in  excellent  wearing 
apparel  ? — and  as  for  eating,  didst  thou 
not  eat  right  heartily  yesterday  at  dinner 
of  a  most  princely  dish  of  cabbage  and 
bacon  ?" 

"  As  for  the  home,  uncle,"  said  the 
youth,  "your  penuriousness  and  ill-tem- 
per make  it  anything  but  comfortable. 
For  the  clothing — when  you  have  worn 
your  doublet  threadbare,  you  think  it 
good  enough  for  me.  And  as  for  my  din- 
ner yesterday,  it  consisted  of  a  piece  of 
rusty  bacon,  scarcely  big  enough  for  the 
baiting  of  a  rat-trap,  with  about  as  much 
cabbage  as  might  serve  for  a  caterpillar's 
breakfast." 

"  Oh,  thou  unnatural  prodigal !"  ex- 
claimed Master  Vellum,  lilting  np  his 
hands  and  eyes  in  amazement.  "  This 
comes  of  writing  verses ! — this  comes  of 
singing  love-songs !  0'  my  life,  I  have  a 
monstrous  inclination  to  beat  thee." 

"You  had  better  not,  uncle,"  said  the 
other  calmly. 

"Nay,  but  I  will,  caitiff!"  replied  he, 
lifting  up  his  stick  and  approaching  his 
nephew  threateningly. 

"If  you  do,"  said 'Master  Francis,  his 
face  now  as  pale  as  it  a  moment  since 
was  rubicund — "if  you  do,  I'll  give  you 
such  a  shaking  you  never  had  since  you 
were  born." 

"Hub — bub — bool''  exclaimed  the  old 


SH 


AKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


19 


man,  starting  back,  stammering,  several 
paces,  as  if  the  threat  had  taken  his 
breath  away :  and  there  he  stood,  with 
stick  uplifted  and  mouth  open,  looking 
the  very  picture  of  horror  and  surprise. 
In  fact,  the  conduct  of  his  nephew  had 
come  upon  him  with  a  most  perfect  as- 
tonishment; for  the  natural  modesty  of 
the  youth's  disposition  had  hitherto  made 
him  bear  his  uncle's  ill  humors  with 
meekness ;  but  possibly  the  wine  he  had 
drunk  with  Master  Shakspeare  had  put  a 
bolder  spirit  into  his  nature.  There, 
however,  did  he  stand,  pale  and  melan- 
choly, yet  resolute,  with  arms  folded,  and 
eyes  with  an  unmoved  fixedness  resting 
upon  his  terrified  kinsman. 

"  Oh,  the  monstrousness  of  the  age  !" 
at  last  ejaculated  Gregory  Vellum,  "  Oh, 
the  horrid  villany  !  But  thou  shall  troop 
for  it.  I  will  get  rid  of  thee  straight. 
Thou  shalt  find  other  uncles  to  give  thee 
house-room,  and  feed  and  clothe  thee, 
thou  pestilent  varlet !  for  I'll  have  none 
of  thee.  Was  it  not  enough  that  thou 
shouldst  rob  me  of  fifty  crowns — tush ! 
what  was  I  a  saying  ? — of  so  much  ex- 
cellent candle — but  that  thou  shouldst 
threaten  to  give  me  a  shaking  of  right 
exquisite  Venetian  workmanship — Alas  ! 
these  villanies  have  undone  me  !  I  know 
not  what  I  say."  Then  wildly  knocking 
the  palm  of  his  hand  against  his  forehead, 
the  old  man  rushed  out  of  the  room, 
shouting  "  Oh,  my  fifty  crowns  !  my  fifty 
crowns !"  leaving  Master  Francis  in  as 
great  a  wonder  as  Master  Francis  had  a 
moment  since  put  his  miserly  kinsman. 


CHAPTER   III. 

"  Love  me  not  for  comely  grace, 
For  my  pleasing  eye  or  face, 
Nor  for  any  outward  part, 
Nor  for  my  too  constant  heart. 
For  those  may  fail  or  turn  to  ill, 

And  thus  our  love  shall  sever ; 
Keep  therefore  a  true  woman's  eye. 
And  love  me  still— yet  know  not  why 
So  hast  thou  the  same  reason  still 

To  dote  upon  me  ever."  WII/BYE. 

•'  A  combination  and  a  form  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

IT  was  in  a  private  closet  in  the  queen's 
palace  of  Whitehall,  that  two  of  her  ma- 
jesty's maids  of  honor  were  assisting  each 
other  in  attiring,  and  were  conversing 
•with  that  confidence  that  denoteth  perfect 
friendship.  The  one,  the  taller  of  the 
;wo,  was  of  a  most  majestic  shape,  with 


a  countenance  of  exquisite  softness,  im- 
pressed with  a  touch  of  reflection,  that  at 
times  made  her  seem  somewhat  of  a  re- 
served and  melancholy  disposition :  but 
in  truth  she  was  a  most  handsome  wo- 
man, and  of  an  excellent  fair  complexion. 
The  other  appeared  both  shorter  and 
younger  ;  her  face  was  dark,  yet  did  the 
roses  bloom  in  it  most  becomingly  ;  an 
arched  mouth  she  had,  dimpled  on  one 
cheek,  and  as  for  her  eyes,  they  were  the 
most  laughing,  roguish,  brilliant  pair  of 
twinklers  .that  ever  pretty  wench  was 
blessed  withal.  Of  these  fair  damsels, 
the  first  was  Elizabeth  Throckmorton, 
and  the  latter,  her  cousin  Alice. 

"What  dost  sigh  for,  Bess?"  suddenly 
inquired  the  youngest.  "  O'  my  troth, 
thou  hast  appeared  very  woful  of  late." 

"  Did  I  sigh,  Alice  ?"  asked  the  other 
dejectedly. 

"Sigh,  coz!"  repeated  Alice.  "No 
old  bellows  with  fifty  holes  in  it  ever 
breathed  with  so  undone  a  sadness.  This 
comes  of  being  in  love,  Bess.  Art  sigh- 
ing for  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  ?  I  see  by 
thy  blushing  I  have  hit  it.  Well,  Heaven 
help  thy  five  wits,  that  can  find  matter 
for  sadness  in  things  that  give  me  such 
infinite  matter  for  mirth.  And  what  be 
this  same  animal,  called  man  ?  A  thing 
to  laugh  at — a  joke  that  goes  upon  two 
legs — a  walking  piece  of  provocation  for 
women  to  break  a  jest  upon.  Is  he  not 
a  most  absurd  creature  ?  I'faith,  us  poor 
maids  would  have  all  died  of  melancholy 
long  since,  if  the  men  had  not  kept  us 
alive  by  affording  us  such  exquisite  sub- 
jects for  sport.  And  then  the  airs  they 
give  themselves.  Didst  ever  see  a  pea- 
cock in  the  sun  ?  he  spreads  himself  out 
just  like  your  man  animal ;  and  struts 
about,  and  looks  as  preposterously  fine 
and  proud.  Poor  fool !  a  goose  would 
look  as  well  had  it  the  same  feathers. 
And,  like  the  clown  in  the  play,  he  taketh 
a  world  of  pains  to  get  well  laughed  at 
by  his  audience.  Well,  I  think  I  lack 
not  gratitude.  I  owe  a  bountiful  load  of 
thanks  to  these  our  estimable  benefactors, 
and  all  that  my  poor  wit  can  do  to  render 
them  as  ridiculous  as  they  seek  to  be, 
they  shall  have.  They  call  themselves 
lords  of  the  creation  too,  when  they  have 
about  as  much  omnipotence  as  a  cockle 
shell.  Whatever  lords  they  may  be  of, 
they  shall  never  be  lords  of  my  bed-cham- 
ber, I  promise  you  ;  for,  before  I  marry  a 
man,  I'll  give  my  virginity  to  an  owl." 

"  Alice,  Alice  !  how  thou  dost  run  on," 
exclaimed  Mistress  Throckmorton. 

"  Ay,  forsooth,  had  I  no  legs  I  could 


20 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


run  on  with  such  a  subject,"  replied  her 
cousin,  laughing  merrily.  "  But  how 
dost  like  the  setting  of  this  sleeve  ?" 

"  It  is  of  a  pretty  fashion,  and  of  most 
dainty  fabric,"  said  the  other,  With  a 
careless  glance  at  the  dress. 

"  That  all  thou  canst  say  about  it  ?" 
responded  her  companion  archly.  "  Had 
I  asked  thee  concerning  the  captain  of  the 
queen's  guard,  wouldst  thou  have  merely 
said,  'It  is  of  a  pretty  fashion,  and  of  a 
most  dainty  fabric  ?' "  here  the  merry 
little  creature  mimicked  her  companion. 
"  0'  my  word,  no — I  should  never  have 
heard  the  last  of  him.  Thou  wouldst 
have  given  me  whole  chapters  upon  every 
hair  of  his  head." 

"  But  is  he  not  a  wise  and  most  noble 
gentleman  ?"  asked  her  cousin  earnestly. 
"Wise,  quotha!"  exclaimed  Alice, 
with  a  smile  of  peculiar  meaning.  "Wise 
man  ? — wise  fiddlestick  !  In  what  is  he 
wise  ?  Doth  he  not  talk  admirably  ?  So 
doth  a  parrot  if  it  be  well  taught.  Wise 
oyster  !  And  there  is  but  little  difference 
betwixt  your  oyster  and  your  man.  Your 
oyster  hath  a  beard,  so  hath  your  man  ; 
— so  he  need  not  brag  so  much  on  that 
account.  But  the  difference  be  all  in 
favor  of  your  oyster  ;  for  youi1  oyster  is 
delicate  eating,  but  your  man  is  for  no 
Christian  stomach,  cook  him  how  you 
will.  Wise  calf!  Why,  there  is  more 
philosophy  in  a  forked  radish  than  ever 
you  will  find  in  your  wise  man." 

"  In  truth,  Alice,  if  I  did  not  know  thee 
to  be  a  most  kind-hearted  wench  and  a 
merry,  I  should  think  thee  very  mali- 
cious," observed  the  eldest 

"  I  bear  no  malice  against  the  poor 
creatures,"  replied  the  other,  with  pre- 
tended meekness.  "  It  would  be  a  right 
shameful  return  for  the  unceasing  efforts 
they  make  to  amuse  me.  Well,  it  be  not 
their  fault  that  they  have  not  more  sense  ; 
and  considering  how  foolish  they  are  by 
nature,  I  must  do  them  the  justice  to  say, 
that  they  do  as  well  as  they  can." 

"  But  I  can  not  love  thee,  if  thou  wilt 
not  love  Walter,"  said  Mistress  Throck- 
morton,  looking  with  much  seriousness  in 
the  face  of  her  witty  relative. 

"  Love  him,  coz !"   exclaimed  Alice, 
affectionately  kissing  her  forehead, 
will  do  anything  to  pleasure  thee." 

And  thereupon  the  two  cousins  did  ca- 
ress one  another  with  a  lovingness  that 
was  most  touching  to  behold. 

"  But  if  he  make  thee  melancholy,  I'll 
be  hanged  if  I  love  him,"  continued  she 
with  much  emphasis. 
"  It  be  not  his  fault,  dear  Alice,"  re- 


plied her  companion.  "  He  is  always 
good  and  kind  and  noble.  I  alone  am 
to  blame — I  am  very  much  to  blame." 
And,  saying  this,  she  suddenly  did  throw 
herself  upon  the  neck  of  her  kinswoman, 
in  an  uncontrollable  agony  of  hysteric 
sobs  and  tears;  and  wept  outright. 

"Bess!  Bess!  Cousin!  Elizabeth!" 
cried  the  now  alarmed  and  anxious  Alice. 
"What  meaneth  this?  Why  are  these 
tears — and  for  what  art  thou  to  blame  ? 
Nay,  this  is  mere  folly.  If  the  queen 
find  out  that  Sir  Walter  love  thee,  she 
may  be  wrath  with  him  and  thee  for  a 
time,  but  it  will  all  blow  over  harmlessly, 
I'll  be  bound  for  it ;  and  there  is  no  occa- 
sion to  fret  thyself  till  it  happen.  Come, 
dry  up  thy  tears,  or  I  will  not  let  thee  see 
him  for  a  month." 

"  I  must  see  him  this  morning,  dear 
Alice !"  remarked  her  cousin  earnestly. 
"  Thou  must  contrive  to  let  me  have 
speech  with  him  here ;  for  it  is  of  the  ut- 
most importance." 

"  Here,  cousin  !" 

"  Ay,  here,  Alice,"  replied  she  ;  "  my 
life,  all  that  is  dear  to  me,  depends  upon 
it." 

"  Well,  if  that  be  the  case,  I'll  strive 
whatever  my  love  can  do  to  bring  it 
about,"  responded  the  other.  "  But  see 
how  monstrously  thou  hast  rumpled  my 
ruff.  If  the  queen  see  it,  she  will  swear 
I  have  been  romping."  At  this  they  both 
strove  to  smooth  the  creases  as  well  as 
they  could.  "  And  now  let  me  help  thee 
on  with  thy  robe,"  she  continued,  as  she 
assisted  in  attiring  her.  "Ah,  love's  a 
sad  thing,  and  therefore  I  like  it  not,  dear 
Bess  ;  for  I  like  merry  things." 

•'Thou  wilt  change  thy  tune  anon,  de- 
pend on't,"  said  the  elder. 

"  Change  my  tune  ?  I'll  change  my 
nature  first,"  replied  the  other.  "  By  my 
troth,  if  the  sky  were  to  rain  lovers,  I'd 
keep  under  shelter.  Save  in  the  way  of 
sport,  if  ever  I  have  anything  to  do  with 
these  man  animals — why  then  pickle  me. 
And  what  a  set  I  have  around  me  at  this 
present !  Noah's  ark  contained  not  such 
another.  First,  I  have  my  Lord  Burgh- 
ley,  who  looks  as  virtuous  as  small  beer, 
and  is  just  as  sour  upon  occasion.  He 
taketh  upon  him  to  commend  my  beauty, 
when  the  lord  treasurer  desireth  to  make 
himself  agreeable  to  the  maid  of  honor ; 
then  sayeth  he,  with  a  very  infinite  grav-  * 
ity,  '  Be  chary  of  thy  smile,  mistress ; 
butter  melts  i'  the  sun !  butter  melts  i'  the 
sun  !'  "  And  here  she  mimicked  the  voice 
and  manner  of  that  most  worshipful  and 
profound  statesman,  of  glorious  memory. 


21 


and  then  proceeded  imitating,  in  the  same 
ludicrous  way,  the  different  individuals 
she  named.  "  Then  comes  young  grav- 
ity, his  son,  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  who  hath  a 
smile  for  every  one,  and — nothing  else ; 
and  as  he  happens  to  be  possessed  of  a 
person  in  no  way  nattering  to  the  eye,  he 
chooseth  to  make  use  of  a  tongue  in  every- 
way flattering  to  the  ear.  '  Sweet  Alice,' 
saith  he,  in  a  whisper  if  he  happen  to 
stand  by  me  in  the  throng,  '  indeed,  I 
can  not  help  but  think  thee  the  flower  of 
the  whole  court.'  After  him  we  have 
Lord  Henry  Howard — or  rather  with 
him,  for  they  generally  hunt  in  couples, 
like  hounds  of  better  breed ;  and  he  is 
somewhat  of  a  soldier — somewhat  of  a 
sailor — somewhat  of  a  gallant,  and  a 
great  deal  of  a  courtier ;  and  he  kisseth 
my  hand  cavalierly,  and  looketh  into  my 
eye  as  if  he  saw  something  there  he  had 
lost — his  own  modesty,  mayhap,  if  he 
ever  had  any — and  sweareth  me  one  of 
the  newest  oaths,  saying,  '  I  could  stand 
the  enemy,  but  not  those  lustrous  orbs!'  " 

"Alice,  thy  wit  will  be  the  ruin  of 
thee." 

"  Then  cometh  my  Lord  Pembroke, 
the  hopeful  pupil  of  that  marvellous 
scholar  and  exquisite  specimen  of  chiv- 
alry, Sir  Philip  Sidney,"  continued  the 
laughing  girl.  "  And  he  readeth  me  an 
essay  an  hour  long  on  the  surpassing  vir- 
tues of  the  dames  of  antiquity  ;  and  look- 
ing the  very  pink  of  courtesy,  telleth 
me,  'Thouwouldst  make  an  admirable 
Arcadian  shepherdess,  only  the  infinite 
roguery  that  lurks  in  the  dimple  of  thy 
cheek  would  create  a  world  of  mischief 
among  the  swains.'  Then  comes  my 
lord  chamberlain,  the  bluff  and  martial 
Earl  of  Sussex,  with  guns  and  pistols  in 
his  looks,  and  cannon-balls  in  his  conver- 
sation ;  and  he  salutes  me  most  soldierly, 
with  an  "Hullo,  mistress!  were  I  for 
kissing,  I  know  the  pair  of  lips  I'd  choose 
out  of  a  thousand.'  After  him  we  have 
the  proud  and  impetuous  Essex — all 
splendor — all  gallantry — all  impulse — 
and  all  nothing:  and  he  cometh  to  me 
alone  with  an  irresistible  air,  protest- 
ing, '  By  this  hand,  an'  I  love  thee  not  I 
am  a  Turk.'  " 

"  Alice  !  Alice  !"  exclaimed  her  cousin 
seriously,  "  if  thou  art  heard  saying  this, 
thou  art  utterly  undone." 

"  Then  cometh  the  gallant,  gay,  the 
learned,  witty,  brave,  and  handsome — 
in  fact,  the  very  thing — Sir  Walter 
Raleigh." 

"  Alice  !"  cried  Mistress  Elizabeth 
Tbrockmorton,  reproachfully. 


"Well,  dear  Bess,  I  will  say  nothing 
of  him,  since  it  doth  not  please  thee," 
replied  her  companion.  "  And  now,  be- 
cause thou  art  quite  ready,  and  I  have 
teased  thee  in  some  measure,  I  will  go 
and  seek  the  noble  captain  ;  for,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  he  must  by  this  time  be  in  at- 
tendance." 

"  There's  a  good  wench  !"   exclaimed 
her  cousin,   kissing    her   affectionately. 
"  But  be  cautious  in  thy  proceeding,  for    * 
if  the  queen  know  of  his  being  with  thee, 
Walter  will  be  ruined  and  I  undone." 

"  Be   cautious  !  will   I  not  ?"   replied 

the  light-hearted  creature,  with  a  toss  of 

I  her  little  head.     "  I'll  be  as  sly  as  a  cat 

I  stealing  of   cream ;  and   if  her  majesty 

1  find  me   out,  I'll  e'en  give  her  leave  to 

j  box  my  ears,  as  she  did  those  of  the  love- 

|  ly  Mistress  Bridges,  who  was   guilty  of 

I  having  had  the  presumption  to  be  admir- 

:  ed   by  the  imperial  Essex.    But  Bess," 

j  continued    she,   turning    round   with  an 

i  arch  look,  as  she  reached  the  door,  "  't  is 

j  a  burning   shame   thou   shouldst   be  in 

love.     I  marvel   at  it  hugely.     Well,  if 

ever  thou  catchest  me  possessed  of  any 

of  thy  melancholy  humors,  I'll  give  thee 

leave  to  shut  me  up  in  a   mouse-trap." 

And  with  a  laugh  as  shrill  and  musical 

as  the  alarum  of  a  silver  bell,  did  the 

pretty  piece  of  mirth  and  mischief  leave 

the  room. 

But  her  cousin  was  in  no  mood  to  join 
in  her  merriment ;  and  immediately  Alice 
was  gone  she  sat  herself  down  in  a  chair, 
and  there  stole  over  her  fair  countenance 
an  expression  of  deep  and  right  eloquent 
sadness.     She  sat  with  her  arms  crossed 
upon  her  lap,  most  dejectedly ;  and  her 
soft  eyes,  swimming  in  tears,  fixed  upon 
the  floor.     And  in  that  position  did  she 
continue  for  at  least  the  fourth  part  of  an 
hour,  feeding  reflection  with  the  delicious 
food  of  memory,  mingled  with  so  many 
fearful   forebodings    as   were    sufficient, 
i  with  their  bitterness  to  spoil  the  sweet- 
!  ness  of  her   thoughts.     She  wept  not, 
,  neither  did  she  smile ;  but  it  seemed  as 
j  if  in  her  admirable  features  there  was  go- 
i  ing  on  a  continual  struggle  between  the 
most  exquisite  pleasure  and  the  most  dire- 
ful apprehension,  and  the  latter  got  such 
mastery  as  might  suffice  to  give  her  lids 
i  as  much   moisture  as  they  could  carry, 
i  and  impress  on  her  well-favored  aspect, 
!  a  character  of  more  than  ordinary  grief. 
j  Anon,  her  eyes   becoming  overcharged, 
j  there  was  cast  down  upon  each  cheek  a 
I  tear-drop,  and  the  light  falling  thereon 
from  the  window  near  which  she  sat,  did 
i  make  its  brilliancy  so  apparent,  that  it 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 


would  have  put  to  shame  the  brightest 
jewel  that  ever  glittered  in  her  stom- 
acher ;  and  these  gems  of  purest  water, 
as  if  enamored  of  their  fair-resting  place, 
sought  not  to  move  from  the  spot  where 
they  had  fallen  ;  which  gave  to  her  the 
appearance  of  a  most  beautiful  and  mov- 
ing Niobe. 

Presently  she  heard  a  footstep  in  the 
corridor,  and  her  heart  thereupon  began 
to  beat  with  a  more  perceptible  throb- 
bing. The  footstep  approached,  and  the 
color  mounted  to  her  cheek — it  stopped 
at  the  door,  and  the  cheek  became  pale 
as  marble.  In  a  moment  the  door  opened 
quickly,  and  was  as  quickly  closed  ;  and, 
as  a  cavalier  of  a  most  noble  appearance 
entered  the  room,  with  a  half-stifled  cry 
of  exultation,  she  rushed  toward  him, 
and  sunk  swooning  upon  his  breast. 

In  truth,  the  cavalier  was  of  a  most 
valiant  and  commendable  presence.  His 
high  and  expansive  forehead  was  partly 
concealed  by  his  hat  (in  which  was  a  lit- 
tle black  feather,  with  a  large  ruby  and 
pearl  drop  at  the  bottom  of  the  sprig,  in 
place  of  the  button)  ;  yet  sufficient  of  it 
was  observable  to  denote  the  fine  intel- 
lect that  lay  within.  His  eyes  were  large 
and  intelligent — his  nose  somewhat  long, 
yet  not  out  of  proportion — his  lips  deli- 
cately curved,  with  a  fair  mustache  on 
the  upper  lip,  and  a  beard  of  moderate 
growth,  handsomely  rounded  under  the 
chin  beneath,  encircled  by  a  frilled  ruff ; 
and  his  complexion  was  somewhat 
browned,  as  if  by  exposure  to  foreign  cli- 
mates, or  hard  service  in  the  wars.  His 
stature  was  six  feet  full,  with  limbs  ele- 
gantly yet  strongly  moulded.  He  was 
apparelled  in  a  white  satin  pinked  vest, 
close  sleeved  to  the  wrist,  having  over 
the  body  of  it  a  brown  doublet,  finely 
flowered,  and  embroidered  with  pearls; 
with  a  belt  of  the  same  color  and  or- 
nament, on  the  left  side  of  which  hung 
his  sword,  and  on  the  other  was  seen  the 
pommel  of  his  dagger.  His  trunks,  with 
his  stockings  and  riband  garters,  were 
all  of  white,  and  fringed  at  the  end  ;  and 
his  shoes  were  of  buff,  tied  with  white 
ribands.  He  might  be  somewhere  be- 
tween thirty  and  forty  years  of  age  ;  that 
is  to  say,  in  the  very  prime  and  vigor  of 
his  life.  And  a  braver  soldier,  a  hand- 
somer man,  or  a  more  accomplished  gen- 
tleman, the  court  of  Elizabeth  did  not 
contain  at  that  time. 

"  Bess  !  Bess  !  dear,  sweet,  exquisite 
Bess  !:>  cried  he  flinging  down  his  hat, 
rnd  pressing  her  in  his  arms.  "By 
Heaven  !  she  hath  swooned,"  he  exclaim- 


ed, as  he  observed  her  head  droop,  and 
her  cheek  quite  pallid :  then  cautiously 
fastening  the  door,  he  bore  his  lovely 
burden  to  where  stood  an  ewer  of  water, 
which  he  began  presently  to  sprinkle  on 
her  face,  all  the  while  using  most  endear- 
ing expressions  and  caresses,  and  exhib- 
iting a  truly  earnest  solicitude. 

"  They  have  fastened  thy  boddice  most 
infamously  tight,  dear  Bess,  and  'tis  be- 
yond my  poor  wit  to  loose  it,"  said  he 
earnestly,  as  he  tried  unavailingly  to  undo 
the  fastenings  of  her  robe.  "  S'blood,  I 
have  a  good  mind  to  rip  it  up  with  my 
dagger  ;  and  if  she  recover  not  quickly, 
I  will.  Dear,  dear  Bess  !"  he  continued, 
with  more  emphasis,  as  he  began  vigor- 
ously to  chafe  her  hands.  "  Revive  thee, 
girl — revive  !  '  Tis  I — '  tis  Walter — thy 
Walter,  dear  Bess.  There  is  nothing  to 
fear,  believe  me.  We  have  no  one  near, 
the  queen's  in  the  council  chamber,  and 
I  have  well  excused  my  attendance. 
Come,  Bess,  I  say — sweetest !  dearest ! 
best !  my  heart !  my  life  ! — Ha,  she  re- 
vives !"  he  cried  joyfully,  as  he  observed 
signs  of  returning  animation  in  her  coun- 
tenance. "  Indeed,  I  have  a  mind  to  scold 
thee — only  I  have  no  heart  to  do  it/' 

"  Walter  !  dear  Walter  !"  murmured 
the  beautiful  woman,  fixing  upon  him  a 
look  of  most  impassioned  tenderness,  di- 
rectly she  recovered  sufficient  conscious- 
ness of  where  and  with  whom  she  was  ; 
and  then  throwing  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  resting  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  began  to  sob  violently. 

"  Now,  Bess,  this  is  unkind  of  thee," 
said  Sir  Walter  in  rather  a  reproaching 
tone ;  but  immediately  added  with  a 
kinder  voice,  "  but  what  aileth  thee, 
sweetest?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  undone  thee — I  have  un- 
done thee  quite  !"  exclaimed  she,  as  plain- 
ly as  her  sobs  would  allow. 

"  Not  while  I  wear  a  sword,  dear  Bess, 
and  am  free  to  go  where  I  will,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"  The  queen  will  know  all,  dear  Wal- 
ter— she  must  discover  it  soon.'' 

"  Why  so,  dear  Bess  ?"  inquired  Sir 
Walter. 

"  Alas  !  I  can  not  tell  thee — no,  indeed, 
I  can  not  tell  thee,  dear  Walter,"  said 
Mistress  Elizabeth,  sobbing  more  violent- 
ly ;  "  but  I  must  leave  this  place.  Do 
take  me  away.  I  can  not  stay  here  but 
a  very  short  time  longer  without  utter 
destruction  to  thy  fortunes.  Oh  !  take 
me  away,  Walter — take  me  away  !" 

"  It  shall  be  as  thou  desirest,  sweetest," 
replied  Raleigh,  stooping  down  and  kiss- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


23 


ing  her  cheek.  "I  have  already  arranged 
with  thy  father  for  a  private  marriage 
before  I  embark  on  a  voyage,  the  good 
results  of  which  I  hope  will  win  my  par- 
don from  the  queen." 

"  Thanks,    dear  Walter,"    exclaimed 
she,  looking  gratefully  upon  him  through 
her  tears :  "  thou  art  always  good,  and  j 
noble,  and  generous  ;  but  I  am  fearful  it 
will  be  thy  utter  undoing." 

"  Think  not  of  it,  Bess,"  said  her  lover 
kindly,  "and  then  it  can  not  fright  thee. 
But  the  danger  is  none  so  imminent.  I 
shall  not  let  her  majesty  know  of  our 
marriage,  if  it  can  be  helped.  Thou  shall 
get  away  from  here  as  if  on  a  visit  to  thy 
father  in  Aldgate,  and  so  excite  no  suspi- 
cions ;  in  the  meantime,  I  will  increase  my 
attentions  to  the  queen,  so  that  she  shall 
have  no  reason  to  quarrel  with  my  be- 
havior ;  and  when  thou  art  secure  in  thy 
asylum,  I  shall  start  in  my  good  ships  for 
the  voyage  I  intend." 

"  I  would  not  have  thee  anger  the 
queen  for  worlds,"  observed  the  other ; 
"  for  it  is  in  her  power  to  make  thy  for- 
tunes, or  mar  them.  Elizabeth  hath  a 
very  woman's  heart  in  some  things, 
though  she  be  masculine  enough  in  oth- 
ers ;  and  she  loveth  the  adulation  of 
handsome  men.  She  much  regardeth 
thee,  dear  Walter,  I  know,  and  from  that 
1  am  fearful  that  her  knowledge  of  thy  j 
marriage  will  deeply  affect  thy  prosperity. 
Indeed,  I  would  rather  die  than  that  thou 
shouldst  receive  injury  for  my  sake." 

"  O'my  life,  thou  art  a  most  admirable 
creature,"  exclaimed  Sir  Waller,  as  he 
rapturously  pressed  her  within  his  arms; 
"  and  I  should  be  totally  unworthy  of 
possessing  that  rich  argosie,  thy  affec- 
tions, were  I  not  to  risk  my  life,  and  all 
that  to  it  do  belong,  in  endeavoring  to 
secure  thy  peace  of  mind.  I  fear  not 
consequences  in  such  a  case,  dear  Bess. 
As  for  the  queen,  I  know  that  flattery  is 
rarely  unacceptable  to  her  ;  and  her  name 
and  thine  being  the  same,  I  can  easily 
quiet  the  scruples  of  my  conscience,  if 
they  say  aught  against  my  insincerity,  by- 
imagining  that  it  is  to  thee  my  homage 
is  addressed." 

"  I  care  not,  Walter,  what  thou  sayest 
or  what  thou  doest,  as  long  as  thou  bold- 
est thy  proper  quality  and  station  in  the 
court,"  replied  the  devoted  woman  ;  and 
then,  with  a  sudden  look  of  right  earnest 
affection,  continued — '-thy  proper  quali- 
ty, said  I  ? — nay,  if  thou  attainest  that, 
by  my  troth,  thou  wouldst  be  king  of 
them  all." 

"  Oh,  thou  outrageous  flatterer !"  cried 


Raleigh,  sportively  shaking  his  head  at 
her. 

"  'Tis  no  flattery,  dear  Walter — 'tis  the 
very  truth,"  said  Mistress  Elizabeth  fond- 
ly. "  And  who  can  loot  on  thy  noble 
form,  clad  in  these  princely  vestments, 
and  not  say  the  same  ?  But  above  all, 
who  can  regard  thy  noble  mind — that 
costly  jewel  in  a  rich  case — and  deny  thy 
pre-eminence?" 

"  Bess  !  Bess  !  if  thou  goest  on  at  this 
rate,"  replied  Sir  Walter,  with  an  as- 
sumed gravity,  "  I  shall  be  reduced  to 
follow  the  obsolete  custom  of  blushing, 
which  will  bear  hardly  upon  me,  seeing 
that  I  lack  blushes  most  abominably." 

At  this  moment  a  quick,  light  footstep 
was  heard  proceeding  along  the  corridor, 
and  Mistress  Elizabeth,  as  soon  as  she 
recognised  it,  disengaged  herself  from  the 
embraces  of  her  lover,  hastened  to  the 
door,  which  she  immediately  unfastened, 
and  opening  it,  gave  entrance  to  her 
cousin  Alice. 

"  A  plague  on  this  love,  say  I,"  ex- 
claimed she  laughingly,  as  she  bounced 
into  the  room  nearly  out  of  breath. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Alice  ?"  inquired 
her  cousin  anxiously. 

"  Ay,  what's  the  matter,  sweet  coz  !" 
added  Sir  Walter. 

"  Coz !  coz,  indeed  !"  cried  Alice,  some- 
what disdainfully,  yet  with  an  arch  glance 
of  her  eye,  a»she  turned  sharp  round  up- 
on the  last  speaker — "  I  pry  thee  keep  thy 
coz-emng  for  those  who  will  listen  to 
thee.  I'll  have  none  on't." 

"  I'faith,  Alice,  if  thy  wit  be  always  so 
sharp,  thou  wilt  lead  apes  in  the  next 
world,  depend  on't,"  said  Raleigh. 

"  I  don't   know,   sweet    sir,   whether 
there  be  apes  in  the  next  world,"  said 
I  she,  with  a  courtesy  to  the  ground  ;  "but 
I  o'  my  word  there  be  nothing  else  to  lead 
!  in  this,  as  I  can  see." 

At  this  Sir  Walter  good  humoredly  did 
I  laugh  outright ;  in  which  he  was  heartily 
I  joined  by  his  merry  companion. 

"But  what  brought  thee  into  the  room 
I  so  post-haste,  Alice  ?"  inquired  Mistress 
Elizabeth. 

"  Marry,  matter  enough,"  replied  she  • 
"  there  be  the  queen's  majesty  in  her 
chamber  inquiring  most  piteously  for  her 
captain  of  the  guard,  and  sending  the 
ushers  and  the  grooms  in  all  directions 
after  the  lost  sheep.  I  being  asked  if  I 
!  knew  where  he  was  to  be  found,  did  inno- 
cently answer,  that  having  for  some  time 
past  suspected  him  of  the  criminal  inten- 
tion of  setting  the  Thames  on  fire,  I  did 
opine  that  he  might  he  met  with  in  the 


24 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


buttery,  begging  the  loan  of  a  wax  taper 
for  the  nonce." 

"I'll  give  thee  a  beating  for  that," 
cried  Sir  Walter  laughingly,  as  following 
her  round  the  chamber  with  his  glove  he 
did  whip  her  over  the  shoulder,  while 
she,  ducking  her  pretty  head,  cried  out, 
and  sought  to  avoid  the  blows. 

"  Help,  good  coz,  help !"  she  cried  to 
her  cousin,  who  stood  by,  showing  by 
her  sweet,  smiling  countenance  that  she 
did  mightily  enjoy  the  scene.  "  Help  !  or 
this  valiant  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who 
maketh  war  upon  women,  will  get  the 
better  of  me." 

"  Nay,  Alice,  I'll  help  thee  not — for 
thou  dost  richly  deserve  all  that  thou  re- 
ceivest,"  said  Mistress  Elizabeth. 

"  Confess  that  thou  hast  slandered  me, 
thou  pretty  mischief,"  exclaimed  Raleigh, 
holding  up  the  glove  threateningly,  as 
she  crouched  down  at  his  feet. 

"  I  will  confess,  holy  father,"  replied 
sbe,  with  an  admirable  mock  seriousness, 
as  she  put  her  palms  together,  and  turned 
up  her  brilliant  eyes  to  his — all  the 
while  a  smile  playing  about  her  dimpled 
cheek  that  gave  to  her  face  an  expres- 
sion of  archness  infinitely  pleasant  to  look 
upon. 

"In  the  first  place,  holy  father,  the 
queen  is  not  in  her  chamber,  because  she 
is  still  with  the  lords  of  the  council." 

"  Oh,  thou  abominable  transgressor  !" 
cried  Sir  Walter,  with  all  the  seriousness 
he  could  assume. 

"  In  the  second  place,  she  hath  not 
sent  for  thee,  because  she  requireth  thee 
not." 

"  Daughter  !  daughter  !  thy  iniquity  is 
palpable,"  said  he  with  he  same  gravity. 

"  In  the  last  place,  I  have  just  met 
with  master  secretary,  whosaith  that  the 
council  is  about  to  break  up,  and  inquired 
if  I  had  seen  thee.  Thereupon  I  sent 
him  where  I  knew  he  would  not  find 
thee,  and  hastened  to  where  I  knew  I 
should." 

"  Thou  most  do  penance  for  this,"  ob- 
served Raleigh ;  then  somewhat  mali- 
ciously added,  "  therefore  I  do  condemn 
thee  to  the  scarcely  endurable  punish- 
ment  of  holding  thy  tongue  for  a  whole 
hoar." 

"  I'  faith  thou  hast  it  this  time,  Alice  !" 
exclaimed  Mistress  Elizabeth,  wilh  un- 
disguised glee. 

"  And  now,  beauties,  I  must  be  under 
the  painful  necessity  of  hurrying  my  de- 
parture," said  Sir  Walter,  taking  up  his 
hat,  and  ffallantly  bowing  to  the  fair 
cousins;  then  smiling  triumphantly  on 


the  laughing  Alice,  who  had  remained 
on  the  floor  where  he  had  left  her,  wear- 
ing the  most  pitiful  face  that  eye  ever 
beheld,  he  was  about  to  make  his  exit, 
when  Mistress  Elizabeth  rushed  before 
him. 

"  Stop,  Walter,"  cried  she,  hastily, 
"  till  I  see  if  the  coast  be  clear  for  thee," 
as  she  opened  the  door,  and  looking  out 
cautiously,  immediately  added,  in  a  more 
subdued  voice — "  'tis  as  it  should  be ; 
and  now,  dear  Walter,  let  me  once  more 
entreat  of  thee  to  keep  on  good  terms 
with  the  queen." 

"  I  will  strive  all  I  can,  dear  Bess," 
replied  her  lover,  affectionately  raising 
her  hand  to  his  lips,  "  and  be  sure  that 
thou  make  proper  and  speedy  preparations 
for  thy  departure  from  this  place." 

•"  I  will  not  fail,"  said  the  beautiful 
woman  ;  and,  in  the  next  moment,  she 
was  watching  the  noble  form  of  her 
affianced  husband  retreating  with  hasty 
strides  along  the  corridor. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  proceeded  onward, 
passing  several  doors  on  each  side  of  him, 
and  various  passages  that  led  to  divers 
parts  of  the  palace,  till  he  came  to  a 
staircase  of  fair  proportions,  the  balus- 
trades of  which  were  finely  carved,  hav- 
ing at  their  extremities  rampant  lions, 
most  ingeniously  wrought  out  of  the  solid 
wood.  At  the  bottom  of  this  flight  of 
steps  he  passed  sundry  of  the  yeomen  of 
the  guard,  placed  there  upon  duty,  who 
gave  him  instant  salutation^  and  still 
advancing,  met  with  pages,  grooms,  and 
ushers,  hastening  on  their  business,  who, 
with  great  show  of  respect,  did  do  him 
reverence.  With  these  were  sometimes 
mingled  the  higher  officers  of  the  palace, 
and  gentlemen  and  noblemen  of  the  court, 
either  intent  upon  their  duties,  or  dis- 
coursing with  one  another,  as  they  walked 
carelessly  along,  and  with  them  he  did 
exchange  abundance  of  courtesies.  As 
he  was  turning  sharply  round  a  corner, 
he  came  suddenly  against  a  courtier  of 
a  very  notable  aspect,  and  of  right  com- 
mendable habiliments  ;  his  face  was  fair 
to  look  upon,  and  dressed  with  a  constant 
smile.  An  observer  might  suppose  him 
of  an  ingenuous  nature,  and  of  a  remark- 
able honesty ;  gentle  in  his  behavior,  up- 
right in  his  conduct,  and  chivalrous  in  his 
disposition  :  yet  was  he  a  thorough  cour- 
tier, as  will  anon  be  made  manifest  to 
the  reader.  He  was  young ;  that  is  to 
say,  of  some  thirty  years  or  so  ;  and  being 
of  a  handsome  figure  and  countenance, 
his  apparel,  though  it  lacked  the  splendor 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's,  was  evidently 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


25 


worn  to  set  them  off  to  the  best  ad- 
Tantage. 

"  Odds  pittikins,  Sir  Walter,"  exclaim- 
ed he.  laughingly,  as  he  recovered  him- 
self from  the  shock,  "dost  take  me  for  a 
Spanish  galleon,  that  thou  runnest  me 
down  in  this  pitiless  fashion  ?" 

"  Thy  pardon,  my  good  lord,"  replied 
Sir  Walter,  as  he  held  but  his  hand, 
which  the  other  shook  with  all  the 
fervor  of  old  friendship,  "  Lord  Henry 
Howard  hath  so  proved  himself  the 
queen's  good  soldier,  as  to  make  it  im- 
possible for  any  one  to  take  him  for  a 
Spaniard." 

"  Nay,  thou  flatterest  me  there,"  said 
the  Lord  Howard,  with  an  appearance 
of  considerable  modesty,  "  I  did  but  fol- 
low the  example  of  that  worthy  and  ap- 
proved good  knight,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
— and  but  at  an  humble  distance,  as  all 
must  who  would  tread  in  his  valiant 
footsteps.  But,  confess — confess  thee, 
man  !  wert  thou  not  dreaming  of  another 
armada,  and  wert  intent  on  boarding  the 
biggest  ship  of  them  all,  when  thou  didst 
bear  down  upon  me  with  thy  whole 
broadside  so  courageously  ?" 

"Indeed,  my  lord,  I  was  thinking  of 
a  different  matter,"  replied  his  com- 
panion. 

"  I  doubt  thee  hugely,"  responded  the 
other,  shaking  his  head,  "  for  'tis  so  much 
in  thy  fashion.  Then  wert  thou  busying 
thy  most  fruitful  imagination  in  search 
of  new  discoveries,  and,  instead  of  steer- 
ing into  some  delectable  bay,  full  of  all 
enticing  prospects,  thou  of  a  sudden  didst 
drop  thy  anchor  upon  my  new  doublet — 
was  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Thou  art  again  in  the  wrong,  my 
lord,"  replied  Sir  Walter,  smiling;  "I 
was  on  no  such  voyage.  I  am  bound  to 
her  majesty,  where  my  attendance  is  re- 
quired. If  nothing  better  await  thy  pleas- 
ure, will  it  please  thee  walk  with  me, 
my  lord  ?" 

"  I  am  infinitely  gratified  by  thy  cour- 
iesy,"  said  Lord  Henry,  with  a  most 
courtier-like  inclination  of  his  head,  as 
he  proceeded  alongside  of  his  companion, 
"  and  will  do  myself  that  honor.  The 
queen  is  expected  in  the  presence  cham- 
ber, on  her  return  from  the  council  ;  and 
I  was  but  making  a  stroll  in  the  mean- 
while, when  thou  didst  me  the  especial 
favor  of  nearly  running  me  down.  But 
what  a  superlative  taste  thou  hast  in  thy 
appointments,"  suddenly  exclaimed  he', 
as  he  noticed  the  splendid  attire  of  Sir 
Walter  ;  "  'tis  most  exquisitely  fashion- 
ed, and  of  a  very  dainty  conceit." 


"  Dost  like  it,  my  lord  ?"  inquired 
Raleigh,  carelessly. 

"  On  mine  honor,  I  admire  it  hugely," 
responded  his  lordship,  with  a  vast  show 
of  admiration.  "  I  marvel  not  thou 
shouldst  be  the  very  model  of  dress 
amongst  us,  for  thou  art  truly  delicate  in 
the  choice  of*thy  fabrics,  and  infinitely 
curious  in  the  manner  in  which  they  are 
to  be  worn.  I  do  know  a  certain  lord 
who  would  give  his  ears,  had  he  thy  ap- 
prehension of  these  things." 

"  Be  his  ears  so  long  then,  that  he 
would  get  rid  of  them  for  so  trifling  a 
result  ?"  asked  his  companion,  with  some 
affectation  of  seriousness. 

"In  truth  thou  hast  hit  it,"  exclaimed 
the  Lord  Howard,  with  a  hearty  laugh. 
"Between  ourselves,  he  is  marvellously 
apt  to  play  Midas  to  thy  Apollo." 

"By  what  name  goeth  he  ?"  inquired 
j  Sir  Walter ;  "  for  as  far  as  my  penetra- 
tion sufficeth,  I  know  of  none  such." 

"  Dost  not  know  the  earl  of  Essex  ?" 
whispered  the  other. 

"Most  assuredly  do  I,  for  a  gentleman 
of  many  noble  qualities,"  replied  Raleigh. 

"I  tell  thee,  out  of  friendship,  he  doth 
affect  thee  not  at  all,"  said  his  lordship, 
in  the  same  low  voice. 

"  Then  hath  some  villain  slandered  me 
to  him,"  observed  his  companion,  quick- 
ly ;  "for,  although  he  hath  his  faults — 
as  who  hath  not? — I  do  believe  him  to 
be  of  a  right  honorable  nature.'' 

"I  have  ofttimes  heard  him  speak 
slightingly  of  thee,  Sir  Walter — by  this 
hand  have  I,"  continued  his  lordship, 
with  increased  emphasis,  yet  still  in  a 
subdued  tone. 

"  Thou  must  have  mistaken  his  mean- 
ing, surely,"  responded  the  oilier,  "  I  have 
done  him  no  offence.  But  he  may  speak 
slightingly  of  me  without  disparagement, 
my  good  lord,  for  possibly  I  may  not  have 
j  done  sufficient  to  deserve  his  eulogy.'' 

"I  tell  thee,  in  friendship  and  in  se- 
cresy,  noble  Raleigh — for  it  be  dangerous 
to  say  anything  against  one  so  high  in 
favor — that  he  hath  disparaged  thee  vil- 
lanously,  ever  since  thy  quarrel  with  that 
ruffianly  follower  of  his,  Sir  Roger  Wil- 
liams." 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Walter,  turning 
round  quickly,  and  looking  his  compan- 
ion full  in  the  face. 

"  Thou  hast  done  too  much  to  please 
him,  noble  Raleigh:  thy  gallant  actions 
are  ever  before  his  eyes — thy  well-de- 
served praises  are  continually  ringing  in 
his  ears.  He  must  make  comparisons ; 
and  whenever  he  doth  compare  himself 


26 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


with  thee,  either  in  appearance,  in  wis- 
dom, or  in  honorable  deeds,  he  findeth 
himself  at  a  disadvantage  ;  and  that  doth 
fret  him  hugely.  Thou  knowest  he  is 
proud — and  that  proud  men  are  vain — 
and  that  vain  men  are  apt  to  undervalue 
the  qualities  they  do  not  themselves  pos- 
sess. Marvel  not,  therefore,  that  he  doth 
not  appreciate  thee  according  to  thy  ex- 
ceeding merits.  I  tell  thee  this,  out  of 
my  infinite  love  for  thee,  wishing  to  put 
thee  on  thy  guard." 

"  I  am  much  beholden  to  thee  for  thy 
consideration,"  replied  Sir  Walter,  as  if 
musing  upon  what  he  had  heard  :  "  and 
yet  he  hath  always  been,  to  all  appear- 
ance, most  friendly  disposed  toward  me." 

"  To  all  appearance,  I  grant,"  added 
his  lordship,  dwelling  in  a  marked  man- 
ner upon  the  words;  "but  thou  mayest 
rely  upon  what  I  have  stated.  Use  it  as 
it  pleaseth  thee,  noble  Raleigh ;  but  well 
convinced  am  I,  that  what  I  have  said 
out  of  affection,  thou  wilt  employ  after 
such  a  fashion  as  may  not  be  likely  to  do 
me  an  in  jury.  "- 

"  Depend  on  it,  thy  interests  shall  be 
well  cared  for,"  responded  Sir  Walter. 

TfTe  preceding  conversation  continued 
while  the  parties  proceeded  along  sun- 
dry passages  and  through  various  suites 
of  rooms  magnificently  furnished,  and 
crowded  with  courtiers  and  others  strol- 
ling about  or  discoursing  of  the  news  one 
with  another.  They  at  last  advanced 
into  a  room  adjoining  the  presence  cham- 
ber— a  noble  apartment  hung  round  with 
cost.ly  tapestry,  and  strewed  with  fresh 
rushes,  into  which  came  thronging  the 
archbishops  and  bishops,  ambassadors, 
nobles,  counsellors  of  state,  and  others  of 
the  mighty  of  the  land.  Presently  it  was 
whispered  that  the  queen  was  a-coming, 
and  thereupon  way  was  made  for  her 
majesty,  just  as  the  gentlemen  pension- 
ers with  their  gilt  battle-axes  and  richly 
embroidered  vests  were  observed  ap- 
proaching. After  these  went  certain  no- 
blemen of  the  queen's  household,  knights 
of  the  garter,  and  the  officers  of  her 
council  walking  in  their  costly  robes 
bareheaded  —  among  whom  was  the 
chancellor  bearing  the  seals  in  a  red  silk 
purse — having  on  one  side  of  him  an  offi- 
cer of  state  carrying  the  royal  sceptre, 
and  on  the  other  another  of  the  like  rank 
bearing  the  sword  of  state  with  the  point 
upward,  in  a  scabbard  of  crimson  velvet 
plentifully  studded  with  golden  fleurs- 
de-lis. 

Next  came  our  sovereign  lady  Queen 
Elizabeth,  very  majestic  in  her"  deport- 


ment, and  although  getting  into  the  de- 
cline of  life,  still  very  pleasant  to  look 
upon  ;  for  her  face  if  it  was  a  little  wrink- 
led was  fair ;  her  eyes  small  and  livelv ; 
her  nose  somewhat  aquiline  ;  and  her  lips 
though  thin  were  continually  adorned 
with  a  gracious  smile.  She  wore  much 
false  hair  of  a  red  hue — a  color  she  great- 
ly affected,  and  upon  her  head  a  small 
crown  of  a  very  precious  gold  richly 
worked.  In  her  ears  were  rare  pearls 
with  pendents  of  exceeding  value ;  and 
on  her  bosom,  which,  in  consequence  of 
her  dress  being  worn  low,  was  much 
exposed,  was  a  necklace  of  jewels  of  an 
excellent  fine  water,  with  an  oblong  col- 
lar of  gold  and  precious  stones  above  ;  she 
was  attired  in  white  silk  daintily  bor- 
dered with  pearls  remarkable  for  their 
size  and  beauty,  over  which  was  a  man- 
tle of  black  silk  shot  with  silver  threads; 
having  a  train  of  marvellous  length  and 
of  a  corresponding  costly  material,  borne 
by  divers  of  the  ladies  of  her  court.  As 
she  advanced  every  head  was  uncovered, 
and  those  nearest  to  her  did  kneel  on  one 
knee,  some  of  whom  who  had  letters  to 
deliver  she  raised  and  spoke  to  gracious- 
ly, and  as  a  mark  of  particular  favor  to 
one  Bohemian  baron,  who  had  come  to 
present  certain  credentials,  she  did  pull 
off  her  glove  and  gave  him  her  right 
hand  to  kiss,  all  sparkling  with  jewelled 
rings. 

Thus  she  proceeded  in  all  this  beauti- 
ful magnificence,  winning  the  hearts  of 
her  dutiful  subjects  by  her  very  gracious 
condescension,  and  speaking  to  ittany  for- 
eigners with  the  same  notable  courtesy 
in  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  or  Dutch,  as 
it  might  happen,  to  their  infinite  wonder 
and  delight  ;  followed  by  a  beautiful 
throng  of  the  ladies  of  her  court,  each 
handsomely  attired,  though  mostly  in 
white,  with  the  addition  of  some  display 
of  jewellery :  and  a  guard  of  gentlemen 
pensioners  like  that  which  preceded 
them,  till  she  entered  the  presence  cham- 
ber to  give  audience  to  those  ambassa- 
dors and  ministers  who  had  come  on 
pressing  business. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

But  if  in  living  colors  and  right  hue 

Thyself  thou  covet  to  see  pictured, 
Who  can  it  do  more  lively  or  more  true 

Than  that  sweet  verse  with  nectar  sprinkled; 

In  which  a  gracious  servant  pictured 
His  Cynthia,  his  Heaven's  fairest  light  ? 

That  with  his  melting  sweetness  ravished, 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS- 


27 


And  with  the  wonder  of  her  beames  bright, 
My  senses  lulled  are  in  slumbers  of  delight. 

SPENSER. 

I  marie  what  pleasure  or  felicity  they  have  in  ta- 
King  this  roguish  tobacco.  It's  good  for  nothing  but 
to  choke  a  man,  and  fill  him  full  of  smoke  and  em- 
bers :  there  were  four  died  out  of  one  house  last 
week  with  taking  of  it,  and  two  more  the  bell  went 
for  yesternight ;  one  of  them  they  say  will  never 
scape  it,  he  voided  a  bushel  of  soot  yesterday  up- 
ward and  downward.  BEN  JONSON. 

THE  queen  of  England  having  retired 
from  the  presence  chamber,  sat  in  her 
withdrawing-room  on  a  well-c*rved  chair, 
having  cushions  covered  with  crimson 
velvet,  whereon  the  royal  arms  were  em- 
broidered in  gold,  resting  her  feet  upon  a 
footstool  of  a  like  material — and  around 
her  were  the  select  companions  of  her 
privacy.  Instead  of  her  crown,  she  now 
wore  a  pyramidal  head-dress  built  of  wire, 
lace,  ribands,  and  jewels.  The  chamber 
was  of  handsome  proportions,  hung  with 
costly  tapestry,  on  which  was  very  fairly 
depicted  the  principal  events  in  the  Iliad, 
and  besides  such  necessary  furniture  as 
chairs,  tables,  and  cabinets  elaborately 
chiselled  into  every  kind  of  cunning  de- 
vice, the  panels  of  the  richly-decorated 
wainscot  did  contain  full-length  portraits 
of  the  late  king's  highness  of  glorious 
memory,  Henry  the  Eighth,  with  his  il- 
lustrious consort  Anna  Boleyn,  in  dark 
ebony  frames,  and  done  to  the  life  with 
all  the  limner's  skill. 

The  whole  party  seemed  to  be  in  an 
excellent  good  humor,  especially  her  maj- 
esty, who  led  the  example  by  laughing 
loud  and  long,  as  she  sat  before  two  open 
glass  doors  that  looked  into  a  garden 
daintily  laid  out  in  long  shady  walks, 
while  leaning  upon  the  edge  of  the  door, 
almost  outside  of  the  room  as  it  were, 
stood  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  against  whom, 
evidently,  all  the  mirth  was  directed  ; 
who,  with  a  grave  countenance  continu- 
ally disturbed  by  the  merriment  of  his 
associates,  in  which  he  ever  and  anon 
joined  right  heartily,  kept  smoking  a  long 
pipe,  and  watching  the  fumes  as  he  puffed 
them  into  the  air. 

"  Ah,  thou  hast  small  cause  to  look  af- 
ter the  fumes,  for  thou  wilt  be  in  a  fine 
fume  thyself  presently,"  said  her  majesty, 
and  the  courtiers  and  the  ladies  thereat  did 
laugh  more  than  ever. 

"  Please  your  majesty,"  replied  Sir 
Walter,  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
and  laughing  with  the  rest — "  My  fumes 
are  perfumes ;  and  if  ever  I  exhibit  any 
other  futnes  in  your  majesty's  gracious 
presence,  I  should  be  deserving  of  ban- 
ishment, which  would  make  me  in  a 
fume  indeed." 


"  Thou  wilt  lose  thy  wager,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh — which  will  put  thy  pipe  out, 
depend  on't,"  added  the  queen — at  which 
witty  conceit  the  courtiers  were  again  in 
raptures. 

"My  pipe  will  be  out  anon,  please 
your  majesty,"  responded  Sir  Walter  in 
the  same  jocose  spirit.  "  But  I  shall  have 
the  honor  of  winning  a  purse  of  gold  of 
the  most  bountiful  sovereign  that  subject 
ever  had." 

"  Odds  bodikins,  man,  thou  art  mad, 
sure  !"  exclaimed  the  queen  good  humor- 
edly.  "  How  canst  expect  to  win  such  a 
mad  wager — unless  peradventure  thou 
seekest  to  amuse  thyself  by  playing  upon 
j  us  some  trick — which  if  thou  dost,  by  our 
j  halidom,  thou  shall  smoke  for  it  in  right 
I  earnest."  Thereupon  the  laugh  went 
round  as  before,  and  all  in  audible  whis- 
pers did  commend  her  majesty's  wit  most 
liberally. 

"  Nay,  I  should  be  unworthy  to  breathe 
in  so  estimable  a  presence  were  I  to  make 
so  bold,"  replied  Raleigh  gravely.  "  And 
for  fear  that  your  majesty  should  misunder- 
stand my  meaning,  I  will  recal  the  terms 
of  the  wager — an  the  doing  of  which  this 
noble  companyfwill  correct  me  if  I  say 
anything  in  error.  Your  majesty,  out  of 
your  gracious  condescension,  hath  wager- 
ed me  a  purse  of  gold  against  my  Barbary 
courser,  that  from  a  certain  quantity  of 
this  precious  tobacco  that  I  have  before 
all  these  honorable  persons  weighed  and 
put  into  my  pipe  to  smoke,  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  tell  the  exact  weight  of  the  smoke 
that  escapes." 

"Why,  thou  foolish  gull,  how  canst 
tell  the  weight  of  anything  that  escapes  ?" 
asked  the  queen  with  a  merry,  malicious 
glance,  and  to  the  infinite  amusement  oT 
her  circle.  "  Canst  catch  the  smoke  after 
it  hath  mingled  with  the  air,  and  press  it 
into  thy  scales!  We  did  think  that  thou 
hadst  more  wit  than  to  undertake  such  a 
thing,  and  when  thou  first  spoke  of  it, 
fancying  thou  wert  taking  the  traveller's 
privilege,  we  laid  this  wager  with  thee 
on  purpose  to  have  a  laugh  at  thy  ex- 
pense. 0'  my  faith  thy  Barbary  courser 
is  as  good  as  lost ;  but  though  it  be  taking 
but  a  barbarous  advantage  of  thee,  we 
must  e'en  accept  of  it.*' 

"  Please  your  majesty,  perhaps  he  hath 
the  wonderful  seven-league  boots,  and 
meaneth  quickly  to  overtake  his  smoke," 
observed  a  very  lovely  young  gentlewo- 
man who  stood  by  the  side  of  the  queen's 
chair. 

"Nay,  Lady  Blanche  Somerset,"  re- 
plied her  majesty,  joining  in  the  general 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


laugh,  "be  must  be  a  bird  if  he  means  to 
come  up  with  it,  for  smoke  hath  the 
property  to  ascend,  as  thou  seest." 

"  Methinks  Sir  Walter  be  nothing  else 
but  a  bird,"  said  Mistress  Alice,  with  an 
exceeding  grave  face. 

"  Why  so,  child  ?"  asked  the  queen. 

"  Doth  not  your  majesty  perceive  he 
hath  a  very  owl-like  look  ?"  added  her 
attendant  archly,  to  the  manifest  increase 
of  the  mirth  of  the  company,  the  which 
Sir  Walter  regarded  only  as  if  he  had 
more  to  laugh  at  than  they. 

"  I  do  perceive  something  in  this  more 
than  meets  your  majesty's  eye,"  remark- 
ed a  very  old  courtier,  with  an  exquisite- 
ly solemn  foolish  physiognomy. 

"  Speak  out,  my  Lord  Bumble,"  cried 
her  majesty. 

"  I  hold  it  as  most  comfortable  Chris- 
tian doctrine,  please  your  majesty,"  said 
his  lordship,  advancing  a  little  way  on 
his  gold-headed  cane — for  he  stooped 
much,  "  that  the  mouth  was  made  for  the 
accommodation  of  honest  victuals ;  and 
though  I  have  lived  in  the  reigns  of  your 
majesty's  father  Henry  VIII.,  of  pious, 
chaste,  and  glorious  memory,  and  of  his 
most  excellent  highness  Ed  ward  VI.,  who 
surely  hath  a  throne  in  heaven ;  and  of 
our  late  illustrious  Queen  Mary,  who 
was  of  a  most  princely  disposition,  as  it 
becometh  a  queen  to  have,  and  which 
your  majesty  doth  possess  to  an  extent  far 
beyond  that  which  was  exhibited  by  your 
majesty's  predecessors,  I  never  saw  a 

fentleman,  and,  to  speak  the  exact  truth, 
may  add,  any  person  of  any  degree 
whatsoever,  who  used  his  throat  to  im- 
bibe villanous  smoke;  and  therefore  I 
hold  it  as  most  comfortable  Christian  doc- 
trine that  the  mouth  was  made  for  the 
accommodation  of  honest  victuals.  More- 
over, I  never  heard  of  any  one  with  whom 
it  was  customary  to  make  a  smoke-jack 
of  himself,  but  one,  and  he  did  do  it  not 
from  liking,  but  from  necessity." 

"And  who  was  he,  my  lord?"  inquired 
the  queen. 

"  Please  your  majesty,  it  was  no  other 
than  the  devil — from  whose  machinations 
be  your  majesty  ever  carefully  guarded." 

"Amen,  my  lord,"  said  the  queen, 
gravely. 

"\Vho,  as  the  learned  Dr.  Thump- 
cushion  hath  stated,"  added  Lord  Bum- 
ble, "continually  doth  vomit  smoke  and 
brimstone — doubtless,  much  after  the 
same  fashion  as  yonder  honorable  gentle- 
man,  the  captnin  of  your  majesty's  guard 
— therefore  I  hold  it  as  most  comfortable 
Christian  doctrine" — 


"Never  mind  the  doctrine,  my  lord" — 
here  put  in  the  queen  rather  impatiently, 
while  Sir  Walter,  with  much  ado,  en- 
deavored to  preserve  a  serious  counte- 
nance— "  Say  at  once  what  thou  perceiv- 
est  in  this  matter,  that  our  poor  wits  are 
not  master  of." 

"  I  will  come  to  the  point  without  fur- 
ther preamble,  since  it  be  your  majesty's 
excellent  pleasure,"  said  the  old  courtier, 
"  though  I  was  going  to  say,  that  a  thing 
which  looketh  so  unnatural  and  so  dev- 
ilish, can  be  practised  for  no  other  end 
but  to  ensnare  our  souls  and  blind  our 
eyes,  that  we  may  be  the  more  easily 
caught  and  thrust  into  the  bottomless  pit, 
where  it  be  the  fashion  of  Satan  and  all 
his  imps  to  smoke,  and  to  teach  others  to 
smoke,  like  unto  the  manner  of  yonder 
estimable  gentleman,  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh ;  therefore,  I  hold  it  as  most  com- 
fortable Christian  doctrine,  thai  the  mouth 
hath  been  made  for  the  accommodation 
of  honest  victuals." 

"We  have  heard  that  before,  my  lord, 
so  if  thou  meanest  to  enlighten  us  no 
further  on  this  matter,  hold  thy  peace, 
and  Heaven  will  reward  thee  for  it." 

"  Yes,  Heaven  will  reward  me,  cer- 
tainly, as  your  majesty  hath  so  piously 
remarked,"  continued  Lord  Bumble ; 
who,  in  addition  to  other  infirmities  con- 
sequent on  old  age,  was  exceeding  deaf — 
"  I  am  much  bound  to  your  majesty  for 
your  majesty's  gracious  consideration  ot 
my  long  service,  and  if  your  majesty  doth 
not,  Heaven  will  reward  me,  certainly. 
But  I  must  say,  of  all  your  majesty's 
glorious  family,  none  have  I  served  with 
half  the  infinite  satisfaction  I  find  in  at- 
tending on  your  majesty — though  his  ex- 
cellent highness,  Henry  VIII.,whose  page 
I  was,  did  say  that  I  was  inestimable  be- 
fore bedtime." 

.  "  Ah,  thou  didst  doubtless  make  a  most 
admirable  sleeping  potion,"  observed  her 
majesty. 

"  As  your  majesty  is  pleased  to  say,  he 
did  justly  appreciate  my  devotion,"  pro- 
ceeded his  lordship.  "  But  I  am  fearful 
I  am  somewhat  wandering  from  the 
point." 

"  Thou  has  found  tnat  out  at  last — a 
plague  on  thy  tediousness !"  exclaimed 
his  royal  mistress,  angrily  ;  but  in  a  low 
voice. 

"I  have  already  stated  enougn  to  sat- 
isfy any  reasonable  personage  that  smo- 
king is  but  a  devilish  pastime,  and  there- 
fore not  to  be  tolerated — but  there  is  more 
mischief  in  it  yet.  I  say  it  be  unlawful 
and  infinitely  dangerous.  For  let  it  b« 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


29 


observed  that  smoke  is  black — which  is 
likewise  the  color  the  devil  most  affects 
— therefore  to  be  avoided ;  that  the  ac- 
complishment of  smoking  is  an  art — -and 
the  art  being  black,  it  standeth  to  reason 
it  must  be  a  black  art — and  I  do  uphold 
that  the  exercise  of  the  black  art  in  your 
majesty's  presence  is  heathenish,  treach- 
erous, and  abominable,  and,  consequent- 
ly, that  yonder  noble  gentleman,  the  cap- 
tain of  your  majesty's  guard,  ought  not 
to  be  allowed,  as  is  evidently  his  inten- 
tion, to  bewitch  your  majesty  and  over- 
throw the  state." 

"  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  dost  hear  that 
weighty  accusation?"  asked  the  queen, 
the  frown  of  impatience  upon  her  face 
now  giving  way  to  an  undisguised  smile  ; 
"  Hast  thou  had  the  audacity  to  practise 
the  black  art  before  us  ?  hast  the  pre- 
sumption to  attempt  to  bewitch  us  and 
overthrow  the  state  ?" 

"  Without  attempting  any  defence,  I 
will,  at  once  throw  myself  upon  your 
majesty's  clemency,  of  which  I  have  had 
such  excellent  experience,"  replied  Sir 
Walter — refraining  awhile  from  his  pipe. 
"  But  perhaps  I  may  be  allowed  to  ob- 
serve, that  if  I  have  attempted  to  be- 
witch your  majesty,  I  have  followed  the 
example  of  one  who,  with  her  admirable 
qualities,  hath  bewitched  all  her  loving 
subjects." 

"  There  !  he  confesseth  it,  please  your 
majesty,"  cried  the  old  courtier,  press- 
ing close  to  the  queen,  "  therefore  I  do 
hold  it  very  comfortable  Christian  doc- 
trine"  

"Peace,  fool!"  cried  her  majesty,  in  a 
voice  that  not  only  made  Lord  Bumble 
hear,  but  astonished  him  so,  that  it  sent 
him  staggering  two  or  three  paces  back- 
Ward  upon  the  delicate  toes  of  some  of 
the  maids  of  honor  ;  who,  not  liking  so 
impressive  a  salutation,  with  features 
expressive  of  pain  and  anger,  pushed  him 
rudely  out  of  the  way,  till  he  found  him- 
self beyond  the  circle,  scarcely  able  to 
breathe,  and  in  a  complete  consternation. 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  he  practiseth  the 
black  art,"  here  observed  Mistress  Alice, 
who  was  somewhat  of  a  favorite  with 
the  queen,  for  her  lively  temper,  and, 
more  than  all,  because  she  never  seemed 
desirous  of  attracting  the  admiration  of 
the  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  the  court ; 
"  Indeed,  I  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say 
that  I  think  him  no  conjuror." 

The  queen  laughed,  and,  as  matter  of 
course,  the  courtiers  laughed  also. 

"  Nay,  be  not  so  hard  upon  him,  child," 
said  her  majesty,  "remember  he  will 


have  to  Jose  his  Barbary  courser,  which 
will  sufficiently  punish  him  for  endeavor- 
ing to  cajole  the  queen  of  England." 

"  May  it  please  your  majesty,"  said  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  coming  into  the  room 
with  his  pipe  in  his  hand,  "  I  have 
smoked  out  the  quantity  of  tobacco 
agreed  upon." 

"  Haste  thee  and  Weigh  the  smoke, 
then,"  replied  the  queen,  with  a  chuckle 
of  delight,  which  was  echoed  by  those 
around  her. 

"  I  will  tell  your  majesty  the  weight 
of  the  smoke  in  a  few  seconds,"  respond- 
ed Raleigh,  taking  in  his  hand  a  small 
pair  of  ivory  scales  which  stood  on  an 
adjoining  table. 

"  Thou  wilt  never  get  so  much  smoke 
into  such  tiny  balances,  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh," observed  her  majesty  with  the 
same  tone,  "  so  thou  mayest  as  well  ac- 
knowledge that  the  wager  is  ours." 

"  Your  majesty  will  be  pleased  to  ob- 
serve that  the  weight  in  this  scale  is  the 
exact  weight  of  the  ashes  left  in  the 
pipe,"  replied  Sir  Walter,  showing  the 
scales,  in  one  of  which  he  had  put  the 
ashes,  at  an  even  balance.  "Now,  if 
your  majesty  will  graciously  remember 
the  weight  of  the  unburnt  tobacco  upon 
which  the  experiment  was  made,  by  sub- 
tracting from  it  the  weight  of  the  ashes, 
which  I  have  here  ascertained,  the  sum 
produced  will  be  the  exact  weight  of  the 
smoke." 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  with  the  scales 
still  in  his  hand,  wore  on  his  noble  fea- 
tures, at  this  moment,  an  expression  of 
very  evident  satisfaction,  as  he  turned 
round  and  looked  down  upon  his  audi- 
ence— some  of  whom  seemed  incredu- 
lous, others  wondering,  the  rest  puzzled 
what  to  think ;  but  all  were  waiting  in 
silence  the  effect  of  his  announcement 
upon  their  sovereign,  whose  abler  under- 
standing perceived  at  once  the  accuracy 
of  the  result,  though  it  was  so  different 
from  what  she  had  expected,  and  felt  as 
if  she  could  not  enough  admire  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  method  which  had  so  easily 
proved  what  she  thought  had  been  im- 
possible. 

"  The  gold  is  thine,  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh," said  she,  rising  from  her  chair 
with  a  dignity  none  knew  better  how  to 
put  on,  as  she  placed  a  well-filled  purse 
in  his  hand, "  and  fairly  is  it  won.  There 
have  been  many  laborers  in  the  fire 
whose  vast  undertaking  have  ended  in 
smoke  ;  but  thou  art  the  first  whose 
smoke  was  ever  turned  into  gold." 

"Well,  I  did  not  think  he  was  such  a 


30 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


superlative  master  of  hocus  pocus,"  ex- 
claimed Mistress  Alice,  with  a  wondei- 
ful  elevation  of  her  eyebrows.  "  Please 
your  majesty,  if  you  let  him  go  on  at 
this  profitable  rate,  every  conjurer  in 
your  dominions  will  hang  himself  in 
despair." 

"  Indeed,  'tis  a  very  pretty  piece  of  con- 
juration," said  Lady  Blanche  Somerset, 
opening  her  large  blue  eyes  in  a  seeming 
astonishment ;  and  all  the  rest,  though 
they  did  in  no  way  understand  the  mat- 
ter, did  rival  each  other  in  ready  praise 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh — except  my  Lord 
Bumble,  who  kept  aloof,  as  if  he  had  not 
yet  recovered  from  his  fright  and  sur- 
prise. 

Sir  Walter  having  put  away  the 
things  he  was  using,  placed  his  hand 
on  his  heart,  and  kneeling  on  one  knee 
before  her  majesty,  as  she  presented  him 
the  purse,  said  humbly,  "I  pray  your 
majesty  to  pardon  me,  that  the  deep 
gratitude  of  my  heart  at  this  moment,  at 
receiving  such  munificent  and  generous 
conduct  from  my  sovereign,  hath  taken 
from  my  poor  tongue  all  adequate  ex- 
pression. What  Paris  must  have  felt 
when  he  first  beheld  the  beauteous  Hel- 
en, I  experience  at  witnessing  such  gra- 
ces of  behavior — with  the  like  of  which 
was  no  princess  ever  blessed — therefore, 
if  I  make  not  too  bold,  I  would  implore 
your  majesty,  out  of  your  right  royal  and 
princely  disposition,  and  most  admirable 
wisdom,  to  frame,  in  my  behalf,  such  ex- 
cuse for  my  silence  as  your  majesty  may 
think  appropriate," 

"  Rise,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,"  said  the 
queen,  graciously  raising  him  from  the 
ground  ;  for,  in  truth,  though  waxing  old, 
she  did  find  exceeding  delight  in  having 
such  handsome  gallants  at  her  feet. 
"  The  wager  was  honorably  won — there- 
fore our  bestowing  it  doth  call  for  no 
gratitude.  We  are  now  disposed  for  a 
stroll  through  yonder  pleasant  walks, 
and  require  thy  attendance."  So  saying, 
she  led  the  way,  with  a  becoming  state- 
liness,  through  the  glass  doors,  and  step- 
ped out  into  the  garden,  closely  followed 
by  her  captain  of  the  guard — the  rest 
slaying  behind,  as  they  had  not  been  in- 
vited. After  some  little  time  passed  in 
the  queen's  garden,  her  majesty  proceed- 
ed through  divers  passages,  and  through 
the  new  gallery  in  the  palace,  till  she 
reached  St.  James's  Park. 

"  Hath  Master  Edmund  Spenser,  our 
poet  laureate,  of  whom  thou  hast  so  oft 
spoke  to  us  so  fair,  been  well  cared  for, 
since  at  thy  request  we  granted  him  an 


interview  ?"  inquired  her  majesty,  as  they 
walked  along. 

"  I  believe  that  my  Lord  Burghley  never 
did  anything  for  him,  or  paid  him  his 
salary,  please  your  majesty,"  replied  Sir 
Walter.  "  But  I  marvel  not  at  that,  seeing 
that  my  lord  treasurer  hath  not  seemed 
in  any  great  degree  affected  toward  the 
inestimable  sweet  delights  of  poetry  and 
philosophy  ;  and  yet  one  would  naturally 
suppose,  that  serving  a  mistress  who  hath 
so  perfect  a  knowledge  and  so  exquisite 
a  taste  in  those  divine  enjoyments — the 
very  Minerva  of  our  thrice  fortunate  Eng- 
lish land — he  would  have  imbibed  suffi- 
cient inclination  toward  them  as  to  foster 
such  as  possess  them  most — for  the  true 
glorification  of  his  illustrious  sovereign, 
and  to  the  great  advancement  of  his  own 
honor." 

"  Ah,  my  Lord  Burghley  is  certainly 
somewhat  deficient  in  such  matters ;  nev- 
ertheless he  is  an  excellent  statesman  and 
a  faithful  servant,"  observed  the  queen. 
"We  will,  however,  not  allow  Master 
Spenser  to  think  himself  unesteemed  of 
us,  for  we  remember  well  he  did  read  to 
us  divers  passages  from  a  poem  called 
'  The  Fairy  Queen,'  of  which  we  enter- 
tain a  very  favorable  consideration." 

"Your  majesty  playeth  ever  the  part 
of  the  true  judge  of  merit,  and  its  most 
liberal  patroness,"  exclaimed  Raleigh, 
"  and  happy  are  those  poetic  spirits  who 
were  born  to  flourish  under  such  excel- 
lent auspices.  Surely  they  might  aptly 
be  addressed  in  the  wotrds  of  Lucan  to 
his  Pharsalia, 

Vos  quoque,  qui  fortes  animos  belloque  peremptos 
Laudibus  in  longum,  vates,  diffunditis  cevum, 
Plurima  securi  fudistis  carmina  Bardi. 

It  has  been  left  for  your  majesty's  right 
glorious  reign  to  produce  two  such  unri- 
valled geniuses  as  Master  Edmund  Spen- 
ser and  Master  William  Shakspeare — 
the  one  as  an  epic  poet,  who  writeth  to 
advance  the  admiration  of  that  which  is 
chivalrous  and  noble,  hath  no  peer  ;  the 
other  as  an  inventor  of  plays — the  which 
in  this  country  he  may  justly  be  said  to 
be  the  originator — for  judgment,  wit, 
imagination,  and  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  standeth  above  all  in  these  realms. 
Master  Spenser  hath  fellowship  with 
such  noble  spirits  as  Homer  and  Virgil, 
and  Master  Shakspeare  deserveth  to  stand 
on  equal  terms  with  Sophocles  and  Me- 
nander." 

"  We  take  great  delight  in  the  produc- 
tions of  this  Shakspeare  as  exhibited  at 
the  playhouse,"  replied  her  majesty,  "and 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


do  intend  this  afternoon  to  partake  of  the 
same  amusement." 

"  It  is  an  entertainment  worthy  of  vour 
majesty's  enjoyment,"  responded  Sir  Wal- 
ter, "for  I  take  it  that  players  are  a  sort 
of  looking-glasses,  who  show  humanity 
under  all  its  fashions,  as  it  is  made  to  ap- 
pear by  the  dramatist,  to  whom  these 
fashions  are  familiar;  and  they  who  es- 
say to  know  the  world,  its  conduct  and 
apparelling,  will  find  no  more  direct 
way  than  the  playhouse,  where  Master 
Shakspeare  and  some  few  who  travel  in 
his  footsteps  are  in  requisition.  Nor  are 
your  majesty's  players  undeserving  of 
laudable  mention  ;  lor,  without  tuition  or 
previous  example,  they  have  raised  the 
art,  from  little  better  than  absolute  va- 
grancy, to  a  profession  honorable  with 
the  court,  and  in  good  esteem  with  the 
people." 

"Ah — there  is  one  Burbage,  is  there 
not,  of  notable  excellence  in  this  art?" 
inquired  the  queen.  "We  have  marked 
him  oft.  He  that  playeth  the  crook- 
oacked  king." 

"  The  same,  please  your  majesty,"  said 
Raleigh,  "  which  showeth  your  majesty's 
exquisite  discrimination,  for  he  beareth 
away  the  palm  from  them  all ;  being  of 
an  exceeding  ingenious  nature,  and  of  a 
very  happy  facility  in  taking  upon  himself 
the  characters  of  others ;  Avhich  he  show- 
eth not  only  when  appearing  as  Richard 
the  Third,  though  it  be  a  most  superla- 
tive piece  of  acting,  as  your  majesty  nath 
justly  conceived,  but  in  divers  other  parts 
in  which  he  hath  exhibited  a  similar 
excellence." 

They  walked  on  for  some  two  or  three 
minutes  without  saying  ever  a  word. 

"Rememberest  thou  those  lines  of  Vir- 
gil," asked  her  majesty,  "  beginning: — 

Fortunate  senex  !  hie  inter  flumina  nota 
Et  fontes  sacros"  ? 

"  How  could  I  fail,  please  your  majes- 
ty ?"  replied  Sir  Walter,  seeing  that  they 
form  one  of  the  sweetest  pieces  of  pas- 
toral ever  written  by  that  truly  famous 
poet,  who  hath  for  his  epitaph: — 

Mantua  me  genuit,  Calabri  rapuere,  tenet  nunc 
Parthenope,  cecini  pascua,  rura,  duces." 

"If  our  judgment  do  not  fail,  they 
are  most  happily  chosen,"  continued  the 
queen.  "  How  well  he  described)  the 
cool  deliciousness  of  that  pleasant  place, 
out  of  the  scorching  heat  of  the  sun, 
where  the  bees  suck  the  dainty  flowers, 
while  the  cooing  of  the  dove  and  the 
plaint  of  the  turtle  are  hushed,  that  the 


sojourner  therein  might  be  wooed  to  re- 
pose." 

"  Indeed,  it  is  a  marvellous  refreshing 

andscape,  and  your  majesty  doth  show 
that  inimitable  appreciation  of  its  excel- 
.ence,  which  hath  delighted  me  so  oft 
when  discoursing  upon  other  of  the  an- 
cient writers,  either  Greek  or  Latin." 

"  There  is  another  picture,  which  ma- 
feth  a  fine  contrast  to  the  foregoing," 

iaid  her  majesty,  who  did  mightily  de- 

ight  to  show  her  learning,  of  which  she 
was  very  bountifully  gifted  ;  and  more 
especially  took  great  pleasure  in  receiving 
the  praises  of  so  fine  a  scholar  as  her 

aptain  of  the  guard  :  "  it  is  given  in  The- 
ocritus his  Idyls,  and  commenceth  :  — 


A.Seia( 


y£ya0dr£j 


and  so  goeth  on  at  considerable  length.'** 
"I  remember  me,"  replied  Sir  Walter, 
•  where  the  poet  describeth  the  luxurious 
ndolence  of  reclining  on  the  soft  branches 
of  the  vine  and  the  lentisk  ;  while  above, 
the  foliage  of  poplars  and  elms  spreads  a 
most  grateful  shade,  and  the  murmuring 
stream  flowing  below  gives  coolness  *to 
the  air  ;  shrill  grasshoppers  are  chiruping 
pleasantly  in  the  green  sward  ;  the  sweet 
honey-sucking  bees  are  humming  amid 
the  fragrant  blossoms  ;  Philomel,  pouring 
out  her  melancholy  song,  concealed  in 
the  grove  ;  and  the  turtle-dove,  cooing 
dulcetly,  doth  add  a  softer  music  to  the 
tuneful  pipe  of  the  small  birds  ;  as,  to 
charm  the  eye  equally  with  the  ear,  the 
luscious  fruits  of  summer  and  autumn 
are  heaped  all  about,  showing  piles  of 
rosy-cheeked  apples  and  pears,  and  the 
branches  of  the  velvet  plum,  overloaded, 
bending  to  the  ground.  In  truth,  'tis  a 
most  enticing  picture  ;  and  the  reference 
to  it  is  another  instance  of  your  majesty's 
unrivalled  familiarity  with  the  treasures 
of  classic  song,  and  of  that  miraculous 
fine  taste  which  preferreth  what  is  most 
admirable,  that  giveth  me  such  frequent 
cause  of  infinite  wonder  and  delight." 

The  queen  did  look  exceeding  pleased 
at  this  discourse,  fanning  herself  all  the 
time  very  prettily  as  she  walked  along, 
and  regarding  the  noble  form  and  hand- 
some attire  of  the  speaker  with  an  eye 
of  favor;  till  coming  to  a  place  where, 
beneath  the  shade  of  a  wide-spreading 
beech,  just  where  the  walk,  screened  on 
the  side  by  a  thick  fence  of  hawthorn, 
took  a  sudden  turn  that  shut  them  out 
from  view,  a  commodious  seat  was 
placed,  and  her  majesty  did  rest  herself 


32 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


thereon;  She  then,  more  at  leisure,  did 
scan  the  rich  habiliments  of  the  gallantSir 
Walter  Raleigh,  as  he  stood  before  her, 
which  seemed  to  give  her  ample  satisfac- 
tion, though  she  said  never  a  word  ;  he 
gazing  upon  her  all  the  while  with  a 
wonderful  show  of  respectful  admiration, 
as  much  as  to  say,  that  if  his  tongue 
dared  speak  his  thoughts,  his  heart  would 
make  them  right  eloquent. 

"  What  sayest  thou  concerning  »the 
voyage  thou  wert  speaking  of?"  at  last 
she  inquired  in  her  most  gracious  tone. 

Starting  suddenly,  as  if  recovering  from 
a  trance,  he  replied,  "I  humbly  pray 
your  majesty's  pardon;  for  indeed  'tis  a 
most  notable  truth,  that  none  but  the  eagle 
can  gaze  on  the  sun  without  being  daz- 
zled." 

Her  majesty  did  infinitely  relish  such 
conceits ;  and  her  eyes  twinkled  with  an 
evident  pleasure  as  she  observed  her  at- 
tendant suddenly  let  fall  his  looks  to  the 
ground,  as  if  the  gazing  upon  her  were 
too  much  for  his  humanity. 

"  But  of  the  voyage  I  will  speak,"  con- 
tinued he.  "  May  it  be  known  to  your 
majesty,  that  there  are  certain  of  my 
former  companions  in  arms,  with  other 
valiant  gentlemen,  who  are  desirous  of 
serving  your  majesty,  and  of  giving  free 
scope  to  their  courageous  spirits  by  do- 
ing damage  against  the  Spaniard,  have 
clubbed  with  me  divers  large  sums  of 
money,  for  the  purpose  of  procuring  a 
sufficiency  of  well-appointed  ships  for  an 
expedition  against  Panama,  combined 
with  an  intention  of  intercepting  the 
Plate  fleet,  the  riches  whereof  is  almost 
incredible.  They  have  funds  enough  for 
thirteen  ships-of-war,  of  the  which,  in 
consideration  that  I  have  sunk  the  whole 
of  my  private  fortune  in  the  scheme,  and 
that  they  do— doubtless  without  proper 
judgment— acknowledge  me  to  be  the 
properest  man  among  them  for  seaman- 
ship, acquaintance  with  the  Spaniards, 
and  knowledge  of  the  art  of  war,  seek 
me  for  to  be  their  admiral,  which,  if  it 
be  the  good  pleasure  of  your  majesty, 
whose  poor  soldier  I  am,  I  am  in  no  wise 
unwilling  to  be  :  but  to  make  the  conse- 
quence we  seek  the  more  sure,  I  would 
humbly  pray  of  your  majesty  such  assist- 
ance in  men,  money,  and  ships,  as  would 
put  all  thought  of  misadventure  out  of 
the  question,  the  granting  of  the  which, 
I  feel  assured,  would  tend  greatly  to  the 
complete  crippling  of  your  most  notorious 
enemies,  the  addition  of  abundance  of 
glory  to  your  reign,  and  the  vast  enrich- 
ment  of  your  exchequer." 


"Thou  speakest  us  fair,  Sir  Waltef 
Raleigh,"  said  the  queen,  who  had  paid 
very  strict  attention  to  what  he  had  ad- 
vanced ;  but  however  partial  she  might  be 
upon  occasion,  she  was  rarely  to  be  drawn 
away  from  a  consideration  of  her  own  ad- 
vantage. "Thou  speakest  us  fair;  and 
were  we  not  as  well  acquainted  with  thee 
as  we  are,  having  recollection  of  services 
done  by  thee  against  the  boasted  armada, 
which,  by  God's  good  help,  we  utterly  dis- 
comfited, and  at  other  times  against  those 
empty  praters  and  wretched  villains  the 
Spaniards — and  remembering  also  thy 
skill  in  discovering  strange  lands,  do  put 
some  confidence  in  thy  assertions ;  nev- 
ertheless, it  is  necessary  we  be  informed 
what  share  of  the  spoil  shall  be  ours  in 
case  we  afford  such  assistance  as  thou 
requires!  ?" 

Sir  Walter,  in  no  way  disconcerted  at 
this,  as  he  knew  her  majesty's  disposi- 
tion, answered,  with  a  very  becoming 
humility :  "  Far  be  it  from  me  to  en- 
deavor to  make  a  bargain  with  my  sov- 
ereign ;  but  your  majesty's  condescension 
is  so  great,  and  your  liberality  I  have 
experienced  in  so  bountiful  a  measure,  1 
am  emboldened  to  say,  that  according  to 
the  amount  of  the  service  rendered  shall 
your  majesty  partake  of  the  treasures 
gained." 

"  How  many  ships  dost  require  ?"  asked 
the  queen. 

"As  many  as  your  majesty  can  gen- 
erously assist  us  with,"  replied  Sir  Wal- 
ter. 

"If  we  allow  thee  half  a  dozen,  prop- 
erly equipped  and  provided  for  with  all 
the  munitions  of  war,  we  shall  expect  to 
share  one  half  of  the  spoil." 

"  Your  majesty's  generosity  exceeds 
my  expectations,"  exclaimed  Raleigh; 
though,  if  the  truth  be  told,  he  did  feel  a 
little  put  out  at  the  unfairness  of  the  bar- 
gain. 

"  Then,  if  those  conditions  be  accepted, 
we  do  appoint  thee  admiral  of  the  fleet," 
continued  the  queen,  "and  will  see  that 
thou  hast  proper  warrant  for  it,  with 
power  to  officer  thine  own  ships  as  it 
pleaseth  thee — reserving  to  ourself  the 
right  of  appointing  a  vice-admiral,  to 
officer  our  ships  as  we  think  proper." 

"Never  had  servant  so  bounteous  a 
mistress !"  cried  Sir  Walter,  as  he  krelt 
at  the  feet  of  the  queen,  seemingly  in  a 
transport  of  gratitude.  "In  truth,  if  I 
am  not  allowed  to  pour  out  the  overflow- 
ings of  my  most  grateful  spirit,  I  must  be 
dumb  ever  after.  Oh,  where  shall  the 
most  passionate  lover  that  ever  sought  to 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


33 


do  noble  deeds  in  honor  of  her  whom  he  ] 
served,  find  such  absolute  cause  for  the 
impelling  of  his  valor  as  that  which 
moveth  me?  Had  Arthur  and  all  his 
right  famous  Knights  of  the  Hound  Ta- 
ble lived  in  these  more  fortunate  days,  to 
have  beheld  the  peerless  Elizabeth,  what 
chivalrous  doings  would  have  been  enact- 
ed, that  are,  lost  to  the  world  !  But  then 
how  much  have  I  reason  to  congratulate 
myself  that  I,  who  am  nothing  except  in 
the  eyes  of  the  divine  Parthenia,  whom 
it  is  my  happiness  to  serve — the  very  sov- 
ereign of  beauty  and  queen  of  my  heart's 
best  affections,  should  not  only  live  in  the 
time  which  her  existence  hath  made  glo- 
rious, but  should  be  allowed  to  breathe  in 
her  presence  and  bask  in  the  imperial 
sunshine  of  her  eyes — nay,  honor  nevet 
to  be  too  highly  prized,"  continued  he 
with  more  vehemence,  taking  her  hand, 
as  he  observed  that  the  stateliness  of  the 
queen  was  sinking  before  the  vanity  of 
the  woman,  "  that  out  q£  her  exceeding 
condescension  and  wonderful  goodness, 
she  sometimes  enricheth  my  soul  with 
her  most  moving  smiles,  and  vouchsafes! 
me  the  supreme  happiness  of  pressing 
my  lips  upon  her  ivory  hand." 

"  Nay,  Sir  Walter,  thou  wilt  devour  it 
sure !"  exclaimed  the  queen,  coyly  at- 
tempting to  withdraw  her  hand,  which 
he  then  impressed  with  a  hundred  eager 
caresses:  but  she  was  too  well  pleased 
with  the  action,  and  too  much  delighted 
in  seeing  so  noble  a  gentleman  at  her 
feet,  to  use  any  great  degree  of  force,  and 
the  hand  continued  to  be  caressed  as  pas- 
sionately as  at  first. 

"  Oh,  might  I  but  be  allowed  to  ask 
one  favor — one  sweet — one  precious  fa- 
vor !"  said  Raleigh,  gazing  in  her  face 
with  as  much  apparent  rapture  as  if  she 
had  been  a  young  and  blooming  Hebe, 
instead  of  much  nearer  resembling  a  su- 
perannuated Diana  of  some  sixty  years 
or  so.  The  queen  kept  her  peace,  look- 
ing very  bashful,  not  knowing  but  some- 
thing might  be  required  of  her  it  would 
be  scarcely  proper  for  her  virgin  modesty 
to  grant;  when  Sir  Walter  continued — 
"When  I  am  doing  furious  battle  with 
the  enemy,  I  know  of  nothing  which 
would  so  much  strengthen  my  resolution, 
and  afford  me  consolation  in  all  the  de- 
lays I  may  meet  with  in  my  scarcely 
endurable  absence  from  my  absolute  and 
incomparable  Angelica,  as  a  lock  of  that 
golden  hair,  which  tome  seemeth  bright- 
er than  are  the  beams  of  Phoebus  topping 
the  eastern  hills :  deign,  then,  to  satisfy 
your  majesty's  humble  and  truly  devoted 
3 


slave,  and  pardon  the  deep  yet  most  re- 
spectful adoration  that  doth  seek  so  in- 
valuable a  gift." 

"  In  very  truth,  Sir  Walter,  if  thou 
seekest  only  so  simple  a  thing  of  us,  we 
see  no  harm  in  its  disposal,"  replied  her 
majesty  very  graciously.  "  Therefore  set 
thy  mind  at  ease.  Thou  shall  have  it  by 
a  trusty  messenger  before  thou  leavest 
our  shores." 

"  Ah  !"  exclaimed  he  with  a  passionate 
look,  as  he  pressed  the  hand  he  held  to 
his  heart — "your  majesty's  unexampled 
goodness  hath  already  made  my  poor 
heart  bankrupt  in  thanks." 

"  Hush  !"  cried  the  queen,  suddenly 
snatching  away  her  hand  and  putting  her 
finger  to  her  lip.  "Who  are  these  that 
dare  to  intrude  upon  our  privacy  I" 

Just  at  that  moment  footsteps  were 
heard  approaching  along  the  walk  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence,  and  voices  of  two 
persons  in  conversation  were  distin- 
guished. They  spoke  low,  but  the  words 
" Raleigh,"  "Elizabeth," and " intrigue," 
were  distinctly  audible. 

"Now,  by  God's  wounds,  we'll  not 
suffer  this !"  exclaimed  the  queen,  start- 
ing up  with  a  face  crimsoned  with  rage. 
"Arrest  them,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who- 
ever they  be." 

"  Let  me  entreat  of  your  majesty" — 

"  What,  are  we  not  obeyed  ?"  cried  the 
queen  quickly,  interrupting  him,  and  cast- 
ing on  him  a  look  of  terrible  menace 
when  she  observed  that  he  hesitated  to 
obey  her  command. 

"  On  the  knees  of  my  heart,  let  a  faith- 
ful servant"— 

"  Away,  traitor !"  fiercely  exclaimed 
her  majesty  to  her  kneeling  favorite,  as 
she  brushed  by  him ;  and  with  haughty 
steps  strode  toward  the  turning  in  the 
walk  which  would  give  her  a  view  of  the 
spot  whence  the  sounds  had  proceeded  : 
but  behold !  when  she  had  there  arrived, 
no  person  was  visible — at  which  she  mar- 
velled greatly.  She  looked  among  the 
trees,  but  could  see  nothing ;  and  much 
chafed  thereat,  returned  to  where  she  had 
left  Sir  Walter,  as  it  may  be  said  with 
considerable  show  of  truth,  trembling  in 
his  shoes  at  the  imminent  peril  of  his  sit- 
uation ;  but  he  knew  the  character  of  his 
mistress  thoroughly,  and  his  alarm  soon 
giving  way,  set  him  upon  putting  forward 
a  stroke  of  policy  which  should  reawaken 
all  the  influence  he  had  lost ;  so  that  when 
her  majesty  came  hack  to  the  place  she 
had  left,  sweeping  along,  frowning  ma- 
jestically, and  with  a  mind  filled  with 
thoughts  of  inflicting  the  most  complete 


34 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


disgrace  upon  her  captain  of  the  guard, 
beheld  a  sight  so  piteous,  that  all  the 
dread  sovereign  did  give  place  to  the 
sympathizing  woman — for  there  knelt 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  exactly  where  he 
had  before  kneeled,  as  if  he  was  chained 
unto  the  spot,  gazing  upon  vacancy  with 
a  look  so  despairing  and  wo-begone,  that 
it  would  have  melted  a  heart  of  adamant. 
To  her  exceeding  astonishment,  he  no- 
ticed not  her  appearance  before  him — al- 
beit he  saw  her  well  enough — but  contin- 
ued with  a  fixed  and  glassy  gaze  to  stare 
into  the  empty  air,  like  unto  one  utterly 
bereft  of  reason ;  and  being  moved  with 
pity  to  behold  so  gallant  a  man,  and  one 
withal  who  was  the  best  dressed  gentle- 
man in  all  her  court,  in  so  sorry  a  plight, 
she  presently  went  up  to  him  and  placed 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  saying  kind- 
ly, "Sir  Walter,  what  aileth  thee?" 
whereupon,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  very  bottom  of 
his  heart,  he  lifted  up  his  eyes  to  her  face, 
and  then,  as  if  struck  with  a  sudden  recol- 
lection, he  sunk  down  his  head,  and  did 
hide  his  face  in  his  palms,  with  a  groan 
so  hollow  and  sepulchral,  that  her  majes- 
ty thought  he  was  about  to  give  up  the 
ghost. 

"  Nay,  nay,  take  not  on  so,  take  not  on 
so,  Sir  Walter  ;  we  mean  thee  no  harm, 
be  assured,"  said  the  queen,  now  in  a  very 
trepidation  ;  which  assurance  was  com- 
fortable enough  to  her  forlorn  captain  of 
the  guard  ;  but  who,  nevertheless,  with  a 
most  pitiful  accent  exclaimed — 

"Let  me  die  at  your  majesty's  feet,  for 
I  am  unworthy  to  live,  having  angered  so 
good  a  mistress." 

"  Odds  pittikins,  man,  think  not  of  dy- 
ing," replied  the  queen  in  her  most  gra- 
cious tone. 

"  In  sad  truth,  if  I  be  deprived  of  the 
most  delectable  happiness  of  gazing  on 
such  exquisite  perfection  as  hath  so  oft 
delighted  mine  eyes,  I  am  utterly  undone. 
I  have  no  desire  to  live,"  continued  he 
very  movingly.  At  which  the  queen  was 
not  a  whit  displeased,  for  it  is  out  of  all 
contradiction,  she  had  vanity  enough  to 
believe  that  the  deprivation  of  the  behold- 
ing her  charms  would  produce  so  fatal  an 
effect. 

"  Despair  not, — and  if  we  find  that  thou 
still  deservest  our  esteem,  thou  shalt  have 
no  cause  for  fear,"  said  her  majesty  in  a 
manner  she  thought  likely  to  put  him  into 
some  hope.  "Risr,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
and  return  with  us  10  the  palace — we  will 
inquire  into  this  mutter." 

"I  am  rooted  to  ihe  earth,"  replied  he, 


in  the  most  sorrowful  voice  that  ever  was 
heard.  "  The  fear  of  your  majesty's  dis- 
pleasure hath  fixed  me  to  the  ground.  I 
have  no  power  to  move.  How  much 
would  those  wretched  traitors  rejoice, 
who,  to  get  me  into  disgrace,  envying 
me  your  majesty's  good  opinion,  that  I 
prize  as  Jason  did  his  Medea,  and  which, 
as  she  taught  him  to  tame  the  brazen- 
footed  bulls,  and  cast  asleep  the  watchful 
dragon  that  guarded  the  golden  fleece, 
hath  inspired  me  to  like  honorable  and 
famous  deeds, — to  witness  the  very  pite- 
ous strait  to  which  I  am  reduced  by  the 
effect  of  their  contemptible  trick  to  slan- 
der the  most  excellent,  chaste,  and  beau- 
teous princess  that  ever  did  adorn  this 
sublunary  world." 

"  Dost  think  'twas  a  trick  ?"  inquired 
she  earnestly. 

"How  could  it  be  else,  please  your 
majesty?"  replied  Sir  Walter,  albeit  he 
knew  all  the  time,  haviag,  from  a  better 
sense  of  hearing,  heard  more  than  the 
queen,  that  the  conversation  alluded  to  his 
amour  with  Mistress  Elizabeth  Throck- 
rnorton,  though  he  could  not  distinguish 
to  whom  the  voices  belonged  ;  but  seeing 
that  her  majesty  fancied  that  it  was  in 
allusion  to  her,  was  resolved  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  that  mistake.  "  Is  not  your 
majesty  well  known,  with  all  the  super- 
lative accomplishments  of  the  nine  im- 
mortal daughters  of  Jupiter  and  Mnemo- 
syne, to  unite  with  them  the  exquisite 
truth  and  modesty  of  the  goddess  Veritas 
and  the  Vestals — and  how  could  those 
villanous  traducers,  whoever  they  be,  give 
utterance  to  so  notorious  a  calumny,  un- 
less it  were  that  I  should  reap  disadvan- 
tage thereby ;  but,  relying  on  your  majes- 
ty's noble  qualities  and  proper  sense  of 
what  is  due  to  your  own  dignity,  I  feel 
convinced  that  the  paltry  trick  will  be 
regarded  with  the  contempt  it  doth  de- 
serve— only  awaiting  your  majesty's  par- 
don, without  which  I  am  naught,  to  re- 
lease me  from  this  right  painful  and  un- 
happy posture." 

"  Rise,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh — thy  par- 
don is  granted  thee,  and  there  is  our  hand 
upon  it,"  said  the  queen,  in  her  most 
gracious  manner  giving  him  her  hand, 
the  which  he  did  again  press  to  his  lips, 
but  in  a  style  more  respectful  than  before. 
"We'll  think  no  more  of  these  paltry 
tricksters — but  will  show  them  how  lit- 
tle we  can  be  affected  by  their  villanous 
yet  most  contemptible  slanders."  Then 
did  she  very  kindly  raise  him  from  the 
ground,  and  return  to  the  withdrawing- 
room  conversing  with  him  all  the  way 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


35 


on  matters  relating  to  his  projected  voy- 
age in  a  way,  the  friendliness  whereof, 
he  had  rarely  experienced. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Ambition  is  a  vulture  vile 

That  feedeth  on  the  heart  of  pride, 
And  finds  no  rest  when  all  is  tried ; 
For  worlds  can  not  confine  the  one, 
The  other  lists  and  bounds  hath  none  ; 
And  both  subvert  the  mind,  the  state, 
Procure  destruction,  envy,  hate. 

DANIEL. 

Against  bad  tongues  goodness  can  not  defend  her 
Those  be  most  free  from  faults  they  least  will  spare, 
But  prate  of  them  whom  they  have  scantly  known, 
Judging  their  humors  to  be  like  their  own. 

SIR  JOHN  HARRINGTON. 

"  MY  Lord  of  Essex,  you  may  account 
me  your  true  friend  in  this  business,"  said 
a  dwarfish  and  ill  favored  person  soberly 
clad,  to  a  handsome  and  gorgeously- 
dressed  gallant — having  remarkable  dark 
eyes,  and  a  rich  glossy  beard  very  full  at 
the  bottom — as  they  sat  over  against  each 
other  in  a  chamber  hung  round  with 
abundance  of  ancient  armor. 

"  I  think  I  may,  Sir  Robert  Cecil,"  re- 
plied he,  addressed  as  the  Earl  of  Essex, 
looking  moodily  all  the  time,  as  if  there 
was  something  that  mightily  vexed  him. 
"She  hath  quarrelled  with  me  at  primero, 
only  because  I  did  drop  something  that 
to  her  appeared  to  call  in  question  her 
skill  with  the  cards;  and  she  hath  spoke 
to  me  never  a  word  since.  'Sblood  !  one 
had  need  be  a  beggar's  dog  as  put  up 
with  such  humors." 

"  Nay,  but  the  queen  is  a  most  bounte- 
ous mistress,''  observed  the  other  in  a 
tone  of  apology ;  "  and  though  at  times 
she  be  easily  displeased,  yet  is  she  quickly 
moved  to  make  amends  if  undeserved 
disadvantage  come  of  it." 

"But  she  is  too  prone  to  *uch  capri- 
ciousness,  and  I'll  stomach  it  no  longer," 
exclaimed  his  companion,  his  brilliant 
eyes  flashing  very  haughtily  as  he  kept 
playing  with  ihe  jewelled  pommel  of  his 
dagger.  "What!  shall  it  be  said  that 
the  Lord  Essex  is  fit  for  nothing  better 
than  to  play  the  pet  falcon  with,  to  be 
\rmstled  to,  and  driven  off,  as  it  suiteth 
a  woman's  idle  fantasies  ?" 

"Fie  on  you,  my  lord!"  cried  Cecil, 
with  an  exceeding  grave  countenance. 
"I  would  not  the  queen  should  hear  of 
this  for  as  much  as  your  earldom." 

"  Let  her— I  care  not ;"  said  the  Lord 
Essex  sharply. 

"  Now,  look  you  there,  was  ever  ob- 


stinate man  so  bent  on  his  own  destruc- 
tion ?"  exclaimeth  the  other.  "But  I 
will  do  you  a  service  as  far  as  my  poor 
ability  goeth ;  for  sure  am  I,  that  you 
have  no  friend  so  earnest  to  advance 
your  interests  as  Robert  Cecil,  if  you  will 
only  look  upon  him  as  such." 

"I  thank  you  heartily,"  replied  his 
companion  ;  but  in  no  way  relaxing  the 
frown  that  had  settled  on  his  brows. 

"Nay,  I  seek  no  thanks,"  rejoined  Sir 
Robert,  "  for,  inasmuch  as  my  honored 
father  hath  been  your  guardian — to  say 
naught  of  the  noble  qualities  I  do  behold 
in  you — have  I  ever  felt  disposed  to  do  you 
a  service.  Believe  me,  I  would  do  good 
for  the  good's  sake.  Now,  my  lord,  in  this 
matter,  be  advised  by  me ;  for  though 
seek  I  in  no  way  to  push  forth  my  judg- 
ment before  one  that  is  so  ripe  as  your 
own,  yet,  as  your  lordship  is  somewhat 
apt  to  get  heated  at  these  things,  being 
touched  by  them  more  nearly  than  an- 
other, I,  having  more  coolness,  which  is 
the  greatest  help  to  reflection,  may  be 
considered  better  qualified  to  form  an  un- 
biased opinion ;  therefore,  I  do  beseech 
vou,  in  all  true  friendship,  be  advised  of 
me." 

"What  counsel  you,  Sir  Robert  Ce- 
cil ?"  inquired  his  lordship. 

"  Mark  you  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  ?"  ask- 
ed the  other. 

"  What  hath  he  to  do  with  it  ?"  said 
my  Lord  Essex,  very  proudly. 

"  Truly  he  is  a  noble  gentleman,"  repli- 
ed his  companion  ;  "  he  is  one  that  hath 
many  commendable  parts,  being  in  out- 
ward show  right  manly  to  look  upon  ; 
the  which  he  doth  put  to  great  advantage, 
by  apparelling  himself  very  daintily.  In- 
deed, though  I  be  no  judge  of  these 
things,  I  have  heard  it  said  by  others, 
that  for  the  fashioning  of  a  doublet,  he 
hath  not  his  peer.  For  mine  own  part,  I 
envy  him  not  such  an  accomplishment, 
thinking  that  it  more  becometh  a  tailor 
than  a  gentleman.  Nevertheless  he  is 
doubtless  to  be  praised  for  it,  seeing  that 
it  showeth  his  great  anxiety  to  please  her 
majesty,  who,  it  is  well  known  to  him, 
taketh  exceeding  delight  in  beholding 
such  braveries  ;  the  which  he  continually 
turneth  to  his  profit.  But  he  hath  other 
gifts  that  do  the  more  recommend  him  to 
the  queen's  favor ;  he  hath  held  himself 
valiantly  in  the  wars,  and  hath  the  repu- 
tation of  the  most  experienced  soldier  in 
the  queen's  service ;  though  I  for  one  do 
think  there  be  his  betters  not  far  off. 
Then — so  it  be  said,  though  I  know  not 
how  true  it  be, — his  knowledge  of  sea- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


manship  is  inferior  to  none ;  which  hath 
not  only  enabled  him  to  exhibit  his  valor 
against  the  enemy  with  great  effect  ;  but 
hath  given  him  marvellous  facilities  in 
the  discovery  of  strange  lands.  Besides 
which,  they  that  take  upon  themselves  to 
know  this  phoenix,  do  give  out  that  he  is 
a  very  Solomon  for  wisdom,  and  is  won- 
derfully quick  at  penning  a  stanza." 

"And  what  hath  all  this  to  do  with  the 
matter  ?"  haughtily  inquired  my  Lord 
Essex,  who,  though  he  could  not  help 
admiring  the  character  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  liked  not  to  hear  of  his  praises 
so  conspicuously. 

"  Much  more,  my  good  lord,  than  it 
doth  appear  to  you,"  replied  Cecil,  in  a 
tone,  and  with  a  manner  of  great  meaning. 
"  Mark  me  !  I  do  not  blame  this  valiant 
gentleman  for  wishing  to  make  the  most 
of  his  qualifications,  for  it  is  natural  for 
a  man  to  advance  his  fortunes  as'  well 
as  he  can  ;  but  if  he,  standing  upon  the 
opinion  some  have  of  him,  which  in  all 
honesty  seemeth  to  me  strangely  over- 
rated, seek  to  gain  the  first  place  at 
court,  and  poison  the  queen's  ear  against 
the  absent" — 

At  this  moment  my  lord  of  Essex,  who 
had  exhibited  signs  of  great  impatience 
during  the  speech  of  his  companion — 
with  his  handsome  countenance  hugely 
disturbed — leaped  suddenly  upon  his  feet, 
and  exclaimed — • 

"  By  God's  wrath,  if  he  hath  slandered 
me,  I'll  make  him  rue  it." 

"Nay,  I  said  not  that,  my  good  lord," 
observed  the  crafty  Cecil,  with  a  show 
of  sincerity.  "  Indeed,  far  be  it  from  me 
to  give  you  so  ill  an  opinion  of  one  who, 
beyond  all  dispute,  hath  signalized  him- 
self very  honorably ;  but  your  absence 
doth  throw  great  temptation  in  his  way. 
— I  pray  you  be  seated,  my  lord : — and 
there  are  some  men — such  is  the  perver- 
sity of  human  nature — who  think  it  no 
discredit  to  them  to  build  their  rise  by 
working  at  the  fall  of  their  betters. — I 
would  you  would  not  stand,  my  lord  : — 
not  that  I  think  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  is  of 
such  kind,  but  being  the  captain  of  the 
guard,  in  constant  attendance  on  the 
queen,  where  he  hath  many  opportunities 
to  drop  hints  to  your  disadvantage,  which 
in  charity  I  do  not  think  he  would : — I 
would  say,  perhaps ;he  might,  as  the  only 
way  of  dispossessing  you  of  that  high 
seat  in  the  queen's  grace  you  so  worthily 
fill,  be  induced  to  increase  her  majesty's 
displeasure  against  you  as  much  as  lay 
in  his  power.  But  be  seated,  I  pray  you, 
my  lord." 


"  If  he  attempt  it,  were  he  twenty  Sir 
Walter  Raleighs,  he  should  have  his  de- 
serts," said  the  proud  noble,  evidently 
much  disturbed  by  what  he  had  heard ; 
then,  smiling  contemptuously,  added — 
"  but  he  dare  not,"  and  quickly  resumed 
his  seat. 

"There  are  we  of  the  same  opinion," 
observed  Cecil,  who,  with  an  unmoved 
countenance,  had  all  the  time  kept  a 
careful  scrutiny  of  the  features  of  his 
companion.  "When  1  consider  that  he 
is  nothing  better  than  a  simple  knight, 
while  you,  my  good  lord,  are  known  to 
be  connected  with  the  powerfulest  fami- 
lies in  the  kingdom,  and  even  stand  in 
some  relationship  to  the  queen's  majesty, 
I  do  conceive  that  he  hath  more  wit  than 
to  attempt  such  a  mad  scheme  as  the 
driving  you  away  from  the  court,  that  he 
might  supply  your  place  ;  nevertheless, 
speaking  from  the  love  I  bear  you,  I  do 
advise  that  you  keep  with  the  queen  aa 
much  as  may  be  possible  ;  thereby  shall 
you  hinder  all  foolish  speculations  of  the 
kind,  that  may  be  built  upon  your  ab- 
sence, and  notice  for  yourself  whether 
this  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  be  inclined  to 
push  himself  forward  at  your  expense,  as 
some  say  ;  though  for  mine  own  part,  I 
do  not  think  of  his  disposition  so  badly, 
having,  in  all  my  intercourse  with  him, 
found  him  to  be  a  gentleman  of  very  ex- 
cellent integrity.  Allow  me  also  to  hope, 
that  what  my  zeal  for  you  hath  embold- 
ened me  to  say,  you  will  not  take  in  ill 
part,  assuring  you  that,  of  all  men  living, 
is  there  not  one  I  hold  in  so  much  re- 
spect as  yourself." 

"I  am  greatly  beholden  to  you,  and 
will  think  of  your  advice,"  replied  my 
Lord  Essex,  rising,  with  considerable  as- 
sumption of  dignity,  from  his  chair,  as  he 
began  putting  on  his  embroidered  gloves, 
"  but  where  is  my  Lord  Burghley  ?" 

"My  father  hath  not  long  returned 
from  the  council,"  said  his  companion : 
"he  is  greatly  fatigued,  and  hath  gone 
to  rest,  desiring  not  to  be  disturbed.  I 
pray  you,  my  good  lord,  excuse  seeing 
him  to-day." 

"In  truth  I  have  no  particular  busi- 
ness with  him,"  said  his  lordship,  care- 
lessly, as  he  arranged  a  costly  silk  cloak 
he  wore  upon  his  shoulder;  "commend 
me  to  him,  Sir  Robert,  and,  if  it  be  not 
displeasing  to  you,  I  will  see  you  again 
on  this  matter  at  a  fitting  hour." 

."I  shall  feel  proud  of  the  honor  you 
will  do  me,  my  good  lord,"  replied  Cecil, 
as  with  much  show  of  respect  he  follow- 
ed his  visiter  out  of  the  door,  when  he 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


37 


had  put  on  his  hat,  which  was  of  a  high 
crown,  with  a  precious  jewel  in  the 
front ;  and  made  the  serving  men,  some 
of  whom  were  straggling  about  the  hall, 
hasten  to  open  the  gates,  where  he  kept 
bowing  to  my  Lord  Essex  very  courte- 
ously, who  received  his  salutations  with 
a  haughty  inclination  of  the  head,  before 
he  moved  away  from  Exeter  House,  to 
cross  to  the  river  where  he  had  left  his 
barge ;  and  then  the  other  came  back, 
seemingly  in  a  very  thoughtful  mood,  to 
the  armory,  and  fastened  himself  in. 

He  had  sat  himself  down  therein 
scarcely  a  minute,  when  he  was  aware 
of  a  gentle  tapping  at  the  wainscot; 
which  as  soon  as  he  heard,  a  smile  of 
peculiar  meaning  passed  over  his  grave 
features,  and  going  directly  to  a  place 
where  hung  a  suit  of  Saracen  mail,  he 
did  presently  open  a  concealed  door,  and 
there  entered  thereat  Lord  Henry  How- 
ard. 

"Hast  any  news?"  asked  Sir  Robert, 
eagerly. 

"Indeed  have  I,"  said  my  lord. 

"  Good  news  ?"  inquired  Cecil. 

"Excellent  good  news,"  replied  his 
companion. 

"From  the  Scottish  king,  eh,  my  good 
lord?"  said  the  other,  in  a  whisper. 

"  No,  i'faith — it  hath  not  travelled  so 
far :  'tis  English  news  ; — news  of  our  in- 
comparable captain  of  the  guard." 

"  Ha !  what,  doth  he  seem  inclined  to 
take  the  bait,  and  quarrel  with  Essex?" 
inquired  the  other. 

"I  doubt  it  much,"  responded  his  com- 
panion ;  "I  moved  him  a  little,  but  not 
sufficient  to  ground  any  such  hopes 
upon." 

"  Tis  enough,"  exclaimed  Cecil,  "  each 
is  jealous  of  the  other,  and  very  small 
things  will  suffice  to  increase  their  mutual 
ill  will.  I  have  had  Essex  here,  and 
have  just  succeeded  in  stirring  up  his 
ancient  animosity  against  Raleigh,  and 
I  will  take  good  heed  it  shall  not  go  out 
for  want  of  fuel.  See  you  my  object?" 

"  To  ruin  both  in  good  time,  I  hope," 
said  Lord  Howard. 

"  True — but  more  immediately  to  play- 
one  against  the  other,  that  we  may  take 
advantage  of  their  disunion  ;  for  were 
they  strict  friends,  they  would  be  too 
strong  for  us  ;  or  were  either  to  be  allow- 
ed to  proceed  in  his  course  without  mo- 
lestation of  a  rival,  he  would  soon  have 
too  firm  a  seat  for  us  to  shake  him  our. 
We  will  set  them  by  the  ears,  and  I  doubt 
not  we  shall  find  our  profit  in  it.  But 
what  news  have  vou  of  Raleigh  ?" 


"  What  think  you  of  a  dainty  intrigue 
now  with  one  of  the  maids  of  honor  ?" 

"  No !"  cried  the  other,  incredulously. 

"  Just  ripe  for  a  discovery — a  private 
marriage  about  to  take  place,  to  hide  the 
unwelcome  consequences." 

"  To  whom — where  is  she — what  is  her 
name  ?"  hastily  inquired  Cecil,  showing 
by  the  earnest  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance the  interest  he  took  in  the  intelli- 
gence. 

"  She  is  no  other  than  the  right  modest 
daughter  of  old  Sir  Nicholas  Throckmor- 
ton." 

"  The  fool's  ruined,"  exclaimed  Sir 
Robert ;  "  but  how  know  you  this — how 
can  it  be  proved  ?" 

"I  was  informed  of  it  by  my  Lady 
Howard,  of  Walden,"  said  the  other. 
"  Her  ladyship,  as  it  seemeth  to  me,  hav- 
ing been  slighted  by  this  Raleigh — I 
know  not  why,  for  truly  she  is  rather  a 
dainty  piece  of  goods  to  look  upon — and 
suspecting  from  certain  observations  she 
had  made,  that  he  was  the  welcome  lover 
of  the  virtuous  Elizabeth,  impelled  by 
jealousy,  did  conceal  herself  in  Mistress 
Throckmorton's  chamber,  and  heard  the 
whole  of  the  precious  secret ;  and  now 
her  indignant  ladyship  is  burning  to  tell 
it  to  the  queen." 

"  She  must  be  stopped  awhile — she 
will  spoil  all  else,"  cried  his  companion, 
eagerly.  "  This  is  a  delicate  affair,  my 
good  lord,  and  requireth  very  careful 
handling,  or  else  mischief  will  come 
of  it." 

"  I  thought  it  of  consequence,  and  bade 
her  stay  the  discovery  till  I  had  seen  you 
on  the  subject,  which  she  hath  promised 
me.  But  the  best  of  the  jest  is,  while  we 
were  in  earnest  conversation  on  this  very 
matter,  along  one  of  the  walks  in  the 
park,  the  queen,  who  was  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fence  near  which  we  stood, 
without  our  knowledge  of  it,  overheard 
us,  as  I  suppose  ;  for  we  presently  recog- 
nised her  voice  very  loud,  calling  upon 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  to  arrest  us ;  the 
which  put  us  both  in  such  a  fright,  that 
each  of  us  did  suddenly  run  for  it  as  if 
our  lives  depended  on  our  speed  of  foot. 
Never  ran  I  half  so  fast  in  all  my  days: 
and  as  for  my  fair  cousin — by  this  light, 
there  never  was  such  a  racer.  It  would 
have  done  your  heart  good  to  have  seen 
us,  like  two  Spanish  galeasses,  cutting 
before  the  wind  with  all  sail,  to  get  out  of 
the  reach  of  an  English  frigate.  Thanks 
to  the  neetness  of  our  heels,  we  escaped  ; 
but  my  Lady  Howard  hath  got  purli  a 
fright  that  she- will  scarce  dare  to  open  her 


38 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


mouth  before  the  queen  for  some  time  to 
come." 

"So  much  the  better,"  observed  his 
companion,  drily. 

"  I  left  her  to  calm  herself  at  her  lei- 
sure, and  hastened  through  the  private 
gate  in  the  garden  to  seek  you  here  by 
the  secret  way.'' 

"  You  did  right,  my  good  lord,"  said 
Cecil,  as  he  sat  himself  down,  somewhat 
abstractedly,  leaning  his  head  upon  his 
hand. 

"  And  now,  methinks,  this  fine  fellow, 
who  evidently  liveth  in  the  opinion  that 
nothing  is  so  good  as  that  which  he  doeth, 
hath  done  for  himself;  and  /  shall  not  be 
sorry  for  one.  I  like  not  such  whipper- 
snappers — persons  of  no  extraction — ig- 
noble adventurers — who  are  ever  thrust- 
ing themselves  before  their  superiors, 
and  winning  from  them  such  honors  as 
they  alone  were  born  to  possess.  Indeed, 
this  Raleigh  is  a  most  pestilent  piece  of 
conceit,  and  I  mislike  him  hugely :  I 
shall  glory  in  his  downfall ;  and  I  care 
not  how  low  his  pride  is  humbled.  Be- 
sides, when  he  hath  been  put  out  of  the 
way,  there  will  be  only  the  haughty  Es- 
sex to  cope  with,  who  must  easily  be 
overthrown,  for  he  hath  not  the  cunning 
of  the  other." 

"  Tush,  my  lord,"  exclaimed  Cecil, 
with  some  impatience ;  "  see  you  not, 
that  if  Raleigh  be  quite  removed,  Essex 
will  be  paramount?  .  'Tis  a  business  that 
must  be  managed  with  exceeding  deli- 
cacy. Hark  !"  he  cried,  in  a  more  sub- 
dued voice,  rising  quickly  from  his  seat, 
and  opening  the  secret  door  as  the  Lord 
Howard  prepared  to  depart — "  Here  are 
visiters  coming.  Haste  and  tell  my  Lady 
HoAvard  not  to  stir  in  this  matter  till  I 
have  seen  her."  Then  closing  it  upon 
his  retreating  associate,  and  unfastening 
the  other  door,  he  was  in  a  minute  very 
busily  employed  upon  some  writings  on 
a  table  before  him,  when  there  came  a 
knock  ;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  called  out 
to  them  that  they  might  have  admittance, 
there  entered  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  with  a 
very  courtier-like  looking  gentleman,  most 
daintily  attired. 

"Now  I  take  this  as  exceeding  kind 
of  you,  Sir  Walter,"  exclaimed  Cecil,  in 
a  manner  marvellously  friendly,  as  he 
recognised  his  visiters.  "And  my  worthy 
brother-in-law,  my  Lord  Cobham,  too! 
I  know  not  which  to  be  thankful  for 
most — the  presence  of  yourself  or  your 
friend.  I  pray  you  be  seated." 

"  Indeed  I  have  but  called  to  acquaint 
yon  that  her  majesty  hath  signified  her 


onsent  to  my  expedition,"  observed  Ra- 
leigh. 

"  Of  that  I  am  very  heartily  glad,  be- 
ieve  me,"  said  Sir  Robert,  shaking  Sir 
Walter  by  the  hand  with  as  much  ear- 
nestness as  if  he  had  been  the  best  friend 
ae  had  in  the  world  ;  "  and  knowing,  as  I 
do,  your  fitness  to  lead  to  a  profitable  and 
lorious  issue  all  such  armaments,  in 
which,  as  far  as  I  have  heard  of  the  best 
ludges,  is  no  man  living  your  superior,  I 
do  build  upon  it  great  hopes  of  your  ad- 
vancement in  the  queen's  favor  ;  whereat 
none  of  all  your  friends  will  feel  more 
infinite  delight  than  myself.  But  sit,  I 
pray  you,  and  let  us  drink  a  bottle  of  Ip- 
pocras  to  your  successful  voyage." 

'With  all  my  heart!"  exclaimed  the 
Lord  Cobham,  cheerfully,  as  he  flung 
himself  carelessly  into  a  chair,  and  did 
put  aside  his  hat.  "  Such  a  proposition 
must  be  welcome  for  the  sake  of  mine  ac- 
complished friend ;  but  there  is  another 
consideration  that  claimeth  to  be  taken 
into  account — my  throat  is.dry." 

"A  good  consideration  truly,"  remark- 
ed Cecil  with  a  smile,  as  he  rang  a  silver 
bell  that  lay  upon  the  table. 

"  Nay,  if  you  will  have  wine,  I  must 
leave  you  two  to  the  enjoyment  of  it — 
my  duties  permitting  me  not  to  assist 
you  in  what  would  otherwise  be  mightily 
agreeable  to  me  ;  for  I  must  hurry  to  at- 
tend upon  her  majesty  to  the  playhouse." 

"  Now  sit  you  down,"  replied  Sir  Rob- 
ert with  great  demonstration  of  friendship, 
preventing  Sir  Walter  from  leaving  the 
room — "  it  wanteth,  to  my  certain  knowl- 
edge, a  good  half  hour  to  the  time  when 
her  majesty  is  like  to  be  ready,  so  your 
haste  need  not  be  so  immediate — besides 
I  take  it  hugely  unkind  of  you,  seeing 
that  while  I,  who  am  of  so  notorious  a 
gravity,  for  the  sake  of  one  to  whose  ad- 
mirable qualities  I  stand  so  well  affected, 
am  inclined  to  unbend  to  a  becoming  so- 
ciality, you,  who  are  well  known  to  be 
the  most  absolute  prince  of  good  fellows, 
on  the  poor  excuse  of  press  of  time,  do 
seek  to  play  the  churl  with  my  well-dis- 
posedness." 

"  I'faith,  Raleigh,  there  must  surely  be 
lime  for  a  glass  or  two  with  my  worthy 
brother-in-law,"  said  his  friend,  and  then 
added  very  gravely,  "  and  there  is  a  very 
good  reason  why  I  think  so." 

"  Out  with  your  reason,  my  good  lord," 
exclaimed  Cecil,  somewhat  urgently — 
"  out  with  your  reason,  if  you  love  me,  for 
I  do  truly  hope  it  will  be  a  convincing  one." 
"  My  throat  is  dry,"  sagely  replied  the 
Lord  Cobham. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


<l  0"  my  life,  there  is  no  standing  against 
so  grave  an  argument,"  said  Sir  Walter 
laughingly,  as  he  uncovered  and  did  sit 


and  perfect  scholar,  and  a  most  honorable 
gentleman  ;  and  knowing  that  he  is  about 


himself  down,  "sol  must  e'en  be  indebted  to  command  an  important  expedition 
to  your  courtesy."  against  the  enemy,  he  will,  I  question 

At  this  instant  a  serving  man  entered,  not,  also  allow  me,  from  the  very  sin- 
to  whom  orders  were  given  for  the  bring-  j  cerity  of  my  love,  to  wish  him  all  that 
ing  of  the  Ippocras;  and  Sir  Water  Ra-  infinite  success  to  which  his  great  merits 
leigh  noticing  a  peculiar  suit  of  armor,  j  do  entitle  him." 

Sir  Robert  Cecil  then  did  acquaint  him  "  In  every  word  of  this  I  gladly  concur, 
how  his  father,  the  Lord  Burghley,  took  and  drink  success  to  him  with  all  my 
great  delight  in  making  a  collection  of  i  heart,"  added  my  Lord  Cobham;  and, 
offensive  and  defensive  arms,  of  different  i  both  thereupon,  quickly  drank  off  their 
times  and  countries,  the  which  he  had  !  glasses. 

that  room  built  on  purpose  to  receive,  in  i  "Sir  Robert  Cecil,"  replied  Sir  Walter 
preference  to  keeping  them  at  his  mag-  in  a  truly  dignified  and  impressive  man- 
nificent  mansion  at  Theobald's,  or  at  i  ner,  as  he  stood  up  to  the  table — "It 
Burghley  House ;  and  when  Sir  Walter,  !  would  be  but  affectation  in  me  were  I  to 
being  very  learned  in  these  things,  did  i  seem  indifferent  to  applause ;  for,  how- 
explain  to  him  the  age  and  nature  of  some,  j  ever  it  may  be  taken,  I  must  acknowl- 
he  listened  with  exceeding  respect.  In  i  edge,  that  I  love  praise — because  I  love 
truth,  although  Cecil  was  the  youngest !  to  deserve  it :  and  if  I  have  not  merited 
of  the  three,  he  was  the  very  craftiest :  it  to  the  extent  your  goodness  hath  be- 
man  in  all  her  majesty's  dominions.  His  stowed,  believe  me  it  was  rather  from 
appearance  was  in  no  wise  preposses- \  want  of  ability  than  inclination :  never- 
sing — being  short  of  stature,  and  with  a  j  theless  I  can  not  say  how  much  beholden 
face  not  at  all  handsome,  shrewd  eyes,  |  jo  you  I  am  for  your  good  opinion,  and, 
and  a  scanty  beard  ;  yet  by  falling  into  !  though  as  it  seemeth  to  me,  the  success  I 
the  humors  of  the  great — affecting  a  won-  '  may  have  can  not  come  up  with  your  ex- 
derlul  sincerity,  and  seeming  of  a  serious  ;  pectations,  to  prevent  as  much  as  lieth  in 
he  had 


advanced  himself  to  her  my    power   your  judgment  from   being 

majesty's   confidence — nor  was    he    in-  called  in  question,  1  will,  in  all  times  to 

clined  there  to  stop,  for  ambition  was  his  come,  urge  my  poor  qualifications  to  the 

ruling  passion  :  and  everything  he  schem-  utmost.  I  thank  you  for  your  good  wishes 

ed  about,  had  for  its  object,  without  ma-  — and  iny  lord  also — and  in  return  drink 


king  enemies,  to  get  as  much  power  as 
was  possible  into  his  own  hands.  All  this 
time  my  Lord  Cobham  was  arranging 
his  hair,  and  trifling  wiih  his  beard  be- 
fore a  very  polished  coat-of-mail,  that 
served  him  as  a  mirror. 

The  wine  now  having  been  brought  in 
and  poured  out  by  the  serving  man  before 
he  left  the  room,  into  three  tall  Venetian 
glasses,  Sir  Robert  Cecil  standing  up  with 
his  glass  in  his  hand,  said,  with  an  abun- 
dance of  humility: — 

"  It  ill  becometh  me,  who  am  so  little 


to  your  prosperity. 

"Well  said!"  exclaimed  the  Lord 
Cobham,  as  his  friend  raised  the  wine  to 
his  lips,  and  each  had  reseated  himself — 
"  the  speech  is  worthy  of  the  wine,  and 
the  wine  deserveth  the  speech — therefore 
are  they  capitally  matched.  I  only  wish 
my  Lord  Essex  had  tasted  some  of  this 
truly  delicious  Ippocras  before  we  met 
him  just  now  at  the  river's  side — me- 
thinks  he  would  have  looked  with  a  more 
pleasant  countenance." 

"Saw  you  the    Lord  Essex  as    you 


skilled    in  speech,   to  attempt  what  re- ;  came  ?"  inquired  Sir  Robert,  carelessly. 


We  met  somebody  very  like  him," 
replied  the  other,  "  only  he  did  regard 
us  with  an  aspect  so  Ethiopian,  I  had 
like  to  have  taken  him  for  a  blacka- 


quireth  such  true  eloquence  as  the  praise 
of  one  who  hath  so  distinguished  himself 
in  all  manner  of  knightly  and  clerk-like 
accomplishments,  as  hath  my  most  wor- 
thy and  esteemed  friend  Sir  Walter  Ra-  j  moor/' 
leigh  ;  yet,  as  he  knoweth  full  well  that]      "Ah,  my  lord  is  doubtless  a  little  out 
my  deficiency  proceedeth  not  from  lack    of  humor,"  observed  Cecil,  significantly, 
of  love,  but  from  lack  of  wit,  he  will,  I 
doubt  not,   out  of  the  generosity  of  his 
humor,  be  content  with  the   assurance, 
that,   as    far  as   my    humble  judgment 

goeth,  I  do  consider  him  an  honor  to  this   by  looking  the  like  at  all  he  met 
our  age,  and  an  example  to  the  world,  of  my  Lord  Cobham. 


He  is  not  in  favor  with  the  queen." 
"  0'  my  word,  one  would  have  thought 
he  had  fallen  out  with  his  own  shadow 
for  looking  black  at  him,  and  resented  it 

said 


40 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Unfortunately,  my  good  lord,"  re- 
plied the  wily  Cecil,  "there  are  some 
men  of  such  unhappy  dispositions,  that 
they  can  not  bear  to  see  superior  merit 
taking  the  lead  of  them  ;  and  must  there- 
fore regard  the  object  with  a  sullen  and 
unfriendly  gloominess.'' 

"  By  this  hand  I  thought  so,"  exclaim- 
ed Cobham. 

"Not  that  I  would  wish  to  insinuate 
aught  against  the  noble  lord,"  continued 
the  other,  "for  he  is  doubtless  of  too 
honorable  a  nature  to  have  evil  intentions 
against  those  of  whose  rising  power  he 
may  be  jealous — though  I  have  heard  it 
said  tha.t  he  beareth  no  good  will  to  our 
excellent  friend,  but  of  the  truth  of  it  can 
I  say  nothing.  Indeed,  in  justice  to  him, 
I  can  fairly  assert  that  he  hath  many  esti- 
mable qualities,  and  showeth  a  very 
princely  liberality — nevertheless,  truth 

compelleth  me  to  say but  your  glasses 

are  empty,"  said  he,  suddenly  breaking  off 
his  discourse,  and  pouring  out  the  wine. 

"What  were  you  about  to  advance, 
Sir  Robert  Cecil  ?"  inquired  Raleigh,  very 
earnestly.  "  As  far  as  I  have  had  means 
of  judging  of  Lord  Essex,  he  is  a  brave 
and  honorable  gentleman,  but  if  he  hath 
said  aught  or  done  aught  against  me,  I 
should  be  glad  to  know  of  it." 

"  I  pray  you  excuse  me  there,  Sir  Wal- 
ter," quickly  replied  the  other.  "  Believe 
me,  I  am  no  maker  of  mischief.  It  would 
grieve  me  much  to  see  two  such  notable 
good  servants  of  her  majesty  at  variance  ; 
and  truly  your  high  spirits  are  apt  enough 
to  quarrel  without  being  set  on.  The 
Earl  of  Essex  hath  a  bountiful  disposi- 
tion, as  I  have  said,  and  if  he  inclineth 
at  times  to  be  envious  of  another's  greater 
merit  and  better  fortune,  there  be  not  one 
of  us  without  our  faults;  and  it  is  but 
Christian  charity  to  look  over  such.  How 
like  you  the  wine?" 

"  'Tis  of  very  curious  flavor,"  respond- 
ed Raleigh,  yet,  though  he  answered  to 
the  purpose,  he  did  seem  as  if  he  was 
thinking  of  another  matter. 

"  In  truth,  'tis  excellent  good,"  said  the 
Lord  Cobham,  looking  at  it  through  the 
delicate  glass  in  which  it  sparkled  beau- 
tifully, and  then  sipping  it  that  the  flavor 
might  dwell  upon  his  tongue,  "very  ex- 
quisite stuff,  by  this  hand !  I  know  not 
where  I  should  meet  with  a  better  wine; 
indeed,  with  Ippocras  of  such  admirable 
quality  never  came  I  acquainted.  If  it 
be  not  demanding  too  much  of  your  cour- 
tesy, I  pray  you  tell  me  of  what  vintner 
misht  you  get  such  brave  liquor?" 

"  Of  mire  own  knowledge  know  I  not, 


my  good  lord,"  answered  Cecil,  "  yet 
will  I  make  it  my  business  to  inquire. 
Believe  me,  I  am  marvellously  well 
pleased  it  hath  taken  your  fancy,  as  it 
showeth  its  excellence :  for,  for  a  singu- 
lar fine  taste  in  wine,  of  all  men  living 
commend  me  to  the  Lord  Cobham.  Let 
me  replenish  your  glass." 

"  I  am  infinitely  bound  to  you — but  in 
very  honesty,  Sir  Robert,  I  am  but  an  in- 
different judge,"  said  my  lord  with  some 
humility,  yet  it  was  evident  he  was.well 
pleased  with  the  compliment. 

"  Your  modesty  maketh  you  under- 
value yourself,"  replied  Sir  Robert:  "I 
have  heard  your  judgment  approved  of 
beyond  all  comparison." 

"  'Tis  indifferent — 'tis  indifferent,"  re- 
sponded the  other  carelessly. 

"  Nay,  but  I  have  stayed  too  long," 
exclaimed  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  jumping 
up  of  a  sudden  from  a  sort  of  revery,  and 
making  preparations  to  depart. 

"  Not  a  whit,"  responded  Cecil,  "  there 
is  ample  time  to  get  to  Whitehall  before 
the  queen  hath  need  of  your  attendance. 
Another  glass,  I  pray  you." 

"  There,  then !"  cried  Raleigh,  tossing 
off  the  wine  as  his  friend  was  making 
ready,  "  and  now  we  must  tarry  no  long- 
er. Come,  my  lord." 

"Be  advised  of  me,  and  think  no  more 
of  what  my  foolish  tongue  hath  let  out 
concerning  the  Lord  Essex,"  said  the 
crafty  Cecil  in  an  under  tone,  with  a  face 
of  much  concern,  as  he  walked  by  the 
side  of  Sir  Walter  toward  the  gates — the 
Lord  Cobham  following  at  some  distance. 
"  For  your  own  sake,  I  would  not  have 
you  quarrel.  He  hath  great  power  of 
friends,  and — not  that  I  think  so  ill  of 
that  .honorable  lord  as  to  imagine  he 
would  do  aught  dishonest  against  you — 
remember  he  is  the  late  Lord  Leicester's 
kinsman — like  enough,  may  have  been 
his  pupil ;  and,  as  it  may  be  known  to 
you,  '  the  gypsy'  did  practise  very  devil- 
ish arts  against  those  whom  hemisliked." 

"  If  I  mistake  him  not,  he  is  of  a  no- 
bler spirit  than  to  follow  so  base  an  ex- 
ample," replied  Sir  Walter. 

"So  think  I,"  added  Cecil  quickly— 

"  yet  appearances  are  oft  deceitful,  and, 

for  mine  own  part,  I  do  confess  to  you  I 

put  no  great  trust  in  him,  he  being  so 

nearly  allied  to  one  who  was  so  badly 

disposed.     Pardon   my   zeal,  if  while  I 

counsel  you  to  keep  on  good  terms  with 

!  him,  if  it  may  be  done  without  injury  to 

;  your  honor,  I  do  earnestly  advise  you  to 

I  be  on  your  guard." 

"I  take  your  caution  in  exceeding  good 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


41 


part,"  responded  Raleigh,  "and  will  not 
fail  to  bear  it  in  mind." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  worthily  enter- 
tained of  the  players',"  said  Sir  Robert 
Cecil,  as  a  few  minutes  afterward  he 
stood  at  the  gates  with  his  two  friends ; 
"for  though  the  gravity  of  my  disposition 
inclineth  not  to  such  amusements,  I  am 
well  pleased  that  others  should  enjoy 
them." 

In  a  moment  after,  the  Lord  Cobham 
and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  were  making  all 
haste  to  the  water  side,  and  the  wily  Ce- 
cil, with  his  mind  filled  with  ambitious 
schemes  and  cunning  plots,  returned  into 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

O  kiss  !  which  doth  those  ruddy  gems  impart, 

Or  gems,  or  fruits,  of  new  found  paradise  ; 
Breathing  all  bliss,  and  sweet'ning  to  the  heart; 

Teaching  dumb  lips  a  nobler  exercise. 

O  kiss  !  which  souls,  ev'n  souls,  together  ties 
By  links  of  love,  and  only  nature's  art ; 

How  fain  would  I  paint  thee  to  all  men's  eyes  ; 

Or  of  thy  gifts,  at  least,  shade  out  some  part. 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 

My  lady  is  unkind  perdie, 

"  Alack,  why  is  she  so?" 
She  loveth  another  better  than  me, 

And  yet  she  will  say  no. 

SIR  THOMAS  WYATt. 

WHEN  Master  Francis  was  left  alone 
by  his  miserly  uncle  in  the  office,  as  hath 
previously  been  described,  he  presently 
began  to  turn  over  the  papers  on  the  desk 
like  one  in  search  of  something ;  and, 
as  if  not  finding  what  he  sought,  ex- 
claiming, "  Surely  I  did  leave  it  here," 
he  the  more  carefully  recommenced  his 
search  ;  but  evidently  with  no  better  suc- 
cess. 

"It  is  gone!"  cried  he  at  last,  with  a 
countenance  in  which  surprise  seemed  to 
mingle  with  regret ;  and  then,  in  much 
perplexity,  appeared  to  be  considering 
the  cause  of  the  disappearance  of  what 
he  had  searched  for. 

"  Possibly  my  uncle  hath  taken  and 
destroyed  it,  for  he  hath  a  strange  disin- 
.clination  to  my  writing  verses,"  said  the 
youth — and  then  he  did  seem  to  think 
again — but,  as  was  apparent,  on  another 
subject,  for  his  fair  brow  became  more 
troubled,  and  his  clear  and  most  intelli- 
gent eyes  had  an  uneasy  and  suspicious 
look. 

"If  she  doth  affect  that  Ralph  Gos- 
hawk ?"  he  exclaimed  in  a  sort  of  doubt- 
ing yet  inquiring  tone,  as  if  he  knew  not 
for  certain,  yet  wanted  to  know  some- 


thing he  feared  would  not  be  desirable  to 
learn.  Then  having  passed  some  miii' 
utes  in  profound  yet  anxious  reflection, 
he  suddenly  started  up,  saying,  "  But  she 
is  too  good  to  be  deceitful,"  he  seemed 
at  once  to  dismiss  all  his  uncomfortable 
thoughts,  and  set  himself  to  writing  out 
some  account,  with  a  very  cheerful  and 
delighted  countenance.  At  this  he  con- 
tinued diligently,  but  ever  and  anon  ex- 
claiming, "  Oh,  excellent  Joanna  !"  or, 
with  a  like  enthusiasm,  "  Dear — sweet — 
exquisite  creature  !"  or,  with  a  counte- 
nance that  did  witness  for  his  sincerity, 
"Oh,  I  do  love  thee  infinitely  !"till  there 
came  a  sudden  turn  in  his  humor,  and 
with  a  more  thoughtful  look  he  put  down 
his  pen,  and,  folding  his  arms,  asked  him- 
self the  question — "  But  why  doth  she 
deny  me  the  caresses  which  she  hath  so 
often  granted  ?"  after  which  he  again 
grew  uneasy  (judging  by  the  expression 
of  his  features),  and  it  did  seem  as  if  his 
reflections  were  hurrying  him  to  very 
unsatisfactory  conclusions  ;  for  he  looked 
not  at  all  pleased. 

V  That  Ralph  Goshawk  seemeth  villan- 
ously  familiar  with  her,"  said  he  at  last, 
in  rather  a  troubled  voice ;  and  for  some 
minutes  his  cogitations  appeared  of  a 
truly  unhappy  character :  but  the  anxiety 
depicted  upon  his  youthful  features  grad- 
ually began  to  disappear,  a  smile  played 
about  his  delicate  mouth,  and  seizing  his 
pen  again, exclaiming  emphatically,  "I'll 
be  sworn  she  doth  not  countenance  him  !" 
he  cheerfully  resumed  his  labor.  How- 
ever, he  had  not  been  long  so  employed, 
before  he  started  up  in  exceeding  surprise 
and  perturbation,  crying  out,  "  Here  is  a 
sad  mistake  ! — alack,  what  have  I  writ- 
ten ?"  and  he  then  read  aloud  from  the 
account  which  he  held  in  his  hand — "  To 
the  drawing  up  a  bond  for  the  payment  of 
250  caresses  of  good  and  lawful  money 

of  our  sovereign  lady  Queen  Joanna" 

"  Indeed,"  added  he,  taking  a  knife  to 
scratch  out  the  errors  he  had  made,  "  it 
be  well  my  uncle  saw  not  this,  or  he 
would  be  wrath — and  with  good  cause." 
He  then  proceeded  to  make  the  necessa- 
ry erasures  very  carefully,  only  saying 
with  great  emphasis,  as  if  wonderfully 
puzzled  as  to  how  such  mistakes  had 
happened,  "  what  could  I  have  been 
thinking  about?" 

He  had  but  just  done  this  when  he  was 
conscious  of  some  one  opening  the  door 
that  led  into  the  street,  and  looking  round 
observed  a  very  old-looking  boy  in  a 
leathern  jerkin  and  woollen  cap,  such  as 
were  worn  by  the  common  people,  ad 


42 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


vancmg  into  the  office,  desperately  intent 
upon  picking  a  bone.  He  was  somewhat 
short  of  stature,  with  a  pair  of  bandy 
legs,  and  his  face — none  of  the  cleanest 
— was  fat  and  freckled,  having  a  notice- 
able huge  mouth,  then  upon  the  stretch 
— a  pug  nose,  and  eyes  squinting  abomi- 
nably. Without  saying  a  word,  he 
marched  toward  one  corner  of  the  room, 
and  sat  himself  down  on  the  floor,  pick- 
ing his  bone — the  which  employment  he 
varied  by  giving  an  occasional  bite — 
which  made  a  mark  that  placed  beyond 
dispute%his  mouth's  capacity — in  a  thick 
hunk  of  bread  he  drew  from  under  his 
jerkin. 

Master  Francis,  who  had  regarded  his 
visiter  with  considerable  curiosity  since 
his  entrance,  at  last,  seeing  him  with  the 
utmost  effrontery  munching  away  with- 
out seeming  to  care  for  anything  else, 
asked  him  his  business. 

"  Be  you  called  Master  Francis  ?"  in- 
quired the  bey,  without  removing  his 
eyes  from  the  Bone. 

"  That  is  my  name,  certainly,"  replied 
the  youth. 

"Sure  on't  ?"  asked  the  other,  taking 
a  monstrous  piece  out  of  the  hunk  of 
bread. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  said  Master  Francis. 

"Have  ye  any  witnesses?"  inquired 
the  boy. 

"  If  you  don't  choose  to  take  my  word 
for  it,  you  must  needs  let  it  alone,  and  go 
about  your  business,"  observed  the  youth 
sharply,  though  too  much  amused  to  be 
much  offended. 

"  Rather  pepperish — do  to  play  Hot- 
spur," remarked  his  companion  in  an 
under  tone,  as  he  renewed  his  attack 
upon  the  bone.  In  a  minute  afterward 
he  inquired,  somewhat  authoritatively, 
"  Whose  house  be  this  ?" 

"It  is  my  uncle's,"  replied  Master 
Francis. 

"  Prythee  tell  me  his  name,  if  he  hath 
one." 

"  Gregory  Vellum." 

"His  calling?"  inquired  the  boy,  still 
keeping  his  teeth  employed. 

"  'Tis  that  of  a  scrivener — but  get  you 
gone  quickly,  or  you  shall  repent  this  in- 
trusion, I  promise  you." 

"  Rather  desperate — do  to  play  Richard 
the  Third,"  said  the  boy. 

"Who  are  you,  and  what  seek  you 
here?"  inquired  Master  Francis  impa- 
tiently— "  I  have  quite  enough  to  plague 
me  without  your  assistance." 

"  Rather  melancholy — do  to  play  Ham- 
let," said  the  other,  stripping  the  bone 


perfectly  clean,  and  making  the  brtad 
disappear  rapidly. 

"  Nay,  if  you  do  not  satisfy  me  for  this 
impertinence,  and  speedily,  I  will  have 
it  out  of  your  flesh  !"  exclaimed  the  youth 
angrily. 

"  Rather  bloody-minded — do  to  play 
Shylock,"  answered  the  boy  in  the  same 
quiet  tone  he  had  used  from  the  com- 
mencement. 

"  I'faith  but  this  is  unbearable  !"  cried 
Master  Francis,  as  he  jumped  off  the 
stool  with  a  thick  stick  in  his  hand  be- 
longing to  his  uncle  that  lay  upon  the 
desk,  and  ran  to  his  visiter  as  if  with  a 
design  to  give  him  a  drubbing.  "  Now 
tell  me,  you  worthless  varlet,  what  want 
you  here,  or  your  bones  shall  ache  for  it," 
said  he,  holding  the  stick  threateningly 
over  him. 

"Why,  I  am  Gib,  the  call-boy!"  re- 
plied the  boy,  finishing  his  last  mouthful, 
and  eying  the  uplifted  weapon  with  no 
small  astonishment — "  I  hold  the  honora- 
ble office  of  call-boy  to  the  Globe,  on  the 
Bankside,  and  earn  me  the  handsome  sum 
of  a  whole  shilling  a-week,  and  find  my- 
self out  on't:  but  such  a  one  for  the  busi- 
ness, the  players  are  not  like  to  find  more 
than  once  in  an  age,  I  take  it — and  of  this 
they  are  in  no  way  ignorant ;  for  Master 
Burbage  hath  said  that  my  '  calling'  did 
credit  to  me,  and  I  did  credit  to  my  call- 
ing— and,  as  I  remember  me,  Master 
Green  said  he  could  swear  I  was  born 
with  a  caul,  I  was  so  apt  at  it.  In  fact, 
there  be  none  like  me.  It  was  but  the 
other  day  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  Rose  to  see 
their  call-boy.  Such  a  miserable  caitiff! 
the  varlet's  got  no  mouth !  unless  an  in- 
significant bit  of  a  button-hole  in  his  face, 
scarce  big  enough  to  admit  a  peascod,  be 
called  such  ;  the  natural  consequence  of 
which  is,  that  he  hath  not  voice  enough 
to  frighten  a  cricket.  Now  have  I  some- 
thing like  a  mouth" — 

"  Something  like  half  a  dozen  made 
into  one !"  said  Master  Francis,  seeing 
that  the  boy  extended  his  jaws  to  a  com- 
pass beyond  conception. 

"And  when  I  call," continued  he,  "my 
voice  may  be  heard  on  t'other  side  of  the 
river — by  those  who  hear  well  enough. 
If  it  be  your  desire,  I  will  favor  you  with 
a  specimen  of  my  talents." 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  would  much  rath- 
er that  you  would  favor  me  with  your 
business,"  replied  the  youth,  who  was  too 
much  amused  to  put  his  recent  threats 
into  execution. 

-  "But   besides  being  call-boy,"  added 
the  other,  unheeding  what  had  just  been 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


43 


said,  "I  am  oft  times  required  to  act 
parts — very  important  parts  too,  I  prom- 
ise you." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  Master  Francis,  re- 
garding with  a  smile  the  droll-looking 
object  at  his  feet.  "  In  what  part  could 
they  possibly  trust  you  upon  the  stage  ?" 

"  I  play  the  cock  in  Hamlet,"  replied 
the  boy  very  gravely — at  which  his  com- 
panion laughed  heartily — "  and  so  much 
to  the  very  life,  that  Master  Taylor  saith 
he  shall  be  content  to  pick  a  crow  with 
me  every  time  he  playeth  the  prince  of 
Denmark.  And  Master  Fletcher  saith 
that  that  piece  can  never  go  off  as  it 
ought  to  do  unless  I  have  the  cock-ing  of 
it.  Besides  which  I  come  on  as  one  of 
Falstaff 's  regiment — make  a  very  excel- 
lent courtier  in  the  background — play 
one  of  the  ghosts  in  Richard  the  Third's 
dream — and  at  all  times  make  one  of  the 
army,  of  which  there  are  at  least  some 
score  of  us,  scene-shifters  included.  la 
fact,  I  should  think  myself  greatly  to  be 
envied,  were  it  not  for  one  thing." 

"  Of  what  can  you  complain  ?"  asked 
Master  Francis. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  eat  my  meals  where 
I  can,"  replied  the  boy — "  sometimes  in 
Juliet's  tomb — sometimes  in  Desdemona's 
bed — sometimes  in  Richard  the  Third's 
tent — one  day  near  the  forum  at  Rome — 
another  close  upon  the  Tower  of  London 
— nay,  even  this  very  day  have  I  been 
forced  to  munch  my  dinner  as  I  came 
along,  because  I  was  sent  to  you  in  a 
hurry  with  a  letter  from  Master  Shak- 
speare." 

"A  letter  from  Master  Shakspeare  to 
me !"'  cried  Master  Francis  impatiently. 
"Why  gave  you  not  it  to  me  before?" 

"Because  you  chose  not  to  ask  for  it," 
said  the  other  very  quietly.  "  I  was  told 
to  be  sure  and  give  it  to  the  right  person, 
so  I  thought  I'd  make  proper  inquiries." 

"  Well,  give  it  me — make  haste  !  make 
haste  !"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

"It's  like  enough  to  be  about  offering 
to  take  you  into  the  company,"  observed 
the  boy,  as  he  pulled  .off  his  cap  leisure- 
ly, and  gave  the  letter  out  of  it,  making 
a  notable  mark  on  each  side  with  his 
greasy  thumb  and  finger ;  "  but  my  ad- 
vice be,  try  what  you  can  do  in  the  female 
line.  You  be  just  the  age  and  figure  for 
it ;  and  we  want  a  new  woman  marvel- 
lously. Our  Juliet's  obliged  to  shave 
twice  a  day,  and  our  Lady  Macbeth,  get- 
ting to  be  a  man,  hath  threatened  to 
throw  up  her  engagement  because  they 
wont  allow  her  to  let  her  beard  grow.  I 
can  put  you  up  to  a  good  deal  about  ma- 


ving  your  points,  and  dying  gracefully, 
and    walking    in  woman's    fashion — for- 
I've  seen  it  done  scores  of  times,  I  prom-       / 
ise  you — so  don't  lose  heart  on  that  ac- 
ount." 

As  Master  Francis  began  reading  the 
note,  the  call-boy  got  upon  his  legs,  shook 
the  crumbs  from  his  jerkin,  and  sidled  up 
to  him. 

:'  I  pray  you  tell  me  what  terms  offer 
they?"  asked  he,  trying  to  look  over  at 
the  note,  which  he  could  not  very  well 
reach  to  do. 

"No  terms  at  all,"  replied  the  other, 
in  too  good  humor  to  be  offended  at  the 
freedom  his  companion  was  taking. 

"  Ah,  you  see  it  be  not  every  one  that 
can  get  a  whole  shilling  a-week  and  find 
himself  out  on't,"  observed  the  boy  with 
an  air  of  much  importance  ;  "  but  talent 
will  always  get  its  price." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  that  yours  is  so  well 
appreciated,"  remarked  Master  Francis 
laughingly.  "  However,  not  to  balk  your 
inquisitiveness,  which  is  somewhat  of  the 
greatest  I  must  confess,  this  note  is  only 
to  make  an  appointment  at  the  playhouse 
to  meet  Master  Shakspeare." 

"Doubtless  you  will  then  be  engaged," 
said  the  call-boy.  "  If  you  find  any 
difficulty  in  getting  admittance — for  Will 
Peppercorn,  who  keeps  the  door,  is  not 
so  social  to  strangers  as  am  I — just  ask 
you  for  Gib  the  call-boy,  though  some  do 
call  me  Stentor,  because,  as  I  have  heard, 
he  was  a  famous  call-boy  in  ancient 
times  ;  and  say  you  are  a  friend  of  mine, 
you  will  find  your  entrances  and  your  ex- 
its as  easy  as  throwing  at  cocks  at  Shrove- 
tide." 

"  I  thank  you,  Gib,"  replied  Master 
Francis,  scarcely  able  to  keep  a  serious 
countenance,  for  the  look  of  the  boy  was 
so  comical,  with  his  queer  eyes  and  enor- 
mous mouth,  and  important  swagger, 
that  he  had  a  great  ado  to  refrain  from 
laughing  in  his  face. 

"  This  seemeth  a  snuggish  place — how 
much  may  you  get  a  week  here  ?"  in- 
quired the  boy  very  earnestly,  after  a 
careful  scrutiny  of  the  office. 

"  That  question  I  do  not  think  it  neces- 
sary to  answer,"  responded  the  other  as 
gravely  as  he  could. 

"Well — those  that  have  gifts  should 
make  the  best  use  of  them,"  dryly  ob- 
served Gib.  "But  don't  despair — who 
knows  but  that  you  may  be  a  call-boy 
some  of  these  days — only  I'm  afraid  you 
hav'n't  got  the  very,  properest  sort  ot 
mouth." 

"That  I  regret  not,  believe  me,"  re- 


44 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


sponded  Master  Francis  with  a  smile. 
"And  now  I  should  earnestly  advise  you 
to  make  the  best  of  your  way  back  to 
Master  Shakspeare,  and  tell  him  I  will 
not  fail  of  the  appointment." 
1  "Ha!"  replied  Gib,  turning  on  his 
heel  and  slowly  proceeding  to  the  door, 
tossing  up  the  bone,  with  which  he  had 
not  yel  parted.  "  Now,  remember  you 
my  advice — do  the  women,  and  you  can 
not  fail  of  getting  on ;  and  if  you  want 
to  know  how  to  look  modest  and  like  a 
dainty  young  gentlewoman,  come  you  to 
me,  I  can  instruct  you  in  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  for  I've  got  a  monstrous  deal  of 
experience  that  way.  Indeed,  Master 
Burbage  did  say  that  I  should  get  ad- 
vanced into  the  woman's  parts  when  I 
was  old  enough,  and  methinks  it  is  high 
time  I  should  attempt  something  of  the 
kind.  It's  a  genteel  part  of  the  profes- 
sion, according  to  my  thinking.  Master 
Condell  did  tell  me  he  thought  I  could 
play  Ophelia  ravishingly." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  his  companion, 
unable  to  refrain  from  laughing  at  the 
idea." 

"  For  my  own  part,  being  of  an  ex- 
quisite melancholy  humor,  I  doubt  not  I 
should  shine  in  tragedy,"  continued  the 
call-boy,  taking  a  look  at  Master  Francis 
so  solemnly  ludicrous  that  it  instantly 
did  set  him  into  a  roar.  "  Rather  humor- 
ous !"  cried  the  boy  as  he  opened  the 
door,  "do  to  play  the  fool:"  and  there- 
upon his  mouth  did  spread  out  into  a  grin. 
so  far  beyond  all  human  conceit,  that  the 
other  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  out  of  his 
eyes.  "  Well,"  continued  Gib,  "  though 
I  wish  you  a  bountiful  share  of  good 
luck,  in  honest  truth  I  say  it — expect  not 
to  get  so  handsome  a  wage  as  a  whole 
shilling  a-week,  and  find  yourself  out 
on't."  And  thereat  he  strutted  out  of  the 
door,  with  such  a  villanpus  squint  that 
it  would  have  tickled  the  fancy  of  one  at 
the  point  of  death. 

Master  Francis,  much  amused  at  the 
oddity  of  the  boy  and  his  exceeding  as- 
surance, returned  to  his  seat  in  monstrous 
good  humor,  to  finish  his  account ;  but 
he  had  scarcely  taken  pen  in  hand,  when, 
on  hearing  a  noise,  he  turned  round,  and 
lo  !  there  was  Gib's  bandy  legs  again 
marching  in. 

"  Stick  to  the  women,  I  pray  you,  and 
you  shall  find  your  advantage  in  it,"  ex- 
claimed he,  with  a  very  earnest  serious- 
ness, and  immediately  disappeared. 

"  Away  with  you !"  cried  Master  Fran- 
cis, scarcely  knowing  whether  to  laugh 
or  to  be  angry.  Then  he  applied  him- 


self to  his  task,  and  did  finish  it.  without 
further  interruption.  Presently  his  uncle 
was  heard  stumping  along  the  passage 
with  his  stick,  and  in  a  few  seconds  he 
entered,  looking  very  crabbed  and  savage. 

"Hast  done  that  account?'1  inquired 
he  sharply. 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  replied  the  youth. 

"  Then  take  it  to  Master  Ephraim  Ven- 
ture, the  merchant  in  Thames  street, 
nigh  unto  Castle  Baynard,"  said  the  old 
man  ;  "  and  be  sure  to  press  for  payment 
— for  it  be  said  that  he  hath  had  losses, 
therefore  must  he  be  looked  after. 
'Sblood,  an'  he  do  not  pay  quickly,  I'll 
make  him  smart  for't !  Tell  him  I  must 
and  will  have  my  money." 

"  I  will,  uncle,"  responded  the  nephew, 
preparing  with  evident  alacrity  to  start 
on  his  errand. 

"  And  mind  that  thou  tarry  not,"  added 
he,  "for  I  have  business  for  thee  at 
home." 

"  I  will  use  all  convenient  speed,"  re- 
plied Master  Francis,  and  in  a  minute 
after  he  was  making  the  best  of  his  way 
out  of  St.  Mary  Axe,  right  glad  to  get 
from  the  house,  and  as  well  pleased  that 
the  merchant's  in  Thames  street  lay  in 
the  very  direction  to  which  his  inclination 
most  tended.  On  he  proceeded  in  his 
way,  taking  no  heed  of  the  sober  citizens 
speeding  on  their  business,  or  even  of 
their  daughters,  proud  of  a  new  kirtle  or 
a  dainty  coif,  showing  off  their  pretty  co- 
quetries to  the  gallants  that  came  stroll- 
ing along  in  their  best  braveries,  maphap 
carelessly  humming  a  tune,  or  whisper- 
ing a  well -devised  compliment  as  they 
passed,  at  the  which  rione  were  very 
hugely  offended,  I  warrant  you,  for  their 
brilliant  eyes  sparkled  the  more  ;  and 
some  smiled  with  exceeding  pleasant- 
ness, and  a  few  did  take  sly  peeps  over 
their  shoulder  to  notice  if  they  were  fol- 
lowed ;  but  giving  himself  up  to  the  in- 
constant humor  of  his  thoughts — now 
hoping,  now  despairing — now  filled  with 
the  passion  of  love — now  moved  with 
the  conceit  of  jealousy,  he  regarded 
nothing  around  him  till  he  entered  into 
Eastcheap.  Then  he  was  stirred  up  into 
a  very  proper  consciousness  of  where  he 
was — his  heart  began  to  beat  most  dis- 
turbedly — the  paleness  of  his  cheek  made 
way  for  a  flush  of  crimson,  and  his  eye 
had  gained  a  lustrousness  that  gave  unto 
his  gentle  countenance  a  truly  eloquent 
expression. 

Passing  by  shops  of  divers  kinds,  and 
even  taking  no  heed  of  the  barber  chirur- 
geon's  over  the  way,  where  his  true 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


friend,  Harry  Daring,  was  apprenticed, 
he  at  last  made  for  one  that  was  a  mer- 
cer's, where  the  owner,  a  somewhat  lusty 
old  man  with  a  lively  roguish  look,  arid 
an  excellent  jolly  face,  stood  recommend- 
ing to  a  customer  sundry  ells  of  three- 
piled  velvet  that  lay  before  him,  whom, 
seeing  engaged,  he  stopped  not  to  gossip 
with,  but  Went  on,  as  if  it  was  his  wont, 
to  a  little  room  at  the  back,  where  find- 
ing no  one,  he  opened  a  door,  and  pro- 
ceeded up  a  little  flight  of  stairs  close 
upon  it,  at  the  top  of  which  there  was 
another  door,  whereat,  with  his  heart  in 
a  greater  flutter  than  ever,  he  did  knock 
gently  with  his  knuckles ;  and  hearing  a 
voice,  the  soft  tones  of  which  he  recog- 
nised with  a  most  infinite  delight,  he  un- 
covered and  entered  the  room. 

The  chamber  was  rather  low,  and  of 
a  no  great  size,  having  a  wainscot  and 
floor  of  oak,  with  rafters  very  solid,  run- 
ning across  the  ceiling,  and  a  window 
stretching  out  into  the  street.  The  furni- 
ture was  substantial  rather  than  elegant 
— such  as  might  be  seen  in  the  houses 
of  the  better  sort  of  citizens — yet  was 
there  a  considerable  show  of  taste  in 
many  things,  which  spoke  as  plain  as 
could  any  words,  that  a  woman's  graceful 
hand  had  had  the  ordering  of  them. 
There  was.no  one  therein  but  Joanna, 
who  sat,  or  rather  reclined,  in  an  ample 
chair  with  arms,  supporting  her  head  by 
her  hand ;  she  wore  an  elegant  dress 
of  watchet  color,  laced  down  the  front, 
with  a  girdle  of  silver  baudekin,  at  the 
which  was  a  little  pocket  on  one  side. 
Her  silken  hair  was  artfully  disposed, 
falling  in  a  love-lock  on  her  delicate 
shoulder,  and  bound  at  the  top  in  a  net- 
work caul  of  gold.  Her  well-shaped 
feet,  were  cased  in  a  pair  of  dainty  white 
stockings  and  velvet  slippers,  projecting 
out  of  her  petticoat,  with  the  heel  of  one 
resting  upon  the  instep  of  the  other,  to 
the  manifest  disclosure  of  a  most  exquis- 
ite ankle.  In  this  position,  the  well- 
defined  outline  of  the  ripened  beauties  of 
her  figure  were  seen  to  great  advantage, 
especially  as  the  low,  tight  boddice  then 
in  the  fashion,  did  excellently  well  dis- 
play the  full  bust,  and  truly  admirable 
neck  and  shoulder,  the  delicateness  where- 
of have  I  not  the  cunning  to  describe, 
therefore  will  I  leave  it  to  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  courteous  reader.  She  had 
evidently  been  a  thinking ;  but  whether 
pleasurable  or  otherwise,  I  have  no 
means  of  knowing  except  this  be  taken 
as  a  sign,  that  when  Master  Francis  first 
beheld  her  at  that  time,  there  was  a 


severity  in  the  loveliness  of  her  counte- 
nance, tempered  with  a  very  touching 
melancholy. 

"Joanna!"  exclaimed  the  youth,  has- 
tening delightedly  to  her  side,  •'  I  am 
here  at  thy  desire,  and  truly  to.  mine  own 
most  infinite  gratification.  But  what 
aileth  thee  ?"  he  inquired  suddenly,  in  a 
tone  of  affectionate  interest,  as  he  noticed 
that  the  pleasurableness  expressed  in  his 
own  features  was  not  reflected  in  hers. 
At  the  question,  she  looked  at  him  as 
with  a  careful  scrutiny  of  his  pale  and 
thoughtful  brow,  but  said  never  a  word. 

"  Have  I  angered  thee  ?"  he  asked,  in 
ill  a  more  subdued  voice ;  and  his  gaze 
became  as  melancholy  as  her  own.  "  Be- 
lieve me  I  meant  it  not.  In  truth,  I 
would  rather  die  than  anger  thee." 

"No!"  replied  she  to  his  question, 
with  impressive  tones  and  eloquent  em- 
phasis* "  Thou  hast  not  angered  me." 
And  then  the  severity  of  her  look  much 
abating,  added,  with  great  stress  on  the 
Avords,  "  Thou  hast  never  angered  me." 

"Indeed,  I  hope  not,"  said  Master 
Fjancis  earnestly.  "  But  who  or  what 
hath  made  thee  look  so  unhappy  ?" 

"  Thou  hast,"  she  answered. 

"  I !"  exclaimed  the  youth  with  ex- 
treme surprise  and  sorrow.  "  What  a 
wretch  am  I  to  have  done  it !  and  yet  I 
know  not  how  it  could  be  ;  for  gratitude 
for  thy  never-tiring  kindness  doth  prompt 
me  at  all  times  to  do  the  very  reverse. 
Tell  me  how  it  was,  and  instantly  will 
I  seek  to  undo  the  unsought-for  mis- 
chief." 

Joanna  silently  took  from  the  little 
pocket  at  her  girdle  a  paper  that  she 
gave  into  his  hands — the  which  he  in- 
stantly opened,  designing  to  read  it,  as 
such  seemed  to  him  to  be  her  wish ;  but 
to  his  exceeding  astonishment  he  dis- 
covered it  to  be  the  very  poem  he  had 
written  and  lost  from  off  the  desk  in  his 
uncle's  office.  He  stood  like  one  that  is 
detected  in  wrong-doing,  unable  to  say 
aught  for  himself;  yet,  though  he  saw 
that  his  expostulation  had  done  him  mis- 
chief, knew  he  not  what  offence  there 
could  be  in  it. 

"What  made  thee  think  I  had  ceased 
to  love  thee  ?"  asked  she,  in  a  voice  by 
no  means  angry,  after  she  had  watched 
for  a  sufficient  time,  his  downcast  eyes 
and  modest  confusion  of  countenance,  as 
he  stood  before  her. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  thou  dost  regard 
another,"  replied  Master  Francis,  tremu- 
lously. 

"Whom?"    inquired    Joanna,   with 


46 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


more  earnestness,  fixing  on  him  a  some- 
what anxious  and  penetrating  look. 

"  Ralph  Goshawk,"  answered  he. 

She  remained  silent  for  some  few  sec- 
onds, but  a  faint  smile  might  have  been 
observed  about  the  corners  of  her  beauti- 
ful mouth. 

"  In  truth,  I  marvel  thou  couldst  have 
entertained  such  a  conception,"  said  she 
at  last. 

"  Dost  thou  not  love  him  indeed  ?" 
asked  the  youth,  almost  incredulously, 
as  it  were. 

"  Indeed,  I  love  him  not,"  she  replied. 

"And  dost  regard  me  as  kindly  as 
thou  wert  used  ?"  he  inquired  more 
urgently,  raising  his  eloquent  eyes  to  her 
own. 

"  Methinks  quite  as  kindly,"  answered 
she. 

"  Dear,  dear  Joanna  !"  exclaimed  Mas- 
ter Francis  as  he  kneeled  on  one  knee, 
and  taking  in  his  the  disengaged  hand 
that  lay  upon  her  lap,  bowed  hjs  head 
till  his  lips  rested  thereon,  and  in  that 
position  remained.  The  melancholy  ex- 
pression of  Joanna's  countenance  still 
was  altered  not ;  but  there  was  now  a 
tender  interest  in  her  dark  eyes  as  she 
gazed  upon  her  youthful  lover.  Presently 
she  raised  herself  in  her  position,  and 
took  his  hand  in  both  hers,  very  affec- 
tionately. 

"  Yet  am  I  much  hurt  that  thou 
shouldst  doubt  me,"  said  she  ;  "  I  thought 
I  had  proved  beyond  question,  how  much 
I  regarded  thee  above  all  others — perhaps 
with  more  carelessness  than  did  become 
me.  But  knowing  the  innocency  of  mine 
intentions,  and  trusting  in  the. modesty 
of  thy  disposition,  I  was  content.  Alack  ! 
'tis  a  sad  world !  we  can  not  do  right 
when  we  wish  ;  and  when  we  are  satis- 
fied of  our  conduct,  there  cometh  some 
malicious  tongue  to  slander  our  doings. 
None  know  the  wickedness  that  exists — 
that  poisons  the  air  we  breathe  with  a 
perpetual  pestilence,  and  obliges  us  to 
do  by  craft  what  we  can  not  do  by  honesty. 
I  have  to  endure  many  things  that  make 
me  unhappy — very  unhappy — I  needed 
not  such  verses  as  thou  hast  written." 

As  she  concluded  the  sentence,  he 
raised  his  head,  and  saw  that  she  was 
wiping  with  her  handkerchief  a  tear  that 
did  tremble  on  her  eyelid. 

"Indeed,  they  shall  trouble  thee  no 
more,"  cried  the  youth,  as  he  disengaged 
his  hand,  and  tore  the  paper  into  number- 
less small  fragments ;  "  and  very  heartily 
am  I  vexed  that  I  should  have  given  thee 
a  moment's  uneasiness.  For  what  won- 


derful goodness,  hast  thou  exhibited  tow- 
ard me — the  like  of  which  surely  was 
never  known!  Truly  I  must  have  be- 
haved most  unnaturally  to  have  vexed 
thee  in  this  manner ;  and  I'll  never  for- 
give myself,  if  thou  wilt  not  forgive  me." 
And  then,  most  sorrowful  in  heart,  he 
hid  his  face  upon  her  lap. 

"  I  have  forgiven  thee,"  said  she,  affec- 
tionately twining  her  fingers  in  the  light 
curls  of  his  chestnut  hair ;  "  but  take  not 
such  fancies  into  thy  head  again  ;  be 
content  with  the  assurances  thou  art 
continually  receiving  of  how  much  I  re- 
gard thee,  and  think  nothing  of  whatever 
else  may  seem  of  a  different  tendency. 
Nothing  can  be  so  sure  as  that,  whilst 
thou  art  worthy,  thou  wilt  be  beloved." 
Master  Francis  was'too  much  enraptured 
to  reply ;  and  in  this  position  they  re- 
mained for  some  minutes — she  bending 
over  him,  with  her  dark  hazel  eyes 
softened  into  tenderness;  and  he  impresa- 
ed  so  deeply  with  the  subduing  spirit  of 
the  moment,  that  'he  would  not,  or  cared 
not  to  move  from  where  he  was. 

Joanna  having  at  last  taken  away  her 
hands  to  enclasp  his,  he  raised  his  head, 
and  looking  into  her  face,  very  fondly, 
yet  with  a  touch  of  regret,  said — "  But 
why  hast  thou  denied  me  those  most 
sweet  caresses  thou  didst  use  to  grant  ?" 

"  Truly  I  am  not  in  the  mood  on  all 
occasions,"  replied  she,  *in  rather  a  sad 
tone  of  voice  ;  "  there  are  remembrances 
I  can  not  obliterate  when  I  would,  that 
come  upon  me  at  times,  and  make  me 
regardless  of  all  except  the  discomfort 
they  bring.  It  would  be  but  a  mockery 
to  caress  thee  under  such  circumstances ; 
and  indeed,  though  I  may  often  seem  gay- 
hearted — forgetting  for  a  time  the  un- 
pleasantness of  the  past,  in  the  enjoy- 
ments of  the  present — yet,  when  awaken- 
ed to  recollection — -which  is  no  difficult 
matter — there  lives  not  a  creature  on  this 
earth  so  truly  wretched  as  am  I.  Be  con- 
tent then  with  the  pleasure  I  can  grant 
when  I  may  be  in  the  humor,  and  seek  not, 
when  the  time  is  notauspicious,  to  increase 
my  disquietude  by  ill-timed  importunity." 

"  I  will  not,"  replied  he  ;  "  but  wilt 
thou  do  so  ever  again  ?"  he  asked,  as  if 
almost  afraid  to  put  the  question. 

"  I  will,"  she  answered,  with  apparent 
unaffectedness. 

"  Dear  Joanna,  but  wilt  thou  do  so 
soon  ?"  he  inquired,  more  impressively. 

"  I  will,"  said  she. 

"  Exquisite  Joanna  !  but  wilt  thou  do 
so  now?"  he  asked,  with  still  greater 
emphasis. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


47 


It  would  be  unveiling  the  sweet  mys- 
teries of  affection,  to  describe  the  endear- 
ments that  blessed  the  reconciliation  of 
these  devoted  lovers.  There  throbbeth  not 
a  heart  in  the  wide  world,  that  hath  been 
touched  by  the  generous  influence  of  true 
love,  but  hath  played  its  part  in  the  same 
drama,  and  can,  from  the  fond  prompt- 
ing of  the  memory,  imagine  the  entran- 
cing scene  more  vividly  than  could  I  de- 
scribe the  acting  of  it.  Methinks,  too,  i 
that  the  development  of  those  delicious 
influences  that  make  humanity  angelic, 
should  be  kept  sacred  from  the  vulgar 
eye;  else  might  the  selfish  and  the  prof- 
ligate find  matter  in  it  for  idle  specula- 
tion, or  licentious  conjecture.  Pity  it  is 
that  there  should  be  any  in  whom  the 
better  part  of  their  natures  hath  vanished, 
like  the  sap  of  a  decaying  tree,  and  vanity 
Making  them  believe  all  to  be  like  unto 
themselves,  in  the  green  freshness  of 
fairer  plants,  they  can  see  naught  but 
their  own  hollowness  and  worthlessness. 
I  know  that,  by  the  generous  and  true- 
hearted,  what  I  should  relate  would  be 
rightly  interpreted ;  but  no  writer  is  so 
fortunate  as  to  meet  with  all  readers  of 
such  a  sort. 

The  affection  which  existed  between  j 
Joanna  and  Master  Francis,  had  in  it  this  j 
peculiar  feature,  that  the  former  had  so 
much  the  seniority  of  her  lover,  it  invested 
her  with  an  evident  controlling  power 
over  him.  She  appeared  as  though  uni- 
ting in  her  behavior  the,  authority  of  a 
careful  guardian  with  the  fondness  of  a 
devoted  woman,  and  sometimes  it  ap- 
peared as  if  some  strange  interest  bound 
her  to  the  youth,  of  so  deep  a  tenderness, 
as  was  marvellously  like  unto  that  of  a 
parent.  In  truth,  it  was  a  strange  thing 
to  behold  a  creature  so  exquisitely  fash- 
ioned, having  much  the  outward  appear- 
ance of  one  existing  only  for,  and  in  the  i 
enjoyment  of  the  most  passionate  wor- 1 
ship  of  the  opposite  sex,  seeming,  with  a 
delicacy  the  purest  nature  could  never 
have  excelled,  so  virtuously  to  conduct 
herself,  as  proved  all  the  sterling  excel- 
lence of  womanhood  was  manifest  in  her 
actions ;  while  the  enamored  youth  that 
knelt  before  her,  dumb  with  excess  of 
modesty,  and  overpowered  with  the  in- 
tensity of  his  admiration,  regarded  her 
with  such  an  enthusiasm  in  his  delighted 
gaze,  tempered  with  so  profound  a  re- 
spect, as  plainly  showed  he  loved  with 
the  purity  of  heart,  and  earnestness  of 
purpose,  which  belong  only  to  that  age 
and  disposition  that  exist  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  perfect  innocency. 


"  Dear  heart,"  exclaimed  he,  after  a 
long,  yet  very  eloquent  silence,  "  it  seem- 
eth  to  me  exceeding  strange  that  when  I 
sit  me  down  to  write  of  thee,  all  admira- 
ble thoughts,  like  the  bees  hastening  to 
the  sweet  blossoms,  come  crowding  to  be 
penned  ;  but  when  with  my  lips  I  would 
essay  to  breathe  into  thine  ear  aught  of 
what  rare  pleasure  I  experience  from  the 
continual  influence  of  thy  unbounded  good- 
ness, such  words  as  I  have  at  command 
are  so  little  to  the  purpose,  that  I  am 
forced  to  a  seeming  ungrateful  silence  : 
vet  am  I  most  gratefully  bound  to  thee. 
Thou  art  my  guardian  angel,  and  in 
earnest  truth,  most  exquisite  Joanna,  my 
heart  ever  yearneth  to  pour  out  its  spirit 
in  thanksgiving  for  thy  unceasing  kind- 
ness." 

He  received  no  reply,  unless  it  was 
conveyed  in  a  more  evident  pressure  of 
the  hands  she  held  clasped  in  her  own, 
or  in  a  softer  and  more  thrilling  glanc« 
from  the  clear  hazel  of  her  lustrous  eyes. 
He  continued — 

"My  benefactress!  my"— 

",Hush  !"  she  exclaimed,  quickly  inter- 
rupting him.  "  Have  I  not  told  thee 
never  to  allude  to  what  I  have  done  for 
thy  good  ?" 

He  remained  silent,  as  if  conscious  he 
had  committed  an  error. 

"  And  now,  prythee,  tell  me  how  hast 
thou  sped  with  thy  tragedy  ?"  she  in- 
quired. JL 

"  It  will  not  do,  dear  Joanna,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"Despair  not — thou  wilt  do  better 
anon,"  she  said,  in  an  encouraging  tone. 

"  But  methinks  I  have  found  a  friend," 
added  Master  Francis,  more  cheerfully. 

"I  am  truly  glad  on't,"  said  she. 

"Hast  heard  of  Master  Shakspeare — 
whose  plays  so  wonderfully  do  delight 
the  town  ?"  inquired  the  youth. 

"Indeed  have  I,"  she  replied.  "My 
father  hath  often  promised  to  take  me  to 
see  the  players  do  a  play  of  his,  but  he 
liketh  the  sports  of  the  Bear  Garden  best, 
therefore  I  have  not  been." 

"I  should  like  to  take  thee  mightily," 
observed  he.  "  For  it  is  most  delectable 
entertainment.  But  I  must  tell  thee — 
Master  Shakspeare,  to  whom  I  was  di- 
rected to  send  my  tragedy,  though  he  did 
tell  me  very  candidly  of  its  faults,  ex- 
pressed himself  right  glad  to  do  me  a  ser- 
vice ;  and  as  earnest  of  his  sincerity,  he 
hath  but  now  sent  for  me  to  the  play- 
house." 

"  Speed  thee,  then,  Francis,"  she  ex- 
claimed, rising  from  her  seat  and  raising 


48 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


him  from  the  ground.  "  It  be  not  right 
of  thee  to  lose  the  precious  time  when 
such  a  friend  desireth  to  serve  thee.  But 
here,"  she  added,  as  she  took  from  around 
her  neck  the  very  gold  chain  she  did  re- 
ceive of  old  Gregory  Vellum,  and  threw 
it  over  her  youthful  lover.  "Wear  that 
for  my  sake — but  let  not  thine  Uncle  see 
it,  or  mayhap  he  may  think  thou  hadst  it 
not  honestly,  and  question  thee  churlishly 
upon  it ;  and  I  do  not  wish  thee  to  say  I 
gave  it  thee,  nor  do  desire  that  thou 
shouldst  say  what  is  not  true.  And  let 
rne  again  request  of  thee  in  true  kindness, 
that  when  thou  wantest  aught  that  his 
miserly  nature  doth  refuse,  ask  it  of  me, 
and  thou  shalt  have  it  straight." 

"Nay,  dear  Joanna,"  he  replied,  look- 
ing somewhat  distressed.  "  Thou  hast 
lavished  upon  me  so  many  gifts  already, 
that  I  am  ashamed  to  accept  of  this,  or 
to  ask  of  thee  anything  ;  and,  if  thou 
wilt  not  be  offended,  I  would  sooner  that 
thou  shouldst  continue  to  wear  it.  In 
truth,  it  is  too  good  a  thing  for  ine  to 
have." 

"  That  it  can  not  be,"  answered  she, 
regarding  him  with  a  more  perceptible 
fondness.  "  I  would  have  thee  wear  it 
beneath  thy  doublet,  and  affix  it  to  the 
miniature  of  thy  mother.  Now,  no  ex- 
cuses !  I  will  not  hear  of  them.  And 
be  sure  let  me  know  when  thou  dost  lack 
anything." 

"  Oh,  thou^rt  too  kind !"  exclaimed 
the  youth,  with  all  the  expression  that 
love  and  gratitude  could  give. 

"  Now  haste  thee  to  Master  Shaks- 
peare,"  said  Joanna. 

"  Dare  I  ask  of  thee  once  again,  to  let 
me  taste  of  those  honey  sweet  delights 
thou  didst  bestow  on  me  a  brief  while 
.since,"  inquired  he,  looking  into  her  eyes, 
as  if  his  own  were  drawn  thereunto  by 
some  marvellous  magic.  How  she  an- 
swered, methinks  it  be  scarce  necessary 
to  state,  when  it  cometh  to  be  known,  that 
in  the  next  moment  Master  Francis  was 
speeding  on  his  uncle's  errand  with  a 
heart  as  light  as  if  he  had  not  a  qare  in 
the  world. 

Having  delivered  the  account — more 
courteously  than-his  miserly  kinsman  de- 
signed, he  posted  off  to  the  playhouse  on 
the  Bankside,  sometimes  imagining  what 
Master  Shakspeare  did  want  with  him, 
and  thereupon  building  many  monstrous 
fine  castles  in  the  air,  and  then  turning 
his  thoughts  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
exquisite  excellences  of  Joanna,  and  feed- 
ing his  mind  with  dreams  of  happiness 
she  was  to  realize  at  some  not-far-distant 


day.  In  this  mood  he  arrived  at  th«  plAy- 
house,  which  he  recognised  by  the  flag 
flying  at  the  top.  It  was  thronged  with 
people — some  waiting  to  see  the  queen, 
and  others  the  play ;  round  about  were 
boys  and  serving  men  holding  horses,  and 
here  and  there  might  be  seen  costard- 
mongers  and  others  bawling  out  fruit. 
Making  for  a  little  door  at  which  there 
was  no  crowd,  he  was  entering  thereat, 
when  he  was  stopped  by  a  surly  looking 
fellow  with  a  wooden  leg  and  a  red  nose. 

"Well,  how  now  !  what  dost  want?" 
he  cried  in  a  gruff  voice. 

"I  am  come  to  see  Master  Shak- 
speare," replied  the  youth. 

"  Won't  do,"  said  the  other  sharply, 
as  he  took  up  a  position  before  him,  as  if 
to  stop  his  proceeding  further,  and  then 
scrutinized  his  appearance  very  closely. 
"  The  players  be  all  a  dressing,  and  can't 
be  disturbed  for  every  jackanapes  that 
wants  to  see  the  play  for  nothing." 

"  But  I  have  business  with  iiim,"  ad- 
ded Master  Francis. 

"  Won't  do,"  repeated  the  fellow, 
stumping  closer  to  him,  and  looking  more 
forbiddingly.  "  Dost  thou  not  know  that 
this  be  no  hour  for  him  to  see  runaway 
apprentices  who  seek  to  be  players?  So 
get  thee  gone." 

"  But  he  hath  sent  for  me,  and  I  must 
see  him,"  said  the  youth  more  deter- 
minedly. 

"  Won't  do,  I  tell  thee !"  shouted  the 
man.  "  Nay,  if  thou  dost  not  take  thy- 
self off,  I'll  set  the  dog  on  thee.  Here, 
Pincher!  Pincher  !  Pincher!"  And  im- 
mediately a  savage-looking  wiry-haired 
terrier  came  from  under  a  chair  barking 
and  snapping  at  his  heels.  Master  Fran- 
cis, seeing  that  there  was  no  remedy,  was 
just  about  to  turn  back  with  a  heavy  heart, 
when,  who  should  come  into  the  place 
but  the  same  wide-mouthed,  squinting- 
eyed  boy  that  had  brought  him  the  letter, 
bearing  a  tankard  in  his  hand,  as  if  he 
had  come  from  a  neighboring  tavern. 
Gib  seemed  to  understand  the  state  of  / 
the  case  immediately. 

"  How  now,  Will  Peppercorn  !"  he 
cried,  in  a  voice  that  showed  that  the 
name  of  Stentor  was  not  ill-applied. 
"  This  good  youth  is  he  whom  I  told 
thee  Master  Shakspeare  did  so  much  de- 
sire to  see." 

"  How  should  I  know  that  ?"  said  the 
fellow  sulkily  ;  then  drawing  off  his  dog, 
returned  to  his  chair. 

"Follow  me,  and  I  will  show  you  the 
way  with  a  very  absolute  good  will, "ad- 
ded the  call-boy ;  but  before  Master  Fran- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


49 


CIS  had  got  but  a  few  yards  he  turned 
round  and  inquired,  "Why  said  you  not 
you  were  my  friend  ?  He  would  not 
have  dared  serve  thee  so.  But  we  must 
needs  learn  ere  we  get  knowledge — so 
come  on,  and  carefully."  Master  Fran- 
cis found  himself  in  a  very  dark  place  in 
which  he  could  see  neither  to  the  right, 
nor  to  the  left,  nor  yet  straight  on ;  and 
was  directed  solely  by  the  voice  of  his 
companion,  which  ceased  not  a  moment. 

"  Stick  to  the  women,  I  pray  you," 
he  continued,  "and  you  must  needs  be 
made  a  man  of  soon:  but  mind  the  thun- 
der there !" 

At  this  injunction  the  youth  was  sadly 
puzzled. 

"  If  you  have  not  the  proper  modesty, 
I  will  soon  put  you  in  the  way  of  getting 
it,  as  I  have  said;  therefore  hesitate  not, 
for  such  another  opportunity  is  not  like 
to  happen.  Here,  mind  you  your  foot- 
ing, or  you  can  not  help  falling  upon  the 
rain." 

Master  Francis  looked  about,  expect- 
ing to  find  a  pool  of  water  near  him  ;  but 
nothing  of  the  kind  did  he  see. 

"  Now  turn  you  sharp  round  the  walls 
of  Athens,  and  keep  you  on  the  left  of 
Prospero's  cell,"  said  the  other. 

Unable  quite  to  comprehend  his  mean- 
ing, the  youth  made  a  turn  as  he  was  de- 
sired, found  his  feet  caught— -laid  hold 
of  he  knew  not  what,  that  his  elbow 
struck  against' — this  gave  way,  and  down 
he  came  on  his  face  upon  something  that 
seemed  like  a  heap  of  canvas,  bringing 
over  him  a  pile  of  the  same  kind. 

"  There  now  !"  exclaimed  the  call-boy, 
in  a  tone  of  apparent  vexation — >"  you 
have  tumbled  smack  upon  the  sea,  and 
brought  down  upon  you  the  palace  of 
Antioch." 

Frightful  as  this  announcement  might 
seem,  it  did  not  mean  any  great  mischief 
after  all. 

Master  Francis  soon  extricated  himself 
from  the  fallen  scenery,  and  without  any 
more  mishaps  was  conducted  by  his  suide 
to  the  chamber  in  which  Master  Shak- 
speare  was  waiting  for  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Man's  life's  a  tragedy :  his  mother's  womb 
From  which  he  enters  is  his  tiring-room  ; 
This  spacious  earth  the  theatre,  and  the  stage 
That  country  which  he  lives  in  ;  Passions,  Rage,  s 
Folly,  and  Vice,  are  actors  :  the  first  cry 
The  prologue  to  th'  ensuing  tragedy. 
The  former  act  consisteth  in  duine  shows  ; 


The  second,  he  to  more  perfection  grows  ; 
P  the  third  he  is  a  man,  and  doth  begin 
To  mature  vice,  and  act  the  deeds  of  sin  ; 
P  the  fourth  declines  ;  i'  the  fifth  diseases  clog 
And  trouble  him  :  then  Death's  his  epilogue. 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH. 

ALL  the  players  were  assembled  in  a 
large  room  of  rather  mean  appearance, 
having  little  furniture,  save  settles,  some 
few  chairs,  an  old  table,  on  which  lay 
sundry  tankards  and  drinking  vessels,  and 
a  long  mirror  hung  up  against  the  wain- 
scot. The  players  were  dressed  in  char- 
acter for  the  play  of  Henry  the  Fourth, 
the  second  part ;  and  divers  young  noble- 
men and  gentlemen  were  among,  them. 
Some  were  sitting,  some  standing  in 
groups,  and  others  walking  up  and  down 
—going  out  and  coming  in  at  intervals  ; 
while  a  voice,  evidently  from  its  loudness 
belonging  to  the  "  Stentor"  of  the  compa- 
ny, kept  bawling  from  without  as  the  play 
proceeded — "  Falstaff,  on  !"  or  "  Shallow 
and  Silence,  on  !"  or  "  The  Prince,  on  !" 
and  then,  others  knowing  that  their  turn 
would  be  next,  got  themselves  ready  to 
appear  upon  the  stage.  A  merrier  set 
there  seemed  not  in  all  her  majesty's  do- 
minions. It  was  evident  that  care  had 
naught  to  do  with  such  choice  spirits — 
for  the  quick  jest  and  the  harmless  jibe 
went  round,  and  the  loud  laughter  fol- 
lowed with  them  all ;  nor  did  there  seem 
to  be  any  distinction  of  rank  among  them 
and  their  associates;  or  if  such  might  be, 
it  was  without  doubt  in  favor  of  the  play- 
ers, for  they  appeared  wonderfully  inde- 
pendent and  careless  of  what  they  said. 

Master  Shakspeare  stood  in  one  corner 
of  the  room  pointing  out  to  Master  Fran- 
cis the  different  persons  around  them ; 
and  occasionally  returning  the  friendly 
salutation  of  the  young  gallants  who 
came  thronging  in,  and  looked  as  if  they 
were  mightily  well  pleased  to  have  speech 
of  him ;  but  none  could  have  received 
more  satisfaction  than  did  the  modest 
youth  at  his  side,  for  to  him  it  was  quite 
a  new  world.  He,  who  had  seen  nothing 
of  society  save  the  customers  and  associ- 
ates of  the  scrivener,  now  found  himself 
among  the  most  famous  authors  and  play- 
ers of  the  time,  with  a  fair  sprinkling  of 
noble  lords,  distinguished  knights,  and 
honorable  gentlemen.  He  listened  with 
exceeding  attention  to  every  word  that 
was  uttered  by  his  gifted  companion,  and 
regarded  each  individual  that  his  atten- 
tion was  drawn  unto  with  an  interest 
scarcely  possible  to  be  conceived. 

"  See  you  that  most  worshipful-looking 
personage  talking  to  Taylor  and  Con- 
dell  ?"  inquired  Master  Shakspeare  of 


50 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


his  visiter,  pointing  out  a  very  smartly- 
dressed    gallant,   evidently  much    older 
than  he  wished   to  appear. — "  He  that 
weareth  so  fine  a  satin  cloak,  and  hath 
such  gay  rosettes  in  his  shoes."     Master 
Francis  easily  perceived  who  was  meant. 
"  That  is  Sir  Narcissus  Wrinkles.     He 
hath  as  many  lines  in  his  face  as  you  may 
find  jn  a  chart  of  the  new  world,  where- 
with Time  hath  written  the  sum  total  of 
his  age,  yet  doth  he  imagine  that  he  can 
find   a  way  to  disprove  his  arithmetic; 
and  with  a  periwig  of  the  newest  fashion, 
and  a  beard  dyed  to  match — a  very  fus- 
tian voice  prodigal  in  strange  oaths — a 
leering  look — a  swaggering  gait — and  an 
infinite  affectation  of  the  air  and  apparel- 
ling of  our  youngest  gallants,  he  seeketh 
to  be  thought  as  youthful  as  Ganymede, 
and  as  full  of  tricks  as  a  kitten.     See, 
now!  he  is  telling  his  auditors  some  nota- 
ble lie  of  the  feats  he  did  last  week  with 
the  bottle,  or  the  wonders  performed  yes- 
terday eve  at  the  Bordello;  mayhap  he 
digresses    into  some   famous  adventure 
with  the  constable  of  the  watch,  and  then 
pathetically  laments  him,  that  his  young 
blood  should  lead  him  into  such  scrapes. 
Hear  how  loudly  he  laughs  at  his  own 
follies ;  and  see  with  what  a  hearty  smack 
of  the  shoulder  he  saluteth  his  next  neigh- 
bor !    But  they  who  hear  him  know  their 
man,  and  laugh,  not  with  him,  but  at 
him." 

Master  Shakspeare  then  directed  his 
attention  to  another  group. 

"  See  you  that  sagacious  looking 
youth,"  said  he,  "  that  hath  got  Will 
Kempe  in  serious  discourse,  close  unto 
where  Anthony  Wadeson,  Thomas  Pope, 
and  Nicholas  Towley,  are  in  such  furious 
discussion  ?  Notice  the  very  gravity  of 
his  features — the  demure  combing  of  his 
hair — the  antique  cut  of  his  beard.  See 
how  soberly  he  is  clad — mark  how  stiffly 
he  bears  himself.  He  speaks  slowly — 
as  if  he  weighed  every  word  that  fell 
from  his  lips — and  seemeth  quite  shocked 
at  the  boisterousness  of  manner  of  the 
group  of  gay  young  lords  at  his  right. 
He  goeth  among  us  by  the  name  of  Yonng 
Antiquity — yet  is  he  called  by  his  proper 
name,  Lord  Wiseacre.  I  warrant  you, 
he  is  entertaining  my  friend  Will  with  a 
right  woful  lamentation  upon  the  degen- 
eracy of  the  age  ;  and  leaving  him  with 
a^shake  of  the  head  worthy  of  a  second 
Nestor,  is  now  making  the  profound  re- 
mark, '  Alack  !  boys  will  be  boys  !'  " 

Master  Francis  could  not  help  a  smile, 
for  the  manner  in  which  his  companion 
spoke  the  last  words,  was  marked  with 


such  an  exceeding  drollery,  that  to  look 
grave  the  while,  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

'  "A  little  way  to  the  left  of  him,  notice 
that  neatly  dressed  old  gallant,  talking 
with  so  mysterious  an  air  to  a  handsome 
young  nobleman,"  continued  Master 
Shakspeare.  "  The  one  is  my  Lord 
Howard  of  Walden,  who  sweareth  every 
man  of  his  acquaintance  to  strict  con- 
fidence, aud  then  letteth  out  the  famous 
secret  to  all  whom  he  can  get  to  listen, 
of  some  fair  dame  being  in  love  with 
him.  He  will  dilate  upon  every  look  he 
has  received  from  her,  and  enumerate 
what  wonderful  signs  she  hath  given 
him  of  her  regard  ;  and  then  he  will  as- 
sert his  exceeding  virtuousnes^,  and  the 
fear  he  is  in  that  this  affection  of  an- 
other woman  for  him  should  be  noticed 
by  my  Lady  Howard,  whom  he  believed 
to  be  a  very  miracle  of  chastity — though 
there  be  others  that  have  a  different  opin- 
ion ;  and  will  conjure  his  listener  to  be 
as  secret  as  the  grave,  and  straightway 
go  and  tell  as  many  as  he  can  the  same 
story,  the  which,  as  may  well  be  believed, 
bath  no  existence  save  in  his  own  imagi- 
nation, and  thorough  vanity.  The  person 
lie  hath  hold  of  is  my  Lord  Pembroke, 
as  worthy,  admirable,  and  generous  a 
man  as  breathes  ;  and  desireth  to  be  my 
excellent  patron  and  friend. 

"Now,  behold  you  those  two  young 
ords  that  have  got  Hart  by  the  ear,  up 
m  the  corner  ?"  continued  he  ;  "  they  are 
my  Lords  Simple  and  Dimple  ;  they  af- 
"ect  to  be  the  Castor  and  Pollux  of  these 
our  times,  and  are  never  seen  apart.     At 
no  time  have  they  been  heard  to  differ  on 
any  one  subject  ;  they  dress  alike  on  all 
occasions — ay,  to  such  a  nearness,  that 
f  my  Lord  Simple  have  thirty  points  to 
lis  hose,  of  a  surety  hath  my  Lord  Dim- 
exactly  the  same.     At  meals  they 
l  be  helped  from  the  same  dish,  and 
lave  the  same  quantity  to  a  nicety.     If 
.here  be  but  one  wing  left  of  the  pullet, 
t  must  needs  be  divided  to  the  exacti- 
ude  of  a  hair,or  they  will  touch  it  not ;  and 
f  the  one  hath  a  spoonful  more  gravy  in 
lis  trencher  than  hath  the  other,  then  are 
joth  infinitely  miserable  till  the  balance 
be  adjusted.    This  conceit  they  follow 
up  in  all  things  : — when  Simple  hath  the 
toothache,  Dimple  tieth  up  his  jaws;  and 
if   one    be  afflicted  with  the  colic,  the 
other  rubbeth  his  bowels,  and  belioweth 
like  a  town  bull.     Yet  with  all  this  af- 
fectation of  friendship,    I  warrant    you 
Castor  doth  not  care  a  fig's  end  for  Pol- 
lux— and  Pollux  would  not  cross  the  way 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


51 


to  save  his  Castor  from  the  whipping- 
post." 

Then  Master  Shakspeare,  suddenly 
turning  round,  said  to  his  young  friend, 
"Hear  you  how  Green  maketh  the  peo- 
ple laugh  ?"  And  sure  enough  there  was 
heard  at  that  moment  a  very  roar  of 
laughter,which,  at  intervals,  did  continue, 
with  boisterous  clapping  of  hands  and  the 
like. 

"Now  turn  your  vision  to  where  stands 
that  tall  slim  gentleman,  in  close  con- 
verse with  Robert  Armyn,"  said  he. 
"  Saw  you  anything  so  spic  and  span  ?  he 
looks  as  dainty  as  a  bowl  of  whipped 
syllabub,  and  smelleth  as  nice  as  a  dish 
of  stewed  prunes.  Surely  you  will  think 
so  fine  a  personage  was  made  only  for 
Sundays;  for  he  seemeth  a  marvellous 
deal  too  delectable  for  this  every-day 
world.  His  speech  too  he  maketh  to 
match  with  his  dress  ;  for  it  be  other  folk's 
finery,  cut  and  clipped  in  accordance  with 
his  own  taste.  Truly  is  he  choice  in  his 
phrases,  and  putteth  them  to  a  very  abso- 
lute good  use.  He  will  talk  you  upon  the 
cracking  of  nuts  in  the  tapestry  style  of 
Sir  Philip  Sydney  his  Arcadia  ;  and  de- 
scribe the  fashion  of  a  garter  in  the  heroic 
vein  of  the  blank  verse  of  my  Lord  Sack- 
ville.  He  is  Master  Aniseed:  doubtless 
you  suppose  that  his  birth  was  as  delicate 
as  his  behavior ;  and  his  bringing  up  as 
holyday-like  as  his  apparelling.  Yet  was 
his  mother  a  poor  midwife,  and  his  father 
a  rat-catcher,  and  to  the  latter  reputable 
vocation  was  he  born  and  bred,  and  did 
practise  with  very  notable  success,  after 
the  demise  of  his  worshipful  parents,  till 
a  miserly  uncle  dying,  whose  heir  he  was, 
he  straightway  began  very  earnestly,  with 
his  new  found  gold,  to  purchase  the  ne- 
cessaries of  gentility;  and  now  passeth 
he,  as  he  doth  imagine,  for  a  truly  credi- 
table gentleman.  'Tis  like  you  may  fan- 
cy,, by  the  pains  he  takes,  that  Master 
Aniseed  preferreth  his  new  mode  of  life 
wonderfully:  but  in  that  are  you  much 
deceived ;  for  have  I  good  grounds  for 
saying,  that,  in  secret,  he  doth  sigh  con- 
tinually for  the  more  exquisite  pleasure 
he  hath  found  in  the  catching  of  rats." 

At  that  moment  there  entered  at  the 
door  one  of  the  players,  dressed  as  King 
Henry  IV.,  whom  Master  Shakspeare 
thus  addressed: — 

"Well,  Lowing,  and  how  goeth  the 
play  with  her  majesty?" 

"Never  went  anything  better,"  said 
he,  very  cheerfully;  "her  majesty  hath 
shown  from  the  beginning  an  admirable 
interest  in  the  story  ;  and  Green  hath 


made  her  laugh  till  her  crown  tottered 
again  ;"  and  then  he  passed  on. 

"Here,  observe  you  that  portly  man, 
with  the  red  face  and  the  black  beard, 
talking  familiarly  to  our  Dame  Quickly 
and  Doll  Tearsheet,"  continued  Master 
Shakspeare  to  his  young  friend ;  "  a 
turkey-cock  looks  not  so  valiant.  Judg- 
ing of  him  by  the  way  he  beareth  him- 
self, one  might  suppose  that  he  had  in- 
herited the  warlike  spirits  of  all  the  he- 
roes who  have  gone  before  him.  He 
seemeth  of  so  great  a  heart  that  he  could 
have  braved  Caesar,  or  pulled  Alexander 
by  the  nose.  Hear  him  talk,  and  to  his, 
the  deeds  of  the  seven  champions  of 
Christendom  are  but  as  the  feats  of  idle 
apprentices.  There,  see  how  he  stalks 
across  the  room,  holding  by  the  scabbard 
his  monstrous  rapier,  and  looking  about 
him  as  valiantly  as  if  he  cared  not  a  rush 
for  the  whole  company,  and  would  fight 
them  all  round  if  any  dared  but  wink  at 
him.  Yet  is  Captain  Swagger  not  so 
dangerous  as  he  looks ; — indeed  he  hath 
done  no  great  damage  as  yet,  as  I  have 
heard  ;  nor  is  he  ever  like  to  distinguish 
himself  that  way ;  for  in  his  heart  he 
hath  a  most  Christian  abhorrence  of  the 
shedding  of  blood ;  therefore,  at  all  times, 
he  taketh  good  care  of  his  own  skin.  He 
will  seem  full  of  quarrel  where  there  be 
no  disposition  shown  to  take  offence  ;  but 
if  you  look  him  bravely  in  the  face  the 
whilst,  you  may  tread  on  his  toes,  and  he 
will  be  in  no  hurry  to  take  notice  of  it." 

"  Now  is  it  the  common  opinion," 
added  he,  "  that  the  players  be  confined 
to  the  playhouse ;  but  I  do  maintain, 
and  have  described  some  of  the  charac- 
ters in  this  room,  to  prove  that  I  speak 
to  the  purpose,  that  there  be  better 
players  off  the  stage  than  on.  Moreover, 
if  you  look  throughout  the  various  busy 
scenes  in  the  drama  of  life,  you  shall 
have  good  cause  to  admire  the  excellence 
with  which  some  do  play  their  parts — 
often  to  the  complete  delusion  of  the 
spectators  into  the  belief  that  they  are 
what  they  seem.  By  this  art,  how  often 
doth  the  wanton  pass  for  a  creature  vir- 
tuously given,  and  the  mere  cheater 
play  the  game  of  an  honest  man.  This 
is  it  that  makes  the  glib-tongued  profli- 
gate so  perfectly  assume  the  character  of 
the  devoted  lover ;  that  teacheth  the 
sanctimonious  hypocrite  how  to  be  re- 
garded as  one  of  God's  chosen ;  that 
gives  to  youth  and  assurance  the  name 
of  candor  and  disinterestedness;  and 
gravity  and  gray  hairs  invest  with  the 
air  of  wisdom  and  goodness.  Truly, 


52 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Master  Francis,  if  you  look  well  to  the 
world,  you  shall  find  that  there  be  feign- 
ers that  beat  us  poor  players  all  to 
naught." 

Master  Francis  had  listened  with  mar- 
vellous attention  to  the  discourse  of  his 
companion,  without  daring  to  hazard  a 
word  of  reply,  for  fear  of  losing  some- 
thing he  might  say  in  the  interim,  at 
which  his  companion' evidently  was  not 
ill  pleased.  In  truth,  it  seemed  that  the 
more  he  beheld  of  the  youth  his  modesty 
and  discretion,  the  greater  became  his 
liking  for  him;  and  as  he  continued  to 
point  out  the  persons  worthy  of  note, 
that  were  in  the  room,  he  looked  as  if 
his  gratification  therein  increased  with 
the  increasing  pleasure  he  afforded  to 
his  auditor. 

"  There  is  as  goodly  a  group  yonder 
as  you  will  meet  with  in  a  playhouse," 
continued  he ;  "  it  consisteth  of  young 
Ben  Jonson,  a  veritable  son  of  the 
muses,  who  promiseth  to  be  better  known 
than  he  is  ;  my  Lord  Buckhurst,  one  who 
hath  written  a  tragedy  of  some  note, 
and  loveth  to  spend  his  leisure  upon 
players ;  Master  Edmond  Tilney,  master 
of  the  queen's  revels,  a  very  proper  gen- 
tleman, and  a  courteous,  who  hath  the 
licensing  of  plays,  and  therefore  cometh 
amongst  us  often  ;  Dr.  Thomas  Lodge, 
and  Dr.  Thomas  Legge,  who  have  writ 
for  our  neighbor  the  Rose  with  a  very 
fair  success ;  and  that  pedantic  and  most 
conceited  coxcomb  Master  John  Lily, 
who  hath  invented  many  comedies,  yet 
is  like  to  get  himself  more  laughed  at 
than  any  of  them.  Ben  Jonson — he 
that  is  standing  up — seemeth  to  have  the 
lion's  share  of  the  argument,  as  is  his 
wont ;  for  his  tongue  is  a  rattling  famous- 
ly ;  and  I  judge  from  that,  the  subject  of 
dispute  concerneth  the  ancients,  for  he 
prideth  himself  mightily  upon  his  Greek 
and  Latin.  But  here  cometh  my  excellent 
good  friend  and  patron  Lord  Southamp- 
ton." At  this  he  broke  off,  and  his  com- 
panion noticed  a  noble-looking  gentle- 
man, scarce  older  than  himself,  well  at- 
tired, but  not  too  fine  in  his  appointments, 
who  was  advancing  toward  them  with 
an  easy  courteousness,  and  a  bland  as- 
pect. 

"  Well  met,  Master  Shakspeare,"  said 
he,  shaking  hands  with  the  other  very 
cordially. 

"  I'faith,  if  your  lordship  be  in  as 
good  health  as  am  I,"  responded  Master 
Shakspeare  with  a  smile,  "  then  are  we 
'  well  met,'  indeed." 

"  Ever    at    it,"   exclaimed    the    Lord 


Southampton  laughingly.  "  Surely  there 
never  was  thy  match  at  quibbles  and 
quirks !  Indeed,  thou  art  a  very  juggler 
with  words,  and  at  the  mere  touch  of  thy 
wit  canst  give  them  any  meaning  that 
suits  thee. 

"  In  truth,  my  good  lord,"  replied  the 
other,  "  my  poor  words  when  addressed 
to  you,  however  little  their  meaning  may 
be,  must  needs  have  a  good  meaning, 
for  they  mean  you  well  at  all  times ;  and 
such  can  not  help  but  suit  me,  seeing 
that  I  take  abundance  of  care  they  are 
brought  forth  on  a  Jilting  occasion." 

"  There,  again  !"  cried  my  lord,  laugh- 
ing again  very  merrily.  "  Sure,  never 
was  the  like !  But  I  have  just  left  her 
majesty,  and  rarely  have  I  seen  her  in  a 
more  commendable  humor.  She  doth 
applaud  Burbage  to  the  very  echo,  and 
hath  laughed  at  Green  till  her  sides 
ached  for  it.  I  tell  thee,  if  thou  canst 
please  the  higher  powers  so  well,  hast 
thou  no  cause  to  fear  those  foolish  prag- 
matics of  the  city.  Let  them  do  what 
they  list.  I  have  spoken  on  thy  behalf 
to  mine  honorable  and  most  esteemed 
good  friend,  Sir  Thomas  Egerton,  who, 
for  learning  in  the  law,  hath  no  superior ; 
and  he  hath  promised  me  to  exert  him- 
self for  thy  advantage.  Keep  a  good 
heart.  Knowing  that  thou  hast  the  pro- 
tection of  Master  Attorney-General,  and 
art  in  such  absolute  favor  at  court,  the 
aldermen,  even  if  they  have  the  power, 
the  which  have  I  my  doubts  of,  shall  not 
dare  drive  thee  from  the  Blackfriars. 
Nay,  I  should  take  it  in  very  monstrous 
hard  case  indeed,  were  a  few  paltry  cit- 
izens allowed  to  interfere  with  the  pleas- 
ures of  so  many  worshipful  lords  and 
gentlemen  as  find  excellent  entertainment 
at  the  playhouse.  Be  of  good  cheer, 
Master  Shakspeare — thou  shall  never 
receive  disadvantage  at  their  hands." 

"  I  am  infinitely  beholden  to  you,  my 
good  lord,"  said  Master  Shakspeare. 
"  It  is  adding  another  leaf  to  that  volume 
of  favbrs  your  lordship's  bountiful  spirit 
hath  accorded  me." 

"  Take  not  what  I  have  done  for  thee 
as  anything,"  replied  my  Lord  South- 
ampton, putting  his  hand  in  a  friendly 
way  on  the  other's  shoulder.  "  For,  in 
honest  truth,  I  am  ashamed  I  have  as 
yet  been  to  thee  of  such  exceeding  poor 
service.  Fain  would  I  show  in  more 
substantial  fashion  how  honorably  I  re- 
gard the  manifold  excellencies  of  thy 
nature;  and  be  assured  I  will  not  rest 
till  I  do  something  to  the  purpose.  But 
I  must  needs  be  gone,  for  I  have  a  party 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


waiting,  with  whom  is  sweet  Mistress 
Varnon  ;  therefore,  fare  thee  well,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  till  we  meet  again." 

"  All  good  attend  you,  my  lord  !"  re- 
plied Master  Shakspeare  with  a  very 
earnest  sincerity,  as  he  saw  his  patron 
leave  the  room  ;  then  turning  to  his 
young  friend,  who  had  not  lost  a  syllable 
of  the  preceding  discourse,  he  exclaimed, 
"  There  is  a  truly  noble  spirit !  he  is  none 
of  your  mere  lords  who  can  claim  noth- 
ing of  distinction  but  the  names  of  their 
fathers — he  is  enrolled  in  nature's  own 
peerage ;  and  carrieth  his  patent  of  no- 
bility in  his  heart.  Truly  are  such  an 
honor  to  the  land  ;  and  the  more  England 
hath  of  them,  the  better  able  will  she  be 
to  cope  with  her  enemies.  Though  he 
hath  so  youthful  a  look,  he  is  of  a  most 
manly  nature.  He  is  ever  intent  upon 
honorable  purposes — thinketh  that  of  all 
worshipful  things  intellect  hath  the  su- 
premacy— and  seemeth  ever  ready  to  put 
his  vantage  of  rank  into  obedience  out 
of  respect  to  the  gifts,  such  as  they  be, 
which  God  hath  grafted  into  my  being. 
Indeed  it  be  the  knowledge  of  such  nota- 
ble dispositions  that  maketh  me  in  love 
with  humanity.  I  know  of  but  one  other 
like  him,  and  him  you  shall  see  anon." 

At  this  instant  there  entered  at  the 
door,  laughing  as  if  they  had  naught  else 
in  the  world  to  do  but  to  be  merry,  two 
of  the  players  ;  the  one,  of  whom  the 
reader  hath  already  had  acquaintance,  to 
wit,  Richard  Burbage,  was  dressed  as  the 
Prince  Henry  ;  the  other,  with  a  look  of 
infinite  drollery,  in  a  suit  of  russet,  with 
huge  swollen  belly  and  legs,  did  represent 
Sir  John  FalstafT;  and  he  coming  in  did 
freely  accost  Master  Shakspeare  with  a 
very  "  hail  fellow"  slap  on  the  back, 
exclaiming — "  How  now,  Chanticleer  ? 
thou  lookest  as  demure  as  an  old  maid 
that  waketh  in  the  night  with  a  dream 
that  she  hath  been  kissed  by  a  blacka- 
moor." 

"  Go  to — thou  art  Green  '"  replied  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  in  the  same  humor  ;  "  thou 
art  Green  by  name  and  green  by  nature, 
therefore  thy  wit  can  not  be  ripe — and 
not  being  ripe  must  needs  be  sour.  Go 
hang  thyself  on  a  sunshiny  wall,  and  may- 
hap thou  shalt  in  time  become  palat- 
able." 

"  Away  with  thee,  thou  pestilent  player 
upon  words,  and  unprofitable  player  upon 
a  s;age,"  cried  out  the  other,  "dost  think 
I'll  hanjj  at  thy  bidding  ?  No — I'll  be 
Ganged  it'I  do.  Away  !  I  am  sick  of  thee." 

"  Then  hast  thou  the  Green  sickness — 
which  is  marvellous  to  behold  in  one  of 


thy  appearance,"  replied  Master  Shak- 
speare. 

"  Now  whip  me  this  knave  !"  said 
Master  Green,  turning  to  his  companion, 
who  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  well  main- 
tain his  gravity.  "  Here  be  a  sorry  fellow 
for  you,  who  hath  as  many  jests  to  a  name 
as  there  are  patches  in  a  Jew's  gaberdine. 
See  how  he  abuseth  the  license  of  speech  ! 
Was  ever  such  poor  practices  known  since 
talking  came  into  fashion  ?" 

"  Let  him  have  his  way,  I  prythee," 
observed  Master  Burbage :  "  he  is  but 
simple  ;  and  peradventure  had  he  not  his 
usual  pastime  he  might  die  from  the  lack 
of  it." 

"  Nay,  if  I  die  not  till  I  lack  sport,  I 

shall  keep  my  breath  as  long  as" — here 

Master  Shakspeare  paused  a  bit,  and  then 

added  archly — "  as  long  as  this  exquisite 

j  world    provideth   such    sweet    facetious 

j  rogues  as   they   that  now  serve  me  to 

break  a  jest  upon." 

"  Out  upon  thee  !"  exclaimed  the  repre- 
i  sentative  of  Sir  John  Falstaff,  good  hu- 
j  moredly,  "  thou  wilt  come  to  no  good, 
|  depend  on't." 

"  How  can  I,  forsooth,  when  such  evil 
things  as  thou  art,  stop  my  way  ?"  asked 
the  other. 

"  I'faith  thou  hadst  best  not  meddle 
with  him,"  gravely  remarked  Master 
Burbage.  "  He  is  like  unto  the  great 
bear  in  Paris  garden — he  worrieth  the 
dogs  more  than  the  dogs  worry  him :  a 
murrain  on  him." 

"  Show  not  thy  teeth  then,  good  dogs," 
added  the  other,  with  a  smile. 

"  A  fico  for  thee  and  all  thy  kind !" 
cried  Master  Green,  "  I  will  show  my 
teeth  in  spite  of  thee — ay,  and  use  them 
too  if  it  seemeth  me  good." 

"Doubtless,  when  such  be  thy  humor, 
thou  wouldst  succeed  in  making  a  green 
wound — in  virtue  of  thy  name,"  retorted 
Master  Shakspeare. 

"Nay,  if  hanging  be  not  too  good  for 
thee,  burn  me  for  a  schismatic  !"  laugh- 
ingly exclaimed  his  antagonist. 

"  In  good  .  truth,  I  do  not  think  thou 
wouldst  burn,  Tom,"  coolly  observed  the 
one. 

"  Why  not,  Will  ?"  inquired  the  other. 

"  Seeing  that  green  wood  doth  not 
catch  fire  very  readily,"  replied  the  first. 

"What  green  again  !"  cried  his  droll 
I  companion,  "why  what  a  master  of 
j  colors  art  thou  who  useth  but  one." 

"  Wouldst  have  him  take  thee  for  a 
chameleon,  who  can  change  his  complex- 
ion as  it  suiteth  his  fancy  ?"  asked  Master 
Burbage. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  For  the  matter  of  that,  he  changeth 
his  hue  very  much  like  your  chameleon," 
said  Master  Shakspeare  ;  "  for  if  you 
catch  him  at  the  tavern,  doubt  not  to  find 
him  a  bottle  Green" — 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  shouted  both  at  the  same 
time. 

"  If  he  ventureth  on  the  salt  ocean, 
assuredly  he  is  a  sea  Green" — 

•'.Good,  o'my  life  !"  exclaimed  Master 
Burbage,  laughing  very  lustily. 

"  That  he  be  not  a  Kendal  or  a  Lincoln 
Green,  I  can  warrant,  knowing  that  he 
cometh  from  Warwickshire ;  but  when 
all  that  is  now  man  of  him  be  turned 
into  mould,  there  can  not  be  a  question 
that  he  will  make  a  very  respectable 
grass  Green." 

"Oh,  kill  me  that  varlet  straight!" 
cried  Master  Green,  shaking  his  mon- 
strous stomach  with  the  violence  of  his 
mirth.  "Kill  him,  Dick,  if  thou  lov'st 
me — for  he  hath  filled  me  full  of  most 
villanous  vegetable  conceits.  I  do  begin 
to  fancy  some  old  grannum,  coming  for 
simples,  catching  me  up  for  a  goodly 
pennyworth,  and  boiling  me,  as  a  sov- 
ereign remedy  for  her  rheumatics." 

"  Nay,  Tom,  thou  shall  be  put  to  no 
such  ignoble  use,  believe  me,"  said  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  now  laughing  in  his  turn. 
"  Green  thou  art,  it  can  not  be  denied, 
and  it  be  equally  ceru  ~  *hat  tbou  wilt 
be  ever-Green  ;  therefore,  ^  it  pleaseth 
thee,  when  I  seek  tile  bays  I  will  come  to 
thee  for  as  much  as  thou  canst  provide." 

"  Well  said,  bully  rook !"  replied  the 
other,  giving  him  another  hearty  slap  on 
the  back.  "  If  thou  dependest  on  me  for 
thy  laurels,  thou  shall  have  good  store 
of  them — for  I  do  believe  that  thou  hast 
earned  them  well." 

"So  say  I,"  added  Master  Burbage, 
with  exceeding  earnestness. 

"  But  how  goeth  the  play,  my  mas- 
ters?" suddenly  inquired  Master  Shak- 
speare, as  if  inclined  to  give  a  tarn  to  the 
conversation. 

"As  well  as  anything  can  go  that  go- 
eth upon  legs,"  replied  Master  Green. 

"  But  how  doih  a  play  go  upon  leg?, 
Tom  ?"  asked  Burbage.  "  That  conceit 
be  out  of  all  toleration." 

"Not  a  whit,  not  a  whit,  Dick,"  an- 
swered the  other — "  'tis  as  plain  as  the 
nose  on  thy  face ;  and  I  will  do  thee  ihe 
justice  to  acknowledge  that  thou  hast  very 
'  plain'  features." 

"  Out,  thou  pudding!"  cried  Burbage, 
laughing  heartily  ;  and  fetching  his  com- 
panion a  sly  poke  in  the  midriff,  he  there- 
upon gave  a  quick  jump  away,  and  went 


with  a  great  bang  against  Master  Am" 
seed,  who  coming  strutling  along  in  all 
his  finery  to  ascertain  what  they  were  so 
merry  upon,  had  got  nigh  upon  Master 
Green,  when  he  was  sent  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  concussion  flying  along  as  if 
he  had  been  shot  out  of  a  culverin,  knock- 
ing down  Lords  Dimple  and  Simple,  scat- 
tering others  to  the  right  and  to  the  left, 
and  fetching  Sir  Narcissus  Wrinkles  with 
one  of  his  outspread  arms  such  a  whack 
of  the  chaps,  that  it  sent  his  periwig  off 
unto  the  other  end  of  the  room.  In  an 
instant,  half  a  dozen  rapiers  were  drawn  ; 
and  foremost  of  all,  Sir  Narcissus  with 
his  bald  pate,  and  swearing  in  a  mon- 
strous passion,  was  advancing  to  where 
stood  Master  Aniseed,  trying  to  catch  his 
breath,  and  looking  as  if  he  knew  not  for 
a  certainty  whether  he  was  on  his  head 
or  on  his  heels.  Others  presently  inter- 
posed to  prevent  bloodshed,  but  some 
would  not  be  pacified  so  readily :  and  a 
good  many  were  so  provoked  by  the  ri- 
diculousness of  the  whole  scene,  that  they 
could  do  nothing  but  laugh. 

"  Let  me  at  him !"  cried  Sir  Narcissus. 
"  By  Acheron  and  gloomy  Styx,  I'll  teach 
him  to  play  his  tricks  on  me,  I  warrant 
you." 

"'Sblood,  I  must  kill  him  within  the 
instant,"  shouted  Captain  Swagger,  look- 
ing prodigiously  fierce,  and  flourishing 
his  rapier  in  a  most  sanguinary  manner. 
"  He  hath  given  me  a  blow !  nothing  but 
his  life  can  atone  forV* 

"  By  this  light  he  dies,  for  he  hath 
hurt  my  friend, "exclaimed  Lord  Dimple, 
raising  his  head  from  the  floor,  and  look- 
ing pathetically  toward  Lord  Simple, 
who  lay  at  his  length  a  little  distance  off. 

"Nay,  I  be  not  much  damaged,"  re- 
plied the  latter,  slowly  placing  himself 
in  a  sitting  position.  "  But  if  I  trounce 
him  not  for  the  ill  office  he  hath  done 
thee,  then  is  friendship  but  a  name." 

"  Nay,  Sir  Narcissus,  put  up  your 
weapon — it  was  but  an  accident,"  said 
Master  Taylor. 

"  Ten  thousand  furies  !  let  me  at  him, 
I  say  !"  cried  the  enraged  knight,  vainly 
endeavoring  to  break  from  those  who 
held  him  tight. 

"  Come,  good  captain,  we  must  have 
no  fighting  here  !"  cried  Master  Lowing, 
who  with  others  were  trying  to  hold  him 
back. 

"Away,  gentlemen  !"  bawled  Captain 

Swagger.      "  He   hath   signed   his  own 

j  death  warrant.     He  hath  done   me  an 

!  offence.     Hold  me  not,  I  pray  you,  for  I 

!  must  kill  him." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


55 


"Who  talks  of  killing?'*  cried  Master 
Green,  looking  preposterously  valiant  and 
oig,  and  coming  in  before  Master  Ani- 
seed with  a  rapier  of  a  tremendous  length, 
which  he  had  drawn  from  the  scabbard 
at  his  side.  "  Is  any  man  so  weary  of 
life  as  to  stand  before  my  invincible 
toasting  iron  ? — then  let  him  die  now, 
and  pray  all  the  rest  of  his  days.  Am  I 
not  famed  for  the  killing  of  giants,  of 
griffins,  dragons,  and  monsters  horrid  ? 
Then  pity  be  pitiless  :  poppies  shall 
drown  in  pails,  or  I'll  know  the  reason 
on't.  _,My  masters,  before  I  let  fly  my 
valor  and  shave  the  world  of  its  humani- 
ty, it  seemeth  to  me  good  to  say  this 
much.  So  he  that  hath  ears  to  hear,  let 
him  give  me  his  ears — and  if  he  be  deaf, 
why,  let  him  hold  his  tongue.  Thus  is 
it — Let  it  be  known  to  you  that  the  good 
youth  who  hath  made  all  this  turmoil,  be 
in  no  way  to  blame,  seeing  that  he  was  but 
an  agent  in  the  mischief  of  which  he  was 
the  innocent  cause ;  for  thus  stands  the 
tale :  I  jumping  back  suddenly,  not  know- 
ing such  a  person  was  so  nigh  at  hand, 
came  with  all  my  force  against  him,  and 
did  force  him,  very  unwillingly  on  his 
part,  I  will  be  bound  for't,  to  do  what 
hath  excited  your  high  displeasure.  Now, 
mark  this:  it  be  an  unquestionable  truth, 
that  no  man  is  ever  in  a  rage  with  the 
bullet  that  killeth  him ;  but,  doubtless, 
would  be  glad,  if  he  could,  to  pay  off 
the  pestilent  varlet  who  shot  the  bullet. 
Quarrel  not,  then,  with  the  bullet  in  this 
business — but  they  whose  indignations 
be  unquenchable,  let  them  at  me — for  I 
shot  the  bullet." 

Shouts  of  laughter  rose  from  all  parts 
of  the  room  during  this  discourse,  but 
when  the  speaker,  with  his  great,  stuffed 
body  and  vaiiant  looks,  more  laughable 
than  terrible,  began  swinging  his  mon- 
strous weapon  about,  jumping  quickly 
here  and  there,  and  slashing  on  all  sides 
with  an  abundance  of  ridiculous  antics, 
they  that  were  nig-best  to  him  made  all 
haste  to  get  out  of  his  way  ;  the  rapiers 
were  quickly  sheathed,  and  such  roars 
of  laughter  followed  one  another  from  all 
the  company,  that  never  was  the  like 
heard. 

"I  pray  you,  if  you  be  good  Christians,  j 
bury  the  dead  quickly,"  observed  Master 
Green,  gravely  putting  up  his  weapon — 
at  which  every  one  laughed   the  more. 
"Indeed  this  be  killing  work,"  continued 
he,  wiping  his  brows  with  his  handker-  , 
chief,  amid  the  shouts  of  all  around  him. 
"'Tis  a  thousand  pities  it  be  so  fatiguing 
<o  the  body,  else  would  I  slay  as  many 


score  as  I  have  done  now,  every  'day  i' 
the  year,  and  find  it  a  very  pretty  diver- 
sion." 

"  Prythee,  sweet  friend,  tell  me  if  thy 
hurt  be  great !"  asked  Lord  Dimple,  lean- ' 
ing  upon  the  shoulder  of  his  associate, 
very  anxiously ;  though,  when  he  saw 
the  great  weapon  coming  into  play  a 
minute  since,  he  jumped  out  of  the  way 
without  in  the  least  looking  after  his 
friend. 

"  In  truth,  my  elbow  be  somewhat 
bruised,"  replied  Lord  Simple,  with  a 
right  dolorous  look.  "But  how  is  it 
with  thee  ?" 

"By  this  hand  I  am  also  a  little  hurt 
in  the  elbow,"  said  he,  very  tenderly  feel- 
ing his  arm  at  the  joint.  "  But  I  am 
villanous  sore  where  I  sit  me  down." 

"  Alack !  I  have  there  the  most  pesti- 
lent soreness  true  friend  ever  endured," 
replied  the  other,  and  immediately  he  did 
begin  rubbing  himself  behind  with  a 
countenance  that  would  have  softened  a 
heart  of  stone. 

"And  now,  Tom,  to  the  proofs,"  said 
Burbage,  after  the  laughter  had  abated, 
and  things  became  in  the  room  near  what 
they  were  before  Master  Aniseed's  mis- 
hap, "How  doth  a  play  go  upon  legs?" 

"  Doth  not  a  play  go  upon  the  play- 
ere?"  inquired  Master  Green. 

"  Of  a  truth,  it  can  not  well  go  with- 
out," observed  the  other. 

"And  do  not  the  players  go  upon  legs?" 
asked  he. 

"  Truly,  they  could  not  well  go  with- 
out," remarked  Master  Shakspeare,  with 
all  his  gravity. 

"Well,  then,  my  masters,  dost  see  the 
drift  of  my  argument  ?"  said  Green.  "  If 
the  play  be  supported  by  the  players,  and 
the  players  be  supported  by  their  legs, 
is  it  not  as  true  as  that  chickens  come 
out  of  egg-shells,  that  a  play  goeth  upon 
legs  ?" 

"  I  question  not  that  if  the  play  '  stand' 
at  all,  it  shall  have  legs  to  stand  upon," 
observed  Master  Shakspeare  in  the  same 
humor;  "but  I  doubt  hugely,  that  the 
play  and  the  players  go  together  at  all 
times:  for  it  may  chance  that  the  players 
be  'damned,' — which  is  like  enough  of 
some  of  them  that  I  know  ;  but  the  dam- 
ning of  the  play  doth  not  follow — espe- 
cially if  it  be  one  of  mine." 

"  Out  upon  thee,  thou  intolerable  piece 
of  vanity  and  horrible  calumniator !"  cried 
Master  Green,  laughing  all  the  time;  "I 
will  forswear  thy  company,  and  on  the 
instant  take  myself  off." 

"  Do  so,  Tom,"  replied  Master  Shak- 


56 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


speare,  as  his  friend  was  leaving  him — 
"  thou  wilt  save  me  an  infinite  world  of 
trouble  by  it,  for  I  have  been  taking  thee 
off  this  many  a  day." 

"  I  owe  thee  one  for  that !"  emphatical- 
ly exclaimed  the  other,  turning  round  as 
he  was  going  out  at  the  door,  and  shaking 
his  droll  face  at  him  very  merrily  ;  "  and 
if  I  pay  thee  not,  Will,  thou  shall  hold 
me  in  no  more  estimation  than  a  soused 
gurnet." 

"  Away  with  thee  !  thou  wilt  never  be- 
come half  so  dainty  a  piece  of  pickle !" 
retorted  his  companion. 

When  Green  was  gone  Master  Shak- 
speare  did  address  Burbage  in  his  usual 
playful  manner,  with — "Well,  Dick,  did 
the  verses  play  the  part  thou  wouldst 
have  them  ?" 

"Excellently  well,"  replied  he.  "In 
truth,  never  verses  had  better  reception. 
If  she  be  not  an  exquisite  judge  of  all  the 
commodities  of  a  good  measure,  then 
stand  I  on  very  indifferent  footing  with  a 
pretty  woman." 

"I'faith,  thy  feet  have  but  an  indiffer- 
ent appearance,  Dick,"  said  Master  Shak- 
speare,  gravely  looking  down  upon  the 
other's  ghoes. 

"  That  must  needs  become  a  standing 
joke,"  observed  his  companion. 

"  It  may,  for  I  do  not  think  it  deserves 
to  be  set  down." 

"  Go  too  !"  exclaimed  Master  Burbage, 
jocularly.  "  But  listen  to  me  :  I  watched 
her  the  while  she  read  thy  poem,  and  be- 
lieve me,  her  face  be  worth  the  looking 
at:  and  as  she  proceeded,  she  opened  her 
pretty  lips — a  tempting  pair,  by  this  light ! 
— and  said,  '  That  is  not  ill' — and  anon, 
"  brave  words !'  and  presently,  '  an  excel- 
lent good  conceit ;'  and  thus  went  she  till 
she  came  to  the  end — when  she  did  ac- 
knowledge that  they  were  of  better  stuff 
than  she  had  expected  of  me." 

"  Then  must  she  have  had  a  marvel- 
lous bad  opinion  of  thee,"  duly  remarked 
his  companion,  "  and  evidently  knew  thy 
value  to  a  fraction.  But  what  didst  get 
for  them  ?" 

"  Dost  think  I  kiss  and  tell  ?"  said  the 
other,  in  a  seeming  indignation.  "  But  I 
tell  thee  how  it  is,  Will — I  have  cut  out 
him  of  the  sonnet — he  hath  no  more 
chance  than  a  drowned  kitten  in  Hounds- 
ditch.  And  our  next  assignation  hath  a 
very  pretty  conceit  in  it — for  it  is  agreed 
between  us  that  I  shall  come  to  her  door ; 
and  to  prevent  mistakes,  when  she  says 
'Who's  there?'  at  my  knocking,  I  am  to 
reply,  '  It  is  I— Richard  the  Third.'  " 
"What,  dost  mean  to  play  the  tyrant 


with  her  ?"  laughingly  inquired  Master 
Shakspeare.  "  But  let  not  thy  longings 
for  her  father's  gold  make  thee  too  san- 
guine. Mayhap  thou  wilt  find  plenty  of 
Richmonds  in  the  field  yet." 

"  I  care  not  if  there  be — I  am  desperate- 
ly in  love ;  and  if  she  is  to  be  had,  will 
have  her  in  spite  of  them,"  replied  Mas- 
ter Burbage.  "  But  there  is  our  Stentor, 
with  his  lungs  o'  leather,  giving  me  a 
pretty  loud  hint  that  I  am  wanted — so  I 
am  off."  Saying  which,  he  hastily  de 
parted  at  the  door. 

"And  how  like  you  the  players  and 
their  associates  ?"  asked  Master  Shak- 
speare to  his  young  companion. 

"  In  truth,  exceeding  well,"  replied 
Master  Francis,  cheerfully ;  "  never  have 
I  been  so  much  amused  as  during  the 
time  I  have  been  here.  Methinks  they 
must  lead  a  right  merry  life." 

"  They  are  the  very  grasshoppers  of 
the  age,"  observed  his  friend:  "  a  small 
matter  of  sunshine  sufnceth  to  make  them 
chirp;  notwithstanding  which  they  oft- 
times  live  in  fear  of  being  trodden  under 
foot,  or  snapped  up  by  such  as  think  fit  to 
devour  them  and  their  substance."  Doubt- 
less in  this  Master  Shakspeare  did  allude 
to  the  efforts  that  had  been  made  by  the 
city  authorities  to  deprive  himself  and  his 
associates  of  performing  plays  within 
their  jurisdiction. 

After  some  time  longer  passed  in  the 
room,  his  friend  did  lead  Master  Francis 
out  just  as  many  of  the  players  came  in, 
denoting  that  the  play  was  over  ;  and  af- 
ter carefully  picking  his  way  along,  he 
was  brought  before  a  large  curtain,  in  the 
which  there  was  a  hole  whereat  Master 
Shakspeare  took  a  peep,  and  desired  his 
companion  to  do  the  same.  He  looked, 
and  saw  a  throng  of  people  of  the  re- 
spectable sort,  standing  up  close  together 
a  little  below  him,  while  a  vast  number 
of  rooms,  all  round  about  and  above  them, 
were  filled  with  lords  and  ladies,  and  the 
like,  very  splendidly  attired ;  and  up 
higher,  on  "  the  scaffold,"  or  gallery, 
were  a  crowd  of  the  meaner  kind,  who 
could  afford  neither  a  shilling  nor  a  six- 
pence, such  as  had  been  paid  by  "  the 
groundlings,"  and  those  in  the  rooms,  but 
came  only  as  threepenny  customers.  All 
was  open  to  the  sky,  and  at  the  top  was  a 
great  flag.  But  what  struck  him  the  most 
was  the  noise  and  hubbub  of  the  people. 
Some  were  shouting  "  God  save  the 
queen  !"  others  casting  up  their  hats,  and 
the  ladies  waved  their  handkerchiefs, 
and  turning  his  eyes  to  where  the  looks 
of  the  audience  were  directed,  Maste* 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


57 


Francis  beheld,  in  the  largest  of  the 
rooms,  all  daintily  fitted  up  with  cur- 
tains of  satin  and  gold,  her  majesty, 
Queen  Elizabeth,  who,  with  a  very  queen- 
like  dignity,  had  presented  herself  in  front 
of  her  noble  attendants,  clad  with  prince- 
ly magnificence,  and  continued  most  gra- 
ciously to  courtesy  to  her  applauding  sub- 
jects. 

He  had  not  been  many  minutes  en- 
gaged in  observing  this  interesting  scene, 
from  the  attractions  of  which  he  could 
scarcely  take  off  his  eyes,  when  he  felt 
himself  touched  on  the  shoulder,  and 
turning  round,  saw  a  handsome  and  gal- 
lant looking  gentleman  approaching  the 
place  where  he  stood. 

"I  have  been  in  constant  expectation 
of  seeing  you,  Sir  Walter" 

"Speed  thee,  Master  Shakspeare,  and 
follow  me,"  said  the  other,  interrupting 
him  quickly. 

"I  must  first  request  your  kind  offices 
in  favor  of  my  young  friend  here,  who  is 
a  youth  of  excellent  parts  and'' 

"Let  him  come  to  me  at  Durham 
house  to-morrow,  at  eleven  o'clock," 
said  he,  "  for,  in  truth,  I  have  not  a  min- 
ute to  lose  now.  Her  majesty  hath  de- 
sired that  thou  shouldst  be  presented  to 
her.  and  if  we  make  not  prodigious  haste 
she  will  be  gone." 

"Be  sure  and  go  to  Durham  house,  as 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  hath  required,  and 
thou  wilt  find  thy  advantage  in  it, "whis- 
pered Master  Shakspeare ;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment afterward  Master  Francis  found 
himself  alone.  For  a  minute  or  two  it 
seemed  to  him  that  all  had  passed  as  a 
dream.  It  appeared  scarcely  possible 
that  he  should  have  stood  in  the  presence 
of  the  far-famed  Sir  Walter  Raleigh — 
have  been  recommended  to  his  patronage, 
and  desired  of  him  to  call  at  his  man- 
sion: and  it  could  not  but  be  (so  he 
thought)  that  the  stately  looking  gentle- 
man, so  richly  clad,  who  a  moment  since 
stood  before  him,  was  a  mere  delusion  of 
the  fancy.  These  reflections  threw  him 
into  a  profound  revery,  in  the  which  he 
was  so  completely  lost,  that  he  saw  and 
heard  nothing  around  him. 

"Prythee  tell  me,  what  have  they 
offered  thee  a  week  ?"  was  asked  him  a 
third  time  before  he  noticed  that  the  ill- 
favored  and  inquisitive  knave,  Gib  the 
call-boy,  with  his  enormous  mouth  upon 
the  stretch,  and  his  eyes  squinting  more 
abominably  than  ever,  was  at  his  elbow, 
wondering  that  he  could  get  no  answer. 

"Hold  thy  prate — I  know  not,"  was 
the  reply. 


*  "  Nay,  if  thou  knowest  not,  thou  canst 
not  tell,  of  a  surety,"  observed  the  call- 
boy.  "But  thou  canst  think  without 
knowing,  and  therefore  say,  I  prythee, 
what  thou  dost  think  they  have  offered 
thee  ?" 

"  What  matters  it  to  thee,"  replied  the 
other,  in  spite  of  himself,  amused  at  the 
coaxing,  wheedling  manner  in  which  the 
bandy-legged  urchin  attempted  to  wm 
the  important  secret  from  him. 

"  In  honest  truth,  I  am  curious  to  know 
if  they  are  inclined  to  give  thee  as  much 
as  a  whole  shilling  a  week  and  find  thy- 
self out  on't,"  said  the  boy,  holding  up 
his  head  with  such  an  affectation  of  con- 
ceit that  the  other  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing in  his  face. 

"Then,  in  honest  truth,!  believe  they 
are  not,"  responded  Master  Francis. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Gib,  with  an  air 
of  satisfaction  that  increased  the  mirth 
of  his  companion — then  added,  in  a  tone 
of  consolation,  "Be  not  cast  down  at  it. 
1  do  assure  thee,  that  if  thou  wilt  abide 
by  my  advice,  and  do  the  women,  thou 
shait  get  as  much  as  that  in  good  time ; 
for  truly  thou  art  well  fitted  for  playing 
in  such  parts,  seeing  that  thou  wilt  have 
no  call  for  a  beard  yet  awhile,  and  when 
it  doth  appear  in  any  sort  of  prodigality, 
I  have  an  honest  barber  of  my  acquaint- 
ance who  shall  pluck  each  individual 
hair  out  by  the  roots,  and  charge  thee 
little  or  nothing  for  it." 

"I  am  obliged  to  thee  infinitely,"  seri- 
ously observed  the  youth,  who  winced 
under  the  very  idea  of  such  torture.  "I 
tell  thee,  once  for  all,  I  never  had  any 
desire  of  becoming  a  player,  and  all  the 
service  I  require  of  thee,  is  to  lead  me 
out  of  this  place  as  quickly  as  thou 
canst." 

"  Desirest  thou  not  to  become  a  play- 
er?" thundered  out  the  astonished  call- 
boy.  "Well,  here  is  a  fortune  thrown 
away!  And  I  did  hope  thou  wouldst 
have  supplanted  our  Juliet,  who,  no 
later  than  yesterday,  gave  me  a  villanous 
kick  i'  the  breech  for  offering  to  show 
him  how  to  die  more  graceful  than  is  his 
wont." 

'•  And  I  will  give  thee  another  if  thou 
dost  not  instantly  lead  me  into  the  street," 
added  Master  Francis,  looking  as  seriously 
as  he  could.  At  this  the  eyes  of  the  call- 
boy  seemed  directed  in  every  way  at  the 
same  time  ;  and  without  saying  a  word 
more,  he  began  to  shuffle  his  mis-shapen 
legs  away  as  fast  as  he  could, — closely 
followed  ..by  the  other. 

While    those  two  were    leaving   the 


58 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


playhouse,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was 
hurrying  Master  Shakspeare  along,  and 
they  arrived  at  the  queen's  room  just  as 
her  majesty  was  moving  to  depart,  with 
all  her  noble  train  of  lords  and  ladies 
around  her. 

"Please  your  majesty,  here  is  Master 
William  Shakspeare,"  said  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  as  he  pushed  through  the 
throng. 

"  Let  him  enter,"  said  the  queen. 
Thereupon,  Master  Shakspeare  advanced 
toward  the  queen  and  knelt  before  her ; 
and  her  majesty  and  many  of  her  cour- 
tiers— especially  the  ladies,  did  look  upon 
him  very  curiously. 

"Master  Shakspeare,"  exclaimed  the 
queen,  "  We  do  commend  the  excellence 
of  your  wit,  whereof  the  application 
hath  pleased  us  much,  on  more  occasions 
than  the  present ;  and  will  take  care  you 
suffer  no  hinderance  in  your  calling,  so 
long  as  you  continue  as  you  have  done, 
to  attempt  not  to  meddle  with  matters 
of  state.  Of  all  your  performances, 
that  fat  knight  hath  delighted  us  in  the 
greatest  measure:  and  it  seemeth  that 
we  should  find  an  additional  satisfaction 
could  we  see  the  rogue  in  love.  Think 
of  it,  Master  Shakspeare,  and  if  your 
conceit  jump  that  way,  send  word  to  the 
palace,  and  we  will  give  you  the  first 
fitting  opportunity  to  read  to  us  whatever 
you  may  write  upon  the  snbject."  Then 
graciously  giving  him  her  ungloved  hand 
all  brilliant  with  jewels,  to  which  he 
respectfully  bent  his  lips,  her  majesty 
passed  him  by,  followed  by  her  maids 
of  honor,  her  officers  in  waiting,  and 
others  whose  duty  it  was  to  attend  upon 
her  person,  leaving  Master  Shakspeare 
kneeling,  from  which  he  presently  rose, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  heard  the  trumpets 
and  kettle-drums,  with  the  hurrahs  of  the 
mob  outside,  striking  up  as  the  queen 
left  the  playhouse  in  her  caroch. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Millions  of  ynares  this  old  drivell  Cupid5  lives  ; 
While  still  more  wretch,  more  wicked  he  doth 

prove  ; 

Till  now  at  length  that  Jove  an  office  gives, 
(At  Juno's  suite  who  much  did  Argrus  love) 
In  this  our  world  a  hangman  for  to  be 
Of  all  those  fooles  that  will  have  all  they  see. 
SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 

There  are  sort  of  men,  whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle  like  a  standing  pond, 
And  do  a  wilfull  stillness  entertain 
With  purpose  to  be  dressed  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom,  grav'ty,  profound  conceit ; 


As  who  should  say,  I  am  Sir  Oracle, 
And  when  I  ope  my  lips  let  no  dog  bark. 

SHAKSPKARE. 

"  COME,  coz  !  coz  !  Prythee  have  done 
with  this  sighing  and  trembling,"  ex- 
claimed Mistress  Alice  to  her  fair  cousin, 
as  they  were  together  in  their  tiring-room, 
seemingly  getting  themselves  ready  to 
go  upon  a  journey.  "  Why,  thou  makest 
as  much  fuss  at  being  married  as  might 
I,  for  whom  the  idea  of  it  hath  but  sorry 
recommendation  indeed.  W  ell,  Heaven 
help  them  that  can  not  help  themselves, 
say  I — and  of  all  that  need  help,  none  are 
like  your  would-be  wife  ;  for  of  a  truth, 
she  must  be  in  monstrous  hard  case,  that 
desireth  so  ridiculous  a  thing  as  a  hus- 
band." 

"  He  can  not  help  being  ruined,"  ob- 
served Mistress  Throckmorton  sorrow- 
fully, and  quite  inattentive  to  the  remarks 
of  her  merry  kinswoman. 

'« Well,  blame  him  not  for  it,"  said  the 
other,  in  her  pretty  droll  way.  "  For,  if 
he  can  not  help  it,  he  should  escape  cen- 
sure. But  methinks  there  be  no  great 
cause  for  such  apprehension,  for  when  I 
showed  thy  father's  letter  to  the  queen 
requesting  thy  presence  at  Aldgate,  on 
the  pretence  of  his  declining  health  ;  she 
had  come  from  the  play  in  so  fine  a  hu- 
mor, that  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  have 
granted  anything :  therefore  art  thou  to 
go,  and  I  with  thee  :  and  if  thy  man  ani- 
mal fail  thee  not,  thou  wilt  be  made  his 
yoke-fellow  straight.  Now  have  I  very 
palpably  in  my  mind's  eye,  the  appear- 
ance of  thyself  and  thy  precious  helpmate 
some  two  or  three  score  of  years  hence. 
Thou  wilt  sit  on  one  side  of  the  chimney 
corner,  and  he  on  the  other,  like  Darby 
and  Joan  :  with,  mayhap,  the  cat  at  thy 
feet,  and  the  dog  at  his,  and  his  worship 
lifting  up  his  woollen  nightcap  to  scratch 
his  bald  pate  the  whilst,  shall  say,  in  a 
monstrous  thin  voice,  like  a  sucking 
beetle,"  here  did  she  imitate  an  old  man's 
querulous  speech  to  the  life — "  '  Dame  ! 
it  be  woundy  cold  o'  nights — hast  never 
another  pair  o'  hose  to  cover  up  my  legs  ?' 
And  then  thou  shah  look  at  his  shrunk 
shanks  very  pitifully  over  thy  spectacles, 
and  dividing  thy  nose  and  chin,  which 
shall  then  be  nigh  unto  kissing  each 
other,  shall  answer,  '  Forsooth,  my  old 
man,  'tis  but  proper  thou  shouldst  have 
another  pair  ;  for  I  know  by  the  absolute 
shooting  o'  my  corns,  we  shall  have  foul 
weather  soon.' " 

"Fie  on  thee,  Alice  !"  exclaimed  Mis- 
tress Elizabeth,  yet  scarcely  able  to  re- 
frain from  joining  in  her  companion's 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


merriment — for  the  little  creature  screw- 
ed her  pretty  face  into  so  odd  an  expres- 
sion— and  made  her  voice  sound  so  trem- 
ulous and  droll,  in  accordance  with  the 
laughable  scene  she  was  describing,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  any  one  to  have 
looked  on  unmoved. 

"  And  then  being  mightily  skilful  in 
.the  preparation  of  simples,"  continued 
Alice  very  archly.  "After  having  put 
him  to  bed  and  tucked  him  up,  that  the 
cold  shall  not  visit  his  old  bones  too 
roughly — for  I  prythee  remember,  there 
shall  be  nothing  of  him  but  skin  and  bone 
— thou  shall  make  him  a  famous  posset, 
with  spice  in  it,  to  comfort  his  poor  bowels 
— whereof,  when  he  hath  swallowed  a 
sufficiency,  thou  shah  take  the  rest ;  then 
to  bed  with  him — and  a  few  minutes 
after  which,  thou  shall  be  heard  snoring 
a  fine  treble  as  an  accompaniment  to  his 
worship's  excellent  bass." 

"  Nay,  I  am  ashamed  of  thee !"  cried 
the  other,  although  she  could  in  no  way 
help  laughing  at  the  conceit,  in  spite  of 
ihe  trouble  she  seemed  to  be  in.  "  But 
haste  thee,  Alice,  with  our  things,  or  my 
father  will  have  to  wait — wnich  thou 
knowest  he  likes  not.  Ah,  me — I  would 
it  were  all  over !" 

"  Ah,  rne — I  would  it  were  well  over, 
or  under  either,  so  that  it  had  a  good 
ending,"  said  Alice,  briskly.  "By  my 
troth,  there  must  needs  be  something  in 
this  taking  of  a  husband,  by  the  to  do 
which  is  made  of  it ;  though,  methinks, 
il  would  require  as  great  a  conjuror  as 
Dr.  Dee,  to  find  out  where  lieth  the  won- 
der. For  mine  own  part,  I  can  not  but 
help  believing,  that  these  man  animals 
are  hugely  flattered — seeing  that  we  are 
inclined  to  make  so  great  a  fuss  out  of  so 
small  a  matter." 

"He  will  be  undone!"  exclaimed  Mis- 
tress Elizabeth  sighing,  and  wringing  her 
hands. 

"A  pudding  undone  !"  cried  Alice,  her 
sparkling  eyes  flashing  very  merrily. 
"Why  should  he  be  undone,  I  prythee? 
— unless  he  undo  himself;  and  then  may- 
hap he  shall  get  himself  in  a  tanglement, 
like  the  fag-end  of  a  ball  of  worsted  in 
the  paws  of  a  kitten.  I  tell  thee,  Bess, 
he  shall  never  be  undone.  There  is  thai 
in  him  which  will  put  up  with  no  un- 
doing. Think  not  of  it.  It  can  not  be. 
Thou  shah  find  him  like  a  very  pretty 
skein  of  silk,  as  he  is ;  and  shall  wind 
him  off  clear  to  the  end." 

"  It  was  noble  of  him  to  offer  to  marry 
me, "said  Mistress Throckmorton — some- 
what as  it  were  to  herself. 


"  Nay,  I  can  not  see  it  be  so  very  noble 
either,"  replied  her  laughing  cousin ; 
"  truly  thou  art  worthy  to  mate  with  as 
good  as  he — or  better,  if  it  come  to  that." 

"  No,  no,  no !"  cried  Mistress  Elizabeth, 
shaking  her  head  in  very  woful  fashion. 

"  But  I  say  yes,  yes,  yes  !"  quickly  ex- 
claimed the  other.  "In  all  respects  he 
hath  got  an  excellent  bargain,  and  the 
varlet  knoweth  it,  or  I  be  much  deceived. 
Thou  shouldst  not  hold  thyself  too  cheap, 
Bess  ;  a  woman  gets  nothing  by  that,  de- 
pend on't.  As  for  roe,  if  there  be  any 
that  would  have  me  at  mine  own  valua- 
tion, then  shall  they  coin  all  the  man's 
flesh  that  may  be  met  with  above  ground 
into  rose  nobles ;  and  lack  the  greatest 
portion  of  what  I  would  go  for  after  all." 

"In  truth,  then,  thou  wouldst  go  at  a 
price  indeed,"  remarked  her  cousin. 

<*  Price,  quotha  !  why  should  I  not  go 
at  a  price  ?"  replied  the  merry  Alice, 
tossing  her  little  head  very  prettily. 
"  Dost  think  I  am  but  a  pennyworth  ? — 
of  so  little  account,  that  he  that  gets  me 
might  run  a  withy  through  my  gills,  and 
ca-r ry  me  home  like  a  cheap  mackerel  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  meant  not  that,"  said  Mistress 
•  Elizabeth,  smiling  at  the  exceeding  oddi- 
ty of  her  cousin's  humor. 

"  Thou  art  not  held  so  poorly  in  my 
esteem,  believe  me;  for  thou  hast  ever 
been  to  me  a  very  dear  good  creature," 
and  thereat  she  stooped  and  kissed  her 
rosy  dimpled  cheek  with  an  admirable 
affection. 

"  Ay,  if  I  am  to  be  bought,  I'll  be  a 
dear  creature  to  him  that  buys  me,  de- 
pend on't,"  laughingly  answered  she,  as 
she  returned  her  cousin's  caress.  "But 
hark — here  comes  a  footstep  !"  Saying 
this,  she  hastened  to  the  door,  the  which 
she  opened  as  some  one  approached  it, 
and  noticing  that  it  was  one  of  the  yeo- 
men of  the  guard,  she  exclaimed,  "  Ha, 
!  Master  Annesley,  what  news  ?" 

"  Please  you,  my  lady,"  replied  he  very 

respectfully,    "  there   be   certain   of   Sir 

Nicholas    Throckmorton's     serving-men 

!  down  below,  who  say  thai  the  barge  is 

ready  at  the  water-side  for  Mistress  Eliz- 

;  abeth  and   yourself,  to  the  which   they 

wait  to  conduct  you." 

"  See  that  they  be  entertained ;  and 
say  we  will  be  with  them  anon,  Master 
Annesley,"  said  Alice. 

"  I  will,  my  lady,"  answered  he;  and 
departed  quickly  to  do  her  bidding. 

"  Bess !  Bess  !  why  how  thou  dost  trem- 
ble !"  exclaimed  the  other,  when  she  had 
returned  to  her  kinswoman.  "Dosttrem- 
,  ble  at  a  man  ? — Psha  !  Fifty  men  should 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


not  make  me  wag  a  hair  of  my  head. 
Now  on  with  thy  mantle !" 

"  Alas  !  he  will  be  ruined  !''  cried  Mis- 
tress Elizabeth  very  piteously. 

"Then  the  more  goose  he  !"  replied 
her  cousin.  "  But  I  apprehend  he  hath 
more  wit  than  to  suffer  it.  Dost  think  I 
would  be  ruined? — Nay,  I'd  eat  my  head 
off  first!  Come,  here  is  thy  hat.  Alack, 
thou  looksl  as  pale  as  a  Shrovetide  pan- 
cake. Courage,  sweetheart !  If  it  were 
not  that  I  have  no  inclination  that  way, 
I  would  marry  all  the  bachelors  between 
this  and  Muscovy,  and  not  be  frightened 
a  whit.  Nay,  shake  not  so,  I  prythee, 
for  thou  wilt  have  shaking  enough  soon, 
I  doubt  not — seeing  that  when  we  get  to 
London  Bridge  thou  wift  have  to  mount 
on  the  pillion  on  uncle's  brown  Bess, 
whilst  I  must  ride  before  Diggory  on  the 
gray  mare ;  and  then  we  shall  go  trot, 
trot,  trot,  to  Aldgate,  till  neither  of  us 
have  more  bowels  than  a  flea.  And  now 
thou  art  ready  at  last." 

Then,  after  some  few  minutes  employ- 
ed in  finishing  her  own  attire — for  her 
beautiful  kinswoman  seemed  in  such  a 
strait  that  she  could  assist  her  none  at  all 
— she  drew  her  arm  through  that  of  the 
other,  cheering  her  all  the  time  with 
many  droll  sayings ;  and  they  passed  to- 
gether out  of  the  room  in  their  travelling 
equipments,  giving  notice  as  they  went  to 
one  of  the  yeomen  that  the  men  should 
meet  them  near  the  gates  ;  thereat  when 
they  arrived,  they  found  the  serving-men 
in  their  best  liveries  (proper  stout  varlets, 
each  with  a  goodly  rapier  at  his  girdle), 
and  with  abundance  of  respectful  saluta- 
tions from  them,  answered  kindly  and 
without  haughtiness  by  their  fair  mis- 
tress, thus  attended,  they  left  the  palace 
of  Whitehall,  and  proceeded  across  the 
Queen's  garden  to  the  Privy  bridge. 

"  Step  in  quick,"  said  a  voice  that  came 
from  one  muffled  up  close  in  a  large 
cloak,  who  sat  in  the  barge  at  the  water- 
side. 

"Father!"  exclaimed  Mistress  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  Uncle  !"  cried  Alice  in  the  same 
breath. 

"  Nay,  there  be  no  time  for  fathers  or 
uncles  either,"  replied  Sir  Nicholas,  "I 
be  not  to  speak  nor  disclose  myself  for 
fear  of  watchers  and  praters, — so  in, 
wench,  and  quickly.  And  now,  Diggory, 
push  off  from  the  shore,  and  help  ply  the 
oars  well." 

"  That  will  I,  your  Avorship,"  replied 
one  with  a  famous  dull  honest  face  and  yel- 
*ow  beard,  whc  with  a  long  pole  sought  to 


push  the  barge  into  deep  water ;  "  and  as 
your  worship  desireth  that  your  name 
shall  not  be  mentioned,  I  will  take  care 
it  pass  not  rny  lips.  Truly  'twould  be  a 
shame  were  I  not  to  do  the  bidding  of 
so  excellent  a  master  as  Sir  Nicholas 
Throck " 

"  Hang  thee,  villain,  thou  wouldst  be- 
tray me  upon  the  instaqt !"  exclaimed 
the  old  knight.  "  Take  to  thy  oar,  and 
let  thy  tongue  wag  on  thy  peril." 

"I  am  dumb,  Sir  Nichol " 

"  Take  that,  for  a  prating  varlet !"  said 
his  master,  interrupting  the  mentioning 
of  his  name  by  a  blow  with  an  ashen 
stick  he  had  under  his  cloak,  that  not 
only  made  Diggory  wince  mightily,  but 
had  the  effect  of  silencing  him  without 
another  word. 

"  Nay,  father !" 

"  Hurt  him  not,  good  uncle  !"  cried  the 
cousins  quickly,  as  they  saw  the  weapon, 
descending. 

"  'Sblood  !  one  might  as  well  be  pro- 
claimed at  Paul's!*'  exclaimed  Sir  Nich- 
olas impatiently.  "  I  tell  thee  I  am  now 
neither  thy  father,  nor  thy  uncle,  nor  thy 
ox,  nor  thy  ass,  nor  anything  that  is 
thine." 

They  now  glided  slowly  and  in  silence 
along  the  river,  keeping  pretty  nigh  unto 
the  left  bank — the  serving  men  straining 
at  the  oars  with  all  their  strength — Mis- 
tress Elizabeth  trembling  exceedingly, 
and  her  beautiful  countenance  marked 
with  a  great  paleness ;  and  Alice  with 
her  arm  round  her  waist,  whispering  ex- 
cellent consolation,  with  now  and  then 
such  droll  conceits  as  entered  into  her 
head. 

"  Who  be  those  getting  into  a  pair  of 
oars  from  the  very  spot  where  we  took 
water  ?"  inquired  Sir  Nicholas,  pointing 
to  two  persons  closely  wrapped  in  large 
cloaks,  who  were  then  stepping  into  a 
boat. 

"  Methinks  they  are  men  of  some  sort," 
replied  Diggory,  with  a  monstrous  gravi- 
ty, who  fancying  the  question  had  been 
addressed  to  him,  had  plucked  up  cour- 
age to  answer  it. 

"  Mine  eyes  can  tell  me  that,"  said  his 
master,  drily. 

"  And  wear  they  goodly  coptanck  hats, 
out  of  all  question,"  continued  the  man. 

"  That  also  I  can  see  without  thy  as- 
sistance," answered  the  old  knight.  "I 
hope  they  be  not  coming  after  us." 

"  They  are  pulling  across  the  river," 
observed  Alice. 

"  That  is  evident  to  me  likewise,"  re- 
sponded Sir  Nicholas  ;  and  for  somemin- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


61 


utes  not  a  word  more  was  spoken,  till  he 
cried  out, — "  but  see,  they  are  creeping 
along  the  shore  on  the  other  side.  Odds 
my  life  !  but  I  think  they  be  spies." 

"  If  it  please  you,  shall  we  run  across  ?" 
said  Diggory,  "  and  Peter  and  I  will 
draw  upon  them,  and  spoil  their  spying 
straight." 

"  Ay,  that  would  we,  with  a  vengeance, 
if  it  please  you,  master,"  exclaimed  an- 
other, whose  patch  oa  the  forehead  be- 
tokened him  to  be  one  in  no  way  averse 
to  a  broil. 

"  Peace,  knaves,"  exclaimed  the  old 
knight ; — "  Dost  think,  if  there  be  any 
need  of  drawing,  I  can  not  play  my  part  ?" 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  observed 
Diggory,  "  I  can  affirm,  with  a  safe  con- 
science, there  be  no  such  a  master  at  the 
weapon." 

"  Indeed,  for  a  swashing  blow,  of  all 
valorous  knights  commend  me  to  Sir 
Nicholas  Throck :  Oh  !"  shouted  Pe- 
ter, before  he  had  finished  his  sentence, 
on  finding  the  aforesaid  ashen  stick  de- 
scending on  his  pate,  with  the  very  swash- 
ing blow  he  was  speaking  of. 

"Wilt  never  hold  thy  prate?"  angrily 
cried  his  master:  "nay,  by  God's  suffer- 
ing, I'll  give  thee  a  cudgeling  all  round, 
if  I  hear  another  word."  At  this  the  men 
said  no  more,  but  pulled  on,  passing  di- 
vers noble  mansions  that  stood  on  the 
slope  of  the  Thames,  nigh  unto  the  vil- 
lage of  Charing,  Sir  Nicholas  watching 
very  earnestly  the  strange  boat,  that  kept 
at  a  good  distance  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  till  they  approached  Ivy  Bridge ; 
when  he  commanded  Diggory  to  make 
for  a  small  flight  of  stone  steps,  adjutting 
out  of  a  magnificent  mansion  that  stood 
there.  As  it  was  high  water,  the  barge 
was  easily  brought  to  the  stairs,  and  then 
the  old  knight,  handing  out  his  daughter 
and  his  niece,  pointed  to  them  an  open 
door  above  the  wall,  against  which  the 
tide  was  a  running,  for  them  to  go  into, 
while  ht  tarried  a  moment  to  give  direc- 
tions to  his  men. 

"  Courage,  Bess !  this  is  Durham  house, 
and  thou  wilt  soon  be  a  wife  now,"  ex- 
claimed Alice,  as  the  other,  seeming  more 
dead  than  alive,  leaned  upon  her,  as  they 
advanced  through  the  little  door,  into  a 
dark  passage.  "  At  least  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh hath  one  virtue — he  hath  a  goodly 
house  to  live  in." 

"  To  which  he  now  welcomes  his  dear 
sweet  wife  and  thee,"  said  a  well-known 
voice;  and  Mi  stress  Elizabeth  found  her- 
self clasped  in  the  arms  of  her  affianced 
husband. 


"Oh,  Walter!"  was  all  she  could  say. 
"Alack,  I  had  like  to  have  been  fright- 
ened," exclaimed  Alice;  "but  now  I  see 
who  it  be,  I  only  wonder  I  took  any 
alarm,  for  I  am  not  easily  frightened  at 
so  small  a  matter." 

"Another  time,  Alice,  I  will  give  it 
thee  in  good  style  for  that,"  said  Sir  Wal- 
ter, laughingly ;  and  then,  turning  to 
Mistress  Elizabeth,  added,  "  Come,  Bess, 
to  the  chapel — all  is  ready  ;  my  chaplain 
waits,  and  there  is  no  one  with  him  but 
my  friend  Lord  Cobham." 

"And  here  comes  her  old  father,  to  see 
her  honorably  wedded  to  a  truly  excel- 
lent and  gallant  gentleman,"  cried  Sir 
Nicholas  Throckmorton,  a  little  way  be- 
hind them. 

"Welcome  to  Durham  house,  Sir 
Nicholas,"  exclaimed  Raleigh :  and  then 
the  two  knights  shook  hands  in  a  very 
friendly  manner. 

"Thanks,  Sir  Walter,"  replied  the 
other ;  "  I  have  brought  Bess  here,  with 
strict  attention  to  your  directions ;  yet  had 
I  at  one  time  misgivings  we  were  watch- 
ed." 

"  Who  could  have  thought  of  playing 
the  spy  upon  you  ?"  asked  Raleigh. 

"In  truth  it  was  a  mistake  of  mine," 
replied  the  old  knight ;  "  for  the  boat  in 
which  were  the  supposed  watchers  hath 
but  now  gone  on,  as  I  think,  to  the  Bank- 
side." 

"  I  beseech  you,  follow  me  then  to  the 
chapel,"  said  Sir  Walter ;  and  then,  with 
many  kind  and  soothing  words  to  her  who 
hung  so  fondly  on  his  arm,  he  led  the  way, 
closely  followed  by  Alice  and  her  uncle, 
through  many  courts  and  passages,  till 
they  came  to  a  sort  of  oratory,  dimly 
lighted,  fitted  up  in  very  antique  fashion 
as  a  place  of  worship ;  in  the  which 
stood,  in  his  robes,  at  the  altar,  the  chap- 
lain, conversing  with  my  Lord  Cobham ; 
and  with  a  few  hurried  words  of  greeting 
betwixt  that  lord  and  Sir  Nicholas 
Throckmorton,  the  ceremony  was  pro- 
ceeded with  ;  Mistress  Elizabeth  looking 
all  the  whilst,  as  some  thought,  fitter  for 
a  burial  than  a  bridal,  and  trembling 
wonderfully  ;  but  she  said  the  responses 
with  a  proper  distinctness  ;  and  in  a  mar- 
vellous little  time  she  did  receive  the 
congratulations  of  those  around  her.  She 
answered  not  to  what  was  said,  save  by 
turning  toward  her  husband,  and  with 
her  beautiful  eyes  swimming  in  their 
own  soft  light,  regarded  him  with  a  look 
of  such  infinite  thankfulness,  that  it  sunk 
direct  to  his  heart,  and  never,  while  he 
had  life,  was  thence  erased. 


62 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  And  now,  Sir  Nicholas  Throckmor- 
ton,"  said  Sir  Walter,  advancing  to  him, 
with  his  arm  fondly  encircling  his  wife, 
"  I  consign  this  precious  charge  into  your 
keeping  for  a  while,  which  I  hope  will 
be  but  brief.  I  am  going,  as  it  may  be 
known  unto  you,  upon  a  voyage,  whereof, 
the  successful  result  will,  f  hope,  win  me 
the  queen's  pardon  for  this  proceeding  ; 
and  I  know  not  where,  with  such  excel- 
lent propriety  and  advantage,  I  could 
place  in  safety,  during  rny  absence,  what 
I  account  so  great  a  treasure,  as  with  one 
from  whom  its  value  did  proceed.  I  pray 
you  look  to  her  tenderly." 

"  That  will  I,  Sir  Walter,  depend  on't," 
replied  the  old  knight,  briskly.  "Amur- 
rain  on  thee ;  what  dost  look  so  pale 
for  ?"  added  he  to  his  daughter  ; — "  when 
I  married  thy  mother,  her  cheek  out- 
blushed  the  rose : — but  there  will  come 
color  enough  by-and-by,  or  I'm  hugely 
mistaken  ;"  and  then  he  gave  a  very  merry 
chuckle,  and  did  touch  her  playfully  un- 
der the  chin. 

"  It  grieveth  me  that  I  should  seem  to 
play  the  niggard,  Sir  Nicholas,"  said  Sir 
Walter ;  "  but  it  must  be  known  to  you 
why  it  is  so  ;  and  therefore  do  I  trust  you 
will  excuse  it." 

"  Odds  my  life,  man,  speak  not  of  it," 
answered  Sir  Nicholas  ;  "  but  if  thou 
canst,  come  to  us  this  eve  at  Aldgate, 
and  we  will  have  a  merry  night  on't." 

"I  will  strive  to  bring  it  about,"  re- 
plied Sir  Walter. 

"  Art  admiring  my  apparel,  fair  Alice  ?" 
asked  my  Lord  Cobham,  with  a  great 
show  of  gallantry,  as  he  advanced  toward 
the  place  where  she,  with  her  roguish 
eyes,  seemed  intently  scrutinizing  his 
dress. 

"  Indeed  it  hath  to  me  a  right  hand- 
some look,"  replied  she,  very  innocently ; 
"but  methinks  it  be  a  thousand  pities  it 
should  have  so  sorry  a  lining." 

"  'Tis  a  mad  wench,  'tis  a  mad  wench  !" 
exclaimed  the  old  knight,  with  a  loud 
laugh,  while  my  Lord  Cobham  appeared 
as  if  he  knew  not  whether  to  be  offended 
or  amused;  "she  hath  a  lively  wit,  it 
can  not  be  denied ;  and  they  do  say  she 
taketh  after  me." 

"  The  truth  of  which  I  here  do  affirm," 
said  the  merry  girl;  "for  having  many  a 
day  helped  yourself  before  me,  it  stand- 
eth  to  reason,  uncle,  that  I  must  take 
after  you." 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  shouted  her  kinsman,  who 
seemed  as  fond  of  a  jest  as  herself,  "that 
be  a  truth  beyond  all  contradiction.  Now, 
Sir  Walter,  you  take  the  lead,  else  I 


know  not  how  I  shall  find  my  way  back 
to  the  barge."  Raleigh  was  whispering 
a  few  encouraging  words  to  his  beautiful 
wife,  previous  to  his  departure,  when  he 
was  startled  by  a  knocking  at  the  chapel 
door. 

"Now,  Stephen,  what  news?"  asked 
he,  going  to  the  door,  yet  without  open- 
ing it. 

"Please  you,  Sir  Walter,"  replied  the 
voice  of  an  old  man,  "  there  is  my  Lord 
Burghley  at  the  gate,  who  says  he  must 
have  immediate  speech  with  you  on  the 
queen's  business." 

"Get  him  into  the  library,  good  Ste- 
phen," said  Raleigh,  "and  say  that  I  am 
dressing,  and  will  be  with  him  in  the  in- 
stant." 

"  That  will  I,  without  fail,"  responded 
the  other,  and  immediately  he  was  heard 
hastening  away. 

"  Now,  Bess,  my  life,"  exclaimed  Sir 
Walter,  catching  hold  of  her  arm,  "  I 
must  be  so  ungallant  as  to  hurry  thee 
from  the  house ;  for  if  the  lord  treasurer 
were  to  get  but  a  hint  of  thy  being  here, 
it  must  needs  come1  to  the  queen's  ears, 
and  then  it  would  go  hard  for  us  both." 
So  saying,  he  hastened  with  her — not 
without  saying  many  endearing  words  by 
the  way,  which  doubtless  were  mightily 
refreshing  to  her  affectionate  nature — to 
the  little  door  that  opened  unto  the  river; 
at  the  which  he  parted  with  her,  and  her 
father,  and  Alice;  who  straightway  pro- 
ceeded into  their  barge,  and  continued 
their  journey,  while  he  hurried  back ; 
and  after  going  through  other  passages, 
and  up  a  flight  of  steps,  joined  his  visiter 
in  the  library. 

The  Lord  Burghley  was  at  the  time  a 
man  getting  to  be  aged,  and  of  some  in- 
firmities also.  His  beard  was  very  sil- 
very, and  broad  at  the  bottom ;  and  his 
face  much  wrinkled,  pale,  and  of  an  ex- 
ceeding grave  appect ;  his  head,  which 
seemed  to  be  scant  of  hair,  was  covered 
with  a  close  cap  of  black  velvet  (whereof 
the  points  came  down  over  his  ears),  on 
the  top  of  which  was  a  rounded  hat,  with 
a  fair  jewel  set  in  the  centre.  Below  his 
ruff  his  gown  was  fastened,  having  the 
royal  arms  embroidered  on  the  right  side  ; 
over  which  he  wore  a  goodly  chain  of 
gold,  and  a  broad  sash,  from  the  left 
shoulder  to  the  right  hip  :  and  in  his 
hand  he  carried  a  white  wand.  He  had 
sat  himself  down  in  an  easy-chair,  the 
which  a  tall,  thin,  gray-head'ed  old  ser- 
ving-man, who  stooped  much,  had  piaced 
for  his  use;  and  seemed,  with  marvel- 
lous shrewd  looks,  to  be  scrutinizing  ev- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


63 


eiything  in  the  room ;  and  certes  there 
was  a  multitude  of  things  opposite  in 
their  natures,  the  close  approximation  of 
the  which  would  have  been  a  marvel  to 
many :  for  above  a  vast  heap  of  roman- 
ces of  love,  and  chivalry,  and  the  like, 
was  the  model  of  a  ship  ; — then,  upon  a 
pile  of  grave  philosophers  and  ancient 
historians,  there  peeped  out  a  portion  of 
a  quaint  dress  for  a  masque  ; — here  lay  a 
theorbo,  and  by  it  a  small  piece  of  ord- 
nance ; — there  a  silver  tankard,  wrought 
with  the  story  of  Bacchus  and  Ariadue. 
Ovid's  Art  of  Love  lay  on  a  shelf,  with  a 
jewelled  dagger  in  it  to  mark  the  page  ; 
and  between  the  leaves  of  Plato  his 
works,  in  the  original  Greek,  was  seen 
part  of  the  gold  case  of  a  lady's  minia- 
ture. In  one  corner  were  clivers  pikes 
and  halbords,  with  a  torn  banner  taken 
from  the  enemy ;  in  the  other,  a  mass  of 
ore,  brought  from  the  country  of  Guiana 
by  a  Spaniard,  and  one  or  two  large  shells 
found  on  the  American  shore  ; — in  this,  a 
right  handsome  arbalest,  the  handle  of 
which  was  of  ivory,  very  daintily  carved, 
— with  a  quiver  full  of  arrows ;  and  in 
that  a  lot  of  swords,  pieces,  and  the  like 
sanguinary  weapons,  resting  upon  a  roll 
of  madrigals,  with  a  leaf  exposed,  having 
on  it  part  of  the  words  and  music  of  that 
admirable  composition  of  the  truly  melo- 
dious Master  Dowland,  "Awake,  sweet 
Love."  On  parts  of  the  carved  wainscot, 
were  framed  and  hung  up  certain  views 
of  the  invincible  armada  being  discom- 
fited by  the  English  fleet — charts  of  the 
Spanish  main — drawings  of  the  coast  of 
Virginia — and  a  right  exquisite  portrait 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  looking  wondrous 
handsome  and  majestical,  riding  upon 
horseback,  as  she  appeared  at  Tilbury 
Fort.  There  was  no  lack  of  tables  and 
chairs  in  the  room,  but  most  of  them 
were  covered  with  such  a  host  of  ancient 
books  and  weapons,  with  here  and  there 
a  case  of  toothpicks,  or  a  delicate  poun- 
cet  box  ; — pistols  and  perfumes  lying  side 
by  side,  or  a  French  trinket  resti-ng  upon 
a  Hebrew  psalter,  with  a  vast  quantity 
of  papers,  as  would  be  tedious  to  describe 
minutely. 

"My  master  will  be  with  you  anon, 
an'  it  please  you,  my  lord,"  said  the  old 
serving-man,  very  respectfully. 

"Humph!"  exclaimed  the  lord  treas- 
urer, drawing  in  his  lips  very  tight,  and 
still  regarding  everything  about  him  with 
an  unmoved  countenance. 

"He  is  but  now  a  dressing,  and  bade 
me  say  that  he  would  not  lose  an  instant 
in  the  coming." 


"  Ho !"  ejaculated  my  Lord  Burghley, 
lowering  his  chin  and  throwing  out  his 
lips. 

"  And  for  a  surety,  he  is  always  to  be 
depended  upon  in  his  word,  an'  it  please 
you,  my  lord,"  continued  the  other.  "  For 
though  T  have  served  him  since  he  hath 
been  but  a  boy  as  it  were,  never  knew  I 
him  to  fail  in  the  keeping  of  it." 

"Ha!"  cried  the  old  lord,  nodding  his 
head  with  a  sort  of  complacency. 

"And  when  he  employeth  himself  on 
the  business  of  the  queen — to  whom  be 
all  honor  and  glory  in  this  world  and  the 
next,"  added  Stephen  reverentially,  and 
proud  to  be  allowed  to  have  speech  with 
the  great  Lord  Burghley — "I  have 
known  him  to  be  quite  put  out  should 
there  be  any  let  which  would  delay  him 
but  a  moment." 

"Humph!"  exclaimed  my  lord,  still 
very  gravely. 

"  Therefore,  it  be  certain,  out   of  all 
contradiction,  he  will  be  here  straight; 
an'  it  please  you,  my  lord." 
"Ho  !"  said  the  lord  treasurer. 
">And,    here    he    is,"   concluded    the 
serving-man,  as  he  heard   his  master's 
foots'ep  approaching  the  door. 

"  Ha !"  cried  my  Lord  Burghley. 
Thereupon,  Stephen  respectfully  went 
out  as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  entered.  The 
lord  treasurer  budged  not  an  inch  as  the 
other  approached  him,  nor  spoke  a  word, 
nor  altered  he  his  countenance,  nor  took 
he  off  his  hat. 

"  I  have  first  to  thank  you,  my  good 
lord,  for  the  honor  you  have  done  me — in 
paying  my  poor  house  a  visit,"  said  Sir 
Walter,  drawing  a  chair  close  to  his 
guest,  and  sitting  himself  therein.  "  For, 
truly,  may  it  be  said,  that  where  the 
Lord  Burghley  cometh,  he  bringeth  hon- 
or with  him — for  he  bringeth  the  super- 
latively wisest  statesman  of  his  age, 
which  I  take  to  be  the  honorablest  of  all 
titles  of  honor." 

"  Humph  !"  exclaimed  the  lord  treas- 
urer. 

"And,  next,"  continued  his  host,  "I 
must  make  my  excuses  for  keeping  you 
waiting — but  I  made  not  the  stop  any 
longer  than  I  could  help  for  mine  own 
sake,  believe  me  ;  for  know  I  well,  that 
every  minute  that  keepeth  me  from  such 
excellent  good  society,  depriveth  me  of 
more  true  wisdom  than  a  week's  hard 
study  could  make  up." 

"  Ho  !"  ejaculated  the  other. 
"  The  queen,  out  of  her  own  bountiful 
humor,   hath    given  me  expectation   of 
your  coming,"  added  Sir  Walter,  "  de- 


64 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


siring  me  to  put  you  in  possession  of  cer- 
tain matters  touching  my  expedition  to 
Panama,  in  the  which  I  intend  doing  the 
villanous  Spaniards  great  hurt,  and  com- 
ing back,  fear  not  that  I  shall  fail  in 
despoiling  them  of  the  Plate  fleet — to 
the  exceeding,  enrichment  of  her  majes- 
ty's exchequer." 

"  Ha  !"  cried  Lord  Burghley. 

"  The  matter  stands  thus— the  gentle- 
men adventurers  who  with  me  have  sub- 
scribed the  necessary  moneys  for  this 
golden  undertaking,  with  her  majesty's 
high  sanction,  have  promoted  me  to  be 
their  admiral:  and  I,  desirous  that  its 
good  effects  should  not  fail  for  want  of  a 
sufficiency  of  means,  did  seek  of  her  maj- 
esty, on  profitable  conditions,  such  as- 
sistance in  men,  ships,  and  warlike  stores, 
as  seemed  unto  me  to  be  necessary." 

"  Humph !"  exclaimed  the  lord  treas- 
urer. 

"  And  her  majesty,  with  exceeding  lib- 
erality, as  I  take  it,  hath  condescended 
to  promise  me  six  of  her  ships,  well 
appointed  in  all -respects,  under  the  com- 
mand-of  Sir  John  Burgh,  who  is  to  be  our 
vice-admiral." 

"  Ho  !"  cried  the  old  lord. 

"For  the  which  we  are  willing  to 
allow  her  one  half  of  the  profits  of  the 
expedition,  arising  either  from  the  plun- 
der of  the  town,  or  the  taking  of  ships — 
which,  doubtless,  will  amount  to  a  sum 
far  exceeding  that  which  has  been  gained 
by  any  similar  adventure." 

"  Ha  !"  said  my  Lord  Burghley. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  then,  at  consider- 
able length,  described  the  nature  of  the 
proposed  undertaking,  its  manifest  advan- 
tages,— the  number  of  ships  and  men  to 
be  employed — the  officers  engaged,  and 
all  concerning  the  expedition  to  the  mi- 
nutest particular  ;  to  the  which  the  lord 
treasurer  not  only  listened  with  his  gravity 
undisturbed  ;  but  drawing  in  his  mouth 
tight,  as  if  he  were  afraid  something 
should  drop  out  of  it,  he  replied  only 
with  a  "  Humph  !"  a  "  Ho !"  or  a  "  Ha  !" 
as  the  case  might  be.  It  be  out  of  all 
manner  of  doubt  that  my  Lord  Burghley 
could  speak  right  eloquently  when  he 
chose  ;  but  he  was  exceeding  chary  of  his 
discourse  when  he  fancied  it  was  not 
necessary  for  him  to  open  his  lips.  Thus 
did  he  preserve  the  wonderful  taciturnity 
with  which  he  was  gifted,  throughout 
the  whole  of  the  time  ;  and  looking  very 
grave  the  whilst,  as  if  he  was  taken  up 
with  some  deep  thinking,  with  a  slight 
inclination  of  his  head,  he  raised  himself 
from  the  chair,  and  leaning  on  his  host 


for  support,  he  walked  to  the  gates, 
where  he  mounted  his  pony  which  a 
serving-man  had  in  waiting  for  him,  and 
immediately  rode  off. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Sir,  you  did  take  me  up,  when  I  was  nothing ; 
And  only  yet  am  something  by  being  yours, 
You  trusted  me  unknown  ;  and  that  which 

were  apt 

To  construe  a  simple  innocence  in  me 
Perhaps,  might  have  been  craft ;  the  cunning  of 

a  boy 

Hardened  in  lives  and  theft :  yet  ventured  you 
To  part  rny  miseries  and  me. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

To  such  a  place  our  camp  lemove 

As  will  no  siege  abide  ; 
I  hate  a  fool  who  starves  her  love 

Only  to  feed  her  pride. 

SIB  JOHN  SUCKLING. 

MASTER  FRANCIS  was  so  well  pleased 
with  his  visit  to  the  playhouse,  that 
when  he  returned  to  St.  Mary  Axe,  he 
cared  not  a  fig's  end  for  the  rating  that 
the  old  man  gave  him  for  having  tarried 
so  long  ;  and  after  he  laid  him  down  on 
his  humble  pallet  of  rushes,  he  could  not 
sleep  a  wink  for  thinking  of  the  gallant 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  the  noble  Shaks- 
peare ;  the  brave  sight  he  had  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  all  the  fine  lords  and 
ladies,  knights  and  gentlemen ;  and  the 
droll  things  he  had  seen  among  the 
players  ;  and  then  he  sat  about  building 
of  castles  in  the  air,  whereof  he  pleased 
himself  mightily  ;  for  though  of  a  modest 
disposition, — the  which  accorded  well 
with  the  humbleness  of  his  fortunes 
since  he  had  recollection  ; — yet  the  mys- 
tery of  his  parentage  sometimes  inclining 
him  to  believe  himself  of  notable  de- 
scent, and  at  other  times  filling  him  with 
a  dread  that  he  was  the  deserted  offspring 
of  some  wretched  adventurer,  made  him 
irritable  upon  any  slight,  and  more  proud 
than  seemed  becoming  to  one  of  his 
state.  His  nature  was  very  affectionate 
without  doubt,  yet  was  he  exceeding 
sensitive  of  offence,  and  the  excess  of 
regard  with  which  he  looked  on  those 
who  did  him  a  kindness,  disposed  him 
the  more  readily  to  yield  himself  to  im- 
pressions of  an  opposite  tendency.  I  say 
thus  much  here,  to  put  the  courteous 
reader  on  his  guard  against  expecting 
too  much  of  him ;  for  I  am  not  one  of 
those  that  bring  on  the  picture  such  mon- 
strous perfect  creatures  as  do  some,  the 
like  of  which  hath  eye  never  seen  in  this 
world  ;  for  I  put  not  finer  feathers  on  th* 


65 


bird  than  nature  hath  given  him.  If  he 
hath  faults,  all  the  better, — for  being  of 
tender  years,  then  is  there  the  greater 
chance  that  he  may  mend.  But,  may- 
hap, this  shall  be  seen  in  the  upshot. 

The  cock  had  crowed  more  than  once, 
yet  still  Master  Francis  continued  at  his 
airy   speculations — this  moment  did   he 
discover  his  unknown  parent  to  be  of 
great  estate,  and  publicly  was  acknowl- 
edged to  be  his  only  son  and  heir,  with 
the  great  rejoicing  of  a  fine  assembly — 
then,  all  daintily  attired,  he  was  a  taking 
his  leisure  in  a  fair  pleasance,  with  his  j 
adored  Joanna,  very  lovingly,  having  his 
true  friend,  Harry  Daring,  in  the  back- 
ground, after  he  had  been  doing  of  a  good 
office  even  unto  his  much  misliked  ac- 
quaintance, Ralph  Goshawk — again  he 
was  with    Master  Shakspeare   and   the  ' 
players,  receiving  their  congratulations  ! 
on   the   success  of  a   tragedy  they  had  [ 
brought  out  for  him,  which  had  taken 
hugely  with  the  spectators — and  now  he  J 
was  with  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  in  some 
place  of  office  at  court,  discoursing  very  j 
prettily  on  matters  of  state,  and  bearing 
it  among  the  gallants  as  bravely  as  the  i 
best  of  them.     Thus  passed  he  the  time  ' 
till  he  was  stirred  up  by  the  shrill  voice 
of  his  uncle  from  below  stairs,  abusing 
him  soundly  for  a  lie-a-bed  ;  at  the  which  j 
he  got  up  and  employed  himself  at  the  j 
necessary  drudgery  of  his  miserly  kins- 
man, till  it  was  nigh  unto  the  hour  he 
was  desired    to   go   to  Durham  House, 
when,  seeking  occasion  to  be  sent  of  an 
errand,  in  the  which  he  succeeded  so  far 
as  to  be  required  to  importune  one  who 
lacked  the  will  or  the  means  of  paying — 
a  thing  he  was  oft  obliged  to  do,  yet  never 
had  any  heart  for — he  proceeded  on  his 
way. 

He  had  passed  beyond  the  Temple  Bar 
oefore  the  anxiousness  which  he  was  in 
allowed  him  to  notice  much  what  hap- 
pened as  he  went,  or  the  actable  places 
'n  his  progress  ;  but  as  he  now  thought 
of  the  necessity  of  looking  out  for  the 
place  he  was  in  search  of,  he  soon  found 
himself  passing  Essex  house,  then  Arun- 
del  house — goodly  mansions  both  ;  and 
then  Somerset  house  (a  right  handsome 
pile),  and  the  palace  of  the  Savoy:  and 
keeping  along  the  garden  walls  attached 
to  Worcester  house,  he  got  to  Salisbury 
house — and  a  very  delicate  sight  it  was 
to  notice  these  and  other  fine  buildings  on 
the  banks  of  the  Thames,  with  famous 
gardens  and  grounds  (intersected  by  run- 
ning streams)  that  went  down  to  the  wa- 
ter's edge;  then  keeping  Covent  Garden 
o 


and  the  Strand  Cross  at  his  right,  with 
the  Maypole  in  the  distance,  he  passed 
by  the  Ivy  bridge,  and  presently  stood 
before  a  truly  noble  structure,  which  the 
passengers  and  wayfarers  he  had  ques- 
tioned of  his  way  told  him  was  Durham 
house.  In  truth,  it  must  needs  be  a  nota- 
ble fine  building,  having  been  an  inn  of 
the  bishops  of  Durham,  and  latterly  the 
residence  of  the  once  mighty  John  Dud- 
ley, earl  of  Northumberland. 

On  gaining  admittance  at  the  wicket, 
he  was  sharply  questioned  of  several  tall 
serving-men,  clad  in  gay  liveries,  with 
silver  badges  on  their  left  arms,  who 
seemed  loath  to  let  one  of  his  hum- 
ble appearance  have  speech  with  their 
master. 

"  Ho,  Roger  !  Timothy  !  Gabriel  ! 
Thomas !  what  now,  I  say !"  called  out 
old  Stephen,  as  he  slowly  advanced  tow- 
ard the  group,  scanning  them  with  a 
somewhat  displeased  aspect — "  have  ye 
so  little  respect  for  our  master's  house 
that  ye  loiter  here  gossiping  together, 
while  your  duties  stand- unattended  to? 
In  with  ye,  idlers  !" 

"  Here  be  a  stranger,  Stephen  Short- 
cake, that  seeketh  our  master,"  cried 
Roger. 

"  And  he  will  have  it  Sir  Walter  bade 
him  come,"  exclaimed  Timothy. 

"And  heventureth  to  say  that  he  hath 
business  with  him,"  said  Gabriel. 

''Worse  than  all,  he  will  not  budge 
till  he  hath  had  speech  of  him,"  added 
Thomas. 

"And  who  bade  you  be  an  hinderance 
to  him  ?"  asked  Stephen  sharply,  after 
he  had  sufficiently  scrutinized  the  modest 
demeanor  of  Master  Francis.  "  Have  I 
not  told  ye,  many  a  time  and  oft,  that 
when  a  stranger  presented  himself,  seek- 
ing Sir  Walter,  and  ye  had  doubts  of  his 
errand,  ye  were  to  call  me  ?  Away  with 
ye,  knaves,  and  attend  to  the  wants  of 
our  master's  guests." 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  serving-men  had 
disappeared  into  the  house,  which  they 
did  in  marvellous  quick  time,  the  old 
man  courteously  addressed  Master  Fran- 
cis thus :  "  I  pray  you,  good  youth,  he 
not  vexed  at  the  churlishness  of  those 
varlets:  follow  me,  if  it  please  you,  and 
I  will  take  care  that  you  shall  have  op- 
portunity to  speak  with  Sir  Walter ;  but 
that  can  not  be  at  present,  for  he  hath 
with  him  a  power  of  noble  commanders, 
sea-captains,  men  of  war,  and  the  like, 
talking  upon  pressing  matters.  If  your 
business  be  not  too  urgent,  doubtless  it 
may  tarry  awhile  and  no  loss  happen." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"I  would  willingly  wait  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh's  leisure,"  replied  the  youth. 

"  Then  come  you  with  me  and  wel- 
come," said  Stephen.  "But  let  me  tell 
you,  without  meaning  offence  in  it,  that 
at  the  present  there  be  no  vacancy  for  a 
serving-man." 

"  I  seek  no  such  office,"  answered  the 
youth,  rather  proudly ;  indeed,  so  little 
did  his  ambition  relish  the  idea  of  being 
considered  only  worthy  to  be  a  serving- 
man,  that  he  stopped  of  a  sudden,  and 
seemed  inclined  to  turn  back  and  give 
over  all  hope  of  advancement  from  that 
quarter. 

"  Nay,  take  it  not  ill  of  me,  I  pray  you," 
exclaimed  the  old  man,  who  saw,  by  the 
confusion  in  the  youth's  countenance,  that 
which  he  had  given  utterance  to  had 
created  some  unpleasantness,  "  for  all 
that  you  be  not  so  bountifully  garnished 
as  many  who  come  here  on  such  a  seek- 
ing, I  could  swear,  at  a  glimpse,  you  are 
well  worthy  better  hap.  Come  on,  I 
entreat  of  you  ;  and  though  I  be  but 
Stephen  Shortcake,  yet  having  served 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  a  long  service,  and 
I  trust,  I  may  add  a  faithful,  he  hath  of 
his  excellent  goodness  thought  proper  to 
advance  me  to  his  confidence,  and  to  the 
office  of  butler ;  I  may  without  presump- 
tion say  I  have  some  influence  with  him ; 
and  if  I  could  do  aught  for  you,  believe 
me  I  shall  be  well  inclined  to  say  a  good 
word  in  your  behalf." 

"  I  am  thankful  for  your  kind  offer," 
replied  Master  Francis  ;  and  then,  with 
an  effort  to  conquer  the  disagreeableness 
of  his  feelings,  he  advanced  with  his 
companion  into  the  house.  The  old 
butler  appeared  to  be  vastly  taken  with 
the  youth  ;  but  his  quiet,  pensive  counte- 
nance and  his  tall  and  elegant  figure, 
were  enough  to  have  made  friends  for 
him  wherever  he  went. 

"  Come  you  with  me,  good  sir,"  con- 
tinued Stephen  Shortcake,  "  I  will  see 
that  your  business  be  attended  to  at  the 

first  fitting  time,  and" Here  he 

brake  off  his  speech  at  once,  for  coming 
to  the  door  of  the  house  as  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  and  some  friends  were  leaving 
it,  he  hastened  to  open  the  gates,  and 
Master  Francis  drew  aside  to  let  the 
company  pass. 

"  I  will  see  that  everything  is  got  ready 
with  proper  speed,"  said  a  very  valiant- 
looking  gentleman,  as  he  walked  along. 

"  Thanks,  Sir  John  Burgh,"  replied 
Sir  Walter,  "  I  have  set  my  all  upon  this 
cast,  and  so  many  brave  spirits  have  em- 
barked with  me  in  the  adventure,  with 


large  portions  of  their  substance,  that  I 
am  exceeding  anxious  nothing  should  be 
wanting  to  give  us  the  end  we  look  for." 

"  O'  my  life,  Sir  Waller,  I  long  to  have 
a  hand  in  it,"  said  another,  of  the  like 
gallant  nature. 

"  That  wish  I  of  all  things,  Sir  Martin 
Frobisher,"  answered  Raleigh, "  for  know 
I  of  an  indisputable  truth  'twould  greatly 
be  to  our  advantage  could  we  count  upon 
such  profitable  assistance."  Then  with 
many  courtesies,  which  none  knew  better 
how  to  use,  he  saw  them  leave  the  gates. 

"See  I  not  he  of  whom  mine  esteemed 
friend  Master  Shakspeare  spoke  but 
yesterday  ?"  inquired  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
stopping  before  the  youth  and  regarding 
him  somewhat  kindly,  as  well  as  with 
attention. 

"  If  it  please  you,  I  am,"  replied  Mas- 
ter Francis,  now  looking  and  feeling 
much  abashed. 

"Master  Shakspeare  hath  given  mo 
good  account  of  you,"  continued  Sir 
Walter,  "  and  I  am  well  disposed  in 
consequence  thereof  to  do  you  what  good 
office  lieth  in  my  ability.  I  am  in  want 
of  a  secretary.  Think  you  you  should 
like  to  venture  yourself  in  that  capacity  ?" 

"I  doubt  much  I  am  quite  fit  for  it," 
answered  the  youth  with  a  very  sincere 
modesty. 

"  Of  your  sufficiency,  from  what  hath 
been  said  in  your  behalf,  I  can  have  no 
question,"  said  Raleigh,  much  pleased  at 
the  other's  behavior,  "  therefore  if  it  ac- 
cord with  your  inclination,  be  sure  of 
having  liberal  treatment.  Are  you  con- 
tent?^ 

"  Indeed,  I  am  delighted  to  such  a 
measure" — 

"Enough!"  exclaimed  Sir  Walter, 
good-humored ly  interrupting  him,  as  he 
saw  from  his  manner  there  was  no  doubt 
of  his  satisfaction  ;  then  turning  to  his 
butler,  who  stood  respectfully  at  a  little 
distance,  added,  "Stephen,  see  that  Mas- 
ter Francis  hath  all  things  proper  as  my 
secretary." 

"  I  will  lose  no  time  upon  it,  an't  please 
you,  Sir  Walter,"  replied  the  old  man 
cheerfully. 

"I  will  myself  instruct  you  in  your 
duties,"  added  his  patron,  "but  at  present 
you  must  go  with  Stephen,  who  will  see 
you  want  for  nothing."  Having  said  this 
very  encouragingly,  he  went  into  the 
house  to  join  his  guests. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  sweet  sir,"  ex- 
claimed Stephen  Shortcake,  as  soon  as 
his  master  was  gone.  "  Think  not  ill  of 
me  for  fancying  you  driven  to  such  ex- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


67 


tremt  shifts  as  what  I  spoke  of.  I  did  it 
out  of  no  unkindness  to  yon,  or  slight 
upon  your  merit,  believe  me.  When  you 
know  me  well  enough,  I  doubt  not  you 
shall  give  me  credit  for  better  inten- 
tions," 

"  Indeed,  I  am  in  too  pleasant  a  mood 
to  think  of  it,"  replied  Master  Francis, 
who  was  as  rejoiced  at  this  favorable 
turn  in  his  fortunes  as  may  be  conceived 
of  him.  It  was  just  that  sort  of  employ- 
ment he  had  most  inclination  for,  and 
that  seemed  to  give  his  ambitious  hope 
the  most  ground  to  build  upon. 

"  I  pray  you,  good  sir,  follow  me," 
said  the  old  butler,  "  I  must  about  my 
master's  bidding — so  while  he  is  engaged 
with  the  noble  lords  and  the  men  of  war, 
I  will  see  that  you  have  proper  entertain- 
ment." Then  entering  the  house  (talk- 
ing a  fair  part  of  the  time)  he  led  Master 
Francis  through  divers  spacious  rooms, 
furnished  very  costly,  and  along  sundry 
passages,  wherein  were  many  serving- 
men,  dressed  like  those  before  spoken  of 
(some  of  whom  he  reproved  sharply  for 
not  seeming  sufficiently  attentive  to  their 
duties),  till  he  entered  a  chamber  of  more 
humble  appearance. 

"  I  would  fain  find  you  more  honorable 
lodging,"  observed  Stephen,  "  but  this 
being  my  room,  and  one  in  which  you 
are  not  like  to  meet  intruders,  methought 
'twould  be  best.  I  pray  you  put  up  with 
it  for  the  nonce — feel  as  content  in  it  as 
you  may,  and  when  all  proper  provision 
be  made  for  your  residence  with  us,  then 
shall  you  be  more  becomingly  accom- 
modated." • 

Master  Francis  found  no  dissatisfaction 
in  the  chamber,  which  in  truth  was  well 
stored  with  comforts,  so  that  when 
Stephen  Shortcake  left  him  with  a  cour- 
teous excuse  for  his  absence,  he  flung 
himself  in  a  convenient  chair,  and  did 
make  comparisons  with  it  and  the  room 
he  had  at  his  uncle's,  in  the  which  the 
former  gained  prodigiously,  as  may  be 
supposed.  He  then  gave  himself  up  to 
his  own  reflections,  which  were  gratify- 
ing to  him  in  a  very  prodigal  measure. 
He  felt  like  a  prisoner  that  hath  cast  off 
his  gyves,  and  is  a  free  man,  after  a  long 
and  terrible  imprisonment;  for  he  had 
got  away  from  his  miserly  old  kinsman, 
who  had  led  him  a  pretty  life  of  it — so 
far  as  his  remembrance  might  go.  Then 
his  thoughts  reverted  to  his  adored 
Joanna,  and  he  for  some  time  found  very 
exquisite  satisfaction  in  imagining  how 
pleased  she  would  be  to  know  of  his 
success.  Here  I  must  leave  him  for 


awhile — for  what  may  be  thought  more 
attractive  matter. 

It  was  about  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day  that  a  gallant,  well  dressed,  without 
affectation,  of  a  free  carriage  and  noble 
aspect — somewhat  careless  in  his  de- 
meanor, yet  evidently  meaning  no  sort  of 
offence — in  fact,  no  other  than  Master 
Shakspeare  himself — was  seen  walking 
up  and  down  upon  London  bridge,  now 
looking  in  at  the  shops,  and  sauntering 
about  the  houses  there,  with  very  much 
the  look  of  one  who  is  in  waiting  for  an- 
other. He  amused  himself  for  some  time 
with  regarding  the  passengers,  whether 
of  foot  or  on  horse,  and  speculating  from 
their  looks  of  what  disposition  they  might 
be ;  but  he  seemed  to  tire  of  this  at  last — 
as  who  will  not  tire  who  is  kept  an  un- 
conscionable time  waiting  for  one  who 
delays  coming?  and  after  looking  wist- 
fully several  times  toward  the  city  side 
of  the  bridge,  as  it  seemed  without  avail, 
he  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  place 
with  what  philosophy  he  might,  when  all 
at  once  his  look  brightened  up  wonder- 
fulfy,  and  with  the  pleasantest  air  possi- 
ble, he  made  for  a  very  pretty  woman, 
well  and  daintily  attired,  who  was  ap- 
proaching him.  "  Thanks,  my  sweet,  for 
this  coming  !"  exclaimed  he  gallantly,  as 
he  took  his  place  by  her  side,  and  they 
walked  together.  "  But  in  honest  truth, 
I  had  like  to  have  been  out  of  patience." 

"  If  you  loved  me  but  half  as  well  as 
you  have  sworn  you  have,"  replied  she,  in 
an  admirable  soft  voice,  "you  would  have 
had  patience  enough  to  have  tarried  here 
till  doomsday — and  longer  than  that.  But 
I  was  detained,  gentle  sir,  or  I  would  have 
been  truer  to  mine  appointment." 

"I  doubt  it  not,"  said  Master  Shak- 
speare ;  "and  the  delight  I  now  enjoy  in 
gazing  on  your  perfections  doth  counter- 
balance whatever  disquietude  I  found  in 
your  delay.  Truly  never  hath  true  lover 
suffered  as  have  I  since  that  most  endear- 
ing hour  I  chanced  to  meet  you  seeing 
the  archery  in  Finsbury  Fields.  Me- 
thought the  queen's  company  of  liege 
bowmen  showed  marvellous  skill — but  it 
hath  since  been  made  known  to  me,  that 
there  was  one  nearer  than  they,  whose 
archery  beat  them  hollow." 

"  An  excellent  fine  conceit,  by  my 
troth,"  exclaimed  his  "fair  companion, 
laughingly,  "  and  cometh  with  marvel- 
lous good  grace  from  one  who  out  of  all 
contradiction  draweth  'the longbow' very 
prettily." 

"  O'  my  life  I  swear  to  you" — 

"  Nay,  swear  not,  good  sir/"  ™ 


cried  the 


68 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


other,  interrupting  him;  "for  that  be 
somewhat  more  than  is  required  of  you. 
Would  you  not  take  oath  upon.it  that 
mine  eyes  outflash  the  diamond;— my  lips 
be  ruddier  than  the  cherry— and  that  my 
cheek  putteth  to  shame  the  blushing  of 
the  rose  ?" 

"  Doubtless  would  I,"  replied  he,  look- 
ing upon  her  features, — which  in  truth 
were  exceeding  comely. 

"And  think  you  I  can  find  interest  in 
that  I  have  heard  so  oft?"  inquired  she. 
"  Other  gallants  have  I  met  with,  who 
were  of  such  bountiful  disposition  that 
they  would  put  all  nature  into  disgrace 
for  allowing  me  to  leave  her  excellences 
so  far  behind.  "Was  not  that  liberal  of 
them?  But  methinks  it  would  have 
sounded  better  from  their  lips  had  their 
object  been  as  generous  as  their  words. 
They  would  have  had  me  believe  myself 
a  deity  forsooth  ;  but  had  I  granted  their 
prayers,  what  a  poor  idol  of  clay  I  should 
quickly  have  been  thought." 

Master  Shakspeare  said  nothing ;  but 
he  marvelled  greatly  at  the  tone  and 
manner  of  the  speaker,  the  which,  differ- 
ing from  his  experience,  made  him  the 
more  inclined  to  a  nearer  intimacy. 
"  Count  me  not  as  one  of  those,  I  pray 
you,"  he  exclaimed  at  last,  "  I  look  up- 
on you  as  a  truly  admirable  woman — one 
withal  no  woman's  son  could  look  on 
without  admiring,  and  could  not  admire 
without  loving  desperately.  Then  as  for  ! 
comparisons  between  your  excellences 
and  those  of  nature,  I  do  assert,  and  hope 
to  live  and  die  in  that  opinion,  that  of  all 
fair  things  that  give  beauty  to  this  flow- 
ery earth,  the  loveliness  of  woman  ex- 
ceedeth  them  infinitely.  Place  side  by 
side  with  those  thrilling  orbs  the  brightest 
stone  that  ever  glistened  in  the  sunbeam, 
and  while  the  spectator  admireth  the  lat- 
ter only  for  its  brilliance,  he  must  find 
quickly  he  can  not  gaze  upon  the  warmer 
and  more  glorious  radiance  of  your  eyes, 
without  feeling  the  flood  of  life  rushing 
through  his  veins  like  a  mighty  river 
breaking  from  its  banks.  The  one  hath 
no  expression — the  other  hath  a  thou- 
sand. And  let  him  who  preferreth  fruits 
and  flowers,  note  the  honey-sweet  smile 
that  playeth  round  those  tempting  lips, 
or  press  the  eloquent  softness  of  those 
blushing  cheeks;  and  I  will  wager  my 
life  on  it,  he  will  presently  leave  the 
poor  unloving  things  he  hath  so  much 
admired,  for  the  rich  beauty  of  such  deli- 
cate flesh  and  blood  as  it  is  now  my  hap- 
piness to  behold." 

"I'faith  these  are  brave  words,"  re- 


plied his  fair  companion ;  "  but  I  doubt 
not  you  would  say  as  much  to  any  other 
that  taketh  your  fancy  for  the  while." 

"  You  much  abuse  me  by  that  opin- 
ion," said  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Yet  will  I  acknowledge  to  you,"  ad- 
ded she,  "  that  you  have  in  some  way 
pleased  me.  Your  language  and  bearing 
differ  from  all  I  have  had  acquaintance 
with  save  one ;  and  I  live  in  hopes  that 
you  are  of  a  better  sort.  'Tis  strange  that 
you  have  never  told  me  your  name." 

"Not  more  so  can  it  be  than  that  you 
have  refrained  from  telling  me  yours," 
observed  he. 

"  Mine  is  Joanna,"  added  the  other. 

"Joanna!"  exclaimed  Master  Shak- 
speare, as  if  he  had  heard  the  name  be- 
fore, for  in  truth  he  had,  but  had  forgot 
the  occasion  of  it ;  "  and  what  else  ?" 

"  No  matter — that  is  enough  to  call  me 
by,"  replied  she.  "  And  now,  if  it  please 
you,  yours  ?" 

"Mine  is  William." 

"William  what?"  inquired  Joanna. 

"  No  matter — that  is  enough  to  call  me 
by,"  replied  Master  Shakspeare  with  a 
smile. 

"  You  will  not  say  ?"  she  asked,  as  if 
she  was  curious  to  know.  "  Then  must  I 
take  my  leave  of  you,  for  I  am  in  haste 
to  return  home." 

"  Let  me  at  least  see  you  to  the  street 
in  which  you  dwell,"  said  he,  as  he  was 
standing  with  her  at  the  end  of  the  bridge. 
"  I  should  hold  myself  but  a  sorry  gallant 
to  leave  so  fair  a  creature  to  find  her  way 
home  unattended." 

"  Oh,  if  your  name  is  such  that  it  may 
not  be  told,  the  sooner  we  part  company 
the  better  for  me,"  observed  Joanna,  smi- 
ling in  her  turn. 

"  Nay,  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,  believe 
me,"  answered  the  other.  "  In  truth,  I 
may  say,  it  is  a  name  in  some  repute. 
But  it  may  just  as  well  be  told  walking 
as  standing."  And  at  that  she  hesitated 
not  to  proceed  onward.  "  Doth  it  not 
strike  you,"  he  continued,  "that  what  is 
fair  in  one  case  is  honest  in  another  ;  for 
as  you  have  given  me  but  your  Christian 
name,  have  I  given  you  but  mine :  and 
yet  are  you  not  content." 

"  Were  you  as  well  disposed  toward 
me  as  you  have  asserted,  observed  his 
fair  companion,  who,  as  is  usual,  grew 
more  inquisitive  the  longer  her  curiosity 
remained  ungratified,  "  you  would  have 
made  no  question  about  the  matter, 
faith  it  says  but  little  for  your  regard. 
Methinks  you  must  either  have  an  il) 
name,  or  hold  me  of  so  little  account,  tha' 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


69 


you  think  me  undeserving  of  knowing 
you." 

"  Neither,  o'  my  life !"  exclaimed  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare.  "  Never  met  I  a  pretty 
woman  I  so  much  desired  to  be  well 
known  unto — and  as  for  my  name,  I  do 
assure  you  it  standeth  well  in  the  public 
estimation." 

"  By  my  troth,  'tis  hard  to  credit."  re- 
plied Joanna,  though  the  more  intent 
from  what  he  said,  of  getting  the  knowl- 
edge she  required.  Just  at  that  moment 
the  Lord  Southampton,  the  Lord  Pem- 
broke, and  other  noble  gallants,  to  whom 
he  was  well  known,  came  riding  by  very 
finely  apparelled,  and  pulled  off  their  hats 
to  him.  "  Know  you  those  princely-look- 
ing gentlemen  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  It  is  mine  excellent  good  friend  the 
Lord  Southampton  and  certain  of  his  ac- 
quaintance," replied  he :  at  which  she 
became  all  the  more  curious,  and  as  they 
arrived  at  the  corner  of  Eastcheap,  she 
said,  "Here  is  the  street  in  which  I  live, 
where  I  must  leave  you :  but  your  name 
hath  not  yet  been  told  to  me." 

"  Nay,  let  me  behold  the  dwelling  in 
which  lives  so  inestimable  a  creature," 
asked  the  other  very  pressingly.  "And 
as  for  my  name — it  may  be  told  in  one 
street  as  well  as  in  another,"  and  they 
continued  to  walk  together. 

"What  a  place  for  traffic  is  this  !"  ex- 
claimed Master  Shakspeare,  "and  how 
busy  do  the  citizens  seem  in  the  different 
shops  and  warehouses  !  Methinks  I  can 
hear  the  chink  of  the  money  ;  or  at  least 
the  ready  laugh  of  the  chapman  at  his 
customer's  jest.  These  be  they,  fair  Jo- 
anna! who  are  UD  early  and  late,  labor- 
ing to  the  utmost'every  day  of  their  lives 
that  others  may  have  the  advantage  of 
it  —  whose  greatest  pleasure  consisteih 
in  the  counting  their  gains,  and  great- 
est consolation  is  the  knowing  that  they 
are  worth  something  more  than  their 
neighbors.  These  be  they  who  are  ac- 
quainted with  no  virtue  unless  it  be  in 
the  possession  of  wealth  ;  and  believe 
there  can  not  be  any  vice  so  abominable 
as  poverty.  In  their  idea,  aldermen  are 
on  a  footing  with  angels  ;  and  to  be  in  the 
city  compter  is  to  be  damned  to  all  eter- 
nity. They  will  wink  at  one  who  de- 
frauds the  orphan  and  robs  the  widow  of 
her  right,  if  he  hath  done  it  to  some  tune  ; 
but  at  the  necessitous  wretch,  who  is 
driven  to  do  any  small  villany,  they  shout, 
'Oh,  the  horrid  rogue."  and"  would  have 
him  hanged  forthwith.  A  man  who  hath 
his  thousands  might  turn  his  wife  and 
children  iatc  the  street,  and  live  as  sen- 


sually as  he  pleased,  ana  they  would 
never  wag  a  tongue  at  him  ;  but  if  an- 
other, who  liveth  honestly  with  what  lit- 
tle he  gains,  be  but  suspected  of  kissing 
a  pretty  wench  on  the  sly,  they  would 
raise  such  a  hubbub  about  his  ears,  and 
seem  so  shocked  at  his  iniquity,  that  the 
poor  fellow  should  be  right  glad  to  escape 
out  of  the  city  with  a  whole  skin.  These 
be  they — but  why  stop  you  here  ?"  he  in- 
quired suddenly,  finding  that  his  com- 
panion proceeded  no  further. 

"  This  is  the  house  in  which  I  live," 
replied  she,  who  had  not  been  inattentive 
to  what  had  passed.  "  But  shame  upon 
you  for  keeping  me  unanswered  !  you 
have  not  told  me  your  name  yet." 

"  0'  my  life  I  am  exceeding  tired,  fair 
Joanna,"  said  Master  Shakspeare.  "It 
would  be  but  a  charity  to  ask  me  in — and 
as  for  my  name — why  it  may  as  well  be 
told  sitting  as  walking." 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that 
|  Master  Shakspeare  was  ushered  up  stairs 
into  the  best  room  ;  in  the  which  he 
quickly  made  himself  at  home,  as  may 
be  believed.  Indeed,  Joanna  found  his 
conversation  so  agreeable,  that  for  a  time 
I  she  quite  forgot  to  ask  his  name  of  him  ; 
but  in  truth  he  gave  her  not  the  opportu- 
nity, for  as  soon  as  one  subject  seemed 
about  to  be  exhausted,  he  launched  out 
with  another ;  and  displayed  such  abun- 
dance of  wit,  genius,  and  knowledge  of 
the  world,  that  she  appeared  quite  in  a 
maze  with  wonder  and  admiration. 

"  Since  you  talk  so  well  upon  poetry," 
said  she,  when  she  found  opportunity  for 
speech,  "  I  have  some  lines  here  of  which 
!  I  should  like  mightily  to  have  your  judg- 
ment." Then  from  a  drawer  she  took  a 
i  paper,  which  she  brought  toward  him; 
and  added,  "  they  were  writ  by  a  worthy 
gentleman,  who  doth  fancy,  much  after 
your  own  fashion,  that  he  is  in  love  with 
me,  and  pays  me  such  fine  compliments, 
as  you  will  therein  peruse.  Perhaps  you 
!  also  write  verses?" 

"  A  little,"  replied  Master  Shakspeare 
with  a  smile :  and,  believing  that  he  had 
a  rival  in  theffiehl,  he  opened  the  paper. 
His  astonishment  may  in  some  degree  be 
conceived  when  it  is  known  that  he  be- 
gan to  read  the  very  poem  he  had  given 
to  Master  Burbage.  He  saw  in  an  in- 
stant how  the  affair  stood,  and  was  in  no 
small  degree  amused  thereat. 

"What  think  you  of  them?"  inquired 
Joanna. 

"  0'  my  life,  1  think  of  them  very  in- 
differently," answered  he. 

"  Indeed !"  she  exclaimed  with  some 


70 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS*. 


surprise,  "I  marvel  at  that — for  they 
seem  to  me  admirably  ingenious.  By  my 
troth,  between  ourselves,  I  have  my 
doubts  that  they  were  writ'  by  him  who 
brought  them  me  ;  for  he  seemeth  such 
a  mad,  hare-brained,  wild,  wilful  gal- 
lant. I  have  given  him  but  monstrous 
little  encouragement,  yet  doth  he  go  on 
at  such  a  rate,  on«  would  think  he  was 
in  so  poor  a  case  for  the  love  of  me,  that 
he  would  be  a  knocking  at  death's  dopr 
unless  I  smiled  upon  him." 

"  Oh,  the  exaggerating  varlet !"  cried 
the  other,  laughing  exceedingly  as  he 
compared  in  his  own  mind  Master  Bur- 
bage's  statement  with  what  he  had  just 
heard. 

"  And  when  I  told  him  I  doubted  his 
authorship,"  continued  his  fair  compan- 
ion, "he  swore  by  Apollo  and  all  the 
Nine  that  he  wrote  every  line  on't;  and 
that  it  was  the  worst  stuff  he  ever  did." 

"  He  said  that,  did  he  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Ay,  that  he  did,"  added  Joanna  ; "  and 
moreover,  vowed  to  me  most  solemnly 
that  he  was  considered  such  an  exquisite 
fine  hand  at  the  making  of  verses,  that 
his  friend  Will  Shakspeare,  among  many 
others,  was  oft  obliged  to  borrow  a  line 
of  him  when  he  came  to  a  halt  in  his 
measure." 

"  Oh  !  Dick,  Dick,  Dick,"  cried  he,  in 
a  more  subdued  voice. 

"And  when  I  asked  of  him  bis  opin- 
ion of  Master  Shakspeare  and  his 
plays,"  continued  the  other,  "  he  answer- 
ed slightingly, — 'Why,  a — to  be  sure, 
he  was  very  well ;  but  no  one  knows  how 
much  he  hath  been  beholden  to  me  for 
all  his  best  verses.'  " 

"If  he  deserved  not  cudgeling  for  this, 
then  am  I  no  judge  of  merit,"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspeare ;  "  but  of  course  you 
know  him,  fair  Joanna  ?" 

"  He  hath  told  me  that  he  was  one  of 
the  queen's  players;"  replied  she  ;  "  but 
else  I  know  of  him  as  little  as  I  do  of  you. 
Tell  me,  I  pray  you,  of  what  name  you  are, 
for  in  truth  I  am  near  tired  of  asking." 

"  Hush  !''  cried  he,  "  there  cometh  some 
one  to  the  door ;"  for  a  knocking  was 
heard  at  that  momeitt. 

"  'Tis  he,"  replied  the  mercer's  daugh- 
ter, "  and  till  now  I  had  forgot  he  prom- 
ised to  pay  me  a  visit." 

"  Hist !  hist !  Joanna,"  cried  a  voice 
from  the  other  side  of  the  door,  "'tis  I, 
Richard  the  Third." 

"  'Tis  Dick  sure  enough,"  thought  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare:  then  whispering  to  his 
fair  companion, — "  Leave  him  to  me,  I 


pray  you,"  he    advanced  softly  to   the 
door. 

"Hist!  hist!  adorable  Joanna,"  ex- 
claimed Master  Burbage,  through  the 
keyhole,  "  'tis  I,  Richard  the  Third." 

"  Go,  get  thee  hence,  thou  crook-back- 
ed tyrant,*1  replied  Master  Shakspeare 
aloud  ;  "  knowest  thou  not  that  William 
the  Conqueror  reigned  before  Richard 
the  Third." 

"What,  Will !"  cried  the  other  in  the 
utmost  astonishment ;  "  what  ill  wind 
brought  thee,  here  ?  Oh  !  thou  abhorred 
traitor,  thou  hast  betrayed  me." 

"Nay,  thou  errest  in  that,  Master 
Dick,"  responded  his  old  associate,  "  for 
knew  I  not  till  this  moment  that  the  truly 
adorable  Joanna  was  known  to  thee. 
But  if  I  had  taken  advantage  of  thy  con- 
fidence, it  would  have  been  but  proper 
return  for  the  most  atrocious  things  thou 
hast  said  of  me  to  this  exquisite  creature. 
So  get  thee  gone,  and  quickly ;  for  in 
truth  thou  hast  interrupted  the  infinite 
gratification  I  have  bftn  receiving." 

"  Oh  !  most  sweet  Joanna,"  cried  Mas- 
ter Burbage,  in  a  marvellous  moving 
voice, — "  my  heart's  treasure  ! — my  soul's 
idol ! — my  angel  upon  earth  ! — my  every- 
thing ! — I  do  implore  you,  through  the 
keyhole  (because  the  door  is  fast,  and  I 
can  not  get  in),  by  that  fathomless  ocean 
of  love  I  bear  for  your  inconceivable  ex- 
cellences, get  rid  of  that  villain  straight, 
for  it  be  utter  destruction  to  be  seen  iu 
his  pestilent  company." 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  asked  she,  laughingly  ; 
although  she  began  to  have  some  sus- 
picion of  who  he  was. 

"  The  very  notoriousest .  villain  that 
walks,  adorable  Joanna,"  replied  he,  out- 
side ;  "he  hath  done  such  mischief 
among  women  as  you  would  find  it  hor- 
rible to  think  on.  Item,  five-and-twenty 
maids  utterly  undone — fifty  widows  sent 
stark  mad — and  a  hundred  and  odd  wives 
made  miserable  for  life.  I  do  assure  you, 
sweet  Joanna,  that  through  him  there 
hath  lately  been  such  abundance  of 
crowner's  quests,  that  the  like  hath  not 
been  known  since  the  memory  of  man. 
Indeed,  it  be  beyond  dispute,  that  half  a 
dozen  stout  fellows  are  kept  in  constant 
employ  fishing  distracted  damsels  out  of 
the  conduit,  such  a  traitor  is  he  to  your 
dear  sex.  And  as  for  hanging,  the  citi- 
zens scarce  dare  leave  a  nail  sticking  in 
their  wainscots,  so  many  of  their  wives 
and  daughters  have  of  late  been  found 
suspended  to  them,  with  these  melan- 
choly words  pinned  upon  their  kittles, — 
'Oh  !  cruel — cruel  Shakspeare.'  " 


SHAKSPEARE  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


71 


"  Are  you  such  a  wretch  as  this,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  ?"  inquired  Joanna,  as 
seriously  as  she  could. 

"  No,  on  ray  life,"  replied  he,"  laughing 
very  heartily. 

"  Believe  him  not,  dear  Joanna,"  ex- 
claimed Master  Burbage,  "  he  hath  a 
tongue  that  would  undo  the  Gordian 
knot;  therefore  your  undoing  would  be 
but  an  easy  matter  with  such  a  thorough 
villain.  Oh !  incomparably  sweet  Jo- 
anna !  here  on  my  bended  knees,  outside 
the  door  (for  lack  of  being  in),  I  conjure 
you  injure  not  your  delicate  reputation 
by  talking  to  such  a  fellow.  Listen  not 
to  what  he  hath  to  say,  for  truth  and  he 
are  in  no  sort  of  acquaintance :  he  will 
swear  you  black's  white,  such  a  horrid 
reprobate  is  he  ;  and  then,  on  the  instant, 
turn  round  and  take  oath  it  be  crimson. 
I  have  preached  to  him  by  the  hour,  in 
hopes  of  getting  him  to  repent  of  his 
villanies ;  but,  I  say  it  with  tears  in  my 
eyes,  adorable  Joanna,  he  is  incorrigi- 
ble ;  and  as  clean  past  all  good  counsel 
as  a  chicken  with  the  pip." 

"Prythee  go  on,  Dick,"  cried  Master 
Shakspeare,  very  merrily — his  fair  com- 
panion evidently  being  in  much  the  same 
mood  ;  "  I  admire  thy  invention  hugely." 
"  Out,  traitor  !"  exclaimed  the  other. 
"  If  I  had    not   heard    this,   I   should 
have  doubted  thou  wert  clever  enough  to 
say  the  witty  things  thou  hast." 
"  Away,  villain !" 
"  But  since   I   have   known    thou  art 
such  an  exquisite  fine  hand  at  making 
verses,"  continued    Master  Shakspeare, 
<l  that  1,  of  many  others,  am  oft  obliged 
to  borrow  a  line  of  thee  when  I   happen 
to  come  to  a  halt  in  my  measure  ;  and 
remember  how  much  I  am  beholden  to 
thee  for  all  my  best  scenes,  I  marvel  not 
at  all  at  thy  present  cleverness,  and  do 
promise  to  have  a  better  opinion  of  thee 
than  I  have  done." 

"  A  fico  for  thy  opinion,"  replied  Mas- 
ter Burbage  ;  "  all  stratagems  are  fair  in 
love  and  war ;  and  when  I  gave  her  thy 
verses"— 

"What,  wrote  you  not   the  poem?' 
quickly    inquired    Joanna,    interruptin 
him  ;    "  did    you   not   swear   to  me   by 
Apollo  and  all  the  Nine,  that  you  wroie 
every  line  on't,  and  that  it  was  the  wors 
stuff  you  ever  did  ?" 

"  What  a  goose  art  thou  for  not  keep 
ing  thine  own  counsel,"  said  his  friend 
"  for   though    thou    hast  used    me  ver 
scurvily,  I  would  not  have  betrayed  thee 
for  it." 

"  Let  me  in,  I  pray  you,  most  exquisit 


Joanna,"  exclaimed  he  through  the  key- 
lole,  "  and  I  will  say  such  things  to  you 
hat  you  shall  be  satisfied  of  my  beha- 
vior." 

"  Nay,  if  you  can  put  on  me  Master 
Shakspeare's  lines  as  your   own,"  said 
*oanna,   "  I    doubt    hugely  you  can    be 
more  sincere  in  other  matters." 
"  Pardon  me  this  one  small  fault,"  re- 
lied  he,  very  movingly,  "  which  I  have 
>een   led    into   from   exceeding  love  of 
rour     ravishing    perfections,    and     send 
iway  that  fellow,  who,  by  this  hand,  is 
he  errantest  deceiver  that  lives  ;  and  let 
me   see   you    more  commodiously    than 
hrough  the  chinks  of  the  door,  which  in 
ruth  afford  me  but  a  mere  glimpse  of 
rour  infinite  beauties ;    and   if  I   do  not 
ove  you  for  it,  in  such  a  sort  as  will 
make  amends  for  my  transgression,  then 
janish  me  for  ever." 

"  Dost  take  me  for  thy  friend,  Dick  ?" 
inquired  Master  Shakspeare,  leaning 
against  the  door. 

"  Open  the  door,  and  get  thee  gone, 
and  then  thou  shah  be  held  a  friend  in- 
deed," replied  Master  Burbage. 

"  Well — my  bowels  yearn  toward 
thee  exceedingly,"  continued  the  other. 

'•'  Ah  !  do  they  so  ?  Thou  wert  ever  a 
true  friend,"  said  he  on  the  outside :  "  do 
open  the  door — there's  a  sweet  Will." 

"  But  am  I  the  very  no  tori  ousest  villain 
that  walks,  Dick?" 

"By  this  light  thou  art  a  very  angel ! 
Excellent  Will,  open  the  door." 

"  And  have  I  really  undone  so  many 
women  as  thou  hast  said  ?" 

"  Nay,  on  my  life,  thou  hast  so  good  a 
heart,  thou  wouldst  not  undo  a  mouse. 
Open  the  door,  sweet  Will,  I  prythee." 
"  Well,  Dick"— 
"  What  sayest,  old  friend  ?" 
"  For  thy  consolation  in  this  extrem- 
ity"— 
«  Ah !" 

"  Dost  listen,  Dick  ?" 
"  With  all  my  ears,  excellent  Will." 
"  I   do  assure  thee — she  is — a  most — 
delicious  creature." 

"  Out  on  thee,  thou  aggravating — tan- 
talizing— abominable  caitiff!"  cried  Mas- 
ter Burbage,  impatiently ;  for  Master 
Shakspeare  had  said  the  preceding  sen- 
tence so  slowly,  and  with  so  much  em- 
phasis on  the  last  words  ;  and  the  sentence 
was  so  different  from  what  he  had  ex- 
pected, that  he  seemed  terribly  put  out 
at  it.  "I  do  forswear  thy  acquaintance 
from  this.  Nay,  I  will  not  remain 
another  moment  in  thy  villanous  neigh- 
borhood ;"  and  whilst  Master  Shakspeare 


72 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


and  the  beautiful  Joanna  were  laughing 
heartily,  Master  Burbage  made  air  haste 
to  get  out  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  X. 

I  am  as  I  am,  and  so  will  I  be  ; 
But  how  that  I  am  none  knoweth  truly : 
Be  it  ill,  be  it  well,  be  I  bond,  be  I  free, 
I  am  as  1  am,  and  so  will  I  be. 

SIR  THOMAS  WYATT. 

Fraud  showed  in  comely  clothes  a  lovely  look, 

An  humble  cast  of  eye,  a  sober  pace  ; 

And  so  sweet  speech,  a  man  might  her  have  took 

For  him  that  said,  "  Hail.  Mary,  full  of  grace  !" 

But  all  the  rest  deformedly  did  look  ; 

As  full  of  filthiness  and  foul  disgrace  ; 

Hid  under  long,  large  garments  that  she  wore, 

Under  the  which  a  poisoned  knife  she  bore. 

SIR  JOHN  HARRINGTON. 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH  did  find  ex- 
ceeding difficulty  in  the  setting  out  upon 
his  expedition,  for  Queen  Elizabeth,  in 
no  way  prodigal  of  her  means  where 
there  might  be  doubt  of  advantage  to 
her,  readily  enough  listened  to  the  mis- 
givings of  Lord  Burghley,  who  was 
famous  for  keeping  a  tight  hold  upon  the 
treasury  ;  and  the  six  goodly  ships  she 
had  promised,  dwindled  to  two.  She 
delayed  his  starting  from  time  to  time, 
upon  some  insufficient  pretext ;  and  even 
seemed  inclined,  from  things  that  his 
enemies  gave  out  to  his  disadvantage, 
the  instant  he  had  left  the  court,  to  take 
from  him  the  command  and  give  it  to 
another  ;  but  such  a  proceeding  his  asso- 
ciates in  the  adventure  would  not  hear  of, 
as  she  knew.  At  last  he  sailed  with  a 
fleet  of  fifteen  sail,  whereof  two — the 
Garland  and  the  Foresight — under  the 
command  of  Sir  John  Burgh,  were  those 
of  her  majesty's  providing;  and  the  rest, 
with  the  provision  of  all  things  neces- 
sary, had  been  furnished  by  himself,  Sir 
John  Hawkins,  and  others  his  good 
friends — the  captains,  soldiers,  and  sail- 
ors therein,  being  men  of  notable  resolu- 
tion, and  of  sufficient  experience  in  such 
matters ;  but  contrary  winds  obliging  him 
to  put  back,  and  these  continuing  to  blow 
for  a  long  time,  he  was  forced  to  keep 
harbor  till  he  could  proceed  with  better 
hope  of  success. 

In  the  meantime,  there  were  not  want- 
ing  those  who  made  the  opposition  of  the 
elements  assume  the  appearance  of  culpa- 
ble neglect  in  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  in 
consequence  of  which  he  had  barely  put 
to  sea  again  when  he  was  overtaken  by 
Sir  Martin  Frobisher  in  a  pinnace  of  my 
lord  admiral's,  called  the  Disdain,  bring- 


ing her  majesty's  letters  of  recall,  with  a 
command  to  leave  his  charge  in  the  hands 
of  her  officers.  This,  it  may  well  be  be- 
lieved, he  liked  not  to  do — seeing  that  he 
had  been  in  so  much  trouble  and  expense 
(amounting  to  a  third  of  the  whole  cost) 
for  the  originating  and  fitting  out  of  the 
expedition,  and  was  in  a  manner  con- 
strained'not  to  abandon  the  interests  of 
his* fellow-adventurers,  who  had  put  all 
their  trust  in  his  valor  and  skilfulness ; 
so,  fancying  he  could  well  excuse  himself 
on  his  return,  he  would  in  no  case  re- 
linquish his  command :  but  held  on  his 
course.  Speaking  with  a  vessel  from  the 
Azores,  he  learned  that  Philip  of  Spain, 
getting  notice  of  his  expedition,  had  sent 
express  orders  to  all  the  ports  of  the  West 
India  islands,  and  in  Terra  Firma,  to  lay 
no  treasure  abroad  that  year :  therefore 
there  could  be  small  hope  of  getting  the 
Plate  fleet :  but  he  turned  not  back  till 
he  met  wilh  a  dreadful  storm  athwart 
Cape  Finisterre  that  sunk  some  of  his 
boats  and  pinnaces.  Then  giving  such 
orders  as  he  thought  necessary  for  their 
future  conduct,  he  put  about  ship  ;  still  in 
hope,  but  exceeding  vexed. 

It  may  well  be  believed  that  his  beauti- 
ful young  wife  liked  not  his  venturing 
himself  on  a  voyage  at  that  time,  and 
parted  not  with  him  without  infinite 
regret,  and  some  fears  of  the  issue  ;  for 
Dame  Elizabeth  was  in  continual  dread 
that  the  marriage  would  be  discovered 
of  the  queen,  whose  temper  she  had  much 
experience  of;  and  doubted  not  that  when 
she  came  to  know  of  it,  she  would  be 
wrath,  beyond  all  hope  of  forgiveness, 
against  her  husband.  Therefore  went 
she  in  constant  alarm.  Never  loved  wo- 
man more  devotedly  than  she  loved  Sir 
Waller  Raleigh  ;  and  as  she  could  scarce- 
ly be  brought  to  allow  him  to  peril  his 
fortunes  for  her  safety — so  entire  and  un- 
selfish was  her  regard  for  him — she  could 
do  nothing  but  blame  her  own  affection- 
ateness  for  having  brought  him  into  such 
a  strait.  Her  chiefest  care  was  to  deny 
her  own  marriage,  which,  she  knew  not 
how,  had  got  bruited  about ;  and  she 
made  Sir  Walter  promise,  not  only  to 
deny  it,  were  he  questioned,  but  by  those 
attentions  she  knew  the  queen  most  liked, 
to  put  all  thought  of  it  out  of  her  majesty's 
head.  Her  father  and  the  merry  Alice 
sought  all  occasion  to  second  her  en- 
deavors, seeing  that  it  was  of  so  much 
moment  to  her  peace  of  mind;  but  all 
their  cares,  and  all  her  cousin's  pleasant 
talk,  removed  not  from  her  the  conviction 
that  she  had  been  the  ruin  of  him  whose 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


73 


happiness  she  would  have  died  to  se- 
cure. 

As  for  Master  Francis — -never  youth 
went  on  so  prosperously.  Sir  Walter 
seeing  that  he  was  apt  and  well  disposed, 
every  day  took  a  greater  liking  to  him. 
He  would  have  him  taught  under  his  own 
eye  all  gentlemanly  accomplishments,  in 
the  which  he  made  such  rapid  progress 
as  delighted  him  amazingly  ;  and  would 
frequently  discourse  to  him  of  such  mat- 
ters as  he  thought  the  most  likely  to  he 
of  service  hereafter.  Such  a  change  took 
place  in  the  scrivener's  nephew,  that  he 
looked  in  no  way  the  same  person.  He 
dressed  in  style,  with  a  goodly  feather  in 
his  hat,  and  a  handsome  rapier  at  his 
side;  and  having  mingled  continually 
with  gallant  knights  and  gentlemen,  some 
of  his  shyness  began  to  wear  off.  In 
truth,  he  was  as  handsome  a  youth  as  any 
of  them,  though  still  exceeding  fair  and 
delicate  ;  the  only  sign  of  man  in  his  ap- 
pearance being  a  slight  mustache  on  his 
upper  lip — the  which,  had  G-ib  the  call- 
boy  seen,  might  somewhat  have  shaken 
his  conviction  of  Master  Francis's  fitness 
to  "  do  the  women." 

The  duties  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's 
secretary  consisted  in  most  part  of  writing 
letters,  keeping  a  journal  of  the  voyage, 
and  putting  down,  at  his  patron's  dictation, 
remarks  on  such  subjects  as  he  was  dis- 
posed to  treat  of.  Of  this  employment 
the  young  secretary  never  tired,  it  was  so 
agreeable  to  his  humor;  and  so  well  did 
he  quit  himself,  that  he  soon  gained  Sir 
Walter's  entire  confidence.  That  he 
thought  much  of  his  miserly  uncle  is  not 
to  be  expected,  but  the  mercer's  daughter 
was  a  frequent  subject  of  his  reflections ; 
and  his  last  interview  with  her  oft  gave 
to  his  memory  exceeding  satisfaction. 
He  had  written  to  her  since  several  times, 
and  had  received  from  her  a  few  letters 
— the  which,  though  they  were  in  some 
degree  kind,  he  liked  not,  for  they  ap- 
peared unto  him  scarce  kind  enough  ; 
but  though  this  gave  him  no  little  uneasi- 
ness, he  doubted  not  when  he  returned, 
to  find  her  everything  he  wished.  Noth- 
ing could  exceed  the  respect  and  admira- 
tion he  felt  for  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  for  he 
was^of  that  disposition  to  be  most  sensible 
of  Sir  Walter's  friendliness  toward  him  ; 
and  his  own  intelligence  which,  for  his 
years,  was  great  indeed,  enabled  him  the 
more  correctly  to  appreciate  the  other's 
singular  fine  genius  in  all  things. 

One  evening,  as  they  were  homeward 
oound,  they  were  together  in  Sir  Walter's 
cabin,  which  was  pleasantly  fined  up  with 


all  manner  of  charts,  some  few  books  on 
choice  subjects,  and  divers  instruments 
necessary  for  the  voyage.  Master  Fran- 
cis sat  writing  at  a  table  that  was  made 
fast  to  the  flooring,  and  which  was  light- 
ed by  a  lamp  that  swung  from  above  ;  and 
his  patron  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
with  folded  arms  and  grave  aspect,  oc- 
casionally stopping  to  dictate  something 
to  his  secretary  which  the  latter  presently 
put  to  paper.  This  had  continued  for 
some  two  hours  or  more,  when  Sir  Walter 
stopped  in  his  walk,  and  the  other  think- 
ing that  he  was  about  to  say  something 
of  moment,  leaning  his  left  arm  on  the 
table  and  holding  his  pen  in  readiness,  in 
an  attitude  of  profound  attention  did  look 
up  into  his  patron's  face  ;  but  Sir  Walter, 
at  that  time,  thought  of  no  other  thing 
than  the  pale  and  pensive  countenance 
of  the  youth  before  him,  for  the  light 
from  the  lamp  falling  on  it  as  he  sat  in 
that  position,  gave  to  him  an  appearance 
so  delicate  that  it  clean  put  all  other  sub- 
jects out  of  his  head. 

"  So  you  know  not  your  parentage  ?" 
said  he  at  last  in  a  very  friendly  tone  of 
voice.  Master  Francis  was  taken  by 
surprise  as  it  were  at  this,  as  he  looked 
for  other  sort  of  speech  from  him ;  and 
his  features  presently  were  clouded  wiife 

'  a  sudden  melancholy. 

"  Aught  more  than  I  have  told  you, 

\  honorable  sir,  know  I  not,"  he  replied. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  history,"  observed  the 
other. 

"  In  truth  it  is,"  said  the  secretary  very 
dejectedly. 

"  I  have  taxed  my  memory  more  than 
once,"  continued  Sir  Walter,  "  to  see 
if  among  all  mine  acquaintances  there 
was  one  whose  name  would  answer  to 
the  initials  you  have  on  the  miniature, 
but  with  small  profit.  Certain  it  is,  that 
when  I  was  seeking  to  advance  the  prot- 
estant  cause  on  the  plains  of  Flanders 
under  that  experienced  soldier,  Sir  John 

;  Norris,  in  my  company  there  was  one 
Holdfast,  whose  Christian  name,  m«- 
thinks,  was  Francis." 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  youth,  earnestly. 

!  "  Perchance  it  was  my  father." 

"  I  doubt  it,  Master  Francis,"  said  Sir 

I  Walter,  kindly  to  him.     "  He  was  but  an 

!  indifferent   fellow— a   mere   adventurer, 

j  and  a  sorry  character,  by  all  accounts. 
It  was  said  of  him  he  had  leit  England 
to  avoid  a  marriage  with  some  person  of 
poor  origin,  whom  he  had  undone,  and 
whose  relations  were  like  to  make  a  stir 

;  upon  the  business." 

"  Tis  he!"  cried  his  secretary,  in  very 


74 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


woful  fashion ;  for  his  heart  was  cast 
down,  and  his  aspiring  thoughts  utterly 
discomfited. 

"  Nay,  I  doubt  it  hugely,"  replied  his 
patron.  "  This  Holdi'ast  was  of  so  con- 
trary a  disposition  to  yourself.  He  was 
given  to  many  dishonorable  practices — 
a  hanger-on  of  prodigal  youth,  whom  he 
fleeced  at  play ;  and  a  doer  of  any  mean 
thing  by  which  he  might  get  present 
profit.  I  held  him  in  exceeding  dislike, 
and  was  well  pleased,  upon  proof  being 
shown  that  he  had  cheated  a  companion 
at  the  dice,  that  we  got  rid  of  him." 

"Know  you  what  became  of  him?" 
inquired  the  youth,  anxiously. 

"  I  did  hear  he  had  turned  puritan," 
answered  Raleigh,  "  yet  I  can  not  say 
whether  upon  sufficient  authority." 

Master  Francis  was  now  in  most  com- 
fortless case,  for  he  did  remember  that 
his  uncle,  in  his  passions,  oft  had  called 
him  "  base-born,"  and  the  like ;  which 
made  him  apt  to  believe  that  he  was  the 
fruit  of  some  low  intrigue  ;  whereof  the 
thought,  to  one  of  his  sensitive  nature, 
was  scarce  to  be  endured.  Seeing  that 
his  intelligence  had  been  taken  in  such 
sorrowful  part,  Sir  Walter  did  present- 
ly go  up  to  the  youth,  and  laying  his 
hand,  in  a  friendly  manner,  on  the  other's 
shoulder,  said  kindly  to  him : — 

"  Be  of  better  heart,  Master  Francis. 
If  matters  turn  out  so  untoward  as  That 
your  birth  should  be  of  such  indifferent 
sort,  mind  it  not,  I  pray  you.  Of  your 
fortunes  I  will  take  good  heed.  But  there 
exists  no  proof  you  are  of  such  descent ; 
and  the  evidence  is  not  circumstantial 
enough  for  me  to  place  much  reliance 
on  it." 

"  I  think  it  be  but  too  true,  honorable 
sir,"  replied  his  secretary.  "For  mine 

uncle" 

"What  of  your  uncle,  Master  Fran 
cis?"  inquired  his  patron,  seeing  that  the 
other  hesitated  to  say  more. 

"  In  his  anger,  hath  often  called  me  by 

such  vile  terms  as" 

"Fear  nothing,"  said  Sir  Walter,  en- 
couragingly, "  'tis  a  friend  who  listens." 
"  Indeed  I  can  not  say  it,"  exclaimed 
the  youth,  shaking  his  head,  and  looking 
as  if  it  was  too  repugnant  to  his  feelings 
to  be  named. 

"  Well,  well,  as  you  list,"  answered 
Raleigh,  raising  himself  up ;  for  he  had 
been  leaning  over  him,  and  seemed  to 
understand  and  appreciate  his  feelings 
•'  but  whatever  it  be,  regard  it  not ;  for  a 
bad  man — which,  from  what  you  have 
said,  I  take  your  kinsman  to  be,  will  say 


anything  in  his  passion.  It  is  a  certain 
truth  that,  in  these  times,  good  birth  is 
ever  your  best  recommendation  ;  but  let 
not  this  affect  you,  even  if  it  be  your 
mishap  to  want  it;  which,  till  I  have 
better  warrant  for  it;  will  I  never  believe. 
It  sounds  fine,  doubtless,  to  claim  kin 
with  a  long  line  of  honorable  ancestry ; 
but  men  that  have  no  other  merit  than 
this  be  like  unto  a  growing  crop  of  our 
new  vegetable,  the  potato — all  that  is 
good  of  them  be  undergroqnd.  How 
much  better  is  it  to  be  yourself  the  getter 
of  your  own  greatness.  If  you  continue 
to  show  that  commendable  nature  I  have 
perceived  in  you,  you  shall  not  lack  op- 
portunity for  honorable  advancement,  let 
your  birth  be  what  it  may  :  therefore  I 
would  have  you  think  no  more  of  it,  but 
the  rather  apply  yourself  to  get  perfect  in 
such  qualifications,  as  seem  the  most 
likely  to  stand  you  in  good  service  at  a 
fitting  time."  Saying  which,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  made  for  the  door  ;  and  left  the 
cabin. 

But  Master  Francis  did  think  more  of 
it :  and  the  more  he  thought,  the  more 
he  seemed  inclined  to  think.  His  am- 
bition bad  had  a  shock,  from  the  which 
he  was  not  like  to  recover  speedily  ;  for  a 
notion  had  got  fixed  in  him,  that  of  all 
things,  ill  birth  was  the  most  disgraceful 
(sr.fing  the  odium  in  which  it  was  gen- 
erally held) ;  and  he  could  not  endure  it 
should  be  said  of  him,  that  he  was  the 
misbegotten  child  of  a  paltry  cheater. 
His  pride  was  humbled  mightily ;  yet  did 
it  rise  up  against  such  dishonor  the  more 
it  was  cast  down  at  it.  It  seemed  as  if 
he  would  not  be  held  in  such  poor  esteem 
of  the  world,  however  degraded  he  felt 
in  his  own  opinion.  He  tried  to  think 
Holdfast  and  he  could  be  of  no  sort  of 
relationship ;  yet,  in  spite  of  himself  a 
conviction  was  forced  upon  him  that  the 
contrary  was  the  truth  ;  and  the  fear  he 
had  now  was,  that  it  should  be  talked  of. 
In  the  meantime,  the  enemies  of  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  slackened  not  in  their 
endeavors  to  ruin  him  with  the  queen. 
It  may  appear  to  some  passing  strange 
that  one  who,  besides  being  of  most  nota- 
ble excellence,  sought  to  do  no  man  ill, 
should  have  enemies :  but  it  was  in  con- 
sequence of  his  towering  so  much  above 
them  in  all  commendable  things,  that  he 
was  misliked  of  so  many.  And  as  they 
who  longed  to  ruffle  it  at  court  above  all 
others,  thought  they  had  no  chance  of  it 
while  he  was  in  favor,  to  whom  they 
stood  in  such  poor  comparison,  they  strove 
all  they  could  to  bring  him  down,  that 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


they  might  advance  themselves  upon  his 
ruin.  First  of  these  was  Sir  Robert  Cecil, 
whose  ambitious  aims  would  stop  at  no 
impediments  that  craft  could  overcome  ; 
and  he  was  so  skilful  in  his  cunning  as 
to  be  suspected  of  none ;  for  he  seemed 
to  make  all  around  him  his  tools,  to  do 
what  he  would  ;  and  keeping  in  obscurity 
himself,  escaped  free  from  all  suspicion. 
His  talents  were  above  the  ordinary  ;  but 
he  was  ambitious  of  holding  the  greatest 
power  in  his  own  hands,  and  liked  not 
that  any  should  be  mightier  than  he. 
Next  to  him  was  Lord  Henry  Howard, 
his  associate  and  sworn  coadjutor,  one  of 
a  good  family,  being  brother  of  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk  ;  but  having  been  a  great 
spendthrift  and  profligate,  to  the  ruin  of 
his  fortune,  made  him  glad  to  assist  Cecil 
in  his  plots  and  devices  to  oust  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  from  his  vantage — which  he  did 
with  exceeding  craftiness.  In  the  Lady 
Howard  of  Walden  they  found  a  fitting 
helpmate.  She  was  a  woman  of  some 
beauty,  but  of  no  principle  ;  and  as  she 
believed  that  Sir  "Walter  had  slighted 
her,  she  was  impatient  to  be  revenged 
of  him.  Her  close  attendance  on  the 
queen  gave  her  what  opportunity  she 
wanted,  and  she  was  only  kept  back  from 
using  it  by  ihe  counsel  of  Sir  Robert  Cecil, 
who  liked  not  to  have  it  done  till  matters 
were  more  ripe. 

To  these  were  added  all  the  envious, 
the  ambitious,  and  the  vain,  who  hung 
about  the  court,  and  were  ever  intriguing 
to  raise  themselves  upon  the  disadvan- 
tage of  another ;  and  these  had  already 
made  themselves  busy  with  calling  in 
question  Raleigh's  conduct  with  the  fleet 
— and  not  without  the  effect  they  desired. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  whispers  were 
set  afoot  concerning  Sir  Walter's  mar- 
riage, and  many  malicious  things  were 
said  of  the  cause  of  it ;  but  none,  as  yet, 
had  hinted  it  to  the  queen.  It  was  now 
thought  time  to  bring  matters  to  a  push, 
for  her  majesty  was  in  some  sort  dis- 
pleased with  Sir  Walter  that  he  had 
delayed  so  long  with  his  expedition,  and 
had  done  nothing,  as  was  yet  known  of 
him.  Therefore  the  Lady  Howard  took 
occasion,  when  she  was  in  private  with 
her  majesty,  to  acquaint  her  with  all 
that  she  knew  between  Elizabeth  Throck- 
morton  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  taking 
care  to  aggravate  the  matter  as  much  as 
was  possible. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  indignation 
of  the  queen.  She  was  now  pale  with 
anger,  and  in  a  moment  red  with  shame. 
Every  wrinkle  in  her  face  was  made 


conspicuous,  she  was  in  such  a  towering 
passion  ;  and  she  strode  up  and  down 
the  chamber  with  haughty  steps,  now 
uttering  denunciations  against  her  maid 
of  honor,  and  now  denouncing  terrible 
punishment  upon  her  captain  of  the 
guard.  Her  attendant  stood  by,  her  dark 
eyes  flashing  with  pleasure  at  the  storm 
she  had  raised,  endeavoring,  by  all  man- 
ner of  spiteful  insinuations,  to  increase 
her  majesty's  fury  against  the  offenders. 

"  Nay,  by  God's  wounds,  'tis  too  bad," 
exclaimed  the  queen  ;  "  they  shall  rue  it. 
Their  guilty  doings  shall  have  fitting 
punishment,  else  are  -  we  not  queen  of 
England.  And  for  her,  no  disgrace  can 
be  sufficient  for  so  deep  an  offence — a 
wanton — a  hussy — a  creature  vile  and 
infamous  !  Had  she  no  shame  ?  Had  she 
no  sense  of  her  wickedness,  to  commit 
her  villanies  so  near  us,  and  turn  oar 

palace  into  a O  !  it  is  monstrous  !" 

"  In  truth,  I  wonder  she  could  ever 
look  her  virtuous  sovereign  in  the  face," 
said  her  ladyship. 

"Such  unblushing  impudency  never 
disgraced  a  Christian  court,"  cried  her 
majesty;  "it  exceedeth  aught  of  which 
we  have  ever  heard  ;  'tis  most  atrocious, 
horrible,  and  abominable  !  What  will  it 
be  thought  of  us,  if  those  so  near  our 
person  take  to  such  vile  courses  ?  Why, 
it  may  give  a  handle  to  the  malignant 
to  say  we  are  as  evil  disposed  ourselves. 
Every  hair  stands  on  end  at  the  thought 
of  it." 

"  I  am  horror-struck,"  observed  my 
Lady  Howard,  looking  more  completely 
shocked  than  her  royal  mistress. 

"  Such  shameless  iniquity  deserves  to 
be  whipped  through  the  world,"  con- 
tinued the  queen  ;  "  out  upon  it !  fie  upon 
the  age  that  doth  produce  such  vile 
women  !  Nay,  and  forsooth,  if  things  go 
on  at  this  rate,  there  will  be  neither 
safety  nor  honor  for  us  poor  virgins." 

"Indeed,  I  think  not,  please  your  maj- 
esty," responded  her  attendant,  who,  by- 
the-by,  bore  no  very  reputable  charac- 
ter; "and  am  I  the  more  indignant, 
when  1  think  what  a  glorious  example 
she  hath  had  before  her  in  your  majesty, 
whose  exceeding  virtuousness  should,  me- 
thinks,  have  taught  her  better  behavior." 
"Her  extreme  vileness  was  such  that 
it  was  beyond  all  teaching,"  replied  her 
majesty,  sharply  ;  "  she  was  a  worthless 
baggage  from  the  first,  who  could  profit 
by  no  example.  We  are  amazed  she 
should  ever  have  ventured  herself  in  our 
presence :  but  by  all  the  angels  in 
heaven,  she  shall  suffer  for  it.  As  for 


76 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


him,  whom  we  have  raised  from  nothing,  1 
we  will  let  him  know,  and  quickly,  that 
she  who  makes  can  mar.  The  ungrate- 
ful caitiff,  to  carry  on  his  paltry  doings 
with  such  a  Jezebel,  in  total  disregard 
of  his  duty  to  us." 

"  And  so  near  your  royal  presence  too,"- 
cried  my  Lady  Howard. 

"  Oh  !  'tis  most  intolerable,"  exclaimed 
the  queen,  in  a  fresh  burst  of  rage  ;  "  'tis 
the  horridest — loathsomest  piece  of  vil- 
lany  that  ever  disgraced  a  royal  palace. 
What  devilish  malignity  led  him  into  it 
'tis  not  possible  to  say ;  but  he  hath  done 
us  foul  dishonor  in  the  face  of  all  Eu- 
rope ;  and,  by  God's  wounds,  he  shall 
smart  for  it.  The  ambassadors  will  talk 
of  it — it  will  be  a  jest  for  Philip  of 
Spain, — that  arch  idolater  the  pope  will 
have  it  preached  from  the  pulpit ;  and  all 
the  wretched  papists  abroad  and  at  home 
will  find  matter  in  it  for  further  calumnies 
of  us.  Art  sure  he  hath  married  the 
wretch  ?" 

"  I  have  heard,  please  your  majesty," 
replied  her  ladyship,  "  that  Sir  Robert 
Cecil  and  my  Lord  Henry  Howard,  hav- 
ing got  into  a  pair  of  oars  but  a  brief 
space  after  this  abandoned  creature  took 
water,  saw  her  land  at  Durham  house, 
where  it  is  supposed  of  many,  Sir  Wal- 
ter's chaplain,  Dr.  Robert  Burrel,  did 
make  ihem  man  and  wife." 

"  Worse  and  worse  !"  cried  the  queen, 
renewing  her  lofty  strides  along  the 
chamber,  while  her  eyes  were  flashing 
with  anger,  and  her  bosom  heaved 
mightily — her  wrath  so  moved  her.  "  He 
hath  not  only  done  us  notorious  infamy, 
but,  without  our  permission  first  asked 
and  granted,  he  hath  dared  marry. 
What !  he  thinks,  forsooth,  because  we 
have  shown  him  some  small  favor, — hav- 
ing better  opinion  of  him  than  he  de- 
served, he  shall  be  allowed  to  juffle  it  as 
he  please.  Now,  by  this  blessed  light, 
we'll  teach  him  somewhat  differently. 
As  for  that  Burrel,  he  must  be  made  to 
know  that  to  thrust  his  fool's  head  into 
such  a  pestilent  meddling,  is  not  doing 
God's  work,  but  the  devil's.  He  de- 
serveth  to  have  his  gown  stripped  off  his 
back,  and  whipped  at  the  cart's  tail  by 
the  common  hangman.  Such  meddle- 
some priests  are  ready  for  any  villany. 
We  marvel  greatly  that  Sir  Robert  Ce- 
cil informed  us  not  of  what  he  had  ob- 
served of  this,  as  in  duty  bound  he 
should.  But  'tis  thus  we  are  served : 
the  shamefulest  things  are  done  against 
us  from  day  to  day,  yet  those  we  have 
promoted  to  d  o  us  service,  instead  of  giv- 


ing us  instant  knowledge  thereof,  keep 
as  close  upon  the  business  as  if  they  had 
been  bribed  into  complacency." 

"  There  is  a  knocking  at  the  door, 
please  your  majesty,"  said  my  Lady- 
Howard. 

"  See  to  it,"  replied  the  queen. 

"  'Tis  my  Lord  Burghley,"  added  her 
attendant,  after  she  had  gone  to  the  door 
to  notice  whom  it  might  be. 

"Let  him  have  entrance,"  cried  her 
majesty.  Presently  the  lord  treasurer  ad- 
vanced slowly  into  the  chamber,  with  his 
hat  in  his  hand,  making  proper  obedi- 
ence ;  and  saw  in  a  moment  by  the 
queen's  countenance — which,  in  spite  of 
all  her  cosmetics,  looked  exceeding  black 
and  sour — that  something  was  out  of 
place. 

"Be  seated,  my  lord,"  said  the  queen, 
for  this  indulgence  she  granted  because 
of  the  infirmities  of  his  age.  The  lord 
treasurer  seated  himself  with  becoming 
gravity,  marvelling  much  what  made  her 
majesty  look  in  such  sort,  and  pace  the 
chamber  so  haughtily  ;  and  he  turned 
toward  my  Lady  Howard  to  see  if  he 
could  read  in  her  looks  any  interpretation 
of  the  mystery,  but,  to  the  prodigious  in- 
crease of  his  astonishment,  she  looked 
the  blacker  of  the  two. 

"  My  lord  treasurer !"  exclaimed  the 
queen,  scarcely  able  to  speak,  she  seemed 
in  so  great  a  passion,  and  stopping  sud- 
denly before  him,  "  that  Raleigh  hath  be- 
come the  blackest  traitor  that  ever  was 
known." 

"Humph!"  cried  my  Lord  Burghley, 
in  some  sort  of  surprise,  and  drawing  in 
his  lips  with  an  appearance  of  the  very 
profoundest  gravity. 

"  He  hath  done  us  gross  offence,"  con- 
tinued the  queen.  "  He  hath  committed 
such  foul  wrong  against  our  royal  digni- 
ty, that  the  sacrifice  of  his  life  will  not  be 
enough  amends." 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  the  lord  treasurer, 
dropping  his  jaw  as  if  with  a  sudden  as- 
tonishment. 

"He  hath  had  the  audacity — think  of 
the  fellow's  vileness,  my  lord  —  to  be 
shamefully  familiar  with  that  horridest 
of  wantons  Elizabeth  Throckmorton  !" 
and  then  her  majesty  continued  hex 
haughty  pacing  of  the  chamber. 

"  And  in  the  palace  too,  my  lord,"  ad- 
ded her  attendant,  with  a  look  of  exceed- 
ing indignation. 

"Ho!"  ejaculated  the  other,  poking 
out  his  chin  the  while,  as  if  in  wonder  a: 
the  enormity  of  the  offence. 

"She   shall  meet  with  her  reward, 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


77 


continued  the  queen  very  angrily.  "It 
shall  never  be  said  that  we  left  such  hus- 
sies to  the  indulgence  of  their  own  wicked 
wills." 

"  And  so  near  the  royal  presence  ["ad- 
ded my  Lady  Howard,  with  sufficient 
emphasis. 

"Humph!"  cried  my  Lord  Burghley, 
seeming  very  much  shocked. 

"  But  more  than  this — my  lord  !  more 
than  this,"  said  the  queen,  stopping  be- 
fore her  lord  treasurer  with  a  look  of  ex- 
treme anger,  and  raising  her  voice  to  the 
highest  pitch,  "  he  hath  dared  to  marry 
her." 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  he,  m  a  manner  as 
if  horror-struck. 

"  He  hath  held  us  in  contempt — he  hath 
put  a  slight  upon  our  authority,"  saying 
which  the  queen  bounced  off  as  before. 

"  After  her  majesty  hath  been  so  boun- 
tiful a  mistress  to  him,"  added  her  lady- 
ship, "  I  am  quite  shocked  at  such  devil- 
ish ingratitude." 

"  Ho !"  said  my  lord,  looking  mon- 
strously shocked  also. 

"  Where  is  Sir  Robert  Cecil  ?"  inquired 
the  queen,  "  we  must  have  speech  with 
him  instantly.  It  will  go  hard  with  him 
if  he  do  not  explain  satisfactorily  how  he 
hath  so  much  fallen  short  in  his  duty. 
We  will  have  none  such  about  us.  We 
will  favor  no  neglecters.  We  will  not 
be  served  by  such  as  can  be  dumb  when 
treason  stalks  abroad.  Send  him  to  us, 
my  lord,  without  fail.  He  hath  been 
privy  to  these  villanous  goings-on,  and 
hath  taken  care  to  give  us  no  hint  of  the 
matter." 

"  Humph  !"  cried  my  Lord  Burghley 
very  seriously,  as  he  rose  from  the  chair  ; 
then  proceeded  out  of  the  chamber  in 
search  of  his  son,  as  his  royal  mistress 
had  commanded  him. 

Her  majesty  continued  in  the  same 
humor  to  stride  backward  and  forward, 
letting  out  her  anger  without  stint,  now 
against  the  one  and  now  against  the  oth- 
er, but  most  prodigally  against  her  fair 
namesake,  for  whom  no  punishment 
seemed  with  her  to  be  ample  enough  ; 
while  the  Lady  Howard  took  care  that 
her  rage  should  not  go  out  for  lack  of 
proper  stirring.  Sir  Robert  Cecil  evi- 
dently had  not  been  far  off,  for  he  knocked 
at  the  door  in  a  little  space  after  the  Lord 
Burghley  had  left  it. 

"So,  Sir  Robert  Cecil !"  exclaimed  the 
queen  angrily,  as  soon  as  he  made  his 
appearance  before  her,  "  you  must  needs 
oecome  an  aider  and  abettor  of  treason." 

"  I  aid  treason— I  abet  treason  !"  cried 


'  he  in  seeming  consternation,  as  he  hum- 
,  bly  knelt  before  his  sovereign.  "What 
ill  hap  is  mine  to  have  such  accusation 
brought  against  me  by  so  good  a  mis- 
tress? I  will  be  sworn  on  my  life  I 
never  spoke  or  did  aught  against  your 
majesty.  Fai  from  it,  I  find  most  exqui- 
site delight  in  endeavoring  to  prove  my- 
self your  majesty's  faithfullest  servant; 
and  I  would  not  change  your  service  for 
that  of  any  sovereign  upon  earth,  were  I 
tempted  to  it  ever  so.  Indeed,  please 
your  majesty,  if  you  take  from  me  the 
reputation  I  have  at  all  times  diligently 
sought,  of  giving  place  to  no  man  in  hon- 
esty and  obedience,  I  would  not  wish 
to  live  another  hour:  for  without  char- 
acter I  should  be  unworthy  to  breathe  in 
the  presence  of  one  so  exalted  in  excel- 
lence, and  deprived  of  the  pleasure  all 
persons  enjoy  who  are  held  in  such  honor 
as  to  be  selected  to  do  your  majesty's 
bidding,  life  hath  nothing  left  that  can 
be  esteemed  after  it.  Let  me  humbly 
ask  of  what  treason  I  am  accused?" 

"The  knowing  of  Raleigh's  traitorous 
proceedings  with  that  disgrace  of  our 
court,  Elizabeth  Throckmorton,"  replied 
the  queen  with  exceeding  bitterness, 
"whereof  you  told  us  nothing.  What 
they  have  done  is  as  black  treason  as 
ever  was  thought  of — secresy  was  all 
they  required  to  succeed  in  their  infa- 
mous designs,  and  by  not  declaring  to  us 
what  yon  were  privy  to,  that  we  might 
have  it  hindered,  you  allowed  them  to 
go  on  to  the  perfection  of  their  iniquitous 
doings,  and  so  became  an  aider  and  abet- 
tor of  their  treason." 

"Please  your  majesty," said  Cecil  very 
earnestly,  "two  reasons  had  I,  and  good 
ones  they  seemed  to  me,  that  I  should  not 
make  a  stir  in  this  business.  In  the  first 
place  my  knowledge  amounted  to  little 
more  than  the  common  suspicion,  of  the 
which  there  was  no  certain  proof — in  the 
next  place,  I  like  not  being  a  tale-bearer 
in  the  best  of  times — but  I  do  stand  in 
such  respectful  awe  of  your  majesty's  su- 
perhuman virtue,  that  I  could  not  for  the 
life  of  me  break  any  matter  to  your  maj- 
esty's modest  ear  that  appeared  tainted 
with  indelicate  meaning." 

"We  do  approve  of  your  reasons,  Sir 
Robert,"  replied  the  queen,  "  so  far  as  to 
clear  you  of  all  offence  in  this.  But  now 
we  charge  you  on  your  allegiance  speak 
without  extenuation  whatever  hath  corns 
to  your  knowledge." 

"Since  your  majesty  hath  graciously 
given  me  leave,  I  will,"  answered  he. 
"  I  must  premise  that  of  their  intercourse 


78 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


knew  I  nothing  save  what  was  the  gen- 
eral gossip  ;  but  knowing  how  much  the 
world  is  given  to  scandal,  I  took  no  h'eed 
of  what  I  heard,  believing,  as  I  do,  that 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  is  too  noble  and  dis- 
creet a  gentleman  to  take  to  such  dishon- 
orable courses." 

"  My  Lady  Howard  hath  given  us 
good  proof  of  it.  which  she  had  from 
their  own  lips,"  observed  the  queen  im- 
patiently. 

"  Indeed,  Sir  Robert,  I  did  by  accident 
overhear  all  their  infamous  secrets,  the 
which  I  thought  it  but  proper  in  me  to 
carry  to  her  majesty,"  said  her  attendant. 

"  I'm  all  amazed  !"  cried  Robert  Cecil, 
looking  in  as  absolute  an  astonishment  as 
was  ever  beheld.  "I  marvel  at  it  in- 
finitely !  who  could  have  thought  it  ? 
How  impossible  it  doth  seem  that  one  so 
superlatively  wise  and  learned  as  is  your 
majesty's  captain  of  the  guard,  should 
have  committed  himself  so  abominably  ! 
Indeed,  it  maketh  me  afraid  of  mine  own 
honesty.  I  shall  tremble  for  myself, 
knowing  as  I  do  that  if  they  who  have 
such  wonderful  store  of  learning  can  not 
keep  upright,  we  who  fall  short  of  such 
gifts  can  not  but  tumble.  Of  all  men  few 
have  I  regarded  with  the  like  admiration 
I  felt  for  Sir  Waller  Raleigh,  for  in  truth 
he  did  always  appear  to  me  a  most  ines- 
timable sweet  gentleman.  I  am  heartily 
grieved" 

"  Proceed  with  what  you  have  to  say 
on  this  infamous  matter,"  said  the  queen 
sharply. , 

"  That  will  I  without  further  loss  of 
time,"  replied  the  wily  Cecil.  "It 
chanced  that  my  Lord  Henry  Howard 
and  I  going  to  the  Bankside,  got  into  a 
pair  of  oars  just  as  the  barge  containing 
Mistress  Throckmorton  left  the  shore. 
My  lord  directed  my  attention  to  some 
one  who  sat  in  the  barge  cloaked  up  very 
ciose,  whom  I  had  not  noticed,  for  in  truth 
I  had  such  respect  for  Mistress  Elizabeth, 
believing,  from  her  nearness  to  your  maj- 
esty's person,  that  she  was  of  a  most  hon- 
orable nature,  that  I  could  not  entertain 
suspicion  of  wrong  in  anything  that  she 
did,  and  was  not  curious  about  her  pro- 
ceedings." 

"Who  was  that  person,  think  you?" 
eagerly  inquired  the  queen. 

"That  know  I  not  of  mine  own  knowl- 
edge," answered  Cecil,  "for  we  being  of 
the  other  side  of  the  water  could  not 
have  a  very  distinct  sight  of  things  so  far 
off.  1  do  not  think  it  was  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  fc/r  a  reason  I  will  presently  ex- 
plain. The  barge  made  for  Durham 


house,  which,  knowing  the  suspicions 
that  were  afloat,  created  in  us  no  small 
astonishmeni.  Then  We  saw  him  in  the 
cloak,  land,  with  Mistress  Alice  and  her 
cousin  ;  and  these  three  went  up  the  steps 
into  the  house.  This  seeing,  we  knew 
not  what  to  make  of  it ;  so  for  the  satis- 
faction of  my  lord's  curiosity  and  my 
own,  we  waited  at  a  convenient  distance. 
In  half  an  hour  or  less,  the  three  returned 
to  the  barge  and  went  on  their  way  ;  and 
I,  thinking  it  could  be  nothing  more  than 
a  passing  visit,  thought  so  light  of  it  that 
we  watched  them  no  more.  He  in  the 
cloak  could  not  have  been  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  because  my  father  did  have 
bj  -'t.  11  of  him  at  your  majesty's  com- 
mand in  his  own  house,  at  the  very  time 
I  saw  this  person  on  the  river.  Knowing 
this,  as  I  soon  found  out,  I  did  not  see 
any  wrong  in  the  visit  of  these  young  wo- 
men with  another  person  to  Durham 
house  ;  but  my  Lord  Howard  did  offer 
me  a  wager,  that  Mistress  Elizabeth  had 
gone  there  to  be  married,  and  that  he  in 
the  cloak  was  no  other  than  her  father. 
Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton,  who  had 
good  reason  for  seeking  concealment,  as 
it  was  given  out  he  was  like  to  perish 
for  want  of  proper  nursing." 

''Now  is  it  all  made  clear  to  us,"  ex- 
claimed the  queen,  her  face  crimsoning 
with  rage.  "We  have  been  cozened, 
cheated,  and  imposed  upon  ;  and  doubt- 
less they  now  laugh  in  their  sleeves  at 
rinding  us  gulled  so  easily.  By  God's 
wounds,  we'll  let  th-em  know  what  it  is 
to  make  sport  of  their  sovereign." 

"  I  wonder  at  their  baseness,"  cried 
her  ladyship  with  much  asperity. 

"  'Tis  not  enough  for  them  to  do  us  the 
foulest  dishonor  we  have  received  since 
we  have  been  a  crowned  queen,"  con- 
tinued her  majesty,  seemingly  waxing 
more  wrath  every  minute,  "  they  must 
needs  play  a  trick  upon  us  !  We  are 
thought  to  be  worthy  no  better  hap  by 
this  false  woman  than  for  a  stale  to  catch 
her  woodcock  Raleigh !" 

"  'Tis  marvellous  strange  how  such 
extreme  impudency  can  exist,"  said  Ce- 
cil very  gravely. 

"Get  you  to  his  chaplain, Sir  Robert," 
added  the  queen,  "  He  is  one  Burrel,  in 
some  repute  for  his  learning,  and  doubt- 
less may  be  found  at  Durham  house. 
Question  him  of  this  marriage:  for  we 
would  know  if  it  hath  taken  place.  It 
he  answer  you  to  the  purpose,  you  shall 
come  away  and  do  him  no  hinderance — 
but  if  he  be  contumacious,  or  seem  to 
hold  back  what  he  knoweth— straight 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


with  him  to  prison  :  he  shall  there  have 
time  to  repent  him  of  his  meddlesome- 
ness. Delay  not  to  report  to  us  the  min- 
ute you  get  aught  worth  the  telling." 

"  I  will  be  the  most  zealous  intelligen- 
cer in  your  majesty's  dominions,"  replied 
Cecil. 

"  My  Lady  Howard,  we  are  for  the 
presence  chamber,"  said  the  queen,  and 
straightway  she  passed  haughtily  out  at 
the  door  with  her  attendant,  but  not  be- 
fore the  latter  and  Sir  Robert  Cecil  had, 
unseen  by  her  majesty,  exchanged  a  look 
in  which  there  appeared  a  wonderful 
deal  of  meaning. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

I  can  not  eat  but  little  meat, 

My  stomach  is  not  good  : 
But  sure.  I  think  that  I  can  drink 

With  him  that  wears  a  hood. 
Though  I  go  bare,  take  ye  no  care, 

I  nothing-  am  a  cold, 
I  stuff  my  skin  so  full  within 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  old. 

GAMMER  GUKTON'S  NEEDLE. 

My  masters,  are  you  mad  ?  or  what  are  you  ?  Have 
you  no  wit,  manners,  nor  honesty,  but  to  gabble  like 
tinkers  at  this  time  of  night?  SHAKSPEARE. 

IT  was  getting  deep  into  the  evening. 
The  prudent  citizens  had  long  closed 
their  houses,  and  many  of  the  more  sober 
sort  had  retired  to  rest.  Nothing  dis- 
turbed the  silence  of  the  streets,  but  now 
and  then  the  riotous  singing  of  some  prod- 
igal gallants  returning  late  from  the  tav- 
ern, with  more  wine  in  their  pates  than 
wit,  with  perchance  the  hoarse  bawling 
of  some  of  the  city  watch,  chiding  them 
for  disturbing  the  night  with  their  cater- 
wauling ;  or  mayhap  a  score  of  disorder- 
ly apprentices  for  the  sake  of  diversion 
screaming  fire,  murder,  and  the  like,  from 
different  places,  till  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood was  in  an  uproar,  and  the  watch 
running  to  and  fro  in  strange  perplexity 
as  to  where  was  the  mischief.  Now  you 
might  hear  some  particular  clock  striking 
the  hour,  and  anon  there  was  such  a 
striking  from  all  parts  that  it  seemed  as 
if  there  would  be  no  end  to  it ;  like  unto 
when  chanticleer  croweth  in  the  early 
morning,  there  answereth  to  him  anoth- 
er, and  he  is  taken  up  by  a  third,  and  so 
on  till  the  whole  of  the  cocks  round  about 
have  tried  the  strength  of  their  voices. 

So  it  fared  in  the  city,  and  in  Eastcheap 
more  especially — which  of  all  places  was 
most  noted  for  mad  pranks  and  merry  do- 
ings; but  while  such  goings  on  proceeded 


outside,  the  little  back  parlor  of  Geoffrey 
Sarsnet,  the  mercer,  as  oft  did  echo  with 
a  very  similar  merriment.  There  he  sat 
before  an  oak  table  having  on  it  a  bowl 
and  drinking-horns,  looking  very  portly 
in  a  buff  jerkin  ;  a  jolly  face  and  a  merry 
eye  seeming  to  mock  the  gravity  of  his 
gray  beard  and  bald  pate,  and  a  loud, 
short  laugh,  bursting  from  his  mouth  ever 
and  anon,  said  plain  enough,  of  all  con- 
science, that  his  thoughts  were  none  of 
the  saddest.  Opposite  to  him,  in  singular 
fine  contrast  sat  the  meager  form  of  the 
miser  of  St.  Mary  Axe,  who,  by  the  com- 
placency of  his  withered  aspect,  had  evi- 
dently forgiven  Joanna  the  loss  of  the 
Venetian  chain. 

"  Margery  !  Margery  !"  bawled  the 
mercer,  after  he  had  looked  into  ithe 
bowl  and  found  it  empty  of  liquor.  "  By 
cock  and  pye,  I'm  no  lover  of  jolly  good 
ale  and  old,  if  we  haven't  drained  it  as 
dry — as  dry  as  thy  wit,  thou  ghost  of  a 
pickled  herring.  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !'' 

"  Forsooth,  thou  art  in  a  most  facetious 
vein  gossip,"  replied  Gregory  Vellum, 
who  cared  not  for  being  laughed  at  when 
he  had  aught  to  gain  by  joining  in  the 
mirth. 

"  If  I  be  not  in  the  vein,  ihe  vein  be  in 
me,"  said  the  jolly  mercer,  with  another 
laugh  as  loud  as  the  preceding.  "  Here, 
Margery,"  cried  he  again — then  sinking 
his  voice,  added,  "  Hang  these  old  women, 
say  I !  They  be  as  deaf  as  thy  conscience, 
and  as  slow  as  thy  comprehension.  Is'l 
not  so,  thou  delectable  pippin-face  ?" 

"  In  truth  they  be  exceedingly  deaf  and 
slow,"  answered  the  scrivener,  with  a 
wonderful  gravity. 

"  The  young  ones  for  me — eh,  Grego- 
ry !"  continued  the  old  fellow,  with  a 
knowing  wink  of  his  eye.  "  They  have 
ears  for  anything  ;  and  as  for  going,  I 
doubt  them  not,  at  an  ambling  pace,  they 
would  beat  any  colt  that  runs.  Haw  ! 
haw!  haw!  Why,  Margery,  I  say  !" 

"  How,  now  ?  what  do  you  lack,  sweet 
master  ?"  exclaimed  a  little  old  woman 
with  a  very  pointed  nose  and  chin,  and 
sharp  gray  eyes,  who  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Another  bowl,  Margery  !''  replied 
Geoffrey  Sarsnet.  "And,  prylhee,  brew 
it  delicately,  with  good  store  of  nutmeg 
and  a  famous?  toast  in  it." 

"  That  will  I,  kind  heart,  and  quickly," 
answered  the  old  dame,  fetching  the  emp- 
ty vessel. 

"  I'faith,  Margery,  thou  lookest  as  in- 
nocent as  a  sucking  donkey,"  said  the 
jolly  mercer,  with  his  usual  laugh,  as  he 
gazed  upon  ner  uncomely  face. 


80 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  An't  please  your  goodness,  I  was  al- 
ways noticed  for  the  innocency  of  my 
looks,"  replied  the  old  dame  very  de- 
«»murely. 

"I  doubt  it  not,"  cried  her  master; 
"  and  thine  innocency  was  always  re- 
spected, I'll  be  bound  lor  it.  Haw  !  haw ! 
haw  !" 

"  Indeed,  you  may  say  that,"  responded 
Bhe.  "  For  it  is  a  most  notable  truth  that 
ao  longer  ago  than  five-and-twenty  year 
last  Martinmas" — 

"  Thou  must  then  have  seen  a  good 
forty  years  at  least — an  excellent  fine  age 
for  innocency  ;"  and  then  the  old  fellow 
chuckled  again  mightily. 

"  Fie  on  you  for  saying  so,  and  I  not 
fifty  yet !"  said  Margery,  her  yellow 
physiognomy  blushing  with  indignation 
at  such  an  insinuation  of  her  antiquity — 
the  which,  however,  was  no  great  way 
from  the  truth.  "  No  longer  ago  than 
five-and-twenty  year  last  Martinmas" — 

"  Thou  wert  put  in  the  stocks  for  a 
wanton — an  excellent  fine  proof  of  inno- 
cency, o'  my  life  !  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !" 
And  then  he  gave  the  table  a  slap  that 
made  the  horns  jump  again. 

"  What,  I !  I  that  have  ever  been  the 
discreetest  and  virtuousest  of  virgins !" 
exclaimed  the  old  woman,  in  a  seeming 
monstrous  to-do.  "  I'll  be  upon  my  oath 
I  was  never  put  in  the  stocks." 

"  Well,  thou  hast  had  exceeding  good 
luck,  then,"  replied  the  mercer,  winking 
at  his  companion,  and  endeavoring  to 
keep  a  grave  face ;  but  he  succeeded  not, 
for  he  presently  burst  out  in  the  same 
short,  loud  laugh  as  at  first. 

"  Nay,  I'll  tarry  not  to  be  made  game 
of,"  cried  she  somewhat  sulkily;  and 
thereupon  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

"  Mayhap,  if  she  tarry  to  be  made 
game  of,  then  should  none  hurry  to  put 
her  on  the  spit.  Haw !  haw !  haw !" 
shouted  her  master,  his  eyes  twinkling 
very  merrily  at  the  conceit. 

"  Methinks  it  would  be  but  barbarous 
to  make  a  roast  of  her,"  observed  the 
scrivener,  with  a  perfect  seriousness. 
"  And  indeed  she  seemeth  not  very  deli- 
cate eating.'' 

"No  more  delicate  eating  than  thou 
art ;  and  I  doubt  not  to  find  more  juice  in 
the  fag  end  of  a  piece  of  dowlas,  than 
thou  canst  boast  of  in  thy  whole  body," 
replied  the  mercer,  who,  being  of  a  well- 
fed  person  himself,  held  the  other's  lank- 
aess  in  seeming  contempt.  "But  what 
sayest  thou  to  a  dainty  young  wench 
of  some  sixteen  years  or  so — fresh  and 
plump  and  tender  as  a  chicken?  Doth 


not  thy  mouth  water  at  such  fare — eh, 
Gregory  ?" 

"In  honest  truth,  I  have  DO  stomach 
for  human  flesh,"  answered  the  scriv- 
ener. 

"  Out  qn  thee  for  a  dull  wit !"  ex- 
claimed the  other.  "I'll  be  hanged  if 
thou  bast  more  brains  than  a  roast  chest- 
nut. But  as  thou  canst  not  entertain  me 
with  thy  discourse,  see  if  thou  canst  tune 
up  thy  pipe  for  a  song.  A  song — a  song, 
Gregory !" 

"Believe  me,  I  have  forgotten  every 
tune  but  one,"  said  the  miser  of  St.  Mary 
Axe  in  very  serious  fashion,  "  and  that  be 
the  hundredth  psalm." 

"  Psalm  me  no  psalms !  Dost  take  me 
for  a  puritan  ?"  cried  the  jolly  mercer. 

"Nay,  but  it  be  an  excellent  sober 
tune,  Geoffrey  Sarsnet." 

"  Then  shall  it  be  the  most  unfit  tune 
in  the  world  over  a  full  bowl.  Haw! 
haw !  haw !"  shouted  his  companion  in 
the  same  merry  key  as  at  first. 

"Methinks  I  know  of  none  other,"  said 
Gregory  Vellum. 

"  Then  ale  of  mine  shalt  thou  never 
taste  till  thou  hast  bethought  thee  of 
something  more  to  the  purpose.  So  look 
to  thy  memory,  and  quickly." 

"I  do  remember  me  there  was  a  song 
I  did  use  to  affect  in  an  idle  hour  when  I 
was  but  an  apprentice,"  observed  the 
scrivener. 

"  Prythee,  then,  out  with  it !"  exclaimed 
the  other. 

"  Indeed,  I  have  no  voice  for  singing, 
gossip.  Hem !  hem  !"  and  then  the  old 
fellow  began  to  clear  his  throat  very  dili- 
gently, looking,  or  rather  striving  to  look, 
exceeding  modest  all  the  time. 

"I  have  asked  thee  not  to  sing  with 
any  other  voice  than  thine  own,  so  I  must 
needs  make  the  best  of  it,"  replied  the 
jolly  mercer  very  merrily. 

"Hem!  hem!'' 

"Nay,  I  would  as  lief  sit  with  a  tailor 
as  with  one  that  doth  nothing  but  '  hem,'  " 
said  his  companion,  with  a  laugh  as  loud 
as  ever. 

"  I  will  fall  to  it  as  well  as  I  may,"  re- 
plied the  scrivener.  Then  turning  up  his 
eyes  to  the  ceiling,  began  in  a  wonderful 
shrill,  trembling  pipe — 

"  '  When  little  birds  sat  on  their  nests'— 

"  Nay,  but  good  gossip,  I  be  not  in  most 
excellent  voice,"  said  he,  ere  he  had  got 
any  further.  "  Hem,  hem." 

"  It  wants  no  conjurer  to  tell  me  that," 
answered  his  companion  with  a  chuckle. 
"But  not  a  drop  of  my  good  ale  shall 


SHARSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


moisten  thy  throat  if  thou  dost  not  sing 
me  the  song  before  it  be  brought  in." 

"  Hem,  hem  !"  repeated  the  other 
quickly,  for  he  had  no  objection  to  any 
good  thing  at  another's  expense.  Then, 
with  a  lack-a-daisical  look,  the  like  of 
which  it  is  impossible  to  conceive,  he  re- 
commenced— 

"  When  little  birds  sat  on  their  nests, 

And  conies  to  the  young  wheat  hied  ; 
Ana  flowers  hung  down  their  dainty  crests, 
And  Philomel  her  sweet  trade  plied. 
'  With  my  heigh-ho ! 
Whether  or  no, 
Kiss  me  but  once  before  I  go, 
Under  the  tr»e  where  the  pippins  grow.' " 

"  I  say  nothing  against  the  matter  of 
thy  ballad,"  here  interposed  the  mercer  ; 
*'  for  it  be  as  exquisite  foolish  stuff  as 
heart  can  desire.  But  if  thou  art  not 
singing  it  to  the  hundredth  psalm  then 
never  gave  I  honest  measure." 

"  'Tis  very  like,"  replied  the  old  miser 
gravely;  "for  I  did  tell  thee  I  knew  of 
no  other  tune." 

"  I'll  have  none  on't.  So  look  that  thou 
sing  the  proper  notes."  At  this,  with  a 
preliminary  hem  or  two,  Gregory  Vellum 
did  essay  the  second  verse,  much  after 
the  same  die-away  fashion  as  at  first. 

"  'Twas  then  a  lover  and  his  lass, 

Her  rosy  cheek  with  his  acquaint" — 

"Thou  art  at  the  psalm  again,  and  be 
hanged  to  thee !"  here  exclaimed  his 
companion. 

"  Indeed,  then  I  knew  it  not ;  but  I  will 
take  good  heed  I  fall  no  more  into  that 
strain."  And  then  he  continued  his  bal- 
lad :— 

"  Had  set  them  on  the  tender  grass  ; 

Whilst  he  thus  fondly  made  his  plaint. 
1  Singing  heigh-ho ! 
Whether  or  no, 
Kiss  rne  again  before  I  go, 
Under  the  tree  where  the  pippins  grow.'  " 

"Thou  art  clean  past  all  hope,"  cried 
Geoffrey  Sarsnet ;  "for  to  one  note  of  the 
ballad  thou  hast  given  a  score  of  the  hun- 
dredth psalm." 

"Ah,  did  I  so? — then  in  truth  it  did 
escape  me  unawares,"  replied  the  other, 
and  resumed  his  ditty,  the  first  two  or 
three  notes  of  the  which  seemed  of  a  fit- 
ting tune  ;  but  the  rest  was  the  psalm  be- 
yond all  possibility  of  contradiction. 

"  He  kissed  her  once,  he  kissed  her  twice, 

Though  oft  she  coyly  said  him  nay  ; 
Mayhap  she  had  him  kiss  her  thrice 
Before  she  let  him  get  away. 
'  Singing  heigh-ho ! 
Whether  or  no, 
Kiss  me  again  before  you  go. 
Under  the  tree  where  the  pippins  grow.'  " 

"  Odds,  my  life !  thou  hast   no   more 
6 


notes  in  thy  voice  than  hath  a  cuckoo, 
who  singeth  the  same  sorry  tune  ever," 
said  the  jolly  mercer.  "  But  here  comes 
the  bowl,"  he  added,  seeing  Margery  en- 
ter with  it  in  ner  hands,  and  place  it  be- 
fore him. 

"  Ay,  marry  does  it,"  said  the  old  wo- 
man— all  trace  of  her  late  displeasure 
having  vanished — "and  there  is  in  it  as 
fine  a  roasted  crab  as  heart  could  wish 
for,  with  store  of  all  proper  things." 

"  By  cock  and  pye,  so  there  is !"  ex- 
claimed her  master,  gloating  over  it  with 
his  rosy  face,  and  sniffing  up  the  spicy 
steam  with  wonderful  satisfaction, "  Now, 
will  I  believe,  Margery,  all  that  thou 
hast  said  of  thy  exceeding  virtue :  nay, 
more,  looking  into  thy  face,  I  could  take 
upon  me  to  swear,  with  a  safe  conscience, 
that  thou  hast  never  had  a  lover  in  thy 
life."  And  thereupon  he  again  burst  out 
a  laughing. 

"Nay,  you  are  wrong  there,  kind 
heart,^  replied  Margery,  with  great  com- 
placency, "  I  have  had  no  lack  of  lovers 
in  my  time,  I  warrant  you.  For,  as  I 
was -a  saying  but  now,  it  was  just  five- 
and-twenty  years  last  Martinmas" 

"  Since  thou  wert  taken  up  by  the 
constable  on  evidence  that  thou  wert  like 
to  become  chargeable  to  the  parish:  a 
singular  fine  proof  that  thou  hast  had 
lovers  sure  enough.  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !" 
Thereat  he  slapped  the  table  so  hard  that 
it  did  overturn  one  of  the  drinking  horns 
he  had  just  filled. 

The  old  dame  answered  not,  save  by 
bouncing  out  of  the  room  more  angry 
than  before. 

"Mind  it  not,  Gregory!"  exclaimed 
the  jolly  mercer,  as  he  beheld  his  com- 
panion trying  to  save  the  ale,  by  catch- 
ing it  in  the  empty  horn,  as  it  run  through 
the  chinks  of  the  table. 

"  It  be  a  shame  to  let  such  good  liquor 
run  to  waste,  gossip,"  he  replied. 

"  'Twould  have  been  all  the  same 
hadst  thou  swallowed  it,"  observed  the 
other  ;  "  for  to  give  it  thee  is  to  waste  it 
indeed  ;  because  thou  dost  never  look  the 
better  for  it.  Here,  hand  up  thy  cannikin 
— though,  in  truth,  thou  deservest  not  to 
partake  of  such  brave  stuff,  seeing  that 
thou  didst  make  such  a  miserable  hand 
at  thy  ditty." 

"  To  tell  thee  the  exact  truth,"  said 
the  old  miser,  very  earnestly,  "  though  I 
have,  at  divers  times,  essayed  many  dif- 
ferent pongs  somehow  or  another,  yet 
know  I  not  why,  I  never  could  find  any 
other  tune  for  them  but  the  hundreth 
psalm." 


82 


SHAHSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Then  art  thou  but  a  goose  at  sing- 
ing," replied  his  companion,  finishing  a 
draught  of  the  good  liquor  before  him, 
which,  by  the  smacking  of  his  lips,  seem- 
ed to  please  his  palate  mightily,  "  but  I 
will  troll  thee  a  song,  Gregory,  and  one 
worthy  to  be  mated  with  such  right  ex- 
quisite tipple  as  this." 

"  Tis  famous  drinking,  indeed  !"  re- 
marked the  scrivener,  after  a  hearty 
draught  of  the  same  ;  "  and  the  singing,  I 
doubt  not,  will  match  it." 

"Thou  shah  judge,''  said  the  other; 
then,  with  a  full  round  voice,  and  in  a 
very  jovial  manner,  he  did  give  out  the 
following  strain: — 

"  I  never  had  voice  for  a  song  that's  choice, 

And  dainty  ditties  with  rne  must  fail : 
Yet,  weeks  at  a  time,  I  fain  would  chime, 
Whenever  I  strike  up  in  the  praise  of  good  ale. 
Then  troul,  troul, 
Each  hearty  old  soul. 
That  loveth  the  sight  of  a  foaming  bowl ; 
For  there's  naught  in  the  land 
He  should  care  to  command, 
Who  hath  got  such  brave  liquor  as  this  at  his  hand. 

"  Full  oft  to  the  great  have  I  held  my  prate — 

But  when  I  have  had*good  ale  enow, 
I  be  not  afeard  to  wag  my  beard 
•    With  any  woman's  son,  be  he  high  or  low. 
Then  troul,  troul,  <t  c. 

"  Perchance  I  am  shy  when  a  woman  is  by- 
Yet  if  but  good  ale  my  jerkin  line, 
Wife,  widow,  or  maid — in  sun  or  shade. 
'Ere  an  hour  may  have  passed,  shall  have  sworn  her- 
self mine. 

Then  troul,  troul,  &c. 

"  Mayhap  I've  no  store  of  the  sage's  lore — 
But  when  some  good  ale  is  in  my  pate, 
I'faith  I  can  speak  in  Dutch  or  Greek, 
And  argue  a  whole  college  as  dumb  as  their  gate. 
Then  troul,  troul,  &c 

"  It  may  be  from  fright  I  would  run  than  fight- 
Yet  when  with  good  ale  beneath  my  skin  ; 
With  sword  or  with  lance  will  I  advance, 
And  leagured  by  my  foes,  cut  through  thick  and  thin 
Then  trout,  troul,  &c. 

"  'Twill  needs  be  my  hap  to  have  not  a  rap- 
But  when  that  good  ale  hath  warmed  my  veins, 
There  be  none  like  myself,  so  rich  in  pelf — 
For  ne'er  can  1  count  up  the  whole  of  my  gains. 
Then  troul,  troul,  <tc. 

"  I'm  nigh  unto  Death  for  the  lack  of  breath- 
Yet  if  of  good  ale  I  am  not  scant, 
Full  many  a  bout  shall  I  see  out, 
And  never  shall  I  know  aught  of  pain  or  of  want. 
Then  troul,  troul, 
Each  hearty  old  soul, 
That  loveth  the  sight  of  a  foaming  bowl ; 
F»r  there's  naught  in  the  land 
He  should  care  to  command, 
Who  hath  got  such  brave  liquor  as  this  at  his  hand  !' 

"  Indeed  it  be  an  excellent  fine  song 
gossip,  and  a  merry,"  observed  the  ok 
miser,  with  exceeding  complacency. 

"  Somewhat  better  than  thy  miserable 
ditty,  that  be  only  fit  to  be  sung  over  a 
kitten  in  a  fit,"  replied  the  jolly  mercer, 
with  his  .customary  laugh.  "  But  hanc 
up  thy  vessel,  Gregory,  for  it  hath  ac- 


quired a  marvellous  resemblance  to  thy- 
self— it  be  singularly  empty :  Haw  !  haw  ! 
haw !" 

"  In  truth,  it  hath  nothing  in  it,"  said 
the  scrivener,  losing  no  time  in  doing  as 
he  was  bid.  "  But  what  hath  become  of 
the  beautiful  Joanna  all  this  time  ?" 

"Like  enough,  she  be  above  stairs 
with  some  of  her  gallants,"  answered 
the  other,  carelessly. 

"  With  some  of  her  gallants  ?"  ex- 
claimed Gregory  Vellum — his  leaden 
visage  in  no  small  degree  disturbed — 
"  Prythee,  tell  me,  be  there  many  that 
consort  with  her  ?" 

"  Some  score  or  two,  at  least,"  replied 
his  companion. 

"But  dost  approve  of  it?"  asked  the 
old  miser,  looking  still  less  at  his  ease. 

"  To  be  sure  1  do,  Gregory.  Dost 
think  I  know  not  on  which  side  of  the 
bread  the  butter  lies  ? — I  tell  thee,  there 
be  all  sorts  of  notable  gentlemen  and 
brave  gallants,  come  after  her  upon  the 
fame  of  her  infinite  comeliness;  and,  doubt- 
less, seeking  of  my  favor>  they  order  of 
me  great  store  of  fine  things  for  their 
own  wearing.  Many's  the  piece  of  satin 
I  have  sold  for  a  cloak ;  and  as  for  vel- 
vets and  silks,  it  be  beyond  calculation 
the  store  I  have  got  rid  of  on  that  ac- 
count. Mayhap,  in  time,  some  of  them 
owe  me  a  swinging  bill,  and  I  go  with 
it  to  their  houses,  and,  like  enough,  get 
no  answer — then  send  I  Joanna,  and  she 
bringeth  me  the  money  in  a  presently. 
Odds  my  life,  man !  seeing  that  she  be 
of  such  profit  to  me,  will  I  not  let  her 
do  as  she  lists  ?" 

"But  dost  not  fancy  it  may  like  to 
damage  her  reputation  ?" 

"  Damage  her  fiddlestick  !"  replied  the 
jolly  mercer,  with  his  ready  laugh.  "  I 
doubt  not  she  be  well  able  to  take  care 
of  herself;  and  if  she  grant  them  any 
favor,  'tis  like  she  maketh  them  pay 
roundly  for  it." 

This  communication  the  miser  of  St. 
Mary  Axe  in  no  way  seemed  to  relish, 
as  was  evident  from  the  increasing  un- 
easiness of  his  countenance. 

"  Surely  thou  wouldst  be  glad  to  see 
her  honestly  married  to  some  reputable 
person,"  said  he  at  last. 

"  Dost  take  me  for  an  ass,  Gregory  ?" 
sharply  inquired  the  other.  "Neither 
honestly  nor  dishonestly,  with  my  good 
will :  for  should  I  not  lose  by  it  all  the 
good  custom  that  is  now  drawn  to  my 
house  ?  If  she  marry,  I  must  needs  make 
the  best  I  can  of  it ;  but  I  would  ever 
hinder  it  if  I  could." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


83 


*'  Aiack  do  not  say  so,  gossip,"  cried 
his  companion  in  very  woful  fashion, 
"for  in  honest  truth  I  love  her  infinitely, 
and  would  marry  her  myself." 

"  Thou  marry  her  !"  shouted  the  mer- 
cer, pushing  back  his  chair,  and  staring 
on  the  other  in  exceeding  surprise. 

"  Ay,  good  Geoffrey,  and  have  come 
expressly  to  talk  to  thee  upon  the  busi- 
ness." 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  haw !"  roared  out  his 
lusty  companion. 

"And,  as  she  knoweth  full  well,  have 
been  courting  of  her  for  some  time  past." 

"Haw  !  haw  !  haw !"  repeated  the 
jolly  mercer  louder  than  before. 

"  Nay,  forsooth,  it  be  no  laughing  mat- 
ter to  me,  I  do  assure  thee,"  continued 
the  old  miser,  now  a  little  nettled  at  the 
manner  in  which  his  communication  had 
been  received.  "  She  hath  had  great 
store  of  gifts  from  me — owches,  rings,  a 
Venetian  chain  that  cost  me  fifty  crowns, 
besides  sundry  sums  in  rose  nobles  for 
her  private  expenses ;  and  when  upon 
showing  her  of  what  bountiful  disposition 
I  had  been,  I  pressed  her  to  name  the 
nuptial  day,  she  did  earnestly  assure  me 
of  her  willingness,  provided  I  succeeded 
in  the  obtaining  of  thy  consent." 

"  Haw  !  haw !  haw  !"  shouted  the 
other,  giving  the  table  a  thump  that 
made  it  sound  again,  and  looking  as  if  he 
could  hardly  see  out  of  his  eyes,  his 
cheeks  were  so  squeezed  up  with  laugh- 
ing, "  That  be  best  of  all.  So  thou  hast 
been  courting  Joanna,  eh,  Gregory  ?  Why 
thou  shadow !  thou  lath !  thou  rush  !  thou 
first  cousin  to  nothing  ! — what  could  mis- 
lead thee  into  such  egregious  folly?  to 
say  nothing  of  the  presumption  on't. 
To  think  for  a  moment  such  a  withered 
apple-john  as  thou  art  should  succeed 
against  so  many  fine  young  knights  and 
sprightly  gentlemen  !" 

"  Prythee,  if  I  am  not  to  have  her  to 
wife,  let  her  return  the  gifts  she  had  of 
me,"  cried  the  old  miser  with  exceeding 
earnestness. 

"  If  thou  ever  seest  a  glimpse  of  one 
of  them,  then  shalt  thou  have  better 
eyesight  than  is  customary  for  one  at 
thy  time  of  life,"  replied  the  other, 
chuckling  famously. 

"  Nay,  I  will  go  to  law  on  it  an'  I  have 
them  not,"  cried  the  scrivener,  starting 
up  from  his  chair  in  a  monstrous  conster- 
nation at  the  thought  of  losing  so  many 
valuable  things. 

"  Prythee  do  no  such  thing,"  answered 
the  jolly  mercer,  as  well  as  he  could  for 
laughing,  "  for  of  a  surety  thou  wouldst 


be  laughed  out  of  every  court  in  Christ- 
endom." 

;'  Oh,  I  be  utterly  ruined  and  undone  !" 
exclaimed  the  old  miser  wildly,  as  he 
sunk  his  hands  in  his  face  and  dropped 
again  into  his  chair. 

"  I  doubt  it  be  so  bad  as  that,"  ob- 
served Geoffrey  Sarsnet,  "  but  it  will  be  a 
good  lesson  for  thee  to  take  heed  when 
thou  dost  again  pay  the  piper,  to  see  thou 
art  not  left  alone  in  the  dance." 

Gregory  Vellum  replied  not — for  in- 
deed he  did  stand  very  much  in  fear  of 
his  lusty  companion,  and  did  scarce  dare 
utter  a  word :  but  no  unfortunate  wight 
looked  ever  in  so  disconsolate  a  mood. 

•'  Come,  drink,  man  !  drink  !"  cried  the 
mercer  very  merrily.  "  Care  killed  a 
cat,  and  if  it  could  put  a  finish  upon  her 
nine  lives,  surely  thy  one  must  needs 
stand  but  a  sorry  chance.  So  drown 
care  in  the  bowl,  and  thou  shalt  live  all 
the  happier  for  it." 

The  scrivener  of  St.  Mary  Axe  then, 
as  if  in  a  desperate  taking  did  begin  to 
drink  like  a  fish,  in  the  which  he  was 
encouraged  by  the  other,  who  joked  and 
laughed  without  ceasing.  At  this  time 
there  entered  one  of  a  very  impudent 
countenance,  and  monstrous  swaggering 
manner.  His  hair  was  of  the  color  of 
flax  that  hath  been  scorched  in  the 
dressing,  and  was  combed  back  in  a 
mighty  coxcombical  fashion  from  his 
forehead,  where  it  was  twisted  up  like 
unto  a  cockatoo's  crest ;  his  beard  was 
of  the  like  hue,  and  cut  to  a  peak.  Of 
his  face  it  may  suffice  to  say  that  it  did 
express  a  singular  fine  opinion  of  the 
owner,  and  for  assurance  was  not  like  to 
meet  with  its  peer.  For  his  age  it  seemed 
nigh  unto  thirty.  He  wore  a  high  ruff 
and  a  doublet  very  conceitedly  cut,  that 
had  once  been  much  better  than  it  was  ; 
with  breeches  stuffed  out  extravagantly — 
red  hose  cross  gartered,  and  yellow 
rosettes  in  his  shoes,  a  world  and  all  too 
large.  Sticking  his  right  arm  straight 
out,  with  his  other  arm  a-kimbo,  as  soon 
as  he  had  entered ;  with  a  very  fustian 
voice,  and  high  and  mighty  look,  he  thus 
addressed  the  twain  : — 

"  Brave  peers  of  France  !  sith  we  have  passed  the 

bounds 

Whereby  the  wrangling  billows  seek  for  straits 
To  war  with  Tellus  and  her  fruitful  mines  : 
Sith  we  have  furrowed  through  those  wandering 

tides 

Of  Tyrrhene  seas,  and  made  our  galleys  dance 
Upon  the  Hyperborean  billows'  crests. 
That  braves  with  streams  the  watery  Occident"— 

"What,  Ralph  Goshawk!"  cried  the 
jolly  mercer  as  he  noticed  the  intruder 


84 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.    ' 


"  Come,  sit  thee  down,  and  help  us  to 
finish  this  bowl."  But  the  other,  without 
minding  the  interruption,  continued  : — 

"  And  found  the  rich  and  wealthy  Indian  clime, 
Sought  to  by  greedy  minds  for  hostile  gold" — 

"  Nay,  give  over  bombasting  out  thy 
Dlank  verse  awhile,"said  Geoffrey  Sarsnet. 
"  In  truth,  Ralph,  thou  art  exceeding  like 
a  gutter  on  a  house-top  in  a  storm  of  rain 
— thou  art  so  abominably  given  to  spout- 
ing. Haw!  haw!  haw!" 

The  miser  of  St.  Mary  Axe  started 
with  a  sort  of  consternation,  for  either 
what  he  had  drunk  had  fuddled  him  in 
some  measure,  or  he  liked  not  the  stran- 
ger's appearance  ;  seeing  which,  the  latter 
made  two  or  three  dignified  strides  to 
where  the  scrivener  sat,  and  spoke  him 
thus : — 

"  And  I,  my  lord,  am  Mandricard  of  Mexico, 
Whose  climate  fairer  than  Tyberius, 
Seated  beyond  the  sea  of  Tripoly, 
And  richer  than  the  plot  Hesperides." 

"I  drink  your  worship's  health,  Master 
Mandricard,"  falteringly  replied  Gregory 
Vellum,  with  trembling  hands  raising  the 
horn  to  his  mouth.  Thereat,  the  other 
proceeded  after  the  same  fashion. 

"  As  for  myself,  I  walk  abroad  a  nights, 
And  kill  sick  people  groaning  under  walls  :" 

At  this  the  miser  could  not  drink,  he 
seemed  struck  with  such  a  sudden  fear. 

"  Sometimes  I  go  about  and  poison  wells." 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  exclaimed  the 
frightened  scrivener. 

"  And  now  and  then  to  cherish  Christian  thieves 
I  am  content  to  lose  some  of  my  crowns  ; 
That  I  may,  walking  in  my  gallery, 
See  'em  go  pinioned  along  by  my  door." 

"  Ha  !"  cried  the  frightened  scrivener, 
in  a  long  tremulous  tone. 

"  Then  after  that  was  Ian  usurer, 
And  with  extorting,  cozening,  forfeiting, 
And  tricks  belonging  unto  brokery— 
I  rilled  the  jails  with  bankrupts  in  a  year, 
And  with  young  orphans  planted  hospitals. 
And  every  moon  made  some  or  other  mad." 

"  Good  Lord,  deliver  us  !"  piously  ex- 
claimed the  old  miser.  Then  raising  his 
voice,  and  looking  very  frowningly,  the 
other  recommenced : — 

"  'Twas  1,  my  lord,  that  got  the  victory— 
The  god  of  war  resigns  his  room  to  me, 
Meaning  to  make  the  general  of  the  world. 
Jove  viewing  me  in  arms  looks  pale  and  wan, 
Fearing  my  power  should  pull  him  from  his  throne 
Where'er  I  come,  the  fatal  sisters  sweat, 
And  grisly  Death — by  running  to  and  fro 
To  do  their  ceaseless  homage  to  my  sword." 

At  this,  Gregory  Vellum  trembling  in 
every  joint,  and  looking  as  pale  as  any 


of  his  parchment,  threw  himself  on  hi<* 
tnees  before  the  other,  with  closed  palms 
and  uplifted  eyes,  and  cried  out  as  loud  as 
lis  fright  would  allow, 

"  Good,  your  worship,  don't  kill  me  this 
time !" 

'Haw!  haw!  haw  !"  shouted  the  jolly 
mercer,  who  with  much  ado,  had  refrain- 
ed from  laughing  before.  "  Get  thee  up, 
aregory,  and  fear  nothing.  It  be  only 
Ralph  Goshawk,  a  young  haberdasher 
rrom  the  Strand,  as  impudent  a  varlet  as 
lives  ;  but  there  be  no  harm  in  him,  save 
that  he  be  stage-struck.  Hegoeth  to  the 
playhouse  so  oft,  that  his  talk  is  all  of 
fag-ends  of  plays ;  and  so  far  gone  is  he 
in  it,  that  if  one  ask  of  him  the  price  of 
pack-thread,  he  will  answer,  like  an 
emperor,"  in  blank  verse.  Sit  thee  down, 
Ralph  !  and  take  me  off  this  horn  of  good 
ale,  or  I  will  beat  thee  out  of  thy  humor 
in  a  jiffy." 

The  young  haberdasher  took  two 
majestic  strides  to  a  chair,  which,  in  the 
like  princely  manner,  he  drew  to  the 
table  ;  then,  with  a  right  royal  salutation 
to  the  company,  he  tossed  off  his  ale,  and 
sat  himself  down  very  gravely ;  at  the 
which  Geoffrey  Sarsnet  laughed  louder 
than  ever.  The  scrivener,  in  some  degree 
assured  that  the  other  would  do  him  no 
harm,  now  returned  to  his  seat ;  but  the 
drink  he  had  had,  evidently  was  getting 
into  his  head,  for  he  had  a  very  vacant 
look  with  him,  and  he  walked  unsteadily. 

"  Come,  drink,  my  masters,  drink," 
exclaimed  the  mercer,  filling  the  cups 
of  his  guests  as  fast  as  they  were  emptied. 
"And  how  weareth  the  night,  Ralph  ?" 

No  sooner  had  the  question  been  asked 
than  he  that  was  spoken  to  jumped  up 
from  his  chair,  placed  his  arms  as  before 
described,  and  thus  answered : — 

"  The  golden  ball  of  Heaven's  eternal  fire, 
That  danced  with  glory  on  the  silver  waves, 
Now  wants  the  fuel  that  inflamed  his  beams ; 
And  all  with  faintness  and  for  foul  disgrace, 
He  binds  his  temples  with  a  frowning  cloud." 

Then  sat  him  down. 

"Thou  villain,  thou  wilt  be  the  death 
cf  me,"  exclaimed  his  lusty  host,  with  his 
usual  hearty  laugh.  "  But  can  not  we 
have  a  catch,  my  masters  ?  I'm  in  a 
brave  humor  for  singing.  A  catch,  my 
masters — a  catch  !" 

Up  jumped  the  young  haberdasher  at 
this,  exclaiming  exactly  after  the  same 
fashion  as  at  first : — 

"  And  in  this  sweet  and  curious  harmony 
The  god  that  tunes  this  music  to  our  souls 
Holds  out  his  hand  in  highest  majesty 
To  entertain  divine  Zenocrate." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


85 


"A  fig  for  Zenocrate  and  all  her  gen- 
eration !"  cried  the  jolly  mercer.  "  I  tell 
tell  thee  we  will  have  a  catch  ;  what  say- 
est  thou,  Gregory  ?  Art  for  a  catch  ?" 

"I'd  rather  the  hundredth  psalm  if  it 
please  thee,  gossip,"  drawled  out  the 
scrivener,  winking  his  eyes  abit,  as  if  his 
sight  was  none  of  the  clearest. 

"  Be  this  a  time  to  sing  psalms,  thou 
heathen  !"  bawled  out  he  of  Eastcheap. 
"  Hast  no  respect  for  places  ?  well,  if  we 
can  not  sing  a  catch,  we  will  dance  the 
brawls  :  so  away  with  the  tables  and 
chairs,  my  masters,  into  the  corner,  and 
let's  foot  it  bravely." 

The  tables  and  chairs  were  quickly 
moved  by  the  jolly  mercer,  assisted  by 
Ralph  Goshawk,  who  could  not,  in  the 
meanwhile,  refrain  from  breaking  out : — 

"  Now  Hecuba  and  Ilium's  honored  line." 

"Hang  Hecuba  and  thee  too!"  cried 
Geoffrey-  Sarsnet ;  "  and  for  the  matter 
of  that,  Ilium  may  take  his  line  and  hang 
himself.  Haw !  haw !  haw !  Now  then, 
my  masters,  at  it  in  style,  to  the  tune  of 
'Green  Sleeves.' " 

Then  commenced  a  scene,  the  like  of 
which  hath  rarely  been  looked  on  ;  for 
the  jolly  mercer  began  throwing  about 
his  lusty  limbs,  singing  of  the  tune  to  the 
top  of  his  voice,  with  now  and  then  vary- 
ing it  with  a  loud  whoop,  as  he  slapped 
one  or  other  on  the  back.  He  was  sec- 
onded by  Ralph  Goshawk,  who  moved 
about  as  gingerly  as  though  the  flooring 
was  of  pins  and  needles,  and  he  was 
mightily  afraid  of  pricking  his  toes;  and 
after  him  came  the  old  miser,  with  his 
eyes  half  shut,  and  hanging  of  his  head 
on  one  side,  as  he  staggered  here  and 
there,  as  if  without  the  slightest  knowl- 
edge of  what  he  was  a  doing.  Such  a  din 
they  kicked  up  as  would  have  astonished 
v  a  blacksmith.  In  the  very  midst  thereof, 
Gregory  Vellum  made  a  stumble,  and 
came  with  his  back  against  the  table, 
knocking  down  from  it  the  lights,  the 
horns,  and  every  one  thing  that  had  been 
there,  and  putting  the  place  in  utter  and 
complete  darkness. 

Immediately  after  the  crash,  the  door 
opened,  and  there  appeared  at  it  the 
beautiful  Joanna  with  a  light,  with  Dame 
Margery  close  behind,  peeping  to  know 
what  such  a  terrible  racket  could  be 
about.  Seeing  the  mercer's  daughter, 
the  old  miser,  who  had  till  now  support- 
ed himself  against  the  table  with  his 
hands,  slipped  down  upon  his  nether  end, 
staling  at  her  as  foolishly  as  you  please, 
wila  his  nlouth  open;  and  the  young 


haberdasher  marched  forward  two  paces, 
and  with  his  arms  in  the  usual  position, 
addressed  her  thus : — 

"  O  gentle  daughter  of  King  (Edipus, 

0  sister  dear  to  that  unhappy  wight- 
Whom  brother's  rage  hath  reaved  of  his  right, 

To  whom  thou  knowest,  in  young  and  tender  years, 

1  was  a  friend  and  faithful  governor, 

Come  forth.si  nee  that  her  grace  hath  granted  leave, 
And  let  me  know  what  cause  hath  moved  now 
So  chaste  a  maid  to  set  her  dainty  foot 
Over  the  threshold  of  her  secret  lodge." 

"  Go  it,  fustian !"  cried  the  mercer, 
giving  the  other  so  forcible  a  slap  on  the 
back  that  it  put  him  quite  out  of  his 
favorite  position,  and  nearly  sent  him 
sprawling  on  the  floor. 

"  Father,  I  wonder  you  should  make 
such  a  clatter  at  this  time  of  the  night," 
said  Joanna,  as  gravely  as  she  could ;  for 
in  truth  the  scene  was  extremely  ludi- 
crous :  then  she  added  to  the  old  woman 
— "  Margery,  let  them  have  lights."  '  At 
the  which,  giving  her  candle  to  the  oth- 
er, she  was  hastening  away,  when  she 
stopped  suddenly,  turned  back,  and  said, 
"  I  think  you  had  best  gp  to  bed,  father, 
for  'tis  exceeding  late,  and  the  neighbors 
wfll  marvel  hugely  at  your  making  such 
a  disturbance ;" — and  then  she  went  away. 

"Well,  the  choicest  of  fooling  must 
have  an  end,"  exclaimed  the  jolly  mer- 
cer ;  "  so  we  must  e'en  part.  Ralph, 
thou  hadst  best  see  Gregory  Vellum  to 
his  house  in  St.  Mary  Axe,  for  I  doubt 
much,  if  he  were  left  to  find  his  way,  he 
would  get  beyond  the  next  gutter."  At  the 
which  the  young  haberdasher  answered 
only  by  staring  at  the  open  door  very 
earnestly,  and  exclaiming  thus: — 

"  Techelles,  draw  thy  sword, 
And  wound  the  earth,  that  it  may  cleav«  in  twain, 
And  we  descend  into  th"  infernal  vaults 
To  hale  the  fatal  sisters  by  the  hair, 
Arid  throw  them  in  the  triple  moat  of  hell, 
For  taking  hence  my  fair  Zenocrate." 

"  What,  Zenocrate  again  ?  and  be 
hanged  to  thee,"  cried  out  his  lusty  host, 
and  thereat  lent  him  such  a  kick  of  the 
breech,  that  it  sent  him  bounce  against 
the  old  woman,  as  she  was  a  going  out 
at  the  door. 

"Ya!"  screamed  she,  as  loud  as  she 
could  bawl,  and  took  herself  out  of  the 
I  room  as  if  she  had  been  shot  out  of  it. 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !"  roared  the  jolly 
mercer,  while  the  discomfited  haber- 
dasher stood  at  a  little  distance,  dili- 
gently rubbing  his  nether  end.  "But 
haste  thee,  Ralph,  and  take  this  fellow 
away  straight,  for  I  am  eager  to  have 
!  him  out  of  my  house." 

At  this  Ralph  Goshawk  took  two  or 
|  three  of   his    most  majestic    strides   to 


86 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


where  Gregory  Vellum  now  lay  at  hi 
length,  and  with  the  assistance  of  hi 
lusty  companion,  raised  him  on  his  legs 
The  old  miser  opened  his  lack-lustre  eyes 
and  tried  to  look  sensible,  in  the  which 
as  may  be  supposed,  he  succeeded  not  a 
all. 

"  Oh,  woman  !  lovely  woman !"  criec 
he,  in  his  shrill  treble ;  and  thereupon 
hugged  Ralph  so  closely  in  his  arms  tha 
both  of  them  came  tumbling  to  th< 
ground  together. 

"  Odds  my  life,  this  fooling  will  be  th< 
death  of  me,"  exclaimed  the  mercer,  his 
fat  sides  shaking  with  laughter ;  and  then 
the  two  again  essayed  to  raise  the  tipsy 
scrivener. 

"  Spare  my  money,  and  take  my  life,' 
drawled  out  he,  as  he  arrived  at  his  per- 
pendicular. 

'*  Thy  money's  safe,  I'll  be  bound  for 
it ;  and  as  for  thy  life,  'tis  the  safer  of  the 
two,  for  it  be  not  worth  the  taking."  And 
then  the  mirth  of  Geoffrey  Sarsnet  burst 
out  as  loud  as  ever. 

"  Oh,  my  gold  !  my  gold  !"  cried  the 
old  miser,  knocking  his  hands  together, 
and  looking  marvellously  helpless  and 
pitiful,  as,  supported  by  the  arms  of  Ralph 
Goshawk  round  his  waist,  he  dragged 
himself  along.  The  young  haberdasher 
accompanying  him  with  a  monstrous 
dignified  slow  march,  and  looking  as  ten- 
derly on  his  charge,  as  if  he  had  been 
some  delicate  princess ;  and  the  jolly 
mercer,  following  with  the  light,  ever 
and  anon,  breaking  out  in  his  customary 
laugh. 

"  Gently  with  him !"  exclaimed  he. 
"  Hold  him  up,  or  he  will  slip  down  again, 
and  mavhay  hurt  his  fool's  head.  Stop, 
let  me  put  on  his  hat — and  here's  thine. 
Now,  let  me  ope  the  door:  and  if  thou 
meet  any  of  the  watch,  say  it  be  an  hon- 
est friend  of  mine,  and  they  will  molest 
theenot ;  for  I  be  in  good  odor  with  Mas- 
ter Constable,  and  have  treated  many  of 
his  brethren  with  a  tankard.  Goodnight 
to  thee,  old  boy  ;  and,  prythee,  keep  thy 
body  up  if  thou  cast.  Good  night,  Ralph  !" 
The  young  haberdasher  no  sooner 
heard  the  words  that  had  just  been  utter- 
ed, than  holding  his  charge  firmly  with 
one  arm,  he  struck  out  the  other,  and  re- 
plied "Thus  Rhadamanthus  spoke — " 

"Hang  Rhadamanthus  and  thee  too!" 
cried  the  other,  as  he  banged  the  street 
door  in  his  face:  and  what  Rhadaman- 
thus spoke  remaineth  to  this  day  a  mys- 
tery. The  jolly  mercer,  like  a  careful 
ritizen,  fastened  the  door,  and  saw  that 
all  things  were  safe  in  his  house  ;  and 


then  went  he  up  stairs  to  bed,  singing 
very  merrily : — 

"  Full  oft  to  the  great  have  I  held  my  prate   ; 

But  when  I  have  had  good  ale  enow, 
I  be  not  afeard  to  wag  my  beard 

With  any  woman's  son,  be  he  high  or  low," 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Since  Fortune's  will  is  npw  so  bent 

To  plague  me  thus  poor  man  ! 
I  must  myself  therewith  content, 

And  bear  it  as  I  can. 

SIR  THOMAS  WYATT. 

Happy  is  he  that  liveth  in  such  a  sort ; 
He  need  not  fear  the  tongues  of  false  report. 
LORD  SURREY. 

What  comfort  have  we  npw  ? 
By  heaven,  I'll  hate  him  everlastingly 
That  bids  me  be  of  comfort  any  more. 

SHAKSPKARE. 

THERE  was  a  goodly  company  in  the 
parlor  of  mine  host  of  the  Ship  at  Chat- 
ham, whereof  most  of  them  seemed  to  be 
seafaring  men  from  the  vessels  lying  in 
harbor,  shipwrights  of  the  town,  and 
the  like.  Some  were  a  playing  at  shove- 
groat  ;  others  leaning  out  of  the  open 
bow-window  watching  the  ships.  Here 
one  was  upon  a  bench  as  fast  as  a  church, 
— there  another  a  nodding  hi?  head  over 
the  table,  as  if  he  would  speedily  follow 
his  neighbor's  example ;  many  were  a 
drinking,  and  some  few  discoursing  very 
soberly ;  whilst  ever  and  anon  mine  host 
(a  very  tapster-looking  varlet,  with  a 
right  rosy  face  and  a  short  plump  body) 
came  in  and  out,  serving  of  his  customers 
with  a  tankard  or  so,  and  having  some- 
thing to  say  to  all. 

"  Prythee,  tell  me  what  ship  be  that, 
Simon  Mainsail  ?"  inquired  a  stout  handi- 
craftsman of  some  sort,  to  a  weather- 
seaten  old  mariner  with  a  scarred  face, 
who  stood  by  him  at  the  window. 

"Which  ship,  messmate?"  asked  the 
other. 

"  That  one  that  hath  but  lately  come 
n,"  said  the  first. 

"  Oh  !  be  that  she  squaring  her  yards  ?" 
observed  the  mariner  inquiringly. 

'  Nay,  I  know  not  if  she  be  squaring  of 
icr  yards  or  her  inches,"  replied  the 
landicraftsman  ;  "  but  it  seemeth  to  me 
hat  she  be  just  come  to  an  anchor." 

"  That  be  the  craft,  ey  ?'  answered  his 
companion.  "  'Tis  a  pinnace  of  my  Lord 
Admiral's,  called  the  Disdain,  and  many 
a  time  and  oft  have  I  been  afloat  in  her 
he  saileth  well  enough  afore  the  wind 
— ay,  my  heart !  as  bravely  as  a  witch  in 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


87 


a  sieve  ;  but  she  wears  heavily  in  some 
weathers.  I  was  in  her  off  the  Lizard, 
when  we  first  had  sight  of  the  Spanish 
armada,  and  Captain  Jonas  Bradbury 
was  her  captain — a  right  gallant  gentle- 
man, and  a  skilful.  Well,  when  my 
lord  admiral  had  allowed  the  villain 
Spaniards,  with  all  their  host  of  big 
ships,  amounting  to  160  sail,  to  pass  him 
by  as  they  did,  swaggering  it  along  like 
very  bullies  as  they  were,  we  in  the  Dis- 
dain were  sent  to  challenge  them  to  the 
fight,  at  the  which  we  lost  no  time,  for 
we  straight  bore  down  upon  the  nearest, 
and  discharged  our  ordnance  at  her. 
Then  up  came  my  lord  admiral,  in  the  ark 
Royal,  giving  to  the  first  galleon  of  the 
enemy  such  a  broadside  as  made  her 
shiver  in  all  her  timbers.  Close  at  his 
stern  came  Drake,  in  the  Revenge,  Sir 
John  Hawkins  in  the  Victory,  and  Sir 
Martin  Frobisher  in  the  Triumph,  which 
last  was  the  biggest  of  all  our  ships,  and 
they  soon  began  to  fire  away  like  mad. 
Other  of  our  craft  followed,  and  they 
of  the  armada,  after  a  while,  liked  not 
our  salutations,  1  promise  you  ;  for  they 
that  were  nighest  to  us  bore  away  as  if 
Old  Clooty  was  at  their  heels;  but  not 
before  we  had  done  them  great  damage- 
ment,  burnt  one  of  their  largest  ships, 
and  took  another,  in  the  which  we  found 
55,000  ducats,  whereof  I  spent  my  share 
(for  it  was  all  divided  amongst  the  sail- 
ors) in  drinking  confusion  to  all  villain 
Spaniards." 

"  That  was  a  proud  time  for  Old  Eng- 
land," remarked  a  bystander. 

"  Proud  time  !"  exclaimed  Simon  Main- 
sail. "  'Slife,  messmate !  I  never  think 
on't  but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  head  and  shoul- 
ders taller.'' 

"  Here  be  a  brimming  tankard,  my 
masters  !"  cried  my  host,  as  he  set  a  filled 
jug  before  two  youths,  who  appeared 
by  their  looks  to  be  but  simple  apprenti- 
ces. "  I  doubt  not  'twill  warm  your  young 
hearts  famously.  'Tis  mild  as  milk,  and 
soft  as  silk  ;  and  as  good  as  can  be  drunk 
by  any  nobleman  in  the  land.  But  the 
money,  my  masters — the  money  !': 

"  How  much  be  the  cost  of  it?"  askec 
one  very  innocently. 

"  Why,  to  such  noble  young  gentlemen 
I  must  say  a  groat ;  though  I  would  no 
let  those  of  meaner  quality  have  it  under 
threepence,  I  promise  you."  Thereat  he 
nudged  a  bystander  at  the  elbow. 

"  I  thank'  you  kindly,  good  sir,"  replied 
the  youth;  and  then  in  a  whisper  added 
td  his  companion,  "  Tim,  hast  got  two- 
pence?— for  no  more  than  that  hare  I." 


"  I  have  it  to  a  farthing,"  said  the  other ; 
and  thereupon  handed  him  the  amount, 
which  with  his  own  he  placed  in  the 
hands  of  mine  host. 

'  I  think  you  will  find  it  right,"  ob- 
served the  apprentice,  as  he  noticed  the 
tapster  begin  counting  of  it. 

"  One  penny — two — three — a  halfpen- 
ny and  two  farthings  is  it  exactly,  and 
thank  your  worship,"  replied  mine  host, 
with  a  monstrous  serious  countenance, 
while  all  in  the  room  could  scarce  refrain 
from  a  laugh. 

"  Will  you  take  a  drink  with  us,  good 
sir  ?"  asked  Tim  modestly. 

"  That  will  I,  and  thank  your  honor," 
answered  mine  host,  raising  the  untasted 
jug  to  his  mouth.  "  So,  your  worships' 
very  good  health  !" 

"I  thank  you,"  said  both  at  the  same 
time.  The  two  apprentices  npw  watched 
the  tapster  very  curiously,  as  they  saw 
his  head  gradually  fall  back  as  he  was  a 
drinking  of  their  liquor,  and  his  stomach 
poke  out  as  much,  till  he  put  down  the 
tankard. 

'"Why,  he's  drank  it  all !"  exclaimed 
one,  opening  his  eyes  with  astonishment, 
as  soon  as  he  discovered  the  vessel  was 
empty  ;  at  the  which  announcement  the 
jaw  of  the  other  fell  prodigiously,  and 
all  the  company  burst  out  into  a  roar  of 
laughter. 

"  Your  worship  was  good  enough^  to 
ask  me  to  take  a  drink,  and  methinks  I 
have  done  your  bidding  famously,"  said 
mine  host ;  and  without  ever  a  word 
more,  he  walked  straight  from  the  room, 
as  if  he  had  done  nothing  out  of  the  com- 
mon, leaving  every  one  a  laughing  more 
than  ever,  and  the  two  youths  looking  at 
each  other  as  foolish  as  you  please.  The 
latter  seemed  as  if  they  knew  not  whether 
to  go  or  to  stay.  Without  doubt  they 
were  monstrously  ashamed,  and  would 
have  given  their  ears  never  to  have  en- 
tered into  a  place  whereof,  it  is  on  the 
face  of  it,  they  had  had  so  little  experi- 
ence; but  while  they  were  a  reddening 
and  fidgeting  about,  and  making  up  a  res- 
olution to  take  to  their  heels,  in  comes 
mine  host  with  a  full  tan"kard,  as  if  for 
another  customer,  and  with  such  an  ex- 
ceeding comic  face,  that  at  the  sight  of  it 
the  company  laughed  louder  than  at  first. 

"Here  be  a  somewhat  larger  tankard 
than  the  one  I  brought  you  in  a  while 
since,"  said  the  tapster,  as  he  placed  the 
vessel  before  the  astonished  youths.  "  But 
the  liquor  hath  been  drawn  from  the  same 
tap,  I'll  warrant  it.  'Tis  in  exchange  for 
that  I  hive  swallowed.  Drink,  and  make 


88 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


your  nearts  merry,  ray  masters.  But  let 
me  giye  you  this  piece  of  advice,  which 
you  will,  I  doubt  not,  find  of  some  profit 
to  follow.  Never  ask  another  to  drink 
with  you  till  you  have  first  gauged  his 
stomach  to  see  what  he  will  hold." 

"I'll  gauge  him  without  fail,  depend 
on't,  good  sir,"  exclaimed  Tim,  in  an  ex- 
cellent cheerful  humor ;  and  then  all  in 
the  room  expressed  their  delight  at  mine 
host's  conceit,  and  many  did  order  fresh 
tankards,  they  were  so  well  pleased  with 
the  handsome  way  in  which  he  had  made 
amends  to  the  simple  apprentices  for  the 
trick  he  had  played  upon  them. 

"  That  be  so  like  thee,  Ephraim  Spig- 
ot," observed  one  merrily. 

"  That  be  a  sure  thing,'*  replied  he,  af- 
ter the  same  fashion  ;  "  for  of  all  my  fam- 
ily I  be  reckoned  most  like  myself." 
Thereat  there  was  a  laugh  of  course,  and 
he  took  himself  out  in  the  midst  of  it. 

"  Knowest  thou  where  that  vessel  hath 
been  ?"  inquired  the  handicraftsman  of 
his  neighbor 

"I  did  hear  she  sailed  to  bring  back 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,"  replied  Simon 
Mainsail. 

"  What,  he  that  went  from  here  on 
the  late  expedition  ?"  asked  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Ay,  messmate,  the  same,"  said  the 
mariner. 

"  It  hath  been  said  that  he  be  in  dis- 
grace at  court,  for  that  he  will  not  splice 
himself  unto  a  gentlewoman  of  the 
queen's  choosing,"  observed  another  sea- 
faring man. 

"  Now,  I  heard  from  my  gammer, 
said  an  artificer — "  and  my  gammer  got 
it  from  her  gossip,  and  her  gossip  had  it 
from  a  cousin  of  h'ers,  who  is  a  serving- 
man  to  some  person  of  worship  in  Lon- 
don— that  this  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  hath 
fallen  out  with  the  great  Earl  of  Essex 
and  that  they  were  nigh  coming  to  Wows 
before  the  queen's  majesty,  the  which  put 
her  into  so  monstrous  a  fret,  that  she 
straightway  forbid  them  her  presence." 

"  'Tis  said  that  this  Raleigh  be  a  fa- 
mous conceited  fellow,"  remarked  anoth- 
er, "  and  spendeth  as  much  on  his  back 
as  would  clothe  a  whole  county." 

"  What  dreadful  extravagance  !"  ex- 
claimed the  handicraftsman.  "Why  can 
not  he  be  content  with  a  jerkin  of  a  mod- 
erate price,  such  as  might  become  any 
honest  man,  and  give  the  rest  to  the 
poor  ?" 

"Why,  messmate,  thus  runs  the  log," 
replied  the  old  mariner,  hitching  up  his 
slops :  "  If  so  be  he  be  ordered  to  dress 


lis  vessel  after  one  fashion,  he  must  needs 
lo  it,  or  be  put  in  the  bilboes  for  a  muti- 
neer. Mayhap  he  hath  had  signals  from 
iis  admiral  to  have  his  rigging  smarter 
han  ordinary,  and  like  a  good  seaman  he 
lath  obeyed  orders.  As  for  his  hanging 
astern  at  court,  for  not  consorting  with 
such  as  his  betters  choose  for  him,  I  have 
seen  none  that  have  taken  soundings 
here,  therefore  have  I  no  chart  to  go  by 
o  lead  me  to  the  truth  ;  and  whether  hi 
lave  come  to  an  engagement  with  Lord 
Essex,  know  I  as  little ;  but  let  him  have 
sailed  on  either  tack,  or,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  on  both,  I  see  nothing  in  it  dis- 
creditable to  his  seamanship." 

"  I  heard  from  a  very  honest  intelligen- 
;er  that  he  was  to  be  fetched  back  from 
ais  command  in  huge  disgrace,"  observed 
one  of  the  artificers. 
."Mayhap,"  replied  Simon  Mainsail: 
the  very  best  man  that  walks  a  plank 
can't  always  have  fair  weather  with  his 
officers,  albeit  he  have  no  fault  in  him ; 
for  on  one  watch  they  shall  be  in  this 
humor,  and  the  next  in  one  that  is  clean 
contrary.     'Slife !  it  be  the   difficultest 
thing  that  is  for  a  fellow  to  warp  out  o' 
harbor  without  meeting  with   a  squall 
from  some  of  'em.    As  for  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  'tis  like  enough  I  be  as  familiar 
with  his  trim  and  seaworthiness  as  any, 
seeing  that  I  served  as  gunner  under  him 
in  Drake  and  Norris's  expedition  to  the 
Groyne,  in  the  year  eighty-nine ;  and  I 
can  say  this  much,  that  never  met  I  a 
more  proper  commander.     He  be  none 
of  your  thundering  great  ships  that  bear 
down  upon  us  smaller  craft,  as  if  they 
would  swamp  every  mother's  son  of  us  ; 
but  he   hath   often  and  often  crept  up 
along  side  of  me,  and  spoke  about  gun- 
nery and  such  matters  with  as  much  cun- 
ning as  if  he  had  been  at  load  and  fire  all 
his  life.     And  as  for  his  spirit, — after  we 
landed  in  the  bay  of  Ferrol,  I  saw  him 
bear  up  among  the  Spaniards  at  Puente 
de  Burgos,  after  a  fashion  that  reminded 
me  only  of  that  right  gallant  officer  his 
kinsman,  Sir  Richard  Grenville." 

"And  what  did  he,  neighbor?"  asked 
the  handicraftsman. 

"What  did  he,  messmate?"  replied 
the  veterans  "  Why,  he  did  the  gallant- 
est  thing  that  ever  was  known  on  the 
high  seas.  You  shall  hear,  for  it  be  mar- 
vellously worth  the  telling.  You  see 
there  was  a  fleet  sent  out  in  the  year 
ninety-one,  under  the  command  of  Lord 
Thomas  Howard,  consisting  of  six  ships 
royal,  six  victuallers,  and  a  few  pinnaces, 
whereof  Sir  Richard  Grenville  was  vice- 


admiral,  in  the  Revenge,  in  the  which  I 
had  gone  on  board  as  master-gunner ; 
and  this  expedition,  like  unto  the  one  that 
sailed  from  here  awhile  ago  with  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  had  for  its  object  the 
surprising  of  the  Plate  fleet,  belonging  to 
the  villain  Spaniards,  as  it  rendezvoused 
at  the  Azores,  coming  from  America. 
Somehow  or  another  the  pestilent  knaves, 
the  enemy,  had  wind  of  it,  and  they  sent 
a  fleet  of  fifty-three  of  their  biggest  ships 
of  war  to  act  as  convoy ;  of  the  which  we 
knowing  nothing,  were  quietly  taking  in 
water  at  Flores,  when  down  they  came 
upon  us.  All  hurried  on  board  to  weigh 
anchor  and  escape,  as  there  was  no  fight- 
ing against  such  odds.  But  Sir  Richard 
Grenville,  having  seen  every  one  of  his 
men  embark,  was  the  last  to  leave  the 
shore;  and  by  this  necessary  delay  the! 
Revenge  was  left  alone.  He  seeiag  that 
there  was  no  hope  of  recovering  the  wind,  j 
knew  nothing  was  possible  but  to  cut  his  j 
mainsail,  tack  about,  and  be  off  with  what 
speed  he  might,  or  stay  and  fight  with  all  j 
that  could  come  up  with  him  ;  but  though 
the  enemy  had  surrounded  his  ship  in  ' 
such  a  wav  as  to  leave  him  little  chance  ! 
of  escape,  and  though  ninety  of  his  men 
were  on  the  sick  list,  and  only  a  hundred 
able  for  duty,  he  was  not  the  fellow  to 
turn  from  a  parcel  of  villain  Spaniards  ; 
so  he  had  everything  prepared  for  action, 
and  bore  down  to  force  a  squadron  that 
stood  on  his  weather  bow. 

"  There,  my  messmates,  was  a  sight  to 
see,"  continued  the  old  mariner,  his  hon- 
est weather-beaten  face  glowing  at  his 
own  narration  :  "  one  ship  attacking  a 
whole  squadron  !  And  the  gallant  Gren-  j 
ville  was  nigh  beiog  as  successful  as  his  ; 
great  heart  merited,  for  divers  of  the  vil- 
lain Spaniards  springing  their  loof,  fell 
under  his  lee ;  but  a  cursed  big  galleon 
of  fifteen  hundred  tons  gained  the  wind, 
and  bearing  down  on  the  Revenge,  did  so 
becalm  her  sails  that  neither  could  she 
make  way  or  obey  the  helm.  You  may 
have  a  notion,  messmates,  of  what  sort 
of  a  customer  this  galleon  was  like  to  be, 
when  I  tell  you  that  she  carried  three  tier 
of  guns  on  each  side,  and  discharged  eight 
foreright  from  her  chase,  besides  those  of 
her  stern  ports.  Well,  as  ill  luck  would 
have  it,  while  we  were  peppering  away 
at  this  monster  in  such  sort  as  soon  made 
her  glad  to  sheer  off,  two  of  the  like  kind 
boarded  us  on  the  starboard,  and  two  on 
the  larboard ;  but  we  minded  'em  not  a 
whit — nay,  we  beat  'em  off,  one  afier  an- 
other, big  as  they  were,  till  we  had  fought 
some  sixteen  of  them  for  the  space  of  fif- 


teen hours,  two  of  which  we  sunk  and 
two  made  complete  wrecks,  and  the  rest 
we  handled  pretty  rudely,  I  promise  yon. 

"  But  how  fared  we  all  this  time,  my 
messmates  ?  Scarce  one  of  us  escaped — 
forty  as  brave  fellows  as  ever  trod  a  deck 
were  sent  aloft,  where  'tis  to  be  hoped 
they'll  be  well  cared  for ;  and  of  the  rest 
scarce  any  were  left  without  something 
to  show  of  the  sort  of  employment  they 
had  been  at.  I  got  this  slash  across  my 
figure-head,  with  a  bullet  through  my  star- 
board fin,  and  another  near  the  main  hatch1- 
way,  all  along  of  those  villain  Spaniards. 
Sir  Richard,  who  had  not  left  the  upper 
deck  for  eight  hours  after  he  was  first 
wounded,  which  was  in  the  early  part  of 
the  action,  was  then  shot  through  the 
bulwarks ;  and  as  they  were  repairing  the 
damage,  he  received  another  bullet,  and 
saw  the  doctor  regularly  capsized  along- 
side of  him.  But  the  Revenge  was  treat- 
ed worse  than  all ;  for  when  the  morning 
broke  she  was  nothing  but  a  naked  hull, 
having  received  as  many  as  eight  hundred 
shot  of  great  artillery,  which  those  bullies 
of  sralleons  had  fired  into  her,  whereof 
some  were  under  water  :  her  masts  were 
beat  overboard — her  tackle  split  to  rib- 
ands— her  upper  works  levelled  to  the 
water's  edge ;  and  she  was  altogether  in 
so  pitiful  a  condition  that  she  moved  only 
with  the  motion  of  the  billows. 

"For  all  that,  my  messmates,  Sir  Rich- 
ard wasn't  for  striking  his  flag  ;  but  pro- 
posed to  sink  the  ship  rather  than  fall  into 
the  hands  of  such  notorious  villains,  in 
the  which  he  was  seconded  by  myself  and 
some  few  of  the  crew;  but  the  rest  not 
being  of  the  like  spirit,  compelled  him  to 
surrender, — and  this,  methinks,  rather 
than  his  wounds,  caused  him  to  die  soon 
after." 

"  There  went  a  noble  heart !"  cried  one 
of  the  seafaring  men. 

"  In  truth,  he  was  a  gallant  gentle- 
man," said  the  handicraftsman  ;  and 
others  made  like  ejaculations,  for  all  had 
listened  with  exceeding  interest  to  the 
old  man's  stirring  account  of  the  fight. 

"  But  how  got  you  out  of  their  clutches, 
Simon  Mainsail  ?"  asked  one  ;  "  and  how 
did  they  behave  to  you?" 

"  'Slife !  they  used  me  like  a  dog, 
messmate,"  replied  the  veteran,  in  a 
monstrous  indignatioa;  "my  wounds 
were  most  infamously  handled  ;  and  how 
I  recovered  under  such  barbarous  treat- 
ment is  a  marvel  to  me.  But  we  were 
all  served  alike,  clapped  in  irons,  and 
treated  with  mouldy  biscuit  and  bilge- 
water,  till  we  came  to  an  anchor  at 


90 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Cadiz,  when  we  were  paraded  through 
the  streets,  accompanied  by  shoals  of 
papist  priests,  soldiers,  and  a  bloodthirsty 
mob,  yelling  at  the  sight  of  us,  as  if  they 
had  reason  to  boast  of  their  victory.  It 
was  given  out  that  we  were  to  be  hang- 
ed, which  sent  some  of  us  on  our  beam- 
ends  at  the  thought  of  it ;  but  I  told  'em 
not  to  despair,  and  set  them  up  to  a  thing 
which  made  them  put  their  helms  up  in 
a  presently.  You  must  know,  messmates, 
that  these  Spaniards  hate  us  for  not  car- 
ing a  breath  of  wind  for  their  images, 
relics,  and  such  like  popish  abominations, 
and  curse  us  in  their  hearts  for  heretics ; 
but  the  priests  are  mightily  pleased  at  the 
thought  of  converting  a  proteslant,  as 
they  look  upon  it  as  a  sort  of  victory.  So 
we  got  one  of  our  crew  who  understood 
their  patter,  to  say  we  would  fa.in  change 
our  religion  :  thereupon  came  father  this 
and  father  t'other,,who  preached  to  us'by 
the  hour,  and  very  easily  persuaded  our 
whole  company  to  cross  ourselves,  to 
kiss  this  image,  and  the  other  image,  and 
assent  to  whatever  they  directed.  Then, 
seeing  us  such  good  catholics,  we  were 
taken  out  of  our  chains — our  victuals  be- 
came of  a  better  sort,  and  they  kept  not 
so  sharp  an  eye  on  us  as  they  did.  The 
end  of  all  this  was,  one  night  we  broke 
out  of  prison  very  quietly,  got  into  some 
boats  that  were  high  and  dry  on  the 
beach — with  them  boarded  a  ketch  that 
lay  at  anchor  in  the  bay ;  and  having 
found  the  crew  asleep,  took  possession 
of  her  without  a  blow  ;  and  in  the  morn- 
ing we  were  far  out  at  sea,  better  protes- 
tants  than  ever,  making  for  Old  England, 
with  a  whole  crew  of  villain  Spaniards 
our  prisoners." 

"  I'faith  that  was  well  done !"  exclaim- 
ed one  ;  in  the  which  all  seemed  to  as- 
sent, especially  the  apprentices,  who, 
having  finished  their  tankard,  had  grown 
bold  enough  to  express  their  approval  of 
the  old  mariner's  conduct. 

"  I  should  like  to  beat  a  Spaniard 
hugely,"  said  Tim  to  the  other,  very 
bravely. 

"  Suppose  he  stand  upon  his  weapon 
and  will  not  be  beat  of  thee — what  theu  ?" 
asked  his  companion. 

"  Why  a — "  observed  Tim,  somewhat 
as  it  were  in  a  sort  of  hesitation — "  I 
would  e'en  tell  him  go  hang  for  a  knave 
and  let  him  go." 

"  Walk  in,  my  masters — walk  in,  I 
pray  you !"  cried  out  mine  host  as  he 
ushered  into  the  room  two  serving-men, 
who  looked  by  the  dust  on  their  jerkins 
and  long  boots,  that  they  had  come  of  a 


journey.  "  There  be  room  enough  and 
to  spare,  I  warrant  you :  and  if  so  be  you 
are  as  dry  as  are  the  roads,  doubtless  you 
will  be  all  the  better  for  a  wetting." 

"  What  sayest  thou,  Diggory,  shall  we 
have  a  tankard  ?"  asked  one  of  the  other 
as  they  swaggered  themselves  into  a 
seat. 

"  Ay,  Peter,  let  it  be  a  tankard,"  replied 
Diggory. 

"  That  you  shall  have,  and  of  the  best," 
said  Ephraim  Spigot,  "  and  'tis  to  be 
hoped  'twill  enable  you  to  drink  away 
your  drought,  and  draught  away  your 
drink."  And  away  went  the  portly 
tapster,  with  a  loud  chuckle  at  his  own 
conceit. 

"  Doth  that  fellow  laugh  at  us  ?"  said 
Peter  with  exceeding  fierceness.  "  Nay, 
and  by  goles  I'll  rap  him  over  the  pate 
an'  he  do." 

"  Prythee  do  not,"  said  his  companion 
urgently,  "for  rememberest  thou  what 
Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton  said— 'Men- 
tion my  name  on  no  account,  and  of  all 
things  keep  out  of  brawls.'" 

"  Ha !  so  said  he  sure  enough,  Diggory," 
replied  the  other,  "  I  mind  it  well,  and 
will  be  as  close  upon  this  business  as  if 
I  knew  it  not.  Nay,  if  there  be  any  so 
daring  as  to  say  I  be  Sir  Nicholas  Throck- 
morton's  serving-man,  I'll  swear  he  lies 
in  his  throat,  and  slit  his  weasan  for  him." 

"Dost  think  Stephen  Shortcake  will 
be  long,  Peter  ?"  asked  Diggory. 

"  Indeed,  I  can  not  say,"  responded  he 
sharply.  "  To  tell  thee  the  truth,  Dig- 
gory, I  like  him  not ;  for  when  I  wanted 
to  cut  off  that  impudent  varlet's  ears  that 
did  seem  to  dog  us  so  as  we  came  along, 
he  would  on  no  account  let  it  be ;  and 
did  give  me  a  rating  for  seeking  4o  en- 
danger the  reputation  of  our  mistress  by 
my  quarrelsomeness.  'Slife,  I  take  him 
to  be  a  very  precise  fellow,  Diggory." 

"  Here  you  are,  my  masters !"  cried 
mine  host  bringing  in  the  liquor  and  set- 
ting it  before  his  customers,  "  and  never 
tasted  you  better  stuff,  I'll  be  bound 
for  it." 

"  Our  master,  Sir  Nicholas  Throck- 
morton, hath  better  liq Hang  thee, 

Diggory,  what  dost  tread  on  my  toes  for !" 
exclaimed  Peter,  cutting  himself  short  in 
the  middle  of  his  speech,  and  making  an 
exceeding  wry  face. 

"Here's  the  money,  good  sir,"  said 
Diggory  in  a  civil  manner  to  his  host, 
"  and  doubt  I  not  the  excellency  of  your 
liquor,  believe  me." 

"  I'll  believe  any  one  who  pays  with- 
out being  asked  for  his  reckoning,-"  re- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


91 


plica  Ephraim  Spigot  with  a  knowing 
look ;  and  thereupon  proceeded  out  of 
the  room. 

"  I  marvel  at  thee,  Peter,"  exclaimed 
the  other,  immediately  mine  host  had 
turned  his  back,  "  thou  wouldst  have  be- 
gun thy  brawling  had  I  not  stopped  thee." 

"  'Slife  !  and  shall  a  paltry  tapster 
have  better  ale  than  our  master  ?"  cried 
Peter  indignantly.  "  By  goles,  I  could 
out  with  my  tool  and  beat  the  knave  into 
shavings." 

"  Prythee  be  quiet,  and  take  a  drink," 
said  Diggory. 

"Well,  here's  to  thee,  and  confusion 
to  all  beggarly  knaves  that  can  not  fight 
their  way,"  replied  his  companion,  taking 
a  hear'ty  swill  at  the  tankard. 

"  How  look  the  roads,  my  master  ?" 
exclaimed  an  honest-looking  yeoman  in 
the  next  corner. 

"  Why,  but  indifferently,  good  sir," 
responded  Diggory,  with  a  like  civility. 
"  Indeed,  I  may  say  that  ever  since  I 
left  the  house  of  my  master,  Sir  Nicholas 
Throck — Hang  thee,  Peter,  what  dost 
pinch  me  so  for  ?''  cried  he,  turning  sharp 
upon  the  other. 

"  'Slife  man,  thou  wert  a  saying  Sir 
Nicholas  Throckmorton's  name,  which 
be  against  the  law,"  said  Peter  in  a 
whisper,  which  was  overheard  by  every 
one  in  the  room. 

"  Thou  didst  right  to  interrupt  me 
then,"  replied  Diggory.  "  But  prythee 
don't  pinch  quite  so  hard  again,"  and 
then  he  took  a  hearty  swill  at  the  tankard. 

"  All  that  be  not  seafaring  men  be 
cowards !"  cried  out  a  drunken  boat- 
swain, as  he  woke  up  from  his  sleep  on 
the  bench. 

"  Thou  liest,  dog !"  shouted  Peter, 
drawing  out  his  rapier,  "  I  be  no  sea- 
faring man,  yet  will  I  prove  myself  valiant 
upon  thy  villanous  body." 

•'Have  at  thee,  then!"  exclaimed  the 
seaman,  endeavoring  to  stand  up  and 
draw  his  weapon. 

"  Peter  !  Peter  !"  cried  Diggory,  beat- 
ing his  fist  against  the  other's  back  to '. 
make  him  attend.  "Rememberest  thou 
the  law  ?  Peter,  I  say,  thou  knowest 
there  must  be  no  brawling.  Put  up  thy 
weapon,  Peter,  I  prythee  !" 

"  For  shame  upon  you,  my  masters !"  i 
exclaimed    Simon    Mainsail,  running  in : 
between  the  combatants,   and  assisting , 
with  others  to  make  them  desist  of  their 
intended  violence  ;  whilst  the  two  appren- 
tices, like   prudent  youths,  as  soon    as 
they  saw  there  was  like  to  be  a  fighting 
with  swords,  took  to  their  heels. 


"  No  brawling,  I  pray  you,  my  mas- 
ters?" exclaimed  mine  host,  rushing  into 
the  room  as  if  with  a  fear  of  mischief. 

"  Make  not  an  honest  man's  house  a 
place  for  the  shedding  of  blood,"  cried 
the  handicraftsman. 

"Hang  him,  villain !"  shouted  Peter, 
endeavoring  to  get  at  his  opponent,  who 
was  held  from  him  by  the  bystanders. 
"Shall  he  call  me  a  cowaxd  because  I 
be  no  seafaring  man  ?  He  lies  in  his 
throat!  By  goles,  I'll  cut  off  his  ears 
for't." 

"  Peter !  Peter,  I  say  !"  cried  Diggory, 
pulling  and  thumping  him  with  all  his 
might. 

"  'Slife  !  man,  dost  want  to  pound  my 
back  to  a  powder  !"  bawled  out  Peter  to 
his  companion.  "  I  will  let  out  my  valor 
upon  him.  I'll  cut  him  over  his  knave's 
pate  at  least.  Nay,  our  master,  Sir 
Nicholas  Throck" 

"Put  up  thy  weapon,  yarlet,  this  in- 
stant !"  angrily  exclaimed  Stephen  Short- 
cake as  he  entered  the  room  and  seized 
his  uplifted  arm?  "How  darest  thou 
draw  upon  any  man  ?  Wert  not  expressly 
forbid  to  brawl  and  to  mention  names  ? 
and  1  leave  thee  only  for  a  short  space, 
and  find  thee  a  doing  of  both.  Up  with 
thy  weapon,  or  thou  shall  rue  it." 

"Peter  slowly  and  somewhat  reluct- 
antly put  away  his  rapier,  and  the  words 
of  the  seafaring  man  hurried  him  out  of 
the  room. 

"  O'  my  life  thou  art  the  most  pestilent 
knave  that  lives,"  cried  the  old  butler  to 
the  pugnacious  serving-man.  "  Thou 
art  like  to  bring  us  all  into  trouble  by 
thy  villanous  quarrelsomeness.  What 
need  hadst  thou  with  a  drawn  weapon  in 
thy  hand  ?  nay,  I  marvel  hugely  that 
thou  shouldst  be  allowed  a  weapon  at 
all." 

"  He  did  say  that  all  were  cowards 
except  seafaring  men, "replied  Peter  dog- 
gedly, "  and  I  could  not  stand  by  and 
disgrace  our  master  by  stomaching  it." 

"  Thou  hast  disgraced  thy  master  as 
it  is,"  said  Stephen  Shortcake,  looking 
very  wrath  at  him.  "  But  see  that  thou 
offend  not  again,  or  it  shall  go  hard  with 
thee.  And  I  am  ashamed  of  thee,  Dig 
gory,  that  thou  shouldst  have  stood  by 
and  hindered  him  not,"  he  added,  turning 
sharp  round  upon  the  other. 

"  Nay,  I  do  assure  you,  I  did  essay  all 
means  to  withhold  him  from  it,"  an- 
swered Diggory.  "  I  did  remind  him 
that  our  master,  Sir  Nicholas — Oh  !" 

"  Hang  thee,  thou  babbling  knave !" 
cried  the  enraged  old  man,  as  he  seized 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


the  uncautious  Diggory  by  the  ear — '<  Is 
this  the  way  thou  pbeyest  thy  master's 
orders  ?  0'  ray  life,  1  know  not  which 
is  the  most  pestilent  villain  of  the  two. 
Now  I  charge  thee  stay  here  till  I  re- 
turn ;  and  if  there  be  any  more  prating, 
or  the  least  stir  to  a  brawl,  at  thy  peril 
be  it."  So  saying,  Stephen  Shortcake 
took  himself  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
the  two  serving-men  mightily  intent  upon 
their  best  behavior,  and  the  rest  of  the 
company  in  a  famous  marvelling  at  the 
strangeness  of  their  conduct.  He  then 
proceeded  up  a  winding  flight  of  stairs 
to  the  first  landing,  where  there  was  a 
door,  at  the  which  he  knocked,  and  be- 
ing bid  come  in,  he  did  enter  accordingly. 

"  Well,  good  Stephen — what  news 
have  you  ?"  inquired  the  beautiful  young 
wife  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  w"ho  sat 
leaning  on  her  arm  looking  out  of  the 
casement,  attired  as  if  she  had  but  just 
come  off  a  journey. 

"  Indeed,  sweet  mistress,  I  have  very 
comfortable  news,"  replied  the  old  butler 
respectfully.  "I  did  make  inquiries  of 
divers  worshipful  captains,  and  men  of 
the  sea,  and  some  have  told  me,  that 
they  know  for  certain  my  honored  master 
is  on  board  a  vessel  that  hath  but  lately 
come  in." 

"  'Tis  comfortable  news  indeed,  Ste- 
phen," said  Dame  Elizabeth,  brightening 
up  exceedingly.  "  But  how  looks  he  ? 
Doth  he  ail  anything  ?  Hath  he  pros- 
pered in  his  voyage  ?  When  shall  I  see 
him  ?"  she  then  eagerly  inquired. 

"  Of  his  looks  I  could  learn  bat  little," 
answered  Stephen  Shortcake  ;  "  seeing 
that  I  have  met  with  none  that  have  had 
speech  of  him  since  he  left  here ;  and  of 
his  voyage  know  I  no  more,  for  there 
were  none  who  were  informed  of  it.  And 
as  for  when  you  shall  see  him,  sweet 
mistress!  methinks  'twill  not  be  long 
first,  as  I  did  lose  no  time  in  despatching 
a  trusty  boatman  with  your  note,  who 
hath  promised  me  to  use  all  speed,  and 
to  give  it  into  Sir  Walter's  own  hand." 

"  Thanks,  good  Stephen  !"  exclaimed 
she.  "  I  am  glad  the  information  I  re- 
ceived that  he  was  spoke  with  off  the 
coast,  hath  proved  correct ;  for  the  rest,  I 
doubt  not,  I  shall  have  it  from  himself. 
But  get  you  some  refreshment,  good 
Stephen,  for  you  have  had  a  hard  ride, 
and  doubtless  do  require  something." 

"  Nay,  if  it  please  you,  I  would  rather 
be  a  gelling  of  some  dainty  for  yourself," 
observed  the  old  man.  "  For  you  have 
scarce  tasted  bit  or  sup  since  we  left  Aid- 
gate.'  ' 


"  I  have  no  heart  for  anything  till  I 
see  Sir  Walter,"  replied  the  affectionate 
woman.  "But  I  thank  you  for  your 
painstaking  ;  and  do.  insist  upon  it,  you 
presently  procure  for  yourself,  whatever 
proper  thing  the  house  affords." 

"  I  thank  you  heartily,  sweet  mistress !" 
exclaimed  he, "  and  will  haste  to  do  your 
gracious  bidding." 

When  Stephen  Shortcake  had  left  the 
room,  Dame  Elizabeth  turned  again  to 
the  casement,  and  gazed  among  the  ves- 
sels as  if  with  a  hope  of  finding  out  the 
ship  in  which  was  her  beloved  husband. 
All  at  once  she  did  behold  a  boat  putting 
off  from  one,  upon  which  she  kept  her 
eyes,  as  it  made  for  the  shore,  pleasing 
herself  with  the  fancy,  that  therein  might 
be  him  she  most  wished  to  see.  She 
could  just  discern  two  persons  (besides 
the  boatman),  one  of  whom,  as  far  as  she 
could  make  out  in  the  distance,  looked 
the  taller  and  nobler  of  the  two.  "  'Tis 
he  !"  she  exclaimed  joyfully,  as  she 
thought  she  recognised  his  figure ;  and 
then  added,  pressing  her  hands  over  her 
throbbing  breast,  "  be  still,  my  heart!" 

In  a  few  minutes  there  could  be  but 
little  doubt  of  it — for  the  one  she  had  ob- 
served, as  if  noticing  her  at  the  case- 
ment, did  suddenly  stand  up  in  the  boat 
and  whirl  his  hat  round  and  round  his 
head  ;  whereupon  she  took  her  kerchief 
and  waved  it  in  the  air ; — her  heart  all 
the  whilst  seemingly  being  in  as  great  a 
flutter.  Then  it  was  seen,  as  they  made 
the  land,  that  the  two  were  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  and  Master  Francis.  She  watch- 
ed them  very  earnestly  as  they  neared 
the  house,  and  when  she  lost  sight  of 
them  she  rose  from  the  casement — then 
sat  herself  down  again — while  her  heart 
seemed  so  to  beat,  and  her  countenance 
became  so  pale  and  agitated  she  scarce 
knew  what  to  do ;  and  when  Sir  Walter's 
quick  step  was  heard  upon  the  stairs,  she 
could  only  stand  by  catching  fast  hold  of 
the  arm  of  the  chair,  the  which  she  had 
not  let  go  till  she  found  herself  within 
the  embrace  of  her  loving  husband. 

"  After  all  said  and  done,  dear  Bess," 
said  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  when  they  had 
exchanged  their  affectionate  greetings, 
"I  think  we  shall  live  as  pleasant  a  life 
of  it  as  heart  can  desire." 

"  I  hope  so,  dear  Walter,"  replied  his 
beautiful  young  wife,  "  yet  I  have  had 
my  doubts.  There  have  been  rumors 
afloat  to  your  disadvantage,  which  have 
given  me  infinite  uneasiness,  and  I  oft- 
times  thought  that  our  marriage  had 
come  to  the  queen's  ears,  and  she  in  con- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 


ft? 


sequence  thereof,  had  resolved  on  your 
disgrace.  Indeed  it  made  me  exceeding 
sore  of  heart." 

"  Tush,  girl,  care  not  for  it !"  exclaimed 
Raleigh.  "  I  did  hear  of  its  being  whis- 
pered before  I  left  here,  and  thereat  did 
write  Cecil  an  ambiguous  letter  which, 
methinks,  should  by  this  time  have  put 
an  end  to  all  rumors.  I  know  not  why 
it  is,  yet  have  I  been  marvellously  ill 
used  in  the  matter  of  this  expedition,  for 
the  queen  kept  not  her  faith  with 'me, 
and  hath  put  me  to  a  sore  trial  of  my 
patience.  But  I  doubt  not  the  great  suc- 
cess that  hath  attended  this  adventure, 
will  not  only  create  in  her  majesty  a  de- 
sire to  make  me  amends  for  what  unkind 
things  I  have  endured,  but  will  win  her 
pardon  for  having  married  without  her 
approval." 

"Hast  had  great  success,  Walter?" 
inquired  Dame  Elizabeth  anxiously. 

"  Ay,  that  have  we,  sweet  Bess,"  he 
replied.  "  'Tis  true  I  have  most  unjustly 
been  called  from  my  command,  but  be- 
fore I  left  the  fleet  I  gave  orders  that  one 
half  of  it,  with  one  of  the  queen's  ships 
under  the  command  of  Sir  John  Burgh, 
should  cruise  off  the  coast  of  Spain,  while 
Sir  Martin  Frobisher,  with  the  rest,  should 
lay  in  wait  off  the  Azores ;  for  I  had  great 
expectation  that  there  we  should  have  the 
good  hap  to  intercept  the  Plate  fleet. 
Well,  I  have  so  long  been  kept  back  by 
contrary  winds,  that  as  I  entered  this 
port,  I  was  overtook  by  a  fast-sailing 
vessel,  that  hath  assured  me  on  credible 
authority,  that  Frobisher's  squadron  fell 
in  with  the  Indian  ships  as  I  expected ; 
and  hath  taken  a  carrack  of  the  burthen 
of  1,600  tons,  valued  at  half  a  million 
sterling — which  most  assuredly  is  the 
largest  and  richest  prize  ever  had  from 
the  enemy." 

"  Indeed,  that  doth  give  me  exceeding 
comfort,"  cried  she  very  joyfully. 

"  I  doubt  'twill  be  the  best  recom- 
mendation to  the  queen  I  have  been  able 
to  show  this  many  a  day,"  added  Sir 
Walter. 

"I  do  think,  myself,  it  cometh  most 
opportunely,"  observed  his  devoted  wife. 
"  It  hath  put  to  flight  all  my  foolish  fears, 
and  methinks  I  can  allow  myself  now  to 
hope  that  all  will  soon  be  well.  We 
will  then  be  so  happy — so  very  happy, 
won't  we,  dear  Walter?" 

'•  Ay,  dearest,  without  a  doubt,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"  Open,  in  the  queen's  name  !"  shouted 
out  the  voice  of  one  who  beat  the  door 
rud«ly. 


"  Ah  !"  screamed  Dame  Elizabeth,  start- 
ing from  the  fond  embrace  of  her  hus- 
band, and  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"Hush,  Bess,  'tis  nothing,"  said  Sir 
Walter  in  an  encouraging  tone,  and  went 
to  open  the  door.  "  Ha,  Sir  George  Ca- 
rew,  right  welcome !"  he  added,  as  he 
noticed  who  it  was  that  had  disturbed 
them  ;  and  then  one  of  a  military  ap- 
pearance, and  somewhat  serious  counte- 
nance, walked  into  the  room  with  his 
rapier  drawn. 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  am  come  of  so  un- 
welcome an  errand,"  said  he.  "  But  I 
have  the  queen's  commandment  to  arrest 
you,  Sir  Walter -Raleigh,  and  you,  Mis- 
tress Elizabeth,  and  conrey  you  prisoners 
to  the  Tower." 

"  Ah,  I  was  afraid  of  this — I  have  ru- 
ined thee,"  exclaimed  Dame  Elizabeth  in 
a  piteous  accent,  as  she  fell  sobbing  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Bess !"  cried  Sir  Walter  in  a  grave 
voice,  as  he  lifted  her  from  him,  and 
looked  reprovingly  in  her  face.  "  Re- 
member, that  thou  art  my  wife  !" 

No  sooner  had  these  words  been  spoke 
than  the  beautiful  woman,  as  if  with  a 
sudden  effort  to  conquer  her  feelings,  cast 
back  her  head  proudly  ;  and  walking 
with  a  truly  majestic  carriage  up  to  Sir 
George  Carew,  said  in  a  firm  voice,  "I 
am  ready,  sir." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Other  sins  only  speak,  murder  shrieks  out. 
The  elements  of  water  moisten  the  earth, 
But  blood  flies  upward  and  bedews  the  heavens. 

WEBSTER. 

This  yellow  slave 

Will  knit  and  break  religions  ;  bles*  the  accursed; 
Make  the  hoar  leprosy  adored  !  place  thieves, 
And  give  them  title,  knee,  and  approbation, 
With  senators  on  the  bench.  SHAKSPEAHB. 

There  is  the  murderer,  for  ever  stabbed — 

Yet  can  he  never  die.  FORD. 

THE  miser  of  St.  Mary  Axe  sat  in  a 
worm-eaten  arm  chair,  in  a  narrow  cham- 
ber, of  comfortless  and  mean  appearance, 
before  a  table  on  which  were  sundry  par- 
cels wrapt  up  in  dirty  bits  of  rag,  and  a 
pair  of  small  scales  ;  and  he  was  enga- 
ged in  counting  out  a  store  of  gold  pieces 
from  an  old  stocking.  His  face  looked 
somewhat  sickly,  and  his  eyes  yellowish  ; 
and  his  hands  shook  much  as  he  handled 
his  treasures.  There  was  a  window  in 
the  room,  but  it  was  so  covered  with  dirt, 


94 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


and  the  broken  panes  so  pasted  over  with 
parchment,  that  it  gave  only  sufficient 
light  to  discern  the  squalidness  and  filth  of 
the  place,  one  or  two  broken  chairs,  a  rick- 
ety table,  some  bundles  of  papers  covered 
with  dust,  a  great  chest,  with  a  padlock, 
that  stood  open  behind  him,  and  himself 
— the  owner  of  all.  Besides  his  usual 
dress,  which  never  varied,  he  had  on  his 
spectacles,  with  which  he  carefully  scru- 
tinized every  coin,  and  weighed  some ; 
now  and  then  giving  quick  suspicious 
glances  around  the  room,  and  starting 
fearfully  at  every  little  noise.  It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  he  held  his  peace,  for 
he  did  talk  continually,  as  if  :for  compa- 
ny ;  and  on  divers  subjects,  much  at  the 
same  time,  like  unto  one  whose  mind 
wandereth  somewhat. 

"Forty-nine — fifty,"  said  he  closely  ex- 
amining the  last  piece  he  had  taken  from 
the  stocking.  "  Methinks  this  be  exceed- 
ing light.  It  hath  been  clipped,  doubt- 
less. Mayhap  it  hath  been  in  the  hands 
of  some  vile  Jew?  No  matter — it  must 
with  the  rest.  Alack  !  how  my  head  do 
ache  !  Fifty-one — fifty-two.  What  a  dolt 
have  I  been  to,  drink  so  much  of  his  vil- 
lanous  ale,  knowing  that  it  doth  ever  get 
into  my  pate  !  Fifty-three — fifty-four. 
That  Geoffrey  Sarsnet  be  a  most  ungodly 
varlet— he  liketh  not  the  hundredth 
psalm  !  Fifty-five — fifty-six.  Ha  !  this 
has  a  crack  in  it,  sure  enough.  And  that 
he  be  a  knave  there  can  be  no  question, 
seeing  how  he  entertained  my  proposal 
of  marrying  Joanna  ;  and  doth  allow  her 
to  retain  the  many  costly  things  she  hath 

tricked  me  of.  Fifty this  be  rather 

of  a  dull  color.  Certes,  I  have  had  a 
good  escape  from  that  seductive  Jezabeh 
Fifty-seven — fifty -eight.  But  she  hath 
most  shamefully  cozened  me.  I  am  glad 
I  am  quit  of  her.  Fifty-nine — here  be 
as  clean  a  face  as  if  'twas  fresh  from  the 
mint.  Oh,  that  I  could  make  her  give 
up  that  which  she  hath  robbed  me  of! 
Sixt Ha  ! — what  noise  be  that !" 

The  old  miser  looked  about  him  very 
earnestly,  and  listened  in  a  great  tremble 
— for  some  sort  of  noise  was  heard. 

"It  be  the  wind,  doubtless,"  continued 
he,  "  for  it  doth  at  times  make  great  dis- 
turbances. Sixty-one — sixty-two.  I  mar- 
vel what  hath  become  of  my  pestilent 
nephew  ;  but  I  am  hugely  delighted  that 
he  hath  taken  himself  off.  I  did  think 
he  had  robbed  me,  knowing  he  be  a  most 
dishonest  caitiff — as  instance  the  excel- 
lent candle-ends  he  stole  of  me ;  but  I 
have  searched,  and  missed  nothing. 
Sixty-three — surely  this  piece  be  not  good 


— it  hath  such  a  marvellous  copper  look 
with  ij.  If  any  one  were  to  give  him  a 
knock  on  his  knave's  pate  now,  then 
should  I  be  rid  of  all  fear.  But  it  be  the 
right  weight  to  a  hair.  Sixty-four — 
sixty-five.  He  hath  been  monstrously  ur- 
gent concerning  of  his  father,  yet  hath  he 
got  nothing  of  the  truth  from  me,  for  all 
his  blustering.  Sixty-six.  'Twould  be 
most  unnatural  were  one  of  my  years  un- 
able to  deceive  such  a  boy  as  that.  Sixty- 
seven — sixty-eight.  He  doth  not  like  the 
hundredth  psalm,  the  reprobate !  and  as 
for  her,  she  be  the  impudentest  baggage 
that  lives.  I  would  I  could  get  back 
what  she  hath  so  infamously  cozened  of 
me!  Sixty-nine — seventy.  That  be  just 
right:"  he  added,  as  he  proceeded  to  put 
his  store  of  gold  back  by  handfuls  into 
the  old  stocking ;  and  whilst  he  did  so 
his  eyes  seemed  to  glisten  with  exceed- 
ing gratification. 

"  'Tis  well  I  married  not  that  villanous 
jade — a  murrain  on  her  !"  exclaimed  he. 
"  Else  the  infinite  pleasure  I  find  in  such 
brave  sight  as  this,  should  I  not  know 
for  long  ;  for  all  would  go  to  satisfy  her 
prodigal  humors.  What  a  dolt  was  I  to 
let  her  have  of  me  such  store  of  costly 
things;  and  he  such  an  ungodly  wretch 
as  not  to  like  the  hundredth  psalm !  My 
head  doth  seem  to  split  of  this  aching. 
Oh,  'tis  an  exquisite  fine  sight  to  see  so 
much  lovely  gold !" 

"  'Tis  an  exquisite  sight,  indeed  !"  paid 
a  gruff  voice,  at  his  elbow. 

"  Mur — mur — mur — murder !"  scream- 
ed Gregory  Vellum,  as  loud  as  his  fright 
would  allow,  and  letting  drop  some  of 
the  gold  upon  noticing  two  fierce-looking 
men  standing  over  him,  regarding  his 
treasures  with  eyes  kindling  with  exces- 
sive covetousness. 

"  Take  that  for  thy  bawling  !"  exclaim- 
ed one,  hitting  him  sharp  over  the  pate 
with  the  pommel  of  his  dagger,  "  and  if 
thou  breathest  but  a  sound  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  within  a  yard  of  thee,  I'll 
slit  thy  weasan  the  same  minute." 

"  Nay,  what  be  the  use  of  sparing  such 
an  old  hunks,"  observed  the  other,  who 
looked  the  most  desperate  cut- throat  of 
the  two.  "  Let  me  give  him  a  dig  in  the 
ribs,  'twill  do  his  business  for  him,  I'll 
warrant." 

"  'Sblood  !  be  not  such  a  fool,  Tony," 
replied  the  other,  sharply.  "He  hath 
more  hoards  than  what  we  see  ;  and  how 
shall  we  find  'em,  if  we  make  him  not 
point  'em  out  to  us  ?" 

"  True,  Jack !"  responded  the  other. 
"  So  let's  bind  him  whilst  we  secure  the 


SHARSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


prog  around,  then  will  we  make  him  tell 
where  lieth  the  rest."  Then  these  villains 
bound  the  miser,  with  cords,  to  the  chair 
on  which  he  sat ;  he,  too  frightened 
either  to  move  or  speak,  made  no  noise, 
save  that  of  his  teeth  chattering  together, 
and  rolling  of  his  eyes  (from  which  the 
spectacles  had  fallen),  with  extreme  fear, 
as  he  turned  his  looks  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"  'Slife !  this  be  a  proper  windfall, 
Tony  !"  cried  he  that  was  called  Jack, 
as  he  proceeded  to  pour  into  his  hat  the 
contents  of  the  stocking.  "But  I  did 
tell  thee  the  old  miser  was  a  bird  worth 
the  plucking." 

"So  thou  didst,  bully  rook  !"  answered 
Tony.  "  But  let  us  count  all  the  coin 
into  thy  hat,  that  we  may  the  easier 
divide  it." 

"  That  will  not  I,"  replied  the  other, 
with  a  loud  laugh.  "  Find  a  stocking 
for  thyself,  man,  and  mayhap  it  shall  fit 
thee  as  doth  this  me." 

"What,  shall  we  not  share  alike,  and 
be  hanged  to  thee  ?"  asked  Tony,  fiercely, 
as  he  undid  one  of  the  parcels  done  up 
in  a  dirty  rag.  "Nay,  I  care  not,"  he 
added,  and  instantly  swept  all  the  parcels 
into  his  hat.  "  Each  of  these  be  full  of 
Harry  the  Eighth's  nobles." 

"  Nay,  then,  let  us  share,  Tony,"  cried 
Jack,  his  forbidding  visage  now  seeming 
disturbed  at  the  other's  greater  good 
fortune,  "  'twas  but  a  jest  of  mine." 

"  'Sblood  !  I  care  not,  jest  or  no  jest !" 
responded  Tony  with  a  chuckle  ef  satis- 
faction, as  he  poured  out  the  contents  of 
each  dirty  rag,  "Keep  to  thy  stocking-1— 
I'll  keep  to  my  rags." 

"  Hang  thee  for  a  villain !"  muttered 
ihe  other,  and  then  turning  round,  went 
straight  to  the  open  chest,  the  which 
seeing,  made  the  old  miser  utter  a  faint 
exclamation^-a  sort  of  Wailing  that  de- 
noted both  terror  and  despair. 

"  'Slife  !  art  weary  of  thy  life  ?"  ex- 
claimed Jack,  threatening  the  trembling 
scrivener  with  his  drawn  dagger,  which 
he  held  as  if  about  to  plunge  into  the 
old  man's  side,  and  giving  him  a  look 
which  seemed  to  make  his  very  blood 
turn  cold  within  him. 

"  Here  be  the  best  prize  of  all !"  cried 
Jack,  as  he  began  searching  of  the  chest. 

"  Ha  !  what  hast  got  ?"  inquired  Tony, 
hastening  to  the  side  of  his  companion. 
"I'faith,  Jack,  this  be  a  prize  indeed!" 
continued  he,  as  following  the  other's 
example,  he  eagerly  commenced  hauling 
out  of  the  chest  divers  pieces  of  rich  sil- 
ver plate,  such  as  candlesticks,  tankards, 


drinking  cups,  plates,  and  the  like,  where- 
of each  .appropriated  as  much  as  he 
could  lay  his  hands  on  ;  yet  seemed  he 
to  grumble  much  at  whatever  his  asso- 
ciate did  get  into  his  possession.  The 
spirit  of  avarice  was  at  work  in  the 
hearts  of  both,  and  the  great  wealth 
each  one  found  himself  possessed  of,  only 
made  him  all  the  greedier  to  have  more. 

"  If  this  be  not  the  making  of  us  for 
life,  I  know  not  what  filching  means," 
observed  one,  with  his  eyes  glowing  with 
unlawful  pleasure  at  the  costliness  of  the 
spoil  he  was  making  his  own. 

"  We  will  turn  honest  upon  the  strength 
of  it,"  said  the  other,  equally  busy  at  his 
work.  "We  will  buy  us  some  place  of 
lordship  in  the  country,  and  swagger  it 
as  bravely  as  any  knight  of  the  shire." 

"And  why  not  become  parliament 
men  ?"  asked  the  first.  "  They  that 
have  been  knights  of  the  post  will  make 
better  knights  of  the  shire  than  any,  see- 
ing that  they  be  already  marvellous  skil- 
ful in  fingering  the  people's  money." 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! — that  be  true  enough,"  ex- 
claimed his  companion.  "  So  knights  of 
the  shire  we  must  needs  become ;  ami 
then  will  we  have  a  law  made  that 
rogues  shall  be  protected  in  their  calling 
till  they  turn  honest." 

"  Oh  !"  groaned  Gregory  Vellum  in  all 
a  miser's  agony,  as  he  beheld  his  secret 
treasures  passing  away  from  his  custody. 
"Ha!  What,  dost  move? — dost 
breathe?"  cried  Jack,  scowling  at  him 
so  ferociously  that  it  did  set  his  teeth  a 
chattering  all  the  more. 

"Slife! — let's  finish  him  at  once," 
said  Tony.  "  Then  will  he  tell  no  tales. 
Methinks  we  shall  have  enough  to  do  to 
get  away  what  we  have  found  without 
seeking  for  more." 

"  I  tell  thee  we  will  pluck  him  bare 
first,"  replied  the  other  ferociously. 
"  Such  a  prize  comes  not  in  our  way  oft, 
therefore  are  we  the  more  bound  to  make 
the  most  of  it  we  can.  For  mine  own 
part,  I'll  risk  Tyburn  rather  than  leave 
him  so  much  as  would  keep  his  miserly 
old  carcase  for  an  hour." 

"  Well,  hang  him  for  a  villain,  I  care 
not,"  observed  his  associate.  "  But  what 
have  we  here  ?"  he  added,  as  on  putting 
his  hand  into  a  goblet  he  did  bring  out 
of  it  sundry  gold  rings,  with  precious 
stones  therein. 

"  Nay,  I  must  have  some  of  those !" 
cried  Jack,  making  a  snatch  at  them. 

"  I'll  see  thee  hanged  ere  I  will  let 
thee,"  replied  Tony,  quickly  placing  the 
goblet  out  of  the  other's  reach. 


SHAKSPEARL  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


" 'Sblood!— but  I  will  be  even  with 
thee  !"  muttered  his  associate,  regarding 
him  with  a  threatening  visage,  which 
he  seemed  >in  no  way  to  heed. 

"  Tush  ! — what  care  I !"  said  the  other. 
"  Find  a  goblet  for  thyself,  and  mayhap 
thou  shall  have  good  store  of  jewelry  in 
it." 

"  Thy  greediness  is  properly  punished 
— for  see  !  here  be  something  worth  more 
than  all  thy  paltry  rings."  And,  as  he 
opened  a  jewel  case,  he  exhibited  a  costly 
necklace  of  pearls  set  in  fine  gold. 

"  I  had  mine  eyes  on  that  ere  thou 
didst  lay  a  finger  on't,"  said  Tony,  ex- 
ceeding vexed  that  he  had  missed  so  fair 
a  prize. 

"  Tush  !  what  care  I  ?"  replied  Jack, 
in  the  very  words  his  associate  had  used 
a  moment  since. 

"Wilt  let  me  have  no  share  in't?" 
asked  the  first,  staring  on  the  jewel  and 
then  on  the  thief  with  eyes  of  devilish 
covetousness  and  malice. 

"  Share  in't !"  exclaimed  the  other  with 
a  scornful  laugh.  "Not  so  mach  as 
would  buy  thee  a  rope  to  hang  thyself 
with." 

"  Then  take  that !"  cried  Tony,  thrust- 
ing his  dagger  at  him. 

"What ! — wouldst  stab,  villain  ?"  shout- 
ed Jack,  starting  up  in  a  monstrous  rage 
on  finding  himseli  wounded.  "  Then 
here's  at  thee." 

"And  that — and  that!"  continued  his 
companion,  repeating  his  blows  which 
the  other  tried  to  ward  off. 

"  Murderous  devil — I  had  thee  there  !" 
exclaimed  the  other,  as  he  succeeded  in 
digging  his  weapon  into  his  opponent's 
shoulder  ;  and  thereupon  commenced  the 
most  sanguinary  fight  that  ever  was 
seen  ;  for  the  two  villains,  smarting  with 
pain  and  rage,  and  driven  on  by  extreme 
thirst  for  gain,  did  follow  each  other 
round  and  about  the  room,  cutting  furi- 
ously one  at  the  other's  flesh,  with  abun- 
dance of  curses  and  execrations — their 
looks  all  the  while  being  more  resem- 
bling those  of  fiends  than  of  anything 
human,  and  their  bodies  streaming  with 
gore  from  their  different  wounds.  Grego- 
ry Vellum,  half  dead  with  fright,  stared 
upon  the  spectacle  with  eyes  ready  to 
start  from  his  head ;  his  teeth  chattered 
as  if  there  was  no  keeping  them  quiet ; 
and  at  every  blow  that  was  struck  he 
gave  a  wince  as  if  the  weapon  entered 
his  own  flesh.  They  passed  him  cl*v? 
several  times,  and  one  striking  furiou  »y 
at  the  other  upon  the  moment,  some  blood 
did  spirt  over  his  face,  at  the  which  he 


seemed  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost,  he 
uttered  so  pitiful  a  scream.  This  might 
have  brought  on  him  more  dreadful  pun- 
ishment from  the  two  robbers  ;  yet  were 
they  so  fired  by  their  mutual  hatred  one 
of  the  other,  and  each  so  eager  to  destroy 
his  associate,  that  neither  did  take  of  him 
the  slightest  notice. 

All  on  a  sudden,  having  dropped  their 
daggers,  they  had  got  locked  in  each 
other's  clutch,  pulling  here  and  pulling 
there,  tearing  at  each  other's  hair,  and 
giving  blows  with  all  their  strength,  when 
tumbling  over  something,  both  came  to 
the  ground  together  and  began  rolling 
over  and  over,  swearing  horribly,  and 
striving  to  bite  at  each  other's  faces. 
Surely  never  were  two  such  incarnate 
demons  seen.  There  appeared  to  '  be 
nothing  human  of  them,  and  the  mutual 
deadliness  of  their  hatred  was  terrible  to 
look  upon. 

"  To  hell  with  thee  for  a  monstrous 
murderous  villain  as  thou  art !"  cried 
Jack,  who  having  recovered  his  weapon 
as  he  passed  over  it,  had  plunged  it  into 
Tony's  breast  as  he  lay  upon  him.  The 
other  raised  his  head  as  if  with  one  last 
effort,  and  fixed  his  teeth  in  the  cheek 
of  his  murderer. 

"  Ah  !"  screamed  he  in  agony,  letting 
his  head  fall  with  that  of  his  companion. 
"  Unclose  thy  villanous  teeth  !"  Jack 
then  stabbed  the  other  several  times 
whilst  writhing  above  him  with  the  pain, 
expecting  to  get  free  thereby ;  but  he  was 
in  the  gripe  of  the  dead,  and  all  his  cut- 
ting and  screaming  availed  him  none  at 
all.  The  torture  he  endured  must  have 
been  fearful,  for  the  perspiration  run 
down  over  his  face  in  a  thick  shower,  as 
he  sometimes  was  cursing  dreadfully, 
sometimes  making  very  pitiful  meanings. 
At  last,  as  if  unable  to  bear  it  any  longer, 
he  thrust  his  dagger  into  the  dead  man's 
mouth,  unlocked  his  jaws,  and  freed  his 
own  lacerated  face. 

"  A  murrain  on  thee,  thou  pestilent 
villain  !"  exclaimed  the  survivor,  casting 
wrathful  glances  at  his  fallen  comrade, 
"  if  thou  hadstany  life  in  thy  treacherous 
body,  I  would  hack  thee  into  shreds  for 
having  so  spoilt  my  face:  but  I  have 
mauled  thee  beyond  all  hope,  that's  one 
comfort.  'Slife — how  I  do  bleed!"  he 
added,  as  he  looked  to  his  hurts,  which 
were  by  no  means  slight  or  few,  and  did 
attempt  to  bandage  them.  "  This  dig  in 
my  side,  methinks,  hath  an  ugly  look. 
Alack,  what  a  thrice-cursed  knave  hast 
thou  been,  Tony  !  and  a  fool  to  boot. 
Not  content  with  thine  own  gettingb, 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


97 


ihou  didst  covet  mine  ;  and  now  I  have 
all." 

"  Oh  !"  groaned  the  old  miser. 

"What!  dost  attempt  to  give  the 
alarm  ?"  cried  out  the  robber.  "  Nay, 
then  will  I  settle  theeat  once."  He  rose 
with  his  dagger  in  his  hand,  as  if  to  put 
his  threat  into  execution,  but  his  foot 
slipped  in  the  blood  that  had  dabbled  the 
boards,  and  in  falling  he  burst  the  bandage 
he  had  tied  over  his  wound  in  the  side, 
which  began  to  bleed  afresh.  At  this  he 
renewed  his  execrations,  and  again  essay- 
ed to  stop  the  hemorrhage ;  but  he  seem- 
ed to  be  getting  weaker  rapidly,  his  hands 
were  exceeding  unsteady,  and  his  eyes 
appeared  to  swim  in  their  sockets.  "  Oh, 
I  be  deadly  sick !"  he  exclaimed  in  a  faint 
voice,  as  he  supported  himself  on  one 
hand,  sitting  on  the  floor;  thereat  his 
head  drooped  on  his  shoulder,  his  arm 
gave  way  from  under  him ;  and  he  fell 
smack  upon  his  back  with  a  loud  groan. 

Gregory  Vellum  had  watched  the  strug- 
gles of  the  surviving  villain  with  mingled 
horror  and  fright — for  a  more  ghastly  ob- 
ject never  presented  itself  to  the  eye — 
his  face  being  so  dreadfully  disfigured  and 
covered  with  dust  and  gore,  from  amid 
which  the  ferocious  expression  of  his  eyes 
glared  upon  the  trembling  scrivener, 
whenever  he  turned  in  that  direction,  in 
a  manner  so  terrible,  that  it  made  him 
feel  as  if  his  heart  was  bursting  in  twain. 
Seeing  him  fall  and  lie  motionless,  he 
did  think  he  was  dead,  the  thought  where- 
of gave  him  inexpressible  comfort ;  but 
not  liking  the  idea  of  being  kept  bound 
close  to  two  dead  men,  he  presently  be- 
gan to  scream  at  the  very  top  of  his  voice, 
hoping  that  some  of  the  neighbars  would 
come  to  his  assistance.  He  had  scarce 
done  this,  when  the  robber  who  had 
swooned  raised  himself,  and  fixed  upon 
the  miser  a  look  so  threatening  and 

fhastly,  that  he  presently  drew  in  his 
reath,  as  if  his  last  hour  had  come ; 
but  he  could  in  no  manner  draw  away 
his  gaze  from  the  villain's  horrible  stare, 
and  there  he  sat  staring  at  him,  with  his 
teeth  knocking  against  each  other,  and 
every  limb  a  trembling  like  unto  one  in  a 
mortal  agony. 

Presently  he  heard  some  sort  of  a  noise 
below  stairs,  at  the  which  he  gave  a 
sudden  gasp  ;  but  the  terrible  eyes  of  the 
dying  robber  did  then  glare  upon  him  so 
ghostlike,  that  he  dared  not  make  a 
sound,  and  felt  that  he  could  not  if  he 
dared. 

"  Uncle  !   uncle  !   where  are  you?''  he 
heard  cried  out  to  him,  and  though  he 
7 


recognised  the  voice  of  his  nephew,  whom 
a  short  time  since  he  would  not  have  cared 
to  see  hanged,  it  now  seemed  to  him  the 
voice  of  an  angel  from  heaven  ;  and  he 
was  about  to  reply,  when  the  robber 
crawled  a  bit  nearer,  with  his  dreadful 
dagger  in  his  hand,  the  sight  whereof 
put  him  into  so  monstrous  a  sweat  that 
he  felt  himself  drenched  all  over.  Still 
the  dying  villain  crawled  slowly  toward 
him,  dragging  his  wounded  body  along 
by  his  han,ds ;  and  though  at  the  same 
time  Gregory  heard  his  nephew's  foot 
upon  the  stair,  the  villain  was  so  nigh 
upon  him,  having  got  his  hand  upon  the 
bottom  rail  of  his  chair  to  raise  himself 
up,  with  his  disfigured  face,  and  terrible 
eyes  seemingly  possessed  of  a  thousand 
new  horrors,  upon  a  level  with  his  knees, 
that  knocked  against  each  other  most 
deplorably,  he  did  give  himself  up  for 
lost ;  and  when  he  found  the  ghastly 
countenance  close  to  his  own  face,  and 
the  fearful  weapon  uplifted  over  his  breast, 
his  heart  sunk  within  him,  and  he  swoon- 
ed outright. 

Master  Francis,  coming  to  visit  his 
kinsman,  to  see  if  he  could  gain  of  him 
any  intelligence  of  his  father,  and  finding 
the  door  ajar,  and  seeing  that  his  kins- 
man was  not  below  stairs,  he  did  call 
out ;  but  receiving  no  answer,  mounted 
to  a  room  he  knew  of  old  he  was  oft  to 
be  found  when  wanted.  At  opening  the 
door,  a  sight  presented  itself  to  him,  the 
like  of  which,  surely,  he  had  never  seen. 
There  was  the  room  as  unsightly  as  a 
shamble,  and  strewed  all  about  with 
coin,  jewels,  plate,  and  most  precious 
things,  which  the  robbers,  in  their  scuffle, 
had  rolled  over  and  over,  and  knocked  in 
all  directions — one  man  lay  dead,  and 
another — the  frightfulest  object  his  eye 
ever  lighted  on—supporting  himself  on  the 
chair  with  one  arm,  had  the  other  raised 
clasping  a  blood-stained  dagger,  which 
was  descending  in  the  direction  of  the 
heart  of  his  kinsman,  who  already  looked 
more  dead  than  alive.  At  the  robber  he 
made  a  rush  upon  the  instant,  and  caught 
him  by  the  back  of  his  jerkin  at  the  scuff  of 
the  neck,  in  the  very  nick  of  time  to  save 
the  old  miser's  life ;  and  dragged  him 
from  the  chair  a  distance  of  some  yards, 
and  flung  him  heavily  on  the  boards.  The 
dying  villain  did  glare  on  Master  Francis 
with  a  look  so  terrible  that  he  could  never 
forget  it — the  weapon  fell  from  his  hand 
— he  gave  one  mighty  shiver  in  all  his 
limbs,  then  was  there  a  hollow  rattling 
in  his  throat,  which  lasted  but  a  few  sec- 
onds ;  and  then  he  lay  as  dead  as  any  stone. 


98 


SHAKSPEAHE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


The  youth,  in  a  monstrous  marvel  at 
the  whole  scene,  more  especially  at  see- 
ing such  a  store  of  precious  things  lying 
scattered  about  as  if  of  no  sort  of  value, 
did  presently  cut  with  his  own  dagger, 
the  cords  that  bound  his  kinsman,  think- 
ing at  first,  that  he  was  as  dead  as  the 
others — btit  in  some  minutes,  after  call- 
ing to  him  a  bit,  the  old  man  opened  his 
eyes  very  fearfully,  and  with  a  great  wild- 
ness  ;  but,  they  lighting  upon  his  nephew, 
who,  very  concernedly,  was  assuring  him 
of  his  safety,  he  did  grow  more  com- 
posed ;  and,  upon  looking  about  and  see- 
ing of  his  treasures  so  scattered,  he 
started  up  with  a  suddenness  that  nearly 
upset  Master  Francis,  and,  as  if  ailing 
nothing,  he  began  to  gather  up  his  riches. 

"  Oh,  these  devilish  villains !"  exclaim- 
ed he  to  the  wondering  youth.  "  They 
did  break  in  upon  me — having  got  en- 
trance I  know  not  how,  and,  after  bind- 
ing and  threatening  of  me,  proceeded  to 
rifle  me  of  these  valuables ;  which  an 
honest  friend  hath  left  in  my  custody — 
for  thou  knowest  they  can  not  he  mine, 
seeing  I  be  so  exceeding  poor ;  and  then 
falling  out  upon  their  division,  did 
straightway  go  to  murdering  of  each 
other.  When  one  had  killed  his  com- 
panion, the  survivor  though  sorely 
wounded  himself,  like  a  murderous  vil- 
lain as  he  was,  made  toward  me  with 
his  dagger  to  kill  me,  the  which  thou 
didst  luckily  prevent  by  thy  coming  in. 
But  they  have  given  me  a  most  mortal 
fright." 

"  Indeed  you  have  had  a  narrow  escape, 
uncle,"  observed  Master  Francis. 

"  Ay,  have  I,"  replied  the  old  miser, 
very  carefully  wiping  of  everything  that 
had  got  in  any  way  stained.  "  And  I 
give  God  thanks  for  it — more  especially 
for  the  saving  of  the  honest  man's  goods ; 
who,  had  he  suffered  aught,  might,  per- 
adventure,  have  wanted  me  to  make  up 
his  loss  ;  the  which  thou  knowest  I  could 
never  do,  being  in  so  poor  a  state  that  I 
can  scarce  get  enough  to  live  by.  But 
take  heed  that  you  give  no  hint  I  have 
these  things  in  my  custody,  else  the  re- 
port thereof  may  bring  other  murderous 
thieves  upon  me,  and  not  only  shall  I  be 
like  to  be  robbed  of  my  life,  but  all  this 
goodly  store  I  may  be  despoiled  of,  as  I 
was  hut  now  like  to  be  ;  which  doubtless 
would  be  the  utter  ruin  of  the  honest  man 
who  hath  placed  them  in  my  keeping." 

"  Be  assured  I  shall  say  nothing,"  re- 
plied the  youth.  "  But  shall  I  not  assist 
you  in  gathering  them  up  ?" 

"  Nay,  touch  them  not,   I  prvthee !" 


quickly  cried  out  Gregory  Vellum  ifl 
great  alarm,  and  casting  a  suspicious 
glance  at  his  nephew,  as  if  doubtful  of 
the  honesty  of  his  intentions.  "  I  will 
look  to  them  myself." 

"Well  let  it  be  as  you  like,  uncle," 
said  Master  Francis,  in  no  way  offended, 
for  he  had  much  experience  of  his  kins- 
man's suspicious  temper ;  besides,  he 
wanted  not  to  anger  him,  by  taking  of- 
fence at  aught  he  might  do,  as  he  had  an 
object  to  gain  thereby,  the  obtaining  of 
which,  was  to  him  of  the  greatest  in- 
terest. 

"  But  where  hast  thou  been  all  this 
time  ?"  inquired  his  uncle  after  a  short 
silence — still  employing  himself  dili- 
gently in  wiping  the  plate  and  jewels, 
and  replacing  them  in  the  chest.  "  Thou 
didst  leave  me  of  a  sudden,  without  why 
or  wherefore." 

"  Methought  'twas  time  to  do  some- 
thing for  myself,"  answered  the  youth, 
"  and  not  any  longer  to  be  a  burthen  to 
you,  who  seemed  to  lack  either  the  will 
or  the  means  to  make  my  life  of  any  com- 
fort"— 

"  The  means,  Francis — the  means," 
said  the  old  man,  quickly  interrupting 
him.  "  'Twas  the  means  I  lacked.  In- 
deed, I  be  exceeding  poor." 

"By  the  recommendation  of  a  true 
friend,  I  did  accidently  as  it  were,  en- 
counter," continued  hia  nephew,  "  I  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  the  respectable  office 
of  secretary  to  one  of  our  chiefest  men 
at  court." 

"  Truly  thou  seemest  in  very  fine 
feather,"  remarked  Gregory  Vellum, 
somewhat  sarcastically,  as  he  turned  to 
notice  the  handsome  apparelling  of  his 
youthful  relative;  "I  warrant  me  thou 
wilt  spend  on  thy  back  all  thou  earnest. 
Well,  I  care  not,  so  that  thou  comest  not 
back  on  my  hands." 

"But  I  came  to  beg  a  favor  of  you,  un- 
cle," said  Master  Francis. 

"Nay,  ask  of  me  nothing,"  hastily  re- 
plied the  old  miser,  as  he  left  off  counting 
the  gold  pieces  into  the  old  stocking  ;  "I 
have  scarce  wherewith  to  live  ;  I  can  not 
let  thee  have  a  groat.  Thou  hast  taken 
thyself  off,  and  must  fare  as  thou  canst ; 
so  come  not  a  begging,  for  it  be  of  no 
manner  of  use,  I  be  so  exceeding  poor, 
as  thou  knowest." 

"  I  want  not  money  of  you,"  observed 
the  youth ;  "  I  have  enough  for  my  wants, 
and  my  patron  doth  not  let  me  lack  aught 
his  power  or  purse  can  procure.  I  seek 
of  you  only  that  you  truly  tell  me  who 
was  my  father." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"What  dost  come  a  worrying  me  of 
thy  father  ?"  asked  the  scrivener,  with  a 
disturbed  countenance,  as  he  quickly 
caught  hold  of  some  parchments  that 
were  nigh  unto  him,  and  placed  them  at 
once  in  the  chest.  "  I  knovy  naught  of 
him  that  be  worth  the  knowing ;  he  was 
some  paltry  fellow  or  other — a  very  mean 
person." 

"  Was  he  married  to  my  mother?"  in- 
quired his  nephew,  more  earnestly. 

"Prythee  question  me  not,"  teplied  the 
old  man,  seemingly  taking  it  very  uneasi- 
ly. "  It  matters  not  at  all ;  I  can  not  be 
answering  of  thy  unprofitable  queries.  It 
be  of  no  consequence  whether  he  had  her 
in  marriage  or  otherwise,  for  he  was  a 
monstrous  paltry  fellow  at  all  events." 

"  Indeed,  it  be  of  vital  consequence  to 
me,"  cried  the  youth,  in  an  increasing 
agitation  ;  "  I  pray  you,  uncle,  tell  me  the 
truth." 

"  Well,  then,  if  thou  wilt  have  it,  I 
will  tell  thee,"  answered  the  scrivener — 
"  I  have  kept  it  from  the  world,  and  given 
out  otherwise,  for  the  sake  of  my  sister's 
reputation ;  but  I  can  tell  thee  of  a  cer- 
tainty that  thou  art  illegitimate." 

"Ah!  I  feared  'twere  so,"  exclaimed 
Master  Francis,  as  the  color  mounted  to 
his  cheek,  and  he  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands,  for  very  sharne.  The  which  see- 
ing, Gregory  Vellum  regarded  only  with 
a  sort  of  smile,  that  made  his  leaden 
physiognomy  not  a  whit  more  pleasant 
than  ordinary,  and  continued  the  counting 
of  his  money. 

"Was  he  one  Holdfast,  and  did  he  live 
in  noted  bad  character  ?"  asked  the  oth- 
er, suddenly,  as  if  with  a  kind  of  despe- 
ration. 

"Ay,  very  like — very  like,"  replied 
the  old  man.  "  If  I  remember  me,  his 
name  was  Holdfast,  or  something  exceed- 
ing near  it;  and  that  he  was  a  notorious 
villain  is  out  of  all  question." 

"  Then  I  know  the  worst,"  said  he, 
calmly,  but  with  a  great  paleness  of 
face,  "  and  I  will  now  take  my  leave  of 
you." 

"  Stop  awhile  !"  bawled  out  the  miser, 
hastily  coming  up  to  his  nephew  as  he 
was  approaching  the  door.  The  latter, 
on  this,  did  stay  his  steps. 

"Hast  taken  nothing  while  I  was  in 
the  swoon  ?"  he  asked,  gazing  on  the 
other  with  a  monstrous  suspicious  counte- 
nance. 

"Nay,  this  is  too  bad,"  said  Master 
Francis,  in  no  mood  to  be  so  spoken  to, 
and  moving  off. 

"  But  thou  shall  not  go   till  I  have 


searched  thee,"  sharply  added  Gregory 
Vellum,  as  he  laid  hold  of  him  to  make 
him  stay.  "  I  am  sure,  by  thy  wanting  to 
be  gone  with  such  speed,  that  thou  hast 
stolen  something." 

"Away  !  you  are  past  bearing  !"  cried 
the  youth,  as  he  pushed  him  back,  and 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

"  Francis  !  Francis  !"  the  old  miser 
bawled  out  as  his  nephew  closed  the 
door  upon  him,  "  Prythee  leave  me  not 
alone  with  these  dead  men  !  I  will  not 
search  thee — I  do  not  think  thou  hast 
robbed  me  of  anything.  Nay,  go  not 
away  till  the  house  be  rid  of  these 
corpses  !  Francis !  Francis,  I  say  !" — 
and  he  came  down  the  stairs  after  him  in 
great  alarm. 

The  unhappy  youth  by  this  time  was 
into  the  street,  pacing  along  with  a  most 
woful  heart.  Indeed  he  had  much  to 
trouble  him.  He  knew  that  his  patron, 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  whom  he  had  begun 
to  love  exceedingly,  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
Tower ;  when  he  could  get  out,  no  man 
could  say.  All  that  he  had  dreaded  to 
learn  of  his  parentage  seemed  now  put 
beyond  the  possibility  of  question;  at  the 
which  he  felt  so  cast  down  as  scarce  to 
know  what  he  was  a  doing  ;  and  the  late 
behavior  of  his  miserly  kinsman,  though 
nothing  more  than  he  might  expect  of  his 
disposition,  in  the  humor  in  which  he  was, 
did  irritate  him  all  the  more.  After  pas- 
sing along  a  little  way  in  extreme  de- 
spondency of  mind,  he  bethought  him  of 
visiting  his  beloved  Joanna,  whose  recep- 
tion of  him,  he  doubted  not,  would  pres- 
ently relieve  him  of  his  miserable  feel- 
ings ;  yet  when  he  came  to  think  of  the 
tone  01  her  letters  not  coming  up  to  his 
expectations,  in  the  peculiar  mood  in 
which  he  then  was,  he  straight  began  to 
have  suspicions  that  she  regarded  him 
less  than  he  would  have  her ;  but  in  a 
few  minutes  there  came  to  his  recollec- 
tion numberless  kindnesses  she  had  done 
him,  which  to  him  were  as  positive  proofs 
of  the  sincerity  of  her  affection.  The  re- 
membrance of  these  things  did  assure  him 
somewhat,  and  became  to  him  of  such 
great  comfort,  that  for  the  time  it  clean 
drove  all  unpleasant  thoughts  out  of  his 
head. 

At  this  moment  there  came  on  a  very 
smart  shower  of  rain,  and  he,  wishing  to 
save  his  new  doublet  a  wetting,  hastened 
for  shelter  under  a  gateway  close  at  hand. 
Passing  beneath  here,  he  spied  an  open 
door  at  one  side,  for  which  he  made,  but 
presently  desisted  of  his  purpose  on  hear- 
ing voices  that  of  a  certainty  came  from 


100 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


it.  He  was  about  to  content  himself  with 
the  shelter  of  the  gateway  as  far  as  might 
be  from  the  door,  when  he  recognised  the 
roice  of  Joanna,  that  did  at  once  fix  him 
to  the  spot. 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  lord,"  said  she,  "  it  may 
please  you  to  affirm  this,  but  I  doubt  you 
affect  me  so  much  as  you  say." 

"  0'  my  life,  adorable  Joanna !"  an- 
swered one  very  urgently,  whom  Master 
Francis  instantly  knew,  by  the  manner 
of  speaking,  to  be  my  Lord  Cobham, 
whom  he  had  often  heard.  "  I  swear  to 
you  I  do  love  you  exceedingly.  In  truth, 
your  infinite  loveliness  is  of  such  a  sort, 
that  never  expect  I  to  find  aught  so  wor- 
thy of  the  steadfast  and  most  perfect  de- 
votedness  with  which  I  do  regard  you." 

Speech  like  this,  it  may  be  believed, 
Master  Francis  liked  not  at  all. 

"  Methinks  you  are  but  trifling  with 
me,"  observed  the  other. 

"  Nay,  my  heart's  treasure !  believe  me, 
I  never  was  in  such  earnest !"  replied  her 
companion.  "  Take  this  ring — 'tis  a  ruby 
of  great  price  ;  yet  should  it  be  inestima- 
ble to  come  up  with  my  estimation  of 
your  worthiness,  exquisitely  beautiful  Jo- 
anna !  Here,  let  me  place  it  on  your 
most  delicate  finger." 

At  this  Master  Francis  began  to  be 
much  troubled  that  she,  whom  he  so 
loved,  should  accept  gifts  from  one  who, 
to  his  knowledge,  was  noted  for  his  gal- 
lantries. 

"  I  scarce  think  it  be  right  of  me  to 
take  your  gift,  my  lord,"  said  Joanna. 
"  Yet  to  refuse  it  might  seem  discourte- 
ous of  me,  so  I  will  e'en  accept  of  it." 

"And  grant  of  me  in  return  but  one 
precious  favor,"  added  the  Lord  Cobham 
in  an  entreating  voice,  that  did  much  in- 
crease the  disturbance  of  Master  Francis. 
"It  be  but  to  press  that  tempting  lip, 
compared  with  which,  the  ruby  must 
seem  but  pale." 

"Indeed,  that  I  can  never  do,"  replied 
she. — "  Nay,  hold  me  not  so  closely,  my 
lord,  I  entreat  of  you." 

This  put  Master  Francis  in  a  perfect 
tremble,  and  he  suddenly  felt  the  blood  a 
rushing  to  his  cheek — yet  was  he  like  one 
chained  to  the  spot;  for  though  he  felt 
desperately  inclined  to  disturb  them,  he 
was  so  affected  by  the  unexpectedness  of 
what  he  had  heard,  that  he  had  not  the 
power  of  moving. 

"  Turn  not  away  that  exquisite  counte- 
nance, admirable  Joanna  !"  exclaimed  the 
Lord  Cobham,  while  a  rustling  was  heard 
as  if  he  was  a  struggling  with  her,  which 
did  increase  Master  Francis's  disorder 


mightily  :  "  and  strive  not  to  move  from 
arms  so  eager  to  hold  so  perfect  a  crea- 
ture in  their  fond  embrace.  In  good 
truth,  I  must,  sweetest." 

"Have  done,  my  lord,  I  pray  you! 
You  hurt  me,  indeed,  you  do.  Nay,  some 
one  will  be  a  coming  !  How  you  tease  ! 
Well,  if  you  will.it  must  needs  be,"  was 
all  that  Joanna  said  in  reply ;  and  Master 
Francis,  thinking  from  what  she  spoke, 
that  she  liked  not  my  Lord  Cobham's  ad- 
vances, with  one  desperate  effort  was 
about  to  break  in  upon  him,  when  he  heard 
the  consent  given,  and  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  the  close  smacking  of  lips,  which 
moved  him  so  against  her,  that  he  rushed 
from  the  gateway  on  the  instant. 


CHAPTER 


I  can  not  hold  ;  good  rascal,  let  me  kiss  thee  : 
1  never  knew  thee  in  so  rare  a  humor. 

BE«  JONSON. 

A  part  to  tear  a  cat  in—  to  make  all  split. 


Sir  Toby.     Come  thy  ways,  Signior  Fabian  ! 

Fabian.  Nay,  I'll  come.  If  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this 
sport  let  me  be  boiled  to  death  with  melancholy.— 
IBID. 

We  hope  to  make  the  circle  of  your  eyes 
Flow  with  distilled  laughter.       BEN  JONSON. 

Now  must  I  transport  the  courteous 
reader,  who  hath  followed  me  along  hith- 
erto with  admirable  patience,  and  I  hope 
with  some  pleasure,  into  the  shop  of  a  no- 
ted barber-chirurgeon,  alluded  to  in  the 
preceding  pages,  as  living  over  against 
the  jolly  mercer's  in  Eastcheap.  He  was 
called  Martin  Lather  and  sometimes  Mas- 
ter Lather  by  those  who  would  seem  to 
hold  him  in  some  respect;  and  he  had 
for  an  apprentice  one  Harry  Daring  —  a 
sturdy  boy  of  some  fifteen  years  or  so  ;  of 
both  of  whom  more  anon.  First  to  de- 
scribe the  shop,  which  was  of  no  little 
repute  among  the  citizens.  On  a  pro- 
jecting window  there  were  divers  notices 
to  acquaint  the  passengers  of  what  Mas- 
ter Lather  was  skilled  in  :  some  of  these 
were  in  rhyme,  for  he  did  pride  himself 
mightily  on  his  scholarship.  As  for  in- 
stance — 

"  Shaving  done  here 
By  the  day,  month,  or  year." 

Or  in  another  case  — 

"  Beards  trimmed  neatly  ; 
And  teeth  extracted  completely." 

And   mayhap   close  upon  it  would   be 
found  — 

"  I  breathe  a  vein 
For  a  little  gain  , 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


101 


And  on  moderate  terms 
I  cure  the  worms." 

While  in  another  place  the  gazer  should 
meet — 

"  Hair  cut  and  curled 
As  well  as  anywhere  in  the  world  ; 
And  in  bald  places  made  to  grow, 
Whether  it  will  or  no." 

About  there  were  some  few  shelves,  hav- 
ing on  them  bundles  of  herbs,  jars  of  oint- 
ment, and  the  like — (very  famous  in  the 
cure  of  many  disorders) ;  and  elsewhere  in 
the  shop  were  some  drawers,  shelves 
with  gallipots,  and  bottles  containing  dif- 
ferent colored  liquors,  and  some  with 
powders  in  them.  A  lot  of  ballads  and 
broad  sheets  were  against  the  wainscot. 
Over  the  fireplace  was  framed  a  large 
writing,  having  for  the  title,  very  con- 
spicuous, "  Forfeits,"  which  ran  thus — 

"  He  that  must  needs  be  served  out  of  his  turn, 
Shall  pay  a  penny,  and  better  manners  learn. 
He  that  the  master  would  stay  in  his  calling, 
Or  dispute  in  such  terms  as  will  lead  to  a  brawling, 
Or  meddle  with  what  he  hath  had  no  occasion, 
He  shall  pay  two-pence  to  his  great  vexation. 
He  that  doth  swear,  or  doth  say  any  scandal, 
Or  prate  of  such  things  as  be  not  fit  to  handle, 
Or  from  the  ballads  shall  tear  or  take  any. 
Straightway  from  his  pouch  there  must  come  forth 

a  penny. 

And  he  that  shall  seek  for  to  play  any  tricks. 
With  the  pricking  of  pins,  or  the  poking  of  sticks  ; 
Or  chalk  on  a  doublet — or  foul  any  hat, 
Without  doubt  shall  he  forfeit  a  penny  for  that. 
Likewise  if  against  the  queen's  grace  say  he  aught, 
He  shall,  as  'tis  fitting,  be  made  pay  a  groat, 
And  ask  pardon  all  round— the  which  to  his  pain 
Will  keep  him  from  talking  such  treason  again  " 

A  large  black  cat  was  cleaning  of  its 
skin  upon  a  three-leggea  stool,  nigh  unto  a 
table  standing  by  the  side  of  the  fireplace, 
on  which  were  sundry  combs,  brushes, 
scissors,  vials,  a  pestle  and  mortar,  and  in- 
struments for  the  pullingout  of  teeth ;  and  a 
little  closer  to  the  light,  there  sat  in  a  huge 
high-backed  chair,  an  exceeding  serious- 
looking  old  man,  rather  short  of  stature, 
with  some  few  gray  hairs  on  his  head, 
and  a  small  peaked  beard  of  the  like  sort ; 
wearing  on  his  nose,  which  was  of  the 
longest  and  of  an  excellent  fine  point,  a 
pair  of  famous  large  spectacles,  through 
which  he  was  gazin?  upon  what  he  was 
about  He  was  trimly  dressed,  with  ev- 
erything formal  and  grave  about  him.  In 
one  hand  he  held  a  lancet,  and  in  the 
other  a  cabbage-leaf.  A  boy  stood  before 
him  seemingly  very  attentive.  He  was 
thickset  and  short  of  his  age,  with  an 
honest  plump  face,  and  eyes  that  looked 
as  if  ever  intent  upon  some  mischief  or 
another.  In  truth,  it  was  a  countenance 
that  was  not  easy  to  be  described,  saving 
that  it  was  a  very  dare-devil — care-for- 
naught — full-of-tricks  sou  of  face  as  ever 
buy  had.  He  had  on  a  leather  jerkin 


and  breeches  of  the  same,  partly  covered 
with  an  apron  of  linen,  that  looked  as  if 
he  had  been  rolling  on  the  floor  in  it — 
which  was  like  enough.  He  wore  yel- 
low hose,  and  thick  shoes  ff  leather. 
These  two  were  Master  Lather,  the  bar- 
ber-chirurgeon,  and  his  apprentice  Harry 
Daring. 

"  Methinks  you  know  pretty  well  by 
this  time  how  to  dress  hair,"  observed  the 
barber  to  his  pupil  with  a  monstrous 
grave  countenance,  "seeing  that  you  have 
been  curling  of  the  old  mop  for  some 
time  past:  the  which  be  an  admirable 
way  for  the  learning  of  that  part  of  our 
craft — for  if  you  singe  it,  then  shall  no 
man  rate  you  for  the  burning  of  his  pate : 
which  maketh  good  the  saying  of  Aris- 
totle, 'Anre  ilium  imperatorem !'  which 
meaneth,  '  hurt  no  one  and  he  shall  not 
cry  out.'  " 

"I  promise  you,"  replied  the  boy, 
seeming  as  if  regarding  his  master  with 
great  attention,  "  without  doubt  I  be  as 
clever  at  it  as  any  'prentice  in  the  city  ; 
and  upon  the  strength  of  my  skilfulness 
at  the  mop,  I  did  essay  to  frizzle  up  the 
locks  of  Gammer  Griskin,  who  wanted 
them  done  in  a  hurry  when  you  were 
from  home,  at  the  which  I  succeeded 
marvellously." 

"  I  remember  me  well,"  said  the  old 
man,  increasing  in  the  gravity  of  his 
features,  "when  next  I  dressed  the  old 
woman  I  found  one  half  of  her  hair 
scorched  to  a  cinder,  and  inquiring  of  her 
what  she  had  done  to  her  head,  did  hear 
that  you  had  been  practising  on  it — 
whereupon  I  said  nothing — remembering 
what  is  written  in  Epicurus,  '  Nihil  reli- 
qui  fecit,'  the  which  translated  is,  '  hold 
thy  tongue,  and  thy  prating  shall  do  thee 
no  harm.'  However,  you  are  at  least 
well  skilled  in  the  practice  of  shaving, 
seeing  that  you  have  put  the  razor  over 
the  scalded  pig's  head  pretty  often,  and 
with  a  proper  degree  of  cunning." 

"Ay,  master,  that  have  I,"  answered 
the  apprentice  quickly.  "Indeed,  I  have 
tried  my  skilfulness  on  others  besides  the 
chaps  of  dead  pigs;  for  be  it  known  to 
you,  Gaffer  Gravestone  coming  one  morn- 
ing before  you  were  up,  with  a  beard  of 
a  week's  growth,  to  get  rid  of  which  he 
was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  wait  your 
'  coming  down,  I  took  upon  me  to  lather 
and  shave  him  to  a  nicety." 

•'  True,"  observed   the  barber-chirur- 

geon  with   additional    solemnity,    "  the 

j  sexton  did  complain  to  me,  with  a  face 

j  covered  with    plasters,  that  as  well   as 

j  slicing  of  a  piece  off  his  chin  as  big  as  a 


i02 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


rose  noble,  aiid  gashing  of  his  cheek  in 
three  several  places,  you  had  completely 
cut  off  from  beside  his  ear  two  moles  of 
no  ordinary  size,  that  there  had  grown 
undisturbed  and  respected  fpr  a  matter 
of  forty  years.  But  witk  some  ado  I 
managed  to  pacify  him,  upon  promising 
that  his  face  should  look  all  the  younger 
for  it,  and  doing  his  cure  free  of  expense ; 
having  in  my  mind  at  the  time  the  words 
of  that  famous  writer,  Ayerroes,  '  Tenuit 
hoc  propositum,'  that  should  be  thus 
rendered  in  the  vulgar,  '  make  amends  if 
any  have  suffered  by  thee,  but  if  it  be  not 
in  thy  power  attempt  it  not,  for  thou 
canst  never  succeed  in  the  doing  of  that 
which  is  impossible.' " 

"  Well,  seeing  that  you  have  sufficient 
insight  for  the  nonce  into  these  matters," 
continued  the  old  barber  very  seriously, 
"  methought  'twas  fitting  time  you  should 
be  taught  the  more  noble  part  of  our 
excellent  and  profitable  profession  ;  so 
attend,  and  I  will  initiate  you  into  the 
whole  art  and  mystery  of  the  breathing 
of  a  vein.  See  you  this  cabbage-leaf?" 

"I'faith,  master,  that  I  can  not  fail  of 
doing,  it  being  right  under  my  nose,"  re- 
plied the  boy. 

"  Now,  mark  the  different  ridges  in  the 
leaf,"  said  Master  Lather,  pointing  to 
them  for  his  inspection.  "  It  hath  Been 
written  in  Galen,  'In  suam  tutelam 
pervenissent,' — which  meaneth — '  man  be 
exceeding  like  unto  a  cabbage-leaf.'  And 
the  similarity  is  manifest — for  there  be 
veins  in  the  leaf,  and  there  be  veins  in 
man  also.  Now,  in  the  breathing  of  a 
vein  it  requireth  some  dexterity ;  for, 
mayhap,  you  may  chance  to  miss  it ; 
then  shall  it  not  bleed  of  a  surety.  Taking 
this  ridge  for  the  vein — having,  first  of 
all,  tied  a  bandage  of  broad  tape,  at  a 
penny  a  yard,  above  the  bend  of  the 
arm,  here  you  see" — and  then  he  bared 
his  arm  to  show.  "  You  must  hold  down 
the  vein  with  the  thumb  of  your  left 
hand,  that  it  may  not  slip ;  then,  in  your 
right  holding  your  lancet  betwixt  the 
thumb  and  finger,  as  I  do,  you  will  send 
down  the  point  into  the  vein,  making  a 
moderate  orifice  by  jerking  it  up  thus  ;" 
and  thereupon  he  did  penetrate  the 
ridge  of  the  leaf,  whilst  the  boy  was 
a  looking  on  with  exceeding  curiousness. 

"  The  reason  you  should  first  essay  in 
a  cabbage-leaf  is  this,"  continued  the 
ehirurgeon :  "  that  whereas,  on  a  first 
trial  or  so,  upon  the  arm  of  a  living  man, 
not  having  the  necessary  experience,  you 
may  chance  to  cut  deep  and  draw  no 
blood,  whereat  he  may  be  in  a  monstrou 


passion  ;  but  though  you  draw  no  blood 
from  the  cabbage-leaf  upon  cutting  ever 
so,  there  shall  be  no  falling  out  betwixt 
you  and  it:  for  truly  it  is  said  by  Escu- 
lapius,  '  Dulce  est  pro  patria  mori ;'  the 
which  doth  mean — 'things  that  have  no 
voice  can  give  no  abuse.'  Observe  you 
how  it  can  be  done,  and  then  make  trial 
yourself." 

"  I  warrant  you  I  can  do  it  famously," 
cried  Harry  Daring,  taking  the  lancet 
into  his  own  hand,  and  digging  into  the 
cabbage-leaf  after  the  manner  of  his 
master. 

"  Villain  !  you  have  cut  my  finger !" 
bawled  out  Master  Lather,  dropping  the 
leaf,  and  looking  very  dismal  at  his  fin- 
ger, which  began  a  bleeding  somewhat. 
"  O'  my  life,  I  knew  not  your  hand  was 
so  nigh  !"  said  the  boy  with  an  exceed- 
ing demure  face,  though  it  be  hugely 
suspected  the  young  dog  did  it  on  pur- 
pose. 

"  A  murrain  on  you,  I  doubt  you  will 
ever  make  a  ehirurgeon,  you  be  so  awk- 
ward," added  his  master,  as  he  tied  up 
his  wound — which,  luckily,  was  no  great 
matter. 

"  Nay,  master,  look  if  I  be  not  mar- 
vellous skilful  already  !"  exclaimed  the 
apprentice,  now  holding  the  cabbage-leaf 
himself,  and  digging  at  it  in  a  very  furious 
fashion. 

"  Not  so  fast !  not  so  fast,  I  pray  you  !" 
cried  the  old  man.  "  Put  you  down  the 
point  a  little  inward,  and  make  a  sweep 
with  it  up.  Let  it  not  go  in  so  deep. 
Nay,  do  it  not  as  if  you  were  digging  a 
salad  !  Alack  !  that  will  never  do  !  la 
truth,  if  you  were  serving  a  man's  arm 
thus,  he  would  cry  out  against  you,  and 
have  reason  for't :  for  is  it  not  written  in 
Galen,  '  Rara  avis  in  terris,  nigroque 
simillima  cygno  ;'  which,  done  into  Eng- 
lish, is — '  take  heed  you  do  no  man  any 
hurt,  else  marvel  not  he  come  to  you  for 
a  plaster."  There,  that  is  better — now 
put  it  down.  Mayhap  I  will  give  you 
another  lesson  on  the  cabbage-leaf  to- 
morrow, for  indeed,  you  must  in  no  way 
attempt  to  breathe  a  vein  till  you  have 
thus  learnt  of  me  the  way  many  times. 
Now,  perchance  you  shall  not  have  forgot 
that  we  had  part  of  a  calf's  head  for  din- 
ner ?" 

"  No,  i'faith,  not  I,  master,"  replied  the 
other,  instantly,  a  smacking  of  his  lips, 
"  seeing  that  I  did  pick  the  bones  so 
superlatively  clean,  that  puss  hath  looked 
daggers  at  me  ever  since." 

"Well — get  you  into  the  kitchen  and 
fetch  me  the  jaw — for  I  have  need  of  it." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


103 


"  Marry,  what  wants  he  with  it,  I 
wonder  ?"  muttered  the  boy  to  himself, 
as  he  went  quickly  on  his  errand.  "  Me- 
thinks  he  hath  quite  jaw  enough  as  it  is. 
And  hath  he  not  a  calf's  head  of  his  own, ' 
too  ?  Well,  some  folks  be  never  satis- 
fied !"  On  his  return  he  found  Master 
Lather  with  an  instrument  in  his  hand 
for  the  extracting  of  teeth. 

"  Now  will  I  give  you  a  lesson  on  an- 
other branch  of  our  honorable  profession," 
said  the  barber-chirurgeon,  taking  the 
bone  into  his  hand,  and  handling  his  in- 
strument so  as  to  show  the  way  of  fixing 
it  on  the  tooth.  "  When  one  comes  to 
you  with  a  raging  tooth,  it  be  best  to  take 
it  out  straight,  for  thereby  shall  you  ease 
him  of  his  toothache,  and  be  at  least  a 
groat  the  richer^-for  your  pains.  Now, 
there  be  two  kinds  of  teeth,  as  it  be  writ 
in  Aristotle, '  malus  puer,'  an '  easy  tooth  ;' 
and  'bonus  puer,'  an  'obstinate  tooth  ;' 
that  is  to  say,  one  that  will  out  with  a 
small  tug,  and  one  that  you  may  try  ever 
so  at,  and^ it  shall  stick  as  firm  as  ever. 
Now,  suppose  you  that  this  be  the  jaw 
of  one  that  hath  come  to  you  to  do  your 
office  on  him  for  the  riddance  of  his  pain 
— for  of  a  sure  thing  it  be  better  at  first 
to  practise  on  such  a  thing  as  this  than 
meddle  with  a  living  mouth  ;  which  re- 
mindeth  me  of  what  hath  been  said  on 
this  very  subject  by  the  learned  Podalirius : 
'  De  gustibus  non  est  disputandum  :' 
which,  rightly  translated,  reads  thus — 
*  Touch  but  the  tail  of  a  living  dog  and 
he  shall  snap  at  you  presently  ;  but  you! 
may  hawl  a  dead  lion  by  the  ear  and  he 
shall  take  it  exceeding  civil  of  you.'  If 
the  tooth  be  a  back  tooth,  and  in  the 
under  jaw  (getting  your  patient  to  sit 
quiet  and  say  nothing),  you  shall  present-  [ 
ly  put  your  instrument  into  his  mouth  ; 
and  fix  the  claw  on  the  further  side  of  i 
the  tooth,  thus — holding  it  down  firm  j 
with  the  finger  of  the  other  hand  ;  then 
shall  you  give  it  a  wrench,  and,  doubt- 
less, it  will  come  out,  as  you  see." 

"  That  be  bravely  done,  master,  sure 
enough  !"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring,  who 
had  watched  the  whole  operation  wilh 
an  abundance  of  curiosity.  "And  ine- 
thinks  I  can  do  it  now." 

"  Be  not  too  hasty,  boy,"  replied  his 
master.  "  See  me  do  it  some  two  or 
three  times  more,  then  shall  you  take  the 
instrument  and  try  for  yourself."  At  this 
the  old  man  went  over  the  same  process 
once  or  twice,  with  much  the  same  direc- 
tions as  at  first ;  to  the  which  his  appren- 
tice did  seem  to  direct  an  earnest  atten- 
tion, then  gave  he  the  instrument  into 


the  boy's  hands,  and  held  the  jaw  for  him 
to  pull  at. 

"  Now,  supposing  one  came  to  you  with 
a  raging  tooth,  how  would  you  set  about 
the  extracting  of  it  1"  asked  Master 
Lather,  with  a  famous  serious  counte- 
nance. 

"  Why,  I  would  do  in  this  sort,"  an- 
swered the  other,  setting  briskly  about 
the  operation.  "  I  would  make  him  open 
his  jaw  straight,  and  fixing  the  instru- 
ment in  a  presently,  I  would  give  him  a 
twist  thus." 

"  Oh  !  you're  pinching  my  thumb  !" 
screamed  the  old  man,  stamping  with 
the  pain ;  and  then  releasing  of  it  from 
the  instrument  in  monstrous  quick  time, 
he  sat  twisting  himself  about — a  shaking 
of  his  hurt  hand,  and  making  of  such 
faces  as  were  a  marvel  to  look  upon. 
"  What  an  absolute  awkward  varlet  are 
you!  Oh,  my  thumb!  my  thumb!  the 
flesh  is  squeezed  to  the  very  bone.  NeTer 
was  master  plagued  with  such  a  clumsy 
apprentice.  Oh,  my  thumb — it  doth  pain 
me  piteously  !" 

"'I  knew  not  it  was  so  nigh,"  said  the 
boy  with  as  grave  a  face  as  he  could, 
though,  from  the  twinkle  in  the  rogue's 
eye,  it  was  manifest  he  had  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  matter.  Then  he  set 
to  pulling  out  of  the  remaining  teeth  as 
if  he  was  a  doing  of  it  for  a  wager. 
"But  see,  master,  how  bravely  I  can 
manage  it." 

"  Nay  1  will  give  you  no  more  lessons 
for  the  present — I  have  had  enough  of 
you!"  exclaimed  his  master,  taking  his 
hat  from  a  pio  against  the  wainscot,  and 
his  stick  out  of  the  corner.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  Moster  Tickletoby  the  school- 
master," he  continued,  putting  on  his  hat, 
and  making  for  the  door.  "  Send  for  me, 
if  I  be  wanted.  Oh,  my  thumb  !  my 
thumb." 

"  Ha  !"  cried  Harry  Daring,  as  soon  as 
the  old  man  had  disappeared.  "  Doubt- 
less thou  art  for  the  picking  up  of  some 
more  Latin  which  old  Tickletoby — a 
murrain  on  him  for  having  given  me  the 
birch  so  oft ! — doth  get  out  of  his  school- 
books  ;  and  which,  as  Master  Francis 
hath  assured  me,  thou  dost  misapply 
most  abominably  ;  and  he  says  thy  trans- 
lations be  as  much  like  the  original  as 
is  a  Barbary  hen  to  a  dish  of  stewed 
prunes.  But  I  care  not,  so  that  there  be 
fun  in  the  world,  and  plenty  of  it." 

Then  finding  he  had  taken  out  all  the 
teeth  from  the  jaw,  he  flung  it  aside,  and 
looked  as  if  he  scarce  knew  what  to 
be  at. 


104 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  By  Gog  and  Magog !"  exclaimed  he, 
chafing  of  his  hands  merrily.  "  If  there 
should  come  one  with  a  raging  tooth 
now,  I  would  be  at  it  without  fail,  for  it 
seemeth  to  me  exquisite  sport.  Indeed, 
'tis  a  thousand  pities  there  be  no  living 
jaw  to  have  a  twist  at ;  what,  puss ! 
puss  !  hast  got  never  a  raging  tooth  in 
thy  head,  puss?  Come,  none  of  thy 
nonsense  !"  he  added,  seeing  that  the  cat, 
who  knew  him  and  his  tricks  of  old, 
thinking  that  he  meant  her  no  good, 
after  a  pitiful  mew,  was  making  off  to  be 
out  of  his  way.  But  he  soon  had  hold 
of  her;  lifting  her  by  the  scuff  of  her 
neck,  he  carried  her  to  the  three-legged 
stool,  on  which  he  sat  himself  down,  and 
placed  her  upon  her  back  in  his  lap; 
where  she  lay  quiet,  as  if  scarce  daring 
to  move,  and  only  now  and  then  noticing 
what  he  was  a  doing  of  by  a  mew  so 
exceeding  piteous,  that  few  could  resist 
it:'  yet  he  minded  it  not  a  whit. 

"  So  thou  hast  not  forgot  how  I  singed 
off  thy  whiskers,  seeking  to  give  them  a 
right  fashionable  curl,"  said  the  boy  very 
seriously,  as  he  took  in  his  hand  the 
tooth  instrument,  and  seemed  intent  on 
getting  it  into  the  cat's  mouth.  "I  know 
thou  hast  got  a  villanous  toothache  by 
the  look  of  thee,  and  mayhap,  I  will  do 
thee  such  excellent  service  as  to  take  it 
out.  Ay,  and  charge  thee  nothing  for't ; 
inasmuch  as  thou  hast  nothing  to  pay, 
and  be  hanged  to  thee!  else  shouldst 
thou  pay  a  groat,  like  any  other  Chris- 
tian. And  I  will  talk  Latin  to  thee,  puss, 
and  though  I  made  nothing  of  it  at  school, 
at  least  shall  it  be  as  famous  Latin  as  my 
master's,  and  thou  shalt  understand  it  as 
well,  I'll  be  bound.  For  is  it  not  writ  in 
Aristotle,  that  there  be  two  kinds  of  teeth 
— as  « hocus  pocus,'  '  an  easy  tooth' — 
'  presto  prestissimus,'an  '  obstinate  tooth.' 
So  open  thy  mouth,  puss,  and  quickly. 
Nay,  if  thou  dost  but  attempt  to  scratch, 
I'll  give  thee  such  a  clout  of  the  head  as 
shall  put  all  thy  nine  lives  in  jeopardy. 
1  do  assure  thee,  puss,  'tis  all  for  thy  good, 
so  there  be  no  need  of  setting  up  so  pite- 
ous a  mewing  ; — which  remindeth  me  of 
what  hath  been  said  on  this  subject  by 
the  learned  Podalirius,  'fol  de  riddle  ido, 
lillibullero,  wriggledumfunnibus,'  which, 
rightly  translated,  reads  thus — '  he  can 
bear  very  little  pain  who  crieth  out  be- 
fore he  be  hurt.'  Ha  ! — thou  understand- 
est  Latin,  I  see,  by  the  very  wagging  of 
thy  tail.  So,  pryihee,  open  thy  mouth 
at  once,  there's  a  good  puss,  for  I  must 
give  thy  jaw  a  twist  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing.  "  What,  thou  wilt  not,  ey  ?  0'  my 


life, 'I'll  shave  thy  tail  as  bare  as  my 
hand,  and  make  thee  ashamed  to  show 
thyself  before  thy  sweetheart, — for  truly 
it  is  said  by  Esculapius,  '  hoppeti  kickoti 
corum  hie  haec  hoc  cum  tickle  me,'  the 
which  doth  mean,  '  that  a  cat  with  a 
shaved  tail  be  by  no  means  comely  to 
look  upon.'  " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  an  old  wo- 
man with  her  jaw  tied  up,  entering  at 
the  door ;  at  the  sight  of  'which,  he  let 
down  the  cat  very  quickly,  and  with  an 
exceeding  innocent  face,  advanced  up  to 
her. 

"  Where  be  Master  Lather  ?"  cried  the 
dame  in  right  piteous  accents,  as  with  a 
shrewish  countenance  of  exceeding  un- 
easiness, she  sat  herself  down  on  a  chair, 
swaying  backward  and  forward,  and 
making  such  a  moaning  as  was  quite 
moving  to  hear. 

"  He  be  out,  good  dame,  and  will  tarry 
long,  doubtless,  seeing  that  he  be  gone 
to  set  a  marvellous  bad  dislocation,"  re- 
plied Harry  Daring,  with  a  look  as  grave 
as  that  of  his  master.  "But,  if  I  can 
do  you  any  service,  believe  me,  I  shall 
be  infinitely  glad  on't." 

"  Oh,  I  have  the  cursedest  tooth  that 
ever  plagued  a  miserable  old  woman !" 
said  she,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and 
moaning  worse  than  ever. 

"  In  the  extracting  of  teeth  lieth  my 
particular  skilfulness,"  added  the  boy, 
"  for  in  that  have  I  had  such  practice  as 
would  astonish  you  mightily  to  hear. 
Indeed  I  am  so  cunning  at  it  that  master 
leaveth  all  the  tooth-drawing  to  me,  say- 
ing to  the  customers,  that  there  be  not 
so  apt  an  apprentice  in  the  whole  city. 
Nay,  I  do  assure  you,  take  it  as  you  list,  I 
have  arrived  at  such  perfection  in  the 
art,  that  I  could  take  out  every  tooth  in 
your  head  and  you  shall  know  it  not ; 
which  remindeth  me  of  what  hath  been 
said  on  this  subject  by  the  learned  Poda- 
lirius: 'fol  de  riddle  ido,  lillebullero, 
wriggledumfunnibus,'  which,  rightly 
translated,  reads  thus — '  he  that  can 
draw  a  tooth  without  pain,  must  needs 
be  in  famous  request  of  those  troubled 
with  an  aching  jaw.'  " 

"  Well,  if  you  can  talk  Latin  at  your 
years,  you  must  needs  be  exceeding  clev- 
er," remarked  the  old  woman,  "  sol  will 
let  you  take  out  my  tooth,  and  here's  a 
groat  for  you,  if  you  promise  to  give  me 
no  pain  in  it." 

"  I  will  whip  it  out  and  you  shall  know 
naught  of  the  matter,"  answered  the  ap- 
prentice, readily  taking  the  money,  well 
pleased  at  having  so  fine  an  opportuiity 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS   FRIENDS. 


105 


for  showing  off  his  skill.  "  Which  be  it, 
good  dame  ?"  inquired  he,  after  he  had 
got  her  to  sit  in  the  chair,  and  stood  before 
her,  looking  gravely  into  her  mouth,  with 
the  instrument  in  his  hand. 

"  It  be  the  last  but  two  on  the  left  side, 
in  the  under  jaw,"  replied  she.  "But 
hurt  me  not,  I  pray  you." 

"Be  assured  I  will  hurt  you  none,  if 
you  attend  to  my  directions,"  said  the 
boy.  "  So,  hold  fast  by  the  arms  of  the 
chair,  else  you  must  needs  feel  the  pain." 

"  Ah  !"  screamed  the  old  woman,  seem- 
ingly at  the  very  top  of  her  voice,  as  she 
lifted  up  her  hands  to  her  jaw  immedi- 
ately he  gave  a  wrench. 

"  There,  now  !"  cried  Harry  Darirjg, 
looking  monstrously  displeased.  "Did  I 
not  say  you  would  feel  pain  if  you  held 
not  fast  to  the  chair  ?  For  is  it  not  writ 
in  Aristotle  that  there  are  two  kinds  of 
teeth,  as  '  harem  scarem,'  an  '  easy  tooth.' 
'  crinkum  crankum,'  an  '  obstinate  tooth  ;' 
and  the  latter  kind  have  you,  without  a 
doubt," 

"  Well,  well,  I  will  be  as  quiet  aS  I 
may,"  said  she,  putting  down  her  hands, 
but  looking  wofully  frightened.  "  Yet 
'twas  a  most  awful  pain.  Now  hurt  not 
again,  good  youth,  I  pray  you." 

"Believe  me  I  would  not  hurt  a  hair 
of  your  head,  for  any  money,"  replied 
the  apprentice,  with  a  very  touching  earn- 
estness; "  but  hold  fast, — I  can  promise 
nothing  if  you  let  go  the  chair." 

"  Oh  !"  shrieked  the  dame,  louder  and 
longer  than  at  first  ;  and  caught  hold  of 
his  hands  as  he  was  a  tugging  with  all 
his  might. 

"  A  murrain  on  you,"  exclaimed  the 
boy,  stamping  as  if  in  a  great  rage,  "did 
ever  any  one  see  the  like  ?  I  was  having 
it  out  as  easily  as  is  the  drawing  of  a 
cork  from  a  bottle  of  Ippocras,  and  with- 
out pain  enough  to  hurt  a  fly,  when  you 
let  go  the  chair,  and  made  the  pain  come 
on  the  instant.  'Slife,  it  be  enough  to 
put  a  saint  in  a  passion;  for  truly  is  it  j 
said  by  Esculapius,  '  Syrupus  croci  scru- 
pulum  dimidium,  aquae  purae  quantum 
sufficit :'  the  which  doth  mean, — '  she  that 
will  let  go  when  she  be  told  to  hold  fast,  i 
deserveth  all  she  may  get  for  her  pains.'" 

"  If  it  was  not  for  the  Latin,  I  should 
doubt  you  were  so  skilled  as  you  have 
said,"  remarked  his  patient,  very  dole- 
fully ;  "but  the  Latin  be  a  wonderful 
comfort.  You  shall  have  at  it  once  more, ; 
and  for  the  last  time  ;  for  in  truth  I  can 
endure  no  such  horrible  pain  as  the  last." 

"  Hold  fast,  then  ;  and  now  or  nevei," 
cried  the  young  barber,  as  he  put  his : 


whole  might  and  main  into  one  desperate 
tug. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  murder  !  Oh  !  Lord  ha' 
mercy  on  my  sins  !  Oh  !  murder  !  mur- 
der !  murder !''  screamed  the  old  woman, 
with  all  the  strength  of  her  lungs,  as  she 
tried  to  hold  his  hands  ;  but  this  time  he 
knit  his  brows  fiercely,  and  twisted  at  the 
instrument  as  if  for  his  life;  and  in 'spite 
of  the  struggles  and  shriekings  of  his  pa- 
tient, he  desisted  not  till  he  wrenched  the 
tooth  right  out  upon  the  floor. 

"Here  it  be, dame,"  exclaimed  he,  joy- 
fully, as  soon  as  he  saw  it  fall,  "and  o' 
my  life  'tis  a  famous  one."  But  the  other 
seemed  to  think  that  her  jaw  had  been 
torn  out;  for  with  her  hands  up  to  he? 
face,  she  sat  a  writhing  and  twisting  her 
body  about  the  room,  as  if  she  was  in  her 
last  agony. 

"  Oh  !  I  be  a  dying  !  my  hour  be  come ; 
I  must  needs  give  up  the  ghost,"  cried 
she,  very  piteously. 

"Keep  a  good  heart — you  will  be  well 
enough  soon,"  replied  he, as  he  was  a  wi- 
ping of  his  instrument. 

"Jndeed,  'twas  a  most  awful  scraunch," 
added  his  patient,  looking  in  most  deplora- 
ble fashion ;  "  methought  my  head  was 
a  going  clean  off,  and  you  was  a  pulling 
of  it  up  by  the  roots : — but  where  be  the 
tooth  ?" 

"  There,  dame,"  he  answered,  pointing 
to  where  it  lay  ;  at  the  which  she  has- 
tened to  pick  it  up. 

"  Oh  !  you  murderous  villain  !"  shouted 
out  the  old  woman,  her  face  all  of  a  sudden 
becoming  livid  with  rage,  as  she  looked 
upon  the  tooth  :  "you  have  pulled  out  the 
only  two  sound  teeth  I  had  in  my  head, 
and  left  the  aching  one  in." 

"What,  have  I  pulled  out  two?'''  ex- 
claimed the  boy,  as  if  mightily  pleased  ; 
"  why,  what  excellent  luck  have  I !  But 
you  must  needs  pay  me  the  other  groat, 
seeing  that  you  bargained  only  for  one." 

"  I  pay  thee  a  groat,  caitiff'!"  cried  she, 
in  a  worse  rage  Fhan  ever,  "  I'll  see  thee 
hanged  first ! — And  two  such  fine  teeth, 
too,  that  would  have  lasted  me  a  good 
score  years.  Oh  !  'tis  not  to  be  borne." 

"Why,  thoti  shalt  have  all  the  less 
toothaches  for  it,"  said  the  apprentice,  in 
a  wonderful  consoling  voice  ;  "  I  warrant 
they  shall  never  ache;  for  is  it  not  writ 
in  Aristotle" — 

"Drat  Harry's  total  and  thee  too!" 
screamed  the  other,  looking  as  fiercely  as 
if  she  was  about  to  fly  at  him  ;  "  I  could 
tear  thee  limb  from  limb,  you  horrible 
young  villain." 

"  Nay,  thou  hadst  best  be  quiet  and 


106 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


take  thyself  off,"  observed  the  boy,  seri- 
ously ;  though  he  took  huge  delight  in 
seeing  her  in  so  towering  a  passion.  "  In- 
deed, if  thou  showest  thy  tearing  humor 
to  me,  I  will  set  the  dog  on  thee,  who  b§ 
famous  for  worrying  of  an  old  witch." 

"  Dost  call  me  an  old  witch,  thou  pes- 
tilent little  varlet?  Me  an  old  witch: — 
me!" 

"  Tis  like  enough  to  be  true ;  for  'tis 
well  known  thou  wert  seen  last  Christ- 
mas eve  dancing  of  a  measure  with  the 
devil's  grannum  on  the  top  of  the  moon.'' 

"I  dance  with'the  devil's  grannum? 
j  I" 

"  I  have  spoke  with  those  who  will 
take  their  oaths  of  it:  and  moreover  tney 
do  report  that  thou  didst  caper  after  a 
fashion  that  was  a  scandal  to  look  upon." 

"  Oh  !  the  horrid  perjurers !  But  I  do 
believe  thou  sayest  it  of  thine  own  villan- 
ous  invention : — thou  wilt  come  to  the 
gallows,  that  be  one  comfort." 

"  Away,  old  witch  !" 

"  I'll  live  to  see  thee  hanged,  thou  out- 
rageous little  villain." 

"  Mount  thy  broomstick,  and  be  off  up 
the  chimney;  for  thy  cousin  Beelzebub 
be  waiting  for  thee,  with  a  goodly  bowl 
of  brimstone  and  treacle  for  thy  supper." 

"I  tell  thee  I  bean  honest  woman  that 
have  had  children,  and  two  of  'em  be 
twins,"  squeaked  out  the  old  woman, 
now  in  such  a  rage  she  could  scarcely 
speak. 

"  Ah  !  I  have  heard  of  thy  twins,"  ex- 
claimed the  boy  in  an  aggravating  tone : 
"  the  midwife  told  her  gossip,  and  her 
gossip  told  the  neighbors." 

"And  what  said  she,  thou  hangdog?" 
cried  the  other,  trembling  in  every  limb 
with  the  greatness  of  her  passion, 
do  defy  thee,  caitiff;  they  were  as  fine 
twins  as  ever  honest  woman  had." 

"  Marvellous  fine,  truly  !"  replied  he, 
in  the  same  manner ;  "  for  I  was  told  by 
those  who  had  sight  of  them,  that  one  of 
them  was  a  three-legged  stool  and  the 
other  an  elephant." 

"  Oh  !  thou  horrid  young  monster !  thou 
perjured  little  villain !" 

"  Away,  broomstick !" 

"  Thou  hangdog !  Thou  gallows-bird !' 

"  Out,  brimstone !" 

"  Thou  misbegotten  imp  of  mischief 
Thou"- 

"The  devil  waiteth  supper  for  thee 
Vanish !" 

"  Agh  !"  shrieked  the  enraged  old  wo- 
man, with  a  violent  twist  of  her  head,  as 
if  she  had  exhausted  all  her  spite ;  anc 
then  shaking  her  skinny  fist  at  Harry 


Daring,  she  suddenly  flung  herself  out  at 
he  door. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha  !"  roared  the  boy,  seem- 
ngly  in  a  perfect  ecstasy.  "  Well,  if 
his  be  not  the  most  exquisite  fine  fun, 
hen  know  I  not  what  fun  is.  But  me- 
hought  this  drawing  of  teeth  would  be 
*ood  sport ;  and,  if  I  could  only  get  to 
>leed  a  vein  now,  then  should  I  be  con- 
en  t.  Ah,  puss  ! — art  there  still  ?  Well, 
'.  must  needs  have  at  thee  again  for  lack 
of  another  customer.  But  I  want  not 
aught  of  thy  teeth  at  present :  I  be  only  cu- 
rious to  know  if  thou  hast  got  ever  a  vein." 
The  mischievous  apprentice  soon  had 
the  cat  in  his  lap  again,  and  after  talking 
to  her  in  a  similar  strain  as  at  first,  with 
a  liberal  supply  of  his  Latin,  he  tied  up 
one  of  her  forelegs  with  a  piece  of  tape 
as  if  about  to  let  her  blood.  And  doubt- 
ess  would  he  have  persisted  in  such  in- 
tention, for  he  had  the  lancet  in  his  hand, 
and  the  cat  lay  as  still  as  if  she  was  too 
frightened  to  move,  when,  upon  a  noise 
of  opening  of  the  door,  he  let  her  down 
quickly,  and  putting  his  hands  behind 
him,  that  none  might  see  what  he  had 
hold  on,  he  turned  round  to  see  who  it 
was,  with  a  face  as  demure  and  innocent 
as  you  please.  Then  there  entered  no 
other  than  Captain  Swagger  (of  whom 
the  reader  hath  already  some  knowl- 
edge), marching  in  with  the  absolutest 
blustering  manner  that  ever  was  seen. 

"  Fellow,  where's  thy  master  ?"  he 
exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  as,  with 
his  tremendous  sword  clattering  against 
the  boards  as  he  went,  he  flung  himself 
into  the  great  chair,  looking  at  the  boy 
as  if  he  would  eat  him  at  a  mouthful. 

"  Please  you,  my  lord,"  replied  Harry 
Daring  very  respectfully,  and  with  a 
countenance  that  would  have  become  a 
judge  ;  "  he  hath  gone  to  wait  upon  an 
alderman,  if  it  please  your  lordship,  who 
be  troubled  with  the  windy  colics  ex- 
ceeding badly,  please  you,  my  lord  ;  but, 
as  he  hath  marvellous  great  confidence 
in  me,  knowing  that  I  be  skilled  beyond 
my  years  in  everything  that  appertaineth 
to  chirurgery  and  to  the  craft  of  a  barber, 
he  is  willing  enough  I  should  attend  his 
business  in  his  absence,  if  it  please  your 
lordship  :  therefore,  if  there  be  anything 
you  require  of  my  master,  if  I  attempt 
it  you  may  be  well  assured  it  shall  lack 
nothing  in  the  doing,  if  it  please  you,  my 
lord." 

"Canst  let  blood,  fellow?"  inquired 
the  captain,  somewhat  prepossessed  in 
favor  of  the  apprentice,  for  that  he  had 
taken  him  for  a  lord. 


SHAKSPEARE'AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


107 


"  I  can  let  anything,  if  it  please  your 
ordship,"  said  the  boy,  famously  well 
pleased  that  such  was  required  of  him. 
"But,  indeed,  in  the  letting  of  blood 
lieth  my  particular  skilfulness.  I  can 
assure  you,  for  a  truth,  that  I  have  ac- 
quired by  repeated  practice  such  excellent 
cunning  in  the  breathing  of  a  vein,  that  I 
do  it,  and  lo ! — the  patient  shall  not 
know  it  be  done.  And  in  all  honesty  I 
can  add,  without  boasting,  that  there  be 
divers  worshipful  members  of  the  com- 
mon council  who  will  not  hear  of  any 
other  letting  them  blood,  I  be  held  of 
them  in  such  high  cousideration :  which 
remindeth  me  of  what  hath  been  said  on 
this  subject  by  the  learned  Podalirius — 
'  Sanguis  draconis  granum  unum,  panis 
recentis  drachmae  duas ;  misce  et  divide 
in  pilulas  centum,'  which  rightly  trans- 
lated reads  thus,  '  He  that  can  breathe  a 
vein  in  such  sort  as  to  be  out  of  compari- 
son with  any  other,  shall  assuredly  be 
considered  as  one  beyond  all  price  among 
those  who  would  be  let  blood — if  it  please 
you,  rny  lord." 

"What,  canst  quote  Latin?"  asked 
Captain  Swagger,  as  completely  imposed 
upon  as  the  old  woman  had  been.  "  Well, 
take  my  arm  ;  but  see  that  I  be  let  blood 
in  proper  fashion,  fellow  !  or  I  will  cut 
off  thy  ears." 

"  Of  that  rest  you  well  satisfied," 
answered  the  boy,  gravely  proceeding  to 
bind  up  the  captain's  arm,  and  in  no  way 
daunted  at  his  fierce  manner ;  for,  in 
truth,  he  was  of  such  a  spirit  that  he 
cared  for  nothing  when  he  was  about 
any  mischief.  "  And  as  for  the  quoting 
of  Latin,  if  it  please  your  lordship,  I  be- 
gan so  early  at  it,  and  took  to  it  so 
kindly,  that  I  be  now  accounted  such  a 
dabster  there  be  scarce  any  book  in  Latin 
I  can  not  give  you  chapter  and  verse  out 
of." 

The  young  rogue  had  by  this  time 
bared  and  tied  up  the  patient's  arm,  and 
gave  him  to  hold  the  handle  of  an  old 
mop  to  rest  it  on,  and  was  looking  very 
earnestly  for  the  vein  ;  but  the  arm  was 
one  of  the  fattest,  and  nothing  of  a  vein 
was  to  be  seen.  At  this  he  seemed  a 
little  puzzled  for  a  moment ;  but  being  of 
a  disposition  that  would  stop  at  no  diffi- 
culty, he  presently  put  on  a  famous  know- 
ing look,  and  made  up  his  mind  about 
what  he  was  to  do. 

"Now,  grasp  you  the  mop  firm,  and 
turn  your  head  away,  if  it  please  you,  my 
lord,"  said  the  young  chirurgeon,  pressing 
of  the  thumb  of  his  left  hand  down  nigh 
unto  the  bend  of  the  arm,  and  in  the 


right  hand  having  the  lancet  very  close 
upon  it.  The  other  did  as  he  was 
desired,  but  not  without  looking  a  little 
paler  than  he  was  awhile  since.  "  T 
charge  you  to  look  not  this  way  till  I 
give  the  word  ;  then  shall  I  have  breathed 
your  vein  for  you  in  such  delicate  fashiou 
as  you  can  have  no  experience  of."  At 
this  he  made  a  sudden  plunge  of  the  lan- 
cet into  the  flesh,  at  which  the  captain 
winced  ;  but,  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
apprentice,  no  blood  flowed. 

"Hast  done  it? — methought  I  felt  the 
prick,"  said  his  patient  quickly. 

"  Nay,  'twas  only  my  thumb-nail, 
which  be  rather  of  the  sharpest ;  and 
like  enough  you  felt  it  as  I  pressed  down 
to  feel  the  vein,"  replied  Harry  Daring, 
in  noway  put  out.  "For  is  it  not  writ 
in  Aristotle  that  there  be  two  kinds  of 
veins  ;  as  '  hocus  pocus,'an  '  easy  vein' — 
' presto prestissim us,'  an  'obstinate  vein': 
and  the  latter  kind  have  you,  without 
doubt,  for  it  lieth  not  easy  to  be  got  at,  if 
it  please  your  lordship."  Then  he  made 
another  plunge  deeper  than  at  first,  at 
which  the  captain  did  wince  again  ;  but, 
to  the  exceeding  puzzlement  of  the  youth- 
ful chirurgeon,  not  a  drop  of  blood  did 
make  its  appearance. 

"  Surely  thou  hast  cut  me  !"  exclaimed 
his  patient  with  some  sort  of  earnestness. 
"  A  murrain  on  my  nail  for  its  sharp- 
ness !"  cried  the  boy,  still  not  inclined  to 
relinquish  his  purpose.  "  But  rest  you 
easy,  and  turn  your  head  this  way  on  no 
account,  lest  something  wrong  come  of  it ; 
for  truly  is  it  said  by  Esculapius,  <Hop- 
peti  kicketi  corum,  hie,  hsec,  hoc,  cum 
tickle  "me,'  the  which  doth  mean,  '  he 
that  looketh  .when  he  be  told  not,  may- 
hap shall  spy  what  he  shall  not  be 
pleased  to  see.'  "  Then  he  made  another 
plunge  deeper  than  ever,  at  which  the 
captain  cried  out  lustily. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog !"  angrily  ex- 
claimed the  mischievous  apprentice, 
throwing  down  the  lancet  upon  finding 
he  was  not  a  whit  more  successful  with 
it  than  at  first ;  and  quickly  taking  ofT 
the  bandage — "thou  hast  no  more  blood 
in  thee  than  I  could  get  out  of  a  pickled 
herring." 

It  would  be  impossible  properly  to 
describe  the  rage  of  Captain  Swagger 
upon  turning  round  and  finding  a  huge 
gash  in  his  arm,  and  the  vein  not  a 
bleeding.  His  bushy  mustaches  seemed 
to  curl  up  with  very  indignation,  and  his 
face,  which  had  got  exceeding  pale,  now 
was  in  a  monstrous  fiery  wrath. 
,"  A  thousand  furies !"  shouted  he,  start- 


108 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


ing  up  of  a  sudden.     "  Hast  dared  to  cut 
me  in  this  manner  ?" 

"  In  truth,  I  have  cut  thee  to  the  bone !" 
said  the  other,  as  seriously  as  you  please. 
"And  if  thou  hast  ever  a  vein  in  thy  arm 
of  other  sort  than  I  can  find  in  a  cabbage 
leaf,  then  know  I  naught  of  the  matter." 

"  Slave !  hast  done  this  and  expect  to 
live  ?  Dost  know  who  I  be,  fellow  ?" 
thundered  out  the  captain,  in  an  increas- 
ing passion  at  the  other's  coolness. 

"  Mayhap  thou 'art  a  brazier,  and  car- 
riest  thy  stock  in  trade  in  thy  counte- 
nance, for  in  truth  it  be  exceeding  brazen," 
replied  the  boy,  in  no  way  daunted  at  his 
patient's  fierce  looks. 

"  'Sblood  !  I  will  crop  thy  ears  for  thee 
on  the  instant!"  bawled  Captain  Swag- 
ger, as  he  drew  forth  his  tremendous  ra- 
pier. 

"  What !  dost  draw  on  me  ?"  cried  the 
apprentice,  making  to  the  door  as  if  about 
to  run  for  his  life  ;  but  he  was  never  in  a 
humor  for  turning  tail,  for  he  was  back 
again  as  quickly  as  he  went,  armed  with 
the  party-colored  pole  that  standeth,  ever 
at  such  shops  as  his  master's.  "  Now  God 
defend  the  right!  and  look  to  thyself,  old 
Brazea-nose !"  added  he. 

"Villain  !  dost  fight  a  gentleman  with 
such  a  heathenish  weapon  as  a  barber's 
pole  ?"  exclaimed  the  captain  in  a  mon- 
strous astonishment.  "Down  with  it, 
fellow,  or  I  will  mince  thee  into  noth- 
ing !" 

"  Nay,  if  thou  likest  not  a  barber's 
weapon,  thou  shouldst  not  draw  upon  a 
barber,"  quietly  replied  Harry  Daring,  as 
he  boldly  made  up  to  him.  "Andinow 
for  thy  ribs !" 

Would  I  had  Dan  Homer's  pen  to  de- 
scribe the  famous  combat  that  took  place 
betwixt  these  two  heroes ;  for  of  mine 
own  cunning  can  I  never  give  the  reader 
an  idea  of  it  which  will  come  sufficiently 
nigh  unto  the  reality — yet  what  my  poor 
skill  can  effect  he  must  needs  put  up  with. 
First,  then,  there  was  the  redoubtable 
Captain  Swagger,  foaming  with  wrath, 
flourishing  of  his  formidable  rapier,  and 
skipping  here  and  there  and  everywhere 
witli  a  wonderful  agility,  to  escape  the 
blows  that  were  quickly  aimed  at  him. 
To  him  came  Harry  Daring,  a  very  hero 
among  apprentices,  who  crept  cautiously 
along,  holding  of  his  pole  with  both  hands 
a  little  in  advance  of  him,  with  an  excel- 
lent brave  countenance,  and  ever  and  anon 
giving  a  poke  at  his  opponent  wherever 
he  saw  a  place  unguarded.  The  captain 
retreating  with  a  marvellously  imposing 
front,  and  the  apprentice  following  him 


round  the  shop,  as  if  valorously  resolved 
to  conquer  or  to  die.  The  one  slashed 
about  him  his  huge  sword  in  a  truly  dan- 
gerous fashion  ;  but  the  other  came  to  the 
poke  with  his  barber's  pole  in  so  decided 
a  manner,  that  his  enemy  seemed  to  like 
the  appearance  of  it  less  and  less  every 
moment. 

"  Oh,  that  I  could  get  but  one  cut 
at  thee  !"  cried  the  captain.  "  I  would 
pay  thee  handsomely  for  the  villanous 
hurt  thou  hast  given  me  on  my  right 
side." 

"  Take  that  on  thy  left — then  one  side 
shall  not  grumble  at  t'other,"  replied  the 
apprentice,  hitting  him  another  desperate 
poke  where  he  had  said. 

"  Villain,  thou  wilt  break  my  ribs !" 
thundered  out  his  antagonist,  evidently 
in  as  great  pain  as  rage. 

"  Then  art  thou  but  an  ass  for  not  hav- 
ing them  made  stronger,"  answered  the 
other.  "But  look  at  thy  toes,  I  pry  thee  !" 
and  then  down  came  the  end  of  the  pole 
right  upon  his  foot,  so  heavily  that  he 
bawled  out  with  the  pain,  and  began  to 
limp  about  after  such  a  sort  as  would  have 
been  piteous  to  look  upon,  had  not  the 
absoluteness  of  his  rage  made  of  him  so 
droll  a  figure. 

"  I  iell  thee,  fellow,  I  will  have  my  ac- 
tion of  battery  against  thee  !"  exclaimed 
Captain  Swagger,  making  such  desperate 
exertions  to  ward  off  the  blows  of  his  ad- 
versary, and  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  his 
terrible  weapon,  that  his  great  fiery  face 
seemed  all  in  a  muck. 

"  That  for  thy  action  of  battery,  old 
Brazen-nose  !"  replied  Harry  Daring, 
dealing  him  so  famous  a  poke  in  his 
stomach,  that  it  clean  sent  him  over  the 
three-legged  stool,  with  his  heels  in  the 
air,  his  hat  flying  away  to  one  place,  and 
his  rapier  to  another,  and  his  back  com- 
ing with  a  monstrous  thump  upon  the 
floor. 

"  Yield  thyself  my  prisoner — rescue  or 
no  rescue !"  cried  the  boy,  stepping  up  to 
the  fallen  combatant  with  the  air  of  a 
conquering  knight-errant. 

"  Oh,  my  back !  my  back  !"  groaned 
the  captain,  as  he  attempted  to  rise. 

"By  Gog  and  Magog,  thou  shall  not 
rise  from  this  till  thou  hast  agreed  upon 
thy  ransom,  Sir  Brazier, "said  the  appren- 
tice gravely,  as  he  poked  him  down  again 
with  his  pole. 

'  Wilt  murder  me,  varlet  ?"  asked  Cap- 
tain Swagger,  looking  at  the  dreadful 
weapon  of  his  opponent  as  if  there  was 
instant  death  in  it. 

'  Nay,  I  will  harm  thee  not,  by  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


109 


honor  of  chivalry,  provided  thou  dost 
agree  to  two  or  three  things  I  shall  re- 
quire of  thee." 

"  Prythee  tell  me  what  they  be,  and  let 
me  up." 

*'  First,  thou  shall  acknowledge  thy- 
self conquered  in  fair  fight." 

"  Granted.    Oh,  my  back  !" 

"  Secondly,  thou  shalt  pay  for  thy  ran- 
som one  shilling  of  good  and  lawful 
money  of  our  sovereign  lady  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth." 

"Agreed.  My  ribs  be  as  soft  as  but- 
ter. Oh  !'» 

"  Lastly,  thou  shalt  from  this  time  for- 
ward and  for  ever,  hold  in  most  especial 
veneration  and  respect  the  goodly  weapon 
that  hath  caused  thy  overthrow — to  wit, 
a  barber's  pole." 

"  Spare  me  there,  I  prythee !"  groaned 
the  prostrate  captain,  in  the  most  piteous 
accents  ever  heard  ;  "  I  would  pay  thee 
another  shilling  sooner." 

"What,  dost  murmur,  Sir  Brazier?" 
cried  out  Harry  Daring,  and  was  just 
about  to  give  him  an  additional  poke, 
when  the  door  opened;  and  turning  round 
he  beheld  Master  Francis.  "Ah!  I  am 
right  glad  to  see  thee!"  he  exclaimed, 
going  up  to  his  visiter  and  shaking  him 
by  the  hand  with  great  heartiness — "  for 
in  truth  I  have  missed  thee  exceedingly." 

"  But  what  hast  been  about  with  this 
good  gentleman,  Harry  ?"  inquired  his 
young  friend,  who  marvelled  greatly  at 
seeing  of  them  in  such  a  position. 

"What !  hast  dared  to  rise  ?"  exclaim- 
ed the  boy,  upon  perceiving  that  as  soon 
as  his  back  had  turned  the  captain  had 
sprung  on  his  legs,  with  a  wonderful 
agility  considering  how  hurt  he  was. 

"  I  pray  you  hold  him,  good  sir,"  cried 
Captain  Swagger,  as  he  made  haste  to 
pick  up  his  sword  and  hat.  "  He  hath 
used  me  villanously.  He  hath  hurt  my 
back,  my  ribs,  and  my  toes,  beyond  all 
endurance,  by  poking  me  with  that 
heathenish  weapon  of  his.  Indeed,  he 
be  the  horriblest  young  wretch,  and  the 
absolutest  little  villain — " 

"  Ha  !^  dost  call  names,  Brazen-nose  ?" 
shouted  the  apprentice,  lifting  up  his  pole 
as  if  to  renew  the  combat ;  but  no  sooner 
had  the  captain  caught  sight  of  his  in- 
tention, than,  with  a  look  of  the  most  ex- 
ceeding horror  and  alarm,  he  made  two 
or  three  tremendous  strides  to  the  door, 
and  was  out  of  the  house  without  another 
word. 

"  Oh,  Master  Francis,  I  have  had  such 
exquisite  fine  fun  !"  said  the  boy,  after  a 
long  fit  of  laughing,  upon  seeing  of  Cap- 


]  tain  Swagger  take  himself  off  in  so  evi- 
dent a  fright ;  and  then  he  told  the  other 
the  whole  account  of  his  attempts  at 
chirurgery — at  the  which,  though  his 
companion  seemed  in  a  monstrous  melan- 
choly humor,  he  could  not  help  smiling 
more  than  once.  "  Indeed,  Master  Fran- 
cis," added  he  at  the  la&t,  "  if  thou  hadst 
heard  me  speaking  of  my  fine  Latin,  and 
the  infinite  gravity  of  my  behavior,  thou 
wouldst  never  have  forgotten  it.  But  the 
rage  of  the  old  witch — that  was  the  fun  ! 
Nay,  I  do  think  that  the  sight  of  Brazen- 
nose  skipping  away  from  the  pole  like  a 
roasi  chestnut  bouncing  from  the  fire,  was 
the  exquisites!  fun  of  the  two.  But  what 
aileth  thee?  for  in  honest  truth  thou  look- 
est  marvellously  disturbed." 

"  'Tis  nothing — Harry ! — 'tis  nothing," 
replied  Master  Francis. 

"  At  least  I  rejoice  exceedingly  to  see 
thee  so  famously  attired,"  continued  his 
companion,  looking  with  admiring  eyes 
upon  his  handsome  dress,  "  and  to  wear 
a  sword  too  !  Well,  he  that  says  thou 
art  not  worthy  of  it  lies  in  his  throat ; 
and  I  would  like  to  cudgel  him  within 
an  inch  of  his  life.  For  in  truth,  in  my 
estimation,  thou  art  good  enough  for  any- 
thing. Dost  remember  when  we  two 
were  at  old  Tickletoby's,  and  thou  wert 
a  reading  to  me  the  romance  6f  King 
Arthur  and  other  famous  histories  ?  Thou 
didst  then  say,  if  so  be  thou  shouldst  ever 
have  the  good  hap  to  become  a  knight, 
which  I  always  thought  would  be  the 
case,  then  should  I  be  thy  faithful  esquire. 
Prythee  tell  me  if  it  be  possible  to  be 
where  thou  art — if  so,  I  will  straight  show 
my  indentures  a  fair  pair  of  heels ;  for 
though  I  may  have  sport  enough  some- 
times, in  honest  truth  I  would  rather  wear 
a  sword  as  thou  dost ;  and  should  think 
nothing  so  pleasant  as  to  be  alongside  of 
thee  fighting  of  the  paynims  and  such 
like  caitiffs.  Indeed,  there  be  none  I 
think  so  true  a  friend  as  art  thou,  when 
I  remember  the  many  times  thou  hast 
saved  me  the  birch  by  helping  of  me  in 
my  tasks." 

"  Hast  forgot,  dear  Harry,  how  many 
uncivil  boys  thou  hast  beat  who  did  call 
me  names  ?"  inquired  Master  Francis, 
kindly.  "  Some  nearly  twice  thy  size, 
too." 

"Ah,  thou  wert  then  exceeding  deli- 
cate," replied  Harry  Daring,  "  and  unfit 
to  cope  with  such.  Yes,  I  remember  me 
whal  a  bout  I  had  of  it  with  big  Jack  o' 
the  Turnstile,  for  calling  of  thee  '  Molly- 
coddle'— a  murrain  on  him !  He  got  two 
famous  black  eyes,  and  had  his  villanous 


ilO 


SHAKSPEAR.E  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


nose  pummelled  for  him  till  it  was  as 
red  and  as  big  as  a  carrot.  By  Gog  and 
Magog,  that  was  exquisite  fine  fun  !" 
And  then  the  boy  chafed  his  hands  as  if 
with  wonderful  delight.  "  But  I  should 
like  to  fight  for  thee  all  my  life  long,  if 
there  be  need  of  it ;  and  be  thy  faithful 
friend  and  follower  wherever  thougoest." 

"  If  I  can  get  thee  to  be  where  I  am, 
Harry,  it  shall  be  done,"  replied  Master 
Francis. 

"  That  be  brave  news-  indeed  !"  cried 
.the  barber's  apprentice  very  joyfully — 
"  then  a  fig's  end  for  old  Lather — and 
Esculapius,  and  Aristotle,  and  all  the 
whole  tribe  of  such  pestilent  knaves  and 
thorough-going  villains  as. they  are,  that 
can  do  nothing  but  give  the  horridest 
crack-jaw  Latin  names  to  things,  that 
ever  puzzled  an  innocent  poor  boy's  brains 
to  remember,  may  go  hang  !" 

Harry  Daring  now  went  and  restored 
the  pole  to  its  proper  place. 

"  Seeing  Geoffrey  Sarsnet,  the  jolly 
mercer,  at  his  door,"  said  the  boy,  as  he 
returned  to  his  companion,  "it  hath  put 
me  in  mind  of  a  something  methinks  'tis 
my  duty  to  tell  thee."  Observing  that 
his  friend  looked  at  him  very  earnestly, 
he  continued — "  Believe  me,  I  like  not 
the  part  of  a  talebearer,  or  to  be  a  med- 
dling with  what  concerneth  me  not:  but 
noticing  how  hugely  thou  dost  affect  that 
Joanna -" 

"  Ha  !  what  of  her  ?"  exclaimed  Master 
Francis  hurriedly.  "  Go  on,  Harry,  I  can 
hear  anything  now." 

"  Look  not  so  pale  then,  I  prythee !" 
observed  the  other  with  great  concern,  as 
he  noticed  the  effect  that  had  been  produ- 
ced by  the  mentioning  of  her  name. 

"  Mind  me  not  at  all,  I  prythee,  but 
tell  what  thou  hast  to  say,"  said  the  youth 
with  some  eagerness. 

"  Well,  I  will,"  added  the  apprentice. 
"  Then  I  take,  it  to  be  the  part  of  a  true 
friend  (the  which  I  ever  wish  to  prove 
myself  to  thee,  Master  Francis),  that  if 
one  friend  setteth  his  heart  upon  a  pretty 
wench,  the  other,  if  he  believeth  that  she 
playeth  him  false,  should  tell  him  of  it  as 
speedily  as  may  be.  And  as  it  be  my  cus- 
tom to  go  in  the  early  morning  to  bathe 
in  the  river  with  Jack  o'  the  Turnstile, 
long-legged  Tom,  the  tailor's  son  round 
the  corner,  and  Peter  Perriwinkle,  our 
neighbor  the  chandler's  apprentice,  I  did 
notice  sundry  times,  a  man  closely  muffled 
up  in  a  huge  cloak  and  slouched  hat, 
leaving  of  Geoffrey  Sarsnet's  house  at 
daybreak.  There  was  something  mar- 
vellous suspicious  about  him,  else  had  I 


noticed  him  not ;  and  the  extreme  cau- 
tiousness with  which  the  door  was  opened 
and  closed,  as  if  to  make  no  noise,  did 
still  the  more  attract  my  attention.  Know- 
ing that  the  old  man  was  one  not  likely 
to  have  any  such  mysterious  visiters,  me- 
thought  'twas  passing  strange :  and  never 
seeing  who  it  was  that  let  him  out,  be- 
cause of  the  person  keeping  so  close  be- 
hind the  door  all  the  while,  I  knew  not 
what  to  make  of  it.  However,  as  it  so 
happened,  one  morn  when  the  door  open- 
ed as  usual,  the  wind  blowing  pretty  high 
at  the  time,  I  had  the  good  hap  to  see 
part  of  a  kirtle,  that  1  recognised  on  the 
instant,  and" 

"  Who's  was  it  ?"  inquired  Master 
Francis,  who  had  listened  with  too  much 
anxiety  to  hear  the  narration  to  the  end. 

"  Joanna's,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  And,  like  enough!"  added  the  other 
with  some  sort  of  bitterness. 

"  But  let  it  not  move  thee  so,  I  prytbee  !" 
cried  Harry  Daring,  noticing  in  great 
trouble  the  painful  expression  of  his 
friend's  countenance. 

"  And  yet  she  hath  done  me  great  kind- 
nesses !"  exclaimed  the  youth,  as  if  to 
himself. 

"  Though  ft  look  not  well,  mayhap 
there  shall  be  no  harm  in  it,"  observed 
the  other,  as  if  with  a  riew  of  affording 
some  consolation. 

"  But  I  have  known  that  of  her  that 
hath  harm  in  it !"  exclaimed  Master 
Francis,  more  disturbed  than  ever ;  "  thai 
had  it  not  come  of  mine  own  knowledge, 
would  I  not  have  believed — and  now  it 
be  easy  enough  to  credit  almost  any 
treachery. ,  No!  I  will  never  allow  my- 
self to  be  bribed  into  a  toleration  of  such 
villanous  deceits !" 

"W.ell — if  she  do  play  her  jade's 
tricks,  let  her  go  hang !"  said  the  young 
chirurgeon  indignantly.  "I  tell  thee, 
Master  Francis,  if  that  be  it,  she  be  not 
worth  the  caring  for.  Thou  art  as  sweet  a 
young  gentleman  as  eye  would  wish  to 
look  on ;  therefore  shall  thou  easily  meet 
with  her  betters  at  any  time.  I  say  again, 
let  her  go  hang  !"  :.  t  \ j 

"  She  hath  done  me  many  great  kind- 
nesses— the  which  I  now  wish  she  had 
never  done,  or  that  she  had  left  unthought 
of  that  which  I  now  know  of  her,  "observ- 
ed the  youth  in  extreme  thoughfulness ; 
then  starting  up  suddenly,  cried  out,  "  but 
who  was  he  she  let  out." 

"  That  know  I  not,"  replied  the  boy. 
"  For,  as  I  told  thee,  he  was  so  muffled 
up,  there  was  no  getting  a  glimpse  of  his 
countenence,  or,  in  fact,  of  anything  to 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


111 


know  him  by.  Methinks,  however,  he 
was  much  about  the  size  of  that  spouting 
piece  of  fustian,  Ralph  Goshawk,  whom 
I  have  noticed  to  visit  there  very  fre- 
quently of  late." 

"  Dost  think  'twas  he  ?"  inquired  Mas- 
ter Francis,  with  much  earnestness. 

"  I  would  not  affirm  it,  of  an  absolute 
truth,"  answered  Harry  Daring.  "  Al- 
though I  mislike  the  fellow  hugely,  and 
would  as  soon  give  him  a  bloody  coxcomb 
as  look  at  him ;  for,  indeed,  I  take  him  to 
be  the  impudentest  jackanapes,  and  the 
shallowest  poor  fellow  I  ever  came  a 
nigh.  I  can  not  abide  his  tragedy  airs. 
But  whether  he  be  or  be  not  the  villain, 
I  should  take  it  kindly  if  thou  wouldst 
let  me  break  his  fool's  head  for  him." 

"  Why,  he  be  twice  as  big  as  thee, 
Harry,"  said  his  companion. 

"  What  care  I  for  his  bigness  ?"  replied 
the  apprentice.  "  In  truth,  the  bigger  he 
may  be,  seemeth  all  the  more  favorable,  for 
then  shall  he  afford  space  for  a  greater 
cudgelling.  The  varlet,  for  all  the  great- 
ness of  his  humors,  be  nothing  better  than 
a  very  paltry  swaggerer ;  and  I  should 
take  it  exceeding  kind  of  thee,  if  thou 
wouldst  let  me  give  him  a  bloody  cox- 
comb." 

"  No,  no,  that  must  not  be,"  observed 
Master  Francis.  "Ifjieis  to  blame  in 
this  affair,  his  punishment  must  be  at  my 
hands.  Bat  I  must  make  inquiries  into 
this.  As  for  her,  I  will  see  her.  and  have 
done  with  her."  So  saying,  he  bid  a 
curried  "good-by"  to  his  companion, 
and  immediately  crossed  the  way  to  the 
mercer's. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Sooner  hard  steel  will  melt  with  southern  wind, 
A  seaman's  whistle  calm  the  ocean, 
A  town  on  fire  be  extinct  with  tears 
Than  woman,  vowed  to  blushless  impudence, 
With  sweet  behavior  and  soft  minioning 
Will  turn  from  that  where  appetite  is  fixed  : 
O  powerful   blood,  how  thou  dost  slave  their  souls  ! 

MARSTON. 

Oh,  what  a  sight  it  was  wistfully  to  view 
How  she  cuine  stealing  to  the  wayward  boy  ; 

To  note  the  fighting  conflict  of  her  hue, 
How  white  and  red  did  each  other  destroy  .' 

But  now  her  cheek  was  pale,  and  by-and-by, 

It  flashed  forth  fire  as  lightning  from  the  sky. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

"  HA,  Master  Francis  !"  exclaimed  the 
jolly  mercer,  looking  up  from  measuring 
of  some  silk,  as  the  youth  entered  his 
shop.  "  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  thee — more 
especially,  as  thou  comest  in  such  famous 
fashion  as  this.  I  heard  of  thy  good  for- 


tune, and  was  desperate  glad  on'tt  for  I 
liked  thee  well  all  along.  And  dost  wear 
a  sword,  too?  Well — see  that  thou  be 
not  too  ready  to  draw  upon  a  man ;  and, 
as  for  a  woman,  thou  wilt  do  none  such 
any  harm,  I  warrant."  And  then  the  old 
fellow  burst  out  in  his  customary  short 
loud  laugh. 

"  Is  Joanna  at  home  ?"  inquired  his 
visiter. 

"  At  home !"  cried  Geoffrey  Sarsnet. 
"Why,  she  maketh  herself  at  home 
wherever  she  goes.  By  cock  and  pye,  I 
do  verily  believe  though,  that  she  be  as 
much- abroad  when  she  be  at  home,  as  at 
home  when  she  be  abroad  ;  for  at  times 
I  know  not  what  to  make  of  her.  In 
truth,  she  be  given  to  strange  humors, 
though  willing  enough  when  in  the 
mood." 

"  Think  you  I  shall  find  her  up  stairs  ?" 
asked  the  youth. 

"Either  up  or  down,"  replied  the  jolly 
mercer.  "  That  is,  if  she  allow  herself 
to  be  found :  for  mayhap  she  shall  be 
with  some  of  her  gallants — then  shalt 
thou  not  find  her,  I  warrant." 

A't  any  previous  time  such  an  intima- 
tion would  have  startled  Master  Francis  ; 
yet  now  it  moved  him  not — though  it 
passed  him  not  unnoticed. 

"  But  how.  fareth  that  superlative  old 
pippin  face,  thine  uncle  ?"  inquired 
Geoffrey  Sarsnet  merrily.  "  Ha  !  if  thou 
hadst  but  seen  him  last  night  singing  of 
a  miserable  love-ditty  to  such  a  villa- 
nous  hang-dog  tune  as  the  hundredth 
psalm,  with  a  melancholy  small  voice, 
like  that  of  a  dying  weasel  hit  on  the 
head  by  a  tinker's  hammer,  thou  would- 
est  have  laughed  at  it  for  the  rest  of  thy 
life.  But  when  he  got  up  to  dance  the 
brawls,  with  his  lack-lustre  eyes  sinking 
into  his  pate,  as  if  to  see  that  his  won- 
derful small  stock  of  brains  escaped  him 
not — that  was  a  sight  to  look  on.  Haw  ! 
haw !  haw  !"  and  here  the  old  fellow 
shook  his  lusty  sides  famously. 

The  youth  marvelled  greatly  that  his 
kinsman  should  so  conduct  himself,  it 
being  so  opposite  to  the  usual  staidness 
of  his  manner. 

"  He  aileth  nothing,"  said  he. 

"  By  cock  and  pye,  he  aled  so  much 
last  night,  that  I  was  forced  to  send 
Ralph  Goshawk  to  see  him  home,"  ob- 
served the  jolly  mercer  laughing  as  loud 
as  ever.  "  He  had  put  so  much  of  my 
good  liquor  into  him,  that  he  had  scarce 
left  for  himself'  standing  room.'" 

"  I  knew  not  that  he  was  so  given  to 
drink,"  remarked  the  youth. 


112 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Pfaith  I  do  believe  this  of  him,  that 
he  be  never  given  to  drink  unless  the 
drink  be  given  to  him.  Haw !  haw ! 
haw !"  roared  the  old  fellow,  as  if  in 
exquisite  delight  with  the  conceit. 

"  I  will  just  step  to  speak  with  Joan- 
na," said  Master  Francis,  moving  off  to 
the  door. 

"  Prythee  do,"  replied  Geoffrey  Sarsnet, 
"  and  see  that  thou  hast  a  more  pleasant 
look  with  thee  at  thy  return  ;  for,  in 
truth,  thy  countenance  seemeth  about  as 
cheerful  as  one  that  hath  lost  a  shilling 
and  found  a  groat."  Thereupon  the 
jolly  mercer  gave  his  customary  laugh  ; 
then  bawled  out,  in  the  same  humor,  as 
the  youth  was  leaving  the  shop,  "Take 
heed,  and  spoil  no  sport ;  for  there  be 
few  gallants  who  like  their  privacy  to 
be  broken  in  upon  when  engaged  with  a 
pretty  wench." 

Master  Francis  went  not  up  the  stairs 
in  any  pleasanter  mood  for  this,  it  may 
well  be  believed  ;  but  his  thoughts  were 
in  a  sort  of  confusion :  He  scarce  knew 
what  he  would  be  about.  The  shock  he 
received  from  what  he  gained  knowledge 
of  when  he  was  under  the  gateway,  had 
completely  changed  the  current  of  his 
feelings  toward  Joanna,  and  what  he 
had  heard  since  was  not  like  to  do  aught 
in  her  favor  ;  yet  was  there  still  some 
lingering  tenderness  in  his  disposition  on 
account  of  the  many  kindnesses  she  had 
done  him,  but  when  he  came  to  think 
that  these  had  been  done  but  as  bribes  to 
keep  him  in  compliance  with  her  humors, 
as  he  thought  more  than  once,  his  mind 
was  made  up  ;  and  he  would  have  none 
of  her.  In  this  mood  reached  he  the 
room  that  hath  been  previously  described 
as  the  one  he  had  been  in  before,  the 
door  of  which  standing  open,  he  walked 
in:  but  there  found  he  no  one  but  Dame 
Margery,  who  seemed  busy  at  dusting  of 
the  furniture. 

"  Ah,  Master  Francis,  be  that  you  ?" 
exclaimed  the  old  woman,  seemingly 
with  huge  delight,  as  she  observed  who 
it  was.  "  Well,  to  be  sure  !  And  how 
bravely  you  be  dressed !  In  honest 
truth,  dear  heart !  you  be  the  sweetest 
youn^r  gentleman  I've  seen  this  many  a 
day."  ' 

"  Is  Joanna  at  home,  dame  ?"  inquired 
the  youth. 

"  No,  dear  heart !"  replied  she.  "  She 
hath  stepped  out  some  time  since.  And 
you  wear  a  sword  too  !  Indeed,  you  have 
as  handsome  an  appearance  with  you  as 
heart  could  desire." 

"  Know  you   what  time  she  will   re- 


turn ?"  asked   Master  Francis,  in  some 
disappointment  at  not  meeting  with  her. 

"Nay,  forsooth,  how  should  I,"  an- 
swered the  old  woman  with  an  indignant 
toss  of  her  head,  "  seeing  that  she  goeth 
out  at  all  hours,  and  stayeth  mayhap 
half  the  day,  and  no  one  knoweth  a 
word  of  where  she  hath  been.  Well, 
they  that  live  longest  will  see  most.  I 
be  not  so  blind,  Master  Francis,  as  some 
folks  think.  I  was  not  born  yesterday 
and  the  goings-on  that  I  have  seen  would 
be  a  marvel  to  hear." 

"If  you  know  aught  of  Joanna  that  be 
not  maidenly,  you  do  not  well  in  keeping 
it  from  me,"  said  the  youth. 

"  Maidenly  !"  exclaimed  Dame  Mar- 
gery, with  a  very  significant  look,  as  she 
went  and  carefully  closed  the  door. 
"  I'faith,  'twould  be  strange  indeed,  could 
it  be  called  maidenly.  But,  in  honest 
truth,  I  like  not  to  see  you  so  imposed 
on.  I  have  noticed,  scores  of  times,  with 
what  an  earnestness  you  do  affect  her, 
which  hath  the  more  shocked  me  to 
know  how  she  misuses  you.  But  if  I  tell 
you  aught,  how  know  I  you  will  not  tell 
of  me  again  ?" 

"  Be  assured  I  will  do  no  such  thing," 
replied  he. 

"  Indeed,  she  would  be  the  ruin  of  me, 
knew  she  I  told  you  of  such  matters," 
added  the  old  woman,  "for  she  be  of  a 
very  revengeful  nature,  and  of  an  ex- 
ceeding bad  heart,  as  is  manifest  by  her 
letting  me  work  my  old  bones  till  I  be 
ready  to  d.rop  ;  and  she  standing  by  as 
fine  as  you  please,  and  never  lending  me 
a  hand.  There's  many  a  time  she  might 
have  said,  '  Here  be  a  dress  of  mine  but 
little  the  worse  for  the  wear,  that  be 
rather  too  tight  in  the  sleeve — or,  may- 
hap in  the  body — but,  doubtless,  'twill 
fit  you,  dame,  if  you  please  to  accept  of 
it ;"  which  she  hath  never  done.  In 
fact,  the  grace  of  God  be  not  in  her, 
that's  a  sure  thing.  And  she  be  the 
wickedest  deceitful  creature  that  lives, 
for  she  hath  ofttimes  got  me  a  rating  of 
her  father,  when  she  might  easy  have 
prevented  it.  Forsooth,  all  the  blame 
must  come  upon  poor  me,  when  I  be  as 
innocent  as  a  babe." 

"  What  hath  come  to  your  knowledge 
concerning  of  her  unmaidenly  doings  ?" 
said  the  youth,  in  a  little  impatience. 

"  Oh,  scores  of  things,  I  warrant  you," 
answered  the  dame,  "  and  such  things, 
that  the  speaking  of  them  maketh  me 
blush  outright.  Indeed,  it  be  a  most 
absolute  trulh  that  I  be  the  virtuousest 
of  women ;  and  it  be  no  other  than  a 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


burning  shame  in  her  to  do  what  she 
hath,  instead  of  following  my  excellent 
jxample.  /  never  gave  encouragement 
to  a  parcel  of  fellows,  I  warrant  you.  7 
never  shut  myself  up  in  rooms  with  fine 
gallants — not  I,  by  my  troth !  /  never 
went  nobody  knows  where,  and  stayed 
nobody  knows  how  long,  believe  me ! 
No!  I  was  ever  as  discreet  and  modest 
as  a  virgin  ought  to  be  !  that  was  I — and 
all  the  world  knoweth  it." 

"Well,  but  what  have  you  got  to  tell 
me,  dame  ?"  inquired  Master  Francis, 
rather  earnestly. 

"  I  be  coming  to  it,  kind  heart,"  replied 
Margery.  "Now,  had  it  been  my  good 
fortune,  at  her  years,  to  have  met  with 
such  a  sweet  young  gentleman  as  your- 
self, methinks  I  should  have  cared  for  no 
other ;  but  she — she  must  entertain  gal- 
lants by  the  score !  Not  only,  forsooth, 
must  she  have  a  parcel  of  famous  fine 
fellows  to  fill  her  head  with  nonsensical 
notions  about  love  and  the  like — but  she 
must  needs  have  a  few  of  meaner  quality. 
Nay,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  do  believe 
she  be  in  no  way  particular.  She  liketh 
one  as  well  as  another,  and  careth  only 
that  ther?  should  be  plenty  of  them. 
Would  7  have  done  such  ?  I  that  was 
in  such  repute  for  the  seriousness  of  my 
behavio1-.  that  no  man  dared  so  much  as 
meddle  with  my  kirtle?  In  honest  truth, 
it  be  hut  five  and  twenty  years  last 
Martinmas" 

"  But  I  have  heard  that  before — I  pray 
you,  say  at  once  what  you  have  to  tell  me," 
said  the  youth,  still  more  impatiently. 

"  Ah  !  but  I  forgot  I  had  told  you  of  it," 
continued  the  dame.  "Well,  then,  to 
proceed.  Often  have  I,  going  up  the 
stairs  in  the  dark,  stumbled  over  some 
fellow  sneaking  out — who'd  been  after 
no  good,  I'll  be  bound,  by  the  suspicious 
manner  of  his  getting  away ;  and  when 
I  have  come  into  the  room  suddenly,  I 
have  surprised  her  with  some  of  her  fine 

fallants  sitting  as  close  as  you  please  to 
er  —  mayhap  with  his  villanous  arm 
round  her  waist.  Would  7  have  done 
such?  I  that — but  no  matter.  Then  I 
have  heard  such  whisperings  in  corners 
as  were  awful  to  listen  to.  And  there 

was  that  Ralph  Goshawk" 

"What  of  him,  dame  ?"  inquired  her 
companion  suddenly. 

"  Oh  ?  the  paltry  fellow  !  Oh  .  the  fus- 
tian rogue !  I  could  never  abide  his  pres- 
ence," she  added,  as  if  in  a  monstrous  in- 
dignation ;  "  he  would  pass  himself  off 
for  a  gentleman,  forsooth  !  and  talk  in  as 
holyday  terms  as  any  lord :  yet  was  he 
8 


nothing  but  a  trumpery  haberdasher,  who 
had  no  higher  employment  than  the 
measuring  out  a  yard  or  so  of  sad-colored 
taffeta  for  some  tapster's  widow.  He  be 
the  impudentest  varlet : — but  I  will  ac- 
quaint you  with  what  he  did,  Master 
Francis,  no  longer  ago  than  last  week, 
and  y«u  shall  judge  him  for  an  unman- 
nerly knave,  as  he  is,  that  hath  no  re- 
spect for  the  virtuestest  of  women.  This 
was  it.  I  was  sitting  in  the  low-backed 
arm-chair,  that  hath  a  cushion  in  it,  by 
the  side  of  the  kitchen-fire,  mending  of 
master's  hose.  I  remember  me,  'twas  a 
pair  of  blue  hose ;  for  having  no  worsted 
of  that  color,  I  was  obliged  to  go  out  as 
far  as  Jonathan  Bodkin's,  at  the  next  cor- 
ner, to  get  me  a  halfpenny  ball.  But  you 
must  needs  know  I  be  obliged  to  mend 
all  master's  hose,  for  she  considereth  her- 
self too  fine  a  lady  to  touch  them; — and 
a  famous  labor  be  they,  I  do  assure  you, 
Master  Francis,  for  master  hath  got  a 
villanous  fashion  of  wearing  monstrous 
great  holes  in  the  heel,  as  big  as  a  crown 
piece.  Well,  I  was  a  putting  in  my 
stitch.es  as  closely  as  I  might,  when  up 
comes  this  scurvy  mealy-mouthed  varlet, 
who  had  been  sitting  some  two  hours  or 
more  in  the  kitchen,  talking  the  horri- 
blest  fustian  to  Joanna,  about  a  certain 
Zenocrate  (who  was  no  better  than  she 
should  be,  I'll  lay  a  wager,  or  she  never 
could  have  tolerated  such  a  paltry  fellow 
as  he  is) ;  and  he  says  to  me,  in  his  thun- 
dering fine  swaggering  air, — 

'  And  if  thou  pitiest  Tamburlane  the  Great, — 
Tell  us,  old  woman,  what  o'clock  it  be.' 

Oh  !  the  scurvy  villain  !  Oh  !  the  fustian 
rapscallion  !"  continued  she,  seemingly 
in  as  great  a  rage  as  she  could  well  be 
in,  "  to  call  me  an  old  woman  ! — me  that 
am  not  fifty  yet.  He  Tamburlane  the 
Great !  A  poor  paltry  twopenny-halfpen- 
ny haberdasher  ! — a  swaggering  rogue  ! 
— a  very  trumpery  fellow,  that  hath  no 
more  respect  for  virtue  than  he  hath  for  a 
rotten  apple.  Oh  !  I  be  out  of  all  pa- 
tience with  his  shameless  impudency  !" 

"  But  what  have  you  seen  in  his  beha- 
vior to  Joanna  not  proper  in  her  to  al- 
low?" asked  the  youth,  getting  in  some 
degree  tired  with  the  old  woman's  gar- 
rulousness. 

"  Seen!"  exclaimed  Margery,  throwing 
up  her  hands  and  eyes,  in  amazement; 
"  what  is  it  I  have  not  seen  ?"  Then  she 
came  nearer  to  him,  wearing  a  face  of 
exceeding  mysteriousness,  and  dropping 
her  voice  a  little,  added, — "  I  have  seen 
him  paddle  with  the  palm  of  her  hand 
in  a  way  that  was  awful  for  to  see.  The 


114 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS, 


paltry  fellow !  I  have  seen  him  give  her 
the  shockingest  looks  that  eye  ever  light- 
ed on.  The  scurvy  villain  !  I  have  seen 
him  so  horribly  familiar  with  her,  that  the 
like  was  never  before  known  in  an  honest 
house.  The  fustian  rogue  as  he  is,  to  call 
me  an  old  woman  !  And  as  for  her,  in- 
stead of  giving  him  such  a  setting  down 
as  might  have  put  him  to  the  blush  for 
the  villanousness  of  his  conduct,  as  would 
I  in  such  a  case,  she  would  sit  smiling  at 
him  most  abominably  by  the  hour  to- 
gether ;  nay,  she  has  actually  got  up  to 
dance  with  him  a  gullard,  and  behaved 
with  so  thorough  a  wantonness,  that  I 
have  oft  been  obliged  to  take  myself  off  to 
bed,  my  virtue  could  no  longer  abide  such 
infamous  doings. 

"But  worse  than  that,  Master  Fran- 
cis," continued  the  old  woman,  with  in- 
creasing indignation,  while  the  counte- 
nance of  the  youth  exhibited  considerable 
uneasiness  ;  and  coming  closer,  with  a 
look  of  greater  mystery  she  added  in  a 
deep  low  voice, — "  I  have  seen  that 
which  would  make  your  hair  stand  on 
end  to  hear  of;"  then  observing  that  his 
cheek  became  still  paler,  and  his  look 
more  disturbed,  she  proceeded  first  giving 
a  cautious  glance  at  the  door: — "listen 
to  me  and  you  shall  hear  all.  Coming 
down  stairs  in  the  early  morning  to  do 
the  household  work,  I  oft  noticed,  during 
this  last  winter,  when  I  went  to  light  the 
fire  in  this  chamber,  that  there  were  live 
embers  in  the  grate  ;  which  I  knew  could 
not  have  been  unless  a  fire  had  been  kept 
burning  till  within  an  hour  or  so  of  my 
coming  down.  From  this  I  gathered 
that  she  set  up  o'  nights.  My  chamber 
being  nigh  unto  hers,  put  me  upon  keep- 
ing a  wake,  to  know  for  a  certainty  if  such 
was  the  case.  I  listened  and  watched  all 
the  next  night,  and  sure  enough  I  heard 
my  dainty  madam  creeping  to  her  cham- 
ber, nigh  unto  six  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  next  thing  was  to  discover  what  she 
set  up  for ;  for  I  hugely  suspected  she 
was  not  likely  to  sit  up  for  nothing.  But 
this  was  a  hard  matter  to  know,  she  be- 
ing as  close  as  a  fox ;  so  that  there  be 
no  getting  at  what  she  be  about.  Yet 
had  I  known  such  things  of  her  with  that 
fustian  rapscallion  Ralph  Goshawk,  and 
others,  that  I  was  as  good  as  certain  she 
was  after  what  she  should  not.  Well,  I 
kept  a  planning  and  scheming,  in  hopes 
of  finding  it  all  out,  for  I  knew  there  was 
something  villanous  at  the  bottom  of  it ; 
when  one  morning,  an  hour  or  two  before 
my  usual  hour  of  rising,  up  gets  I ;  and 
after  creeping  as  softlv  as  a  mouse  down 


stairs,  I  saw  by  the  light  under  this  door 
that  madam  was  there.  I  stood  still  and 
listened  a  bit ;  and  as  certain  as  I  stand 
here,  I  heard  a  whispering.  '  Ahum !' 
said  I  to  myself,  '  you  be  at  your  tricks 
sure  enough ;'  then  I  just  stooped  down 
and  took  a  peep  through  the  keyhole,  and 
there  I  saw," — said  the  old  woman,  very 
slowly,  and  with  great  emphasis, — 

"  Saw  what  ?"  quickly  inquired  Master 
Francis,  trembling  so  he  could  scarce 
stand. 

"  I  saw  Joanna  and" — 

"And  who?" 

"And  a  man !"  cried  Margery,  starting 
back,  her  skinny  lips  puckered  up,  and 
her  little  sharp  eyes  fixed  on  him,  with  a 
stare  of  horror  ; — "  but,  hush  !"  she  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  her  wrinkled  and  yel- 
low physiognomy  changing  its  expression 
from  intense  indignation  to  extreme  cau- 
tion— "  that  be  her  foot  on  the  stair :  say 
not  a  word,  I  pray  you,  else  shall  I  be 
ruined."  No  sooner,  however,  had  Joan- 
na entered  at  the  door,  which  she  then 
did — looking  more  beautiful  than  ever, 
dressed  as  if  from  a  walk — than,  with  a 
smile,  the  old  woman  hastened  up'toher. 

"  It  be  you  beyond  all  doubt,"  said  she, 
as  if  overjoyed  to  see  her,  "  as  I  was  just 
a  saying  to  this  good  youth.  Indeed,  and 
you  have  the  sweetest  bloom  on  your  del- 
icate cheek  I  have  seen  you  wear  a  long 
time.  I  warrant  me  now,  you  have  had  a 
right  pleasant  walk." 

"  Take  these  things  and  put  them  in 
my  chamber,"  said  the  mercer's  daughter 
to  her,  as  she  took  off  and  gave  into  her 
hands  her  hat,  muffler,  and  cloak. 

"Ah,  that  will  I  upon  the  instant,"  re- 
plied Margery,  cheerfully  ;  and  then,  as 
soon  as  Joanna's  back  was  turned  from 
her,  she  gave  a  look  full  of  meaning  to 
Master  Francis,  put  her  finger  to  her  lip, 
and  hastened  away. 

During  these  few  seconds  the  youth 
had  been  in  a  very  agony  of  conflicting 
emotions.  He  seemed  making  up  of  his 
mind  what  to  do ;  and  yet  there  was  such 
a  tumult  in  him,  of  rage,  and  jealousy, 
and  indignation,  that  he  looked  as  if  tie 
knew  not  what  he  was  about. 

"I  can  scarce  think  that  the  voyage 
hath  done  you  good,  Francis,"  observed 
Joanna,  as  she  approached  him — "  for  in 
truth  you  look  not  so  Well  as  you  used." 

"  Like  enough,"  replied  he,  bitterly — 
"ay,  it  be  exceeding  like  indeed." 

"  What  aileth  you  ?"  she  inquired,  with 
much  tenderness. 

"  Sick  at  heart !  sick  at  heart !"  quick- 
ly answered  Master  Francis — "  sick  of 

8 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


the  villanous  deceits  that  have  been  played 
upon  me.  Like  enough  indeed  to  look 
not  so  well  as  I  was.  I  went  in  the  ex- 
treme comfort  of  thinking  myself  beloved 
by  one  I  imagined  to  be  possessed  of  a 
goodly  store  of  all  honorable  virtues. — I 
return  but  to  find  that  I  have  been  the 
dupe  of  the  very  wickedest  wanton  that 
ever  disgraced  God's  earth." 

"What  mean  you  by  this?"  asked  the 
mercer's  daughter,  seemingly  iu  great  as- 
tonishment. 

"  What  mean  I  ?"  exclaimed  the  youth, 
indignantly.  "Hast  done  no  ill  thing? 
— hast  given  me  no  provocation  to  quar- 
rel since  I  have  been  away,  by  the  infa- 
mousness  of  thy  behavior  ?" 

"None!"  replied  she,  with  exceeding 
earnestness.  "  I  have  done  no  ill  thing  : 
I  have  done  nothing  that  should  give  you 
provocation  to  quarrel." 

"  Ha  !  and  indeed  ?"  cried  her  compan- 
ion, now  still  more  incensed  against  her; 
"  dost  tell  me  that,  and  come  straight 
from  the  kisses  of  my  Lord  Cobham  ?" 
At  hearing  this  the  color  mounted  into 
her  cheek  a  little,  of  which  he  took  speedy 
notice  and  continued :  "  I  see  nature  will 
take  no  part  in  so  monstrous  a  lie.  But  I 
will  at  once  confess  that  I  was  nearly  as 
nigh  unto  you  as  I  may  be  at  this  present, 
and  heard  all  the  shameless  impudency 
of  your  proceedings.  In  truth,  you  have 
made  of  your  lips  a  common,  upon  which 
every  ass  may  find  pasture.  Go  to !  you 
are  a  wanton."  And  so  saying,  he  turned 
away  from  her. 

"  I  pray  you,  Francis,  speak  not  in  this 
way,"  said  Joanna,  in  a  very  serious  man- 
ner, and  with  a  face  somewhat  troubled. 
"  That  my  Lord  Cobham  hath  caressed 
me,  I  acknowledge  ;  but  that  I  gave  him 
any  such  return,  is  most  untrue:  and  of 
aught  worse  than  that  done  by  me  at  any 
time,  know  I  nothing." 

"  Dost  think  I  can  believeany  such  thing 
from  you?"  asked  Master  Francis,  sudden- 
ly. "  Dost  think  I  know  not  more  of  such 
conduct'? — even  if  'twere  not  enough  to 
condemn  you  by,  as  the  stealing  under  a 
public  gateway  with  one  so  noted,  and 
going  into  hidden  corners  to  be  caressed 
by  him.  I  tell  you  he  be  not  the  only 
one — nor  Ralph  Goshawk,  whom  you  did 
unblushingly  assure  me  you  cared  not  for, 
to  whom  you  have  given  such  villanous 
encouragement ;  for  I  have  knowledge 
of  divers  fine  gallants  that  you  must  needs 
have  to  attend  upon  you,  doubtless  to  af- 
ford you  the  like  gratification.  Nay,  to 
such  a  pitch  of  shamelessness  have  you 
arrived,  that  if  be  known  to  more  than 


one  you  have  a  man  with  you  in  private 
the  whole  night  long,  and  then  do  your- 
self secretly  let  him  out  into  the  street  in 
the  early  morning.  And  this  hath  been 
done  too  when  you  have  sworn  you  loved 
me  alone !  I  do  believe  there  existeth 
not  in  this  world  so  deceitful  a  creature — 
one  of  so  false  a  heart  and  of  so  profligate 
a  nature — one  so  thoroughly  lost  to  all 
sense  of  honor  and  of  true  affection. 
Why,  the  wretchedest  woman  that  liveth 
upon  her  own  iniquity,  be  no  other  than 
what  she  seems,  and  seeketh  not  to  pass 
for  anything  better ;  but  thou  hast  added 
hypocrisy  to  sin,  and  would  hide  the  dis- 
position of  a  wanton  under  the  character 
of  a  vestal." 

"  Take  heed,"  exclaimed  the  mercer's 
daughter,  who,  as  she  had  listened, 
had  become  exceeding  pale — her  bosom 
heaved  mightily — her  brilliant  eyes  shot 
quick  and  uneasy  glances,  and,  altogeth- 
er, her  appearance  was  that  of  one  mar- 
vellously disturbed.  "  Take  heed,  Fran- 
cis, I  can  bear  much  from  you,  but  this — 
this  I  can  not  bear." 

"  'Tis  less  than  you  have  deserved," 
replied  he.  "  And  now  I  have  done  with 
you.  There  !"  he  cried,  as  approaching 
her  closely  he  dashed  at  her  feet  the  chain 
of  gold  she  had  of  his  uncle — "  there  lies 
one  of  the  gifts  with  which  you  have 
sought  to  bribe  me  into  a  toleration  of 
your  infamous  doings.  And  here  !"  he 
added,  as  he  followed  it  with  a  purse  that 
seemed  tolerably  well  filled — "here  is 
that  which  will  pay  for  the  cost  I  have 
been  to  you  in  other  things.  Be  assured 
it  hath  been  honestly  come  by ;  and  not 
like  your  costly  presents  and  generous 
supplying  of  my  wants — the  liberal  wa- 
ges of  a  more  liberal  iniquity." 

To  this  she  answered  not  save  by  a 
slight  gasping  as  if  for  breath  ;  but  her 
brow  became  darker,  and  the  expression 
of  her  eyes  unnatural. 

"  I  now  take  my  leave  of  you,"  added 
Master  Francis  in  a  voice  somewhat 
tremulous.  "I  care  not  if  I  ever  see 
you  again.  You  have  misjudged  me 
hugely  if  you  thought  I  was  of  such  a 
nature  as  to  tolerate  for  a  single  moment 
the  infamy  you  have  been  about.  Your 
judgment  and  your  gifts  have  been  equal- 
ly misplaced.  My  heart  is  not  one  of  so 
mean  a  sort  as  to  suffer  itself  to  be  satis- 
fied with  the  affections  of  a  jilt  ;  nor  is 
my  disposition  so  base  as  to  suffer  itself 
to"  be  bribed  by  a" 

"Villain!"  screamed  Joanna,  as  she 
furiously  clutched  him  by  the  throat  with 
both  her  hands  before  the  offensive  word 


116 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


had  been  spoken.  "  Dost  think  I  can  he 
maddened  in  this  vile  way,  and  bear  it 
tamely !  If  thou  hadest  twenty  lives 
they  would  scarce  be  atonement  enough 
for  so  atrocious  an  insult.  Thou  hast  tra- 
duced me.  Thou  hast  spoken  of  me  the 
horri blest  things — the  falsest — vilest — 
wickedest  matters  that  ever  misused  wo- 
man hath  been  forced  to  endure.  Dost  think 
to  live  ?  Dost  hope  for  mercy  that  hath, 
shown  none  ?  Thou  hast  tortured  me 
into  a  raging  madness !  My  heart  is 
ready  to  burst — and  my  brain  reels  !  But 
thy  life  shall  be  the  forfeit.  Thy  life, 
villain — thy  life  !" 

Master  Francis  was  so  seized  by  sur- 
prise that  he  seemed  not  to  have  had  time 
to  make  any  struggle,  for  she  had  grasped 
him  with  such  exceeding  violence  that  he 
had  only  the  power  to  move  up  his  arms 
a  little  and  then  let  them  fall ;  and  his 
face  grew  black  with  an  extreme  sudden- 
ness, so  that  when  she  took  away  her 
hands  from  about  his  neck,  his  head  fell 
back,  and  he  was  falling  to  the  ground 
like  one  that  is  taken  with  a  sudden 
death,  when  Joanna  sprung  forward  and 
caught  him  in  her  arms. 

"  Why,  I  have  not  killed  thee,  sure  !" 
exclaimed  she,  apparently  in  wonderful 
consternation.  "Nay,  it  cannot  be! — 
Indeed,  I  meant  it  not !  'Twas  but  the 
madness  of  the  moment  Oh !  what  a 
wretch  have  I  been  if  I  have  done  thee 
any  hurt.  Francis ! — dear — dear  Francis  ! 
— I  will  forgive  all  the  vile  things  thou 
hast  said  of  me  if  thou  wilt  not  look  at 
me  so  horribly.  Move  but  a  limb — 
breathe — or  let  me  feel  but  the  beating 
of  thy  heart.  No — all  be  as  still  as  a 
stone.  Oh,  God  !  he  is  dead — he  isdead, 
and  I  have  killed  him  !"  So  saying  she 
clasped  him  close  to  her  breast  with 
many  piteous  sobs,  and  with  the  saddest 
wildest  look  eye  ever  beheld.  Again 
she  felt  for  his  heart ;  but  there  was  no 
beating  ;  she  looked  to  his  lips,  but  they 
were  slightly  open,  and  breathed  not  at 
all ;  and  eagerly  watched  all  his  limbs 
as  if  to  observe  the  slightest  movement, 
but  the  quietness  of  death  seemed  to  be 
upon  them.  The  eyelids  were  not  quite 
closed,  and  little  of  the  eyes  save  the 
white  part  was  to  be  seen,  which  made 
them  appear  to  look  very  ghastly  and  un- 
natural ;  and  the  delicacy  of  his  com- 
plexion was  scarce  discernible  for  the 
discoloring  of  the  akin,  which  marvel- 
lously increased  his  deathlike  appear- 
ance. 

"  Alack  !— what  a  sight  is  this !  What 
a  villanous  thing  have  I  done !"  she  con- 


tinued as  she  kept  kissing  of  his  lips,  and 
pressing  of  him  to  her  bosom  with  a  very 
heart-broken  countenance.  "  I  that  have 
loved  thee  better  than  all  the  world  be- 
side, and  would  freely  have  given  my 
own  life  to  have  saved  thine !  I  know 
not  what  could  have  possessed  me  to  lay 
hands  on  thee.  Oh!  'twas  a  most  horrid 
wickedness  !  Francis  ! — thou  who  hath 
ever  been  to  me  the  gentlest,  fondest,  and 
best  of  creatures,  and  thai  I  have  loved 
more  as  a  child  of  mine  own  than  aught 
else.  Oh  !  speak  but  a  word,  or  my  heart 
will  break  !  Indeed,  and  on  my  life,  and 
heart,  and  soul,  and  all  things  that  be 
most  sacred  in  this  world — thou  hast  been 
most  shamefully  deceived  in  what  thou 
didst  say  of  me.  I  have  done  no  such 
vileness.  Alack ! — Alack !  He  heeds  me 
not !" 

Then  she  carefully  laid  him  down  on 
the  floor,  and  stood  over  him  for  the  space 
of  something  more  than  a  minute,  wring- 
ing of  her  hands,  and  sobbing  in  such  sort 
as  none  could  see  unmoved  ;  when,  sud- 
denly, as  if  a  thought  had  struck  her,  she 
began  vigorously  chafing  of  one  of  his 
hands  with  both  hers,  and  then  the  other ; 
and  then  she  unfastened  his  doublet  and 
chafed  his  breast  in  the  same  manner, 
lifting  up  with  her  other  arm  his  head 
the  whilst,  which  she  pressed  closely  to 
her ;  and  kissing  of  his  forehead ;  and 
sobbing  wonderfully ;  and  ever  and  anon 
saying  all  sorts  of  endearing  things  to 
him.  All  at  once  he  gave  a  slight  gasp. 
At  this  she  uttered  such  a  scream  of  ex- 
ultation that  surely  the  like  was  never 
heard  ;  and  fell  to  a  chafing  of  his  breast 
with  more  vigorousness  than  ever — now 
laughing,  now  crying,  now  caressing  ol 
him,  now  pressing  him  fondly,  in  so  wild 
and  distracted  a  manner  as  was  a  marvel 
to  look  upon.  In  a  little  time  he  gave  a 
stronger  gasp  ;  then  two  or  three  ;  then 
moved  he  his  arms,  sighing  very  heavily. 
Presently  his  eyelids  opened  more  and  he 
looked  about  him  with  a  strange  uncon- 
scious stare,  and  kept  breathing  with  some 
sort  of  difficulty.  The  blackness  went 
from  his  face,  leaving  it  exceeding  pale, 
and  his  lips  got  a  little  more  color  in 
them. 

Seeing  these  things,  Joanna  grew  so 
agitated  that  she  was  obliged  gently  to 
put  his  head  again  upon  the  ground 
whilst  she  stood  up  a  bit.  Then  she 
pressed  her  temples  in  her  hands,  and 
seemed  as  if  she  was  striving  to  collect 
her  scattered  thoughts.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments she  went  to  a  cupboard  and  poured 
out  some  wine  into  a  cup,  with  which 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


117 


she  presently  returned  to  him,  and  set- 
ting his  head  against  her  shoulder,  she 
poured  the  liquid  down  his  throat.  This 
appeared  to  produce  a  wonderful  good 
effect,  for  in  a  few  minutes  his  cheek  lost 
much  of  its  extreme  pallidness ;  his  eyes 
looked  as  if  with  some  knowledge  of 
where  he  was ;  and  he  breathed  not  so 
hard  as  he  had  done  but  a  moment  since. 
Making  a  movement  as  if  to  rise,  Joanna 
placed  her  arm  around  his  waist,  and  as- 
sisted him  up  ;  but  she  spoke  not  a  word, 
nor  had  she  done  so  since  he  had  given 
such  signs  of  his  returning  life  as  showed 
he  had  some  consciousness  of  surrounding 
things. 

In  truth,  she  seemed  in  extreme  per- 
plexity as  to  howsheshould  conducther- 
self.  She  knew  not  what  to  say,  and 
scarce  what  to  do.  So  monstrously 
ashamed  was  she  that  the  violence  of 
her  passion  should  have  led  her  into  so 
great  a  wickedness  as  the  attempting  of 
his  life,  that  she  felt  as  if  she  could  urge 
nothing  in  defence  of  it ;  and  scarce  dared 
look  him  in  the  face.  Every  moment 
she  expected  him  to  overwhelm  her 
with  reproaches;  and  the  more  she 
thought  upon  the  matter,  the  more  be- 
wildered did  she  seem  to  get.  At  last, 
when  she  had  got  him  to  stand  upright, 
and  found  he  could  do  so  without  assist- 
ance, her  uneasiness  became  so  great, 
that  she  was  obliged  to  leave  him  and 
lean  upon  the  back  of  a  chair  for  sup- 
port. As  for  Master  Francis,  he  was  in 
such  a  state  of  mind,  that  he  could  not 
for  some  time,  remember  what  had  taken 
place.  He  looked  about  him  like  one 
amazed.  He  thought  that  something  ter- 
rible had  been  done,  but  he  knew  not 
what.  It  happened  that  his  gaze  wan- 
dering about  the  room,  met  that  of  Jo- 
anna, who  was  watching  him  with  great 
anxiety ;  and  then,  by  degrees  the  whole 
scene,  till  he  was  deprived  of  conscious- 
ness, came  upon  his  memory.  At  this, 
in  a  sort  of  horror,  he  shook  in  every 
limb,  and  looked  as  if  he  was  about  to 
fall ;  which  seeing,  Joanna,  regardless  of 
all  else  but  his  safety,  hastened  to  sup- 
port him ;  but  the  weakness  was  only 
momentary,  and  genily  pushing  her  from 
him,  with  a  look  of  mingled  terror  and 
dislike,  he  turned  from  her,  and  slowly 
left  the  room. 

Joanna  moved  not,  and  turned  not  her 
eyes  from  him  till  the  dcxor  closed,  when 
she  had  just  strength  left  to  totter  to  a 
chair  ;  were  she  was  found  about  an  hour 
afterward  by  Dame  Margery,  with  her 
arm  ilirowu  over  the  back,  and  her  head 


leaning  on  it,  in  a  state  of  complete  in- 
sensibleness. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

nature  only  helpt  him,  for  looke  thorow 

This  whole  book,  thou  shalt  find  he  doth  not  borrow 
One  phrase  from  Greekes,  nor  Latines  imitate, 
Nor  once  from  vulgar  languages  translate. 

DIGQES. 

Dmeberry.  Whither  speeds  his  boldness  * 
Check  his  rude  tongue,  great  sir  ! 

King  Henry.  O,  let  him  range  : 
The  player's  on  the  stage  still,  'tis  his  part ; 
He  does  but  act.  FORD. 

Now  before  Jove,   admirable  !    By  Phoebus,  my 
sweet  facetious  rascal,  I  could  eat  water-gruel  with 
thee  for  a  month,  for  this  jest,  my  dear  rogue. — 
BEN  JONSON. 

A  NUMEROUS  party  were  assembled  in 
one  of  the  queen's  withdrawing-rooms, 
consisting  principally  of  the  ladies  of  her 
court,  to  hear  Master  Shakspeare  read  a 
new  play  which  he  had  writ  upon  her 
majesty's  suggestion,  as  hath  been  de- 
scribed. Master  Shakspeare  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  light,  and  his  face  to  the 
queen,  reading  of  his  manuscript,  with 
his  audience  in  a  half  circle  before  him, 
in  the  centre  of  which  sat  Queen  Eliza- 
beth in  her  chair  of  state,  looking  exceed- 
ing pleased,  and  dressed  with  marvellous 
grandeur ;  having  at  her  right  hand  the 
earl  of  Essex  attired  very  gorgeously,  and 
leaning  on  her  majesty's  chair  with  the 
air  of  one  that  is  privileged  to  say  what 
he  lists,  ever  and  anon  making  of  such 
remarks  as  the  circumstances  seemed  to 
give  good  warrant  for  ;  and  joining  in  her 
majesty's  mirth,  whenever  it  was  exhibit- 
ed, with  a  heartiness  which  showed  that 
in  such  instances,  to  play  the  courtier 
was  nothing  but  natural  to  him.  It  was 
remarked  of  all,  that  never  had  the  queen 
looked  so  gracious,  for  she  kept  turning 
and  smiling  upon  the  handsome  noble- 
man at  her  side,  and  saying  of  this  thing 
and  that  thing  after  so  amiable  a  fashion  ; 
and  commended  Master  Shakspeare  so 
liberally,  that  the  whole  court  were  moved 
with  admiration.  All  present  appeared 
in  an  excellent  fine  humor,  and  listened 
with  the  very  profoundest  attention. 
Some  looked  to  be  in  a  continual  smile — 
others  frequently  did  indulge  themselves 
with  a  giggle — and  some  few,  who  seem- 
ed as  though  they  could  not  confine  their 
mirth  within  such  modest  bounds,  must 
needs  laugh  aloud. 

By  this  time  Master  Shakspeare  had 
got  into  the  third  act  of  his  play,  which 
hath  become  so  singularly  liked  of  the 


118 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


world,  under  the  title  of  "  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,"  and  that  it  lacked 
nothing  in  the  reading  of  it  is  beyond  all 
possibility  of  doubt.  Indeed  it  may  be 
said,  without  starting  from  the  truth  any- 
great  way,  so  altered  he  his  voice-,  and 
expressed  he  the  dialogue  with  such  a 
natural  manner,  that  any  one,  at  the 
shutting  of  his  eyes,  might  have  fancied 
he  heard  many  different  persons.  In 
truth,  there  wanted  no  more  actors.  He 
was  the  whole  dramatis  persona?  in  him- 
self. This  excellent  talent  of  his  made 
his  hearers  receive  the  scene  of  the  chal- 
lenge between  the  choleric  Welchman 
and  the  equally  incensed  French  doctor, 
in  the  field  nigh  unto  Frogmore,  with 
wonderful  admiration.  But  when  came 
Sir  John  Falstaff  put  into  the  buck-basket 
by  the  merry  wives,  and  the  account  he 
gives  of  it  to  the  jealous  husband,  surely 
nothing  could  exceed  the  delight  with 
which  it  was  received. 

"  In  honest  truth,  Master  Shakspeare," 
cried  the  queen  very  merrily,  "  that  fat 
knight  of  yours  is  like  to  make  our  sides 
ache.  Oh,  the  absolute  villain  !  Oh, 
the  monstrous  rogue  !  I'faith  'tis  in  ex- 
cellent conceit.  We  are  taken  with  the 
humor  of  it  mightily.  What  say  you, 
my  lord,"  exclaimed  the  queen,  turning 
to  her  favorite*  "  doth  it  not  seem  to  you 
as  ridiculous  as  heart  could  wish?" 

"  Please  your  majesty,  never  have  I 
been  so  taken  with  any  play,"  replied  the 
Lord  Essex.  "  It  hath  in  it  a  wonderful 
store  of  wit  certainly — indeed,  I  take  it 
to  be  as  rare  a  device  of  the  mind  as  was 
ever  writ." 

"  What  say  you,  my  Lady  Howard," 
inquired  her  majesty,  turning  round  to 
the  Lady  Howard  of  Walden,  who  was 
to  the  left  of  her,  "  think  you  the  villan- 
ous  old  fellow  was  well  served  of  those 
merry  wives,  by  being  stuffed  into  the 
buck-basket,  and  then  cast  into  the  ditch 
at  Datched  mead  ?" 

"Indeed,  please  your  majesty,  methinks 
he  had  the  very  properest  reward  for  his 
abominable  impudency,"  answered  her 
ladyship.  "  I  would  have  served  him 
worse,  for  I  would  have  had  the  greasy 
rogue  smothered  to  death,  or  drowned 
outright." 

"  Nay,  that's  too  bad  of  you,"  observed 
the  queen,  "'twould  be  but  right  to  let  him 
live  and  repent  him  of  his  misdoings. 
But,  odds  my  life,  he  be  so  droll  a  fish 
none  should  have  the  heart  to  kill  him." 

"0'  my  word,  so  think  I,"  added  my 
Lord  Essex,  "  your  majesty  hath  express-  j 
ed  the  very  drift  of  my  mind  in  this.     I  j 


must  say  I  like  the  varlet  hugely,  and 
consider  a  ducking  or  so  a  very  fitting 
punishment  for  his  offences." 

"Nay,  I  think  it  be  monstrous  of  him, 
at  his  time  of  life,  that  he  should  be  gal- 
lanting of  two  women  at  once — and  they 
married  too !"  cried  Lady  Blanche  Som- 
erset, who  was  somewhat  of  a  prude. 

"  Married  two  .'"  exclaimed  my  Lord 
Bumble,  who  had  heard  not  enough  of 
what  had  passed  to  give  him  a  proper 
knowledge  of  the  matter.  "Married  two 
did  he?  that  be  clean  bigamy:  that  is  to 
say,  if  he  had  marriage  of  one  while  the 
other  was  above  ground  ;  but  if  one  of  the 
two  shall  have  become  a  defunct,  then 
shall  there  be  no  harm  in't." 

"Proceed,  Master  Shakspeare,"  said 
the  queen  ;  and  not  without  a  smile  at 
the  mistake  of  her  lord  in  waiting,  which 
seemed  to  have  amused  many.  "  We 
are  marvellously  anxious  to  learn  how 
Sir  John  speeds  in  his  wooing." 

Master  Shakspeare  had  said  nothing 
hitherto,  yet  did  he  seem  in  no  way 
abashed  at  being  among  so  many  people 
of  worship,  for  he  turned  his  intelligent 
eyes  from  one  to  the  other  as  either  spoke, 
as  if  regarding  with  some  amusement  the 
variety  of  characters  before  him,  as  each 
displayed  some  distinct  feature  in  what 
was  said,  or  in  the  manner  of  saying  it. 
Then  fell  he  to  the  perusing  of  the  fourth 
act,  in  the  very  first  scene  of  which, 
where  the  Welsh  parson  is  trying  of  the 
boy  in  his  Latin  grammar,  the  queen 
once  or  twice  did  put  up  her  fan  and  gig- 
gled very  prettily,  and  thereupon  her 
ladies  seemed  wonderfully  confused,  and 
giggled  also;  and  the  lords  and  gentle- 
men smiled  somewhat:  but  when  in  the 
next  scene  Sir  John  Falstaff  is  i»  such 
a  wonderful  anxiousness  to  escape,  in 
consequence  of  Mistress  Page  bringing 
intelligence  of  Master  Ford  being  a  com- 
ing from  birding,  with  a  whole  company 
to  search  the  house  for  him ;  and  the 
jealousy  of  the  husband  is  made  so  mani- 
fest, and  he  beateth  the  old  knight  in  his- 
disguise,  taking  him  for  to  be  the  fat  wo- 
man of  Brentford,  whose  dress  he  wear- 
eth,  every  one  appeared  to  laugh  till  their 
ribs  were  like  to  crack. 

"Better  and  "better!"  exclaimed  the 
queen,  in  evident  delight,  when  he  came 
to  the  ending  of  the  act.  "These  be 
merry  wives  indeed !  I'faith  'tis  the  dif- 
ficultest  thing  possible  to  say  which 
serve  they  out  the  best — Master  Jealous- 
pate  the  husband,  or  that  huge  piece  of 
roguery  Sir  John  Falstaff.  Is  it  not  so, 
my  lord  I" 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  /KIKNDS. 


"Without  doubt,"  replied  my  Lord 
Essex,  "  nothing  have  I  seen  in  play  or 
history  so  painted  to  the  life.  That  your 
majesty  hath  extreme  discrimination  in 
the  detection  of  that  which  be  most  ad- 
mirable where  there  is  much  excellence, 
what  hath  just  fallen  from  you  proves." 

"Nay,  my  lord,  you  flatter,"  said  her 
majesty,  smiling  upon  him  all  the  time 
very  graciously.  "We  have  but  an  in- 
different judgment  in  these  things.  Our 
opinion  must  be  scarce  worth  the  having. 
Mayhap  we  have  just  wit  enough  to 
know  the  good  from  the  bad :  but,  in- 
deed, that  be  all  our  poor  knowledge  can 
lay  claim  to." 

"  That  will  I  never  believe,  please  your 
majesty,"  cried  my  Lord  Henry  Howard, 
who  was  close  behind  her  chair.  "  For 
of  all  human  creatures  that  breathed, 
never  met  I  one  that  came  at  all  nigh 
unto  your  majesty  in  niceness  of  judg- 
ment ;  not  only  upon  such  matters  as  are 
now  honored  with  your  infinite  conde- 
scension, but  -in  all  things  whatsoever, 
whether  they  be  of  the  simplest  or  of  the 
difficultest  nature  to  comprehend." 

"  You  think  too  well  of  us,  my  lord," 
observed  the  queen,  evidently  taking 
what, was  said  in  very  good  part.  "It 
be  but  as  we  have  expressed  it.  Such 
knowledge  as  we  possess  must  needs  be 
but  small." 

"  By  my  troth,  then,  the  wisdom  of  all 
else  must  be  none  at  all,  please  your  maj- 
esty," exclaimed  the  Lady  Howard  ;  "  for 
as  it  is  beyond  all  contradiction  that  your 
majesty's  wisdom  toppeth  that  of  the 
wisest  of  our  time  to  an  extent  that  be 
wonderful  to  observe,  if,  as  your  majesty 
is  pleased  to  say,  it  must  needs  be  but 
small,  the  smallness  of  the  wisest  of  your 
subjects  can  not  but  be  of  such  sort  as  may 
not  be  visible.  But  'tis  the  modesty  of 
your  majesty's  disposition  that  leadeth 
you  to  say  this." 

"Indeed,  her  majesty  is  noted  for  an 
exceeding  modesty,"  said  Lady  Blanche 
Somerset. 

"  That  be  a  true  thing !"  cried  my  Lord 
Bumble,  who  leaned  forward  with  his 
head  a  little  on  one  side,  to  catch  with 
his  ear,  as  well  as  his  deafness  would  al- 
low, the  purport  of  what  was  said.  "  Her 
majesty  is  noted  of  all  for  an  exceeding 
modest  eye." 

"  0'  my  life,  my  Lord  Bumble,  that  be 
the  prettiest  blunder  we  have  met  with 
a  long  time,"  exclaimed  the  queen,  in  an 
infinite  pleasant  humor,  while  there  was 
no  lack  of  smiling  and  tittering  among 
the  courtiers,  at  the  mistake. 


"As  your  majesty  says,  it  be  the  pret- 
tiest wonder  we  have  met  with  a  long 
time,"  added  the  old  lord,  who,  from  the 
great  length  of  his  service  in  the  palace, 
was  oft  allowed  by  the  queen  a  greater 
license  than  had  many  others  of  more 
influence.  "By  this  hand,  know  I  not  a 
prettier  wonder  in  the  whole  world  than 
such  a  modest  eye.  'Tis  a  marvel  to 
look  on.  There  be  no  such  another  any- 
where." 

"  Alack  then,  are  we  blind  of  an  eye  !" 
cried  her  majesty, laughingly ;  which  con- 
ceit did  so  tickle  the  fancy  of  those  around 
her,  that  the  mirth  it  created  was  in  such 
excess,  and  the  commendation  it  received 
was  so  abundant,  that,  surely  no  wit  had 
been  ever  so  received.  All  this  time, 
my  Lord  Bumble  fearful,  by  the  general 
laughter,  that  he  had  said  something 
amiss,  did  keep  turning  from  one  to  the 
other,  in  extreme  consternation,  as  if  to 
learn  by  their  faces  what  strange  error 
he  had  had  the  ill  hap  to  commit. 

"  Now,  Master  Shakspeare,"  exclaimed 
the  queen,  "  we  are  wonderfully  desirous 
of  learning  what  next  these  merry  wives 
of  yours  shall  do  with  that  fat  knight." 

At  this  Master  Shakspeare,  on  whom 
it  may  well  be  believed  nothing  had  been 
lost  of  the  preceding  conversation,  did  go 
on  with  the  reading  of  his  play.  The 
description  of  how  Sir  John  Falstaff,  in 
the  last  act,  was  cozened  into  the  taking 
upon  him  the  disguise  of  Herne  the  hunt- 
er, and  how  he  was  tormented  by  the 
pretended  fairies  when  he  lay  under  the 
oak  in  Windsor  forest,  hoping  there  to 
have  much  pleasure  with  Mistress  Page 
and  Mistress  Ford,  according  to  their  ap- 
pointment ;  and  how  they  and  their  hus- 
bands did  jeer  and  laugh  when  they  came 
upon  him  in  his  concealment,  was  taken 
in  huge  delight  of  all  parties;  but  the 
manner  in  which  Ann  Page  tricked  the 
simpleton  Master  Slender,  and  the  chol- 
eric old  French  doctor,  by  getting  each 
of  them  to  run  away  with  a  boy,  dressed 
up  in  such  clothes  as  they  expected  to 
find  her  in,  while  she  went  and  got  mar- 
ried to  her  own  love,  seemed  to  be  liked 
best  of  all. 

"An  admirable  ending,  Master  Shaks- 
peare," exclaimed  the  queen,  in  her  most 
gracious  manner,  at  the  conclusion  of  it. 
"We  like  that  mum  and  budget  conceit 
infinitely  ;  indeed  the  whole  play  is  one 
of  exceeding  meritoriousness ;  and  be 
assured  that  we  will  go  to  the  playhouse 
the  first  time  it  shall  be  acted."  At  the 
hearing  of  this,  all  the  courtiers  did  join 
in  commendation  of  the  play,  as  if  one 


120 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


was  striving  to  exceed  the  other  in  the 
liberality  of  his  praise. 

"  If  there  be  any  merit  in  it,  please 
your  majesty,"  said  Master  Shakspeare, 
respectfully,  "without  doubt  'tis  owing 
to  your  majesty's  infinite  condescension, 
in  having  desired  of  me  the  production 
of  such  a  play  ;  therefore  I  can  not  say 
the  merit  be  mine,  but  must,  in  proper 
honesty,  give  it  to  the  illustrious  source 
from  which  it  sprung." 

This  speech  appeared  to  give  her  maj- 
esty great  satisfaction,  for  she  looked 
well  pleased  at  it ;  and  the  ladies  around 
her  spoke  to  one  another  in  commenda- 
tion of  Master  Shakspeare's  modesty, 
and  did  regard  him  with  a  wonderful 
pleased  aspect. 

"Nay,  you  shall  do  yourself  no  such 
wrong,"  replied  the  queen,  with  a  kind- 
ness of  manner  that  was  truly  admirable  ; 
the  performance  is  of  your  sole  invention, 
to  the  which  we  have  contributed  not 
one  line  ;  therefore  in  no  case  can  we 
claim  the  smallest  partnership  in  the 
merit.  We  have  been  hugely  taken  with 
that  fat  knight  of  yours  all  along,  and 
we  have  found  so  much  gratification  in 
the  very  proper  treatment  of  him  by  the 
merry  wives,  that  we  shall  think  the 
better  of  Windsor  for  containing  such." 

At  this  the  courtiers  began  a  praising 
of  her  majesty's  liberality,  for  so  hand- 
somely denying  having  any  share  in  the 
excellence  of  what  at  least  had  been 
done  at  her  instigation  ;  and  in  conse- 
quence thereof  she  might  justly,  they 
said,  have  claimed  some  part  of  the 
merit ;  and  all,  marvelling  at  the  extreme 
pleasantness  of  her  majesty's  humor,  did 
anticipate  that  it  would  be  to  Master 
Shakspeare's  profit.  In  that  it  seemed, 
from  what  immediately  followed,  they 
were  not  without  some  grounds. 

"  Think  you  there  is  aught  in  which 
we  could  do  you  a  service  ?"  inquired  the 
queen. 

"  That  is  there,  please  your  majesty,  I 
should  like  done  of  all  things,"  answered 
Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Speak,  then,  what  you  would  have  ; 
and  if  it  be  within  modest  bounds,  it 
shall  be  granted,"  added  the  queen. 

"Please  your  majesty, 'tis  but  for  the 
pardon  of  a  distressed  friend  of  mine, 
that  hath  the  ill  hap  to  offend  your  maj- 
esty," said  Master  Shakspeare,  with  ex- 
ceeding urgency ;  "  he  is  one  of  most 
notable  good  parts  ;  as  gallant  a  gentle- 
man that  breathes  :  infinite  in  his  accom- 
plishments, and  princely  in  his  disposi- 
tion ;  who  hath  borne  himself  so  on 


manifold  occasions,  as  is  alike  honorable 
to  your  majesty,  whom  it  was  once  his 
pride  and  happiness  to  serve ;  and  credit- 
able to  himself,  who  now  languisheth  in 
a  prison  in  utter  hopelessness,  at  having, 
in  some  misguided  moment,  incurred 
your  majesty's  displeasure.  I  will 
wager  my  life  he  is  heartily  sorry  for 
what  he  hath  done  amiss  ;  and  that  there 
lives  not  in  this  bountiful  world  one  who, 
if  he  were  allowed,  would  serve  your 
majesty  with  more  honesty,  valor,  and 
devotedness." 

"  And  who  may  this  distressed  friend 
of  yours  happen  to  be  ?"  asked  the  queen, 
in  some  degree  pleased  to  meet  with  one 
of  such  a  nature  as  would  rather  ask  for 
another  than  for  himself. 

"  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,"  replied  he. 

Thereupon  every  one  did  look  amazed 
at  Master  Shakspeare's  imprudence,  and 
the  queen's  brow  grew  black  of  a  sudden. 

"  We  are  astonished  that  you  could 
find  no  better  request  to  make,"  observed 
the  queen,  somewhat  angrily  ;  yet  in  her 
heart  wondering  that  there  should  come 
before  her  one  so  bold  as,  in  his  first  re* 
quest  of  her,  to  plead  for  a  disgraced 
favorite.  "  He  hath  done  us  such  extreme 
dishonor  as  surely  never  before  did 
crowned  queen  suffer  of  a  subject'.'  We 
have  had  him  placed  where  he  shall 
have  time  to  repent  him  of  such  shame- 
ful misdoings;  and  there  'tis  our  good 
pleasure  he  shall  remain.  As  for  your- 
self, Master  Shakspeare,  you  have  done 
greatly  amiss  in  speaking  of  such  a 
traitor.  It  seemeth  to  us  somewhat  over- 
bold of  you.  Go  your  ways,  sir,  and 
when  we  next  allow  of  your  asking  of  us 
a  favor,  see  that  it  contains  no  such  offen- 
sive matter." 

At  this  Master  Shakspeare  bowed  very 
low,  yet  with  a  marvellous  dignity,  that 
was  the  admiration  of  all,  and  was  about 
to  depart  from  the  presence,  when  my 
Lord  of  Essex,  who,  notwithstanding  his 
exceeding  pride,  and  jealousy  of  any  that 
did  seem  to  interfere  with  his  supremacy, 
was  possessed  of  some  noble  qualities 
thought  to  put  in  a  word  for  him. 

"  Please  your  majesty,"  said  he,  "  it  be 
all  out  of  the  very  honesty  of  Master 
Shakspeare's  nature,  that  tie  hath  said 
this,  I  will  be  bound  for  it.  My  honor- 
orable  friend  the  Lord  Southampton, 
hath  given  me  great  commendation  of 
him  ;  and  I  do  assure  your  majesty  he  is 
in  excellent  good  report  of  all  men. 
What  he  hath  urged  in  behalf  of  his 
friend  is  in  the  manner  natural ;  and 
methinks  he  might  escape  blame  without 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


121 


any  dishonor  to  your  majesty,  whose 
bountifulness  of  heart  can  in  no  way  suf- 
fer by  it.  I  pray  you,  let  not  what  he 
hath  said  move  you  against  him,  for  I 
for  one,  who  it  may  be  supposed  am  not 
like  to  go  out  of  my  way  to  say  aught 
upon  the  matter,  do  consider  that  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  hath  the  requisites  of  a 
very  noble  gentleman." 

Now  the  courtiers  knew  not  which  .to 
marvel  at  most — the  imprudence  of  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  in  requesting  pardon  for 
his  friend,  or  the  magnanimity  of  my 
Lord  of  Essex  in  speaking  in  favor  of 
his  rival  ;  but  the  consequence  of  my 
lord's  speaking  was,  that  the  queen  did 

five  Master  Shakspeare  a  more  gracious 
ismissal  than  she  seemed  before  inclined 
to  do ;  and  acknowledged  that  she  be- 
lieved her  captain  of  the  guard  had 
many  commendable  qualities:  and  it 
now  appeared  to  those  around  her,  a 
greater  marvel  than  all,  that  her  majesty 
should  say  this  when  it  was  known  he 
had  done  her  so  grievous  a  wrong. 

Master  Shakspeare  made  all  haste 
from  the  palace  to  the  lodgings  of  Master 
Burbage  in  Cheapside,  in  great  disap- 
pointment that  he  had  succeeded  no  bet- 
ter for  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  whom  he 
greatly  esteemed  ;  yet  in  some  hope  that 
the  consequences  would  not  be  to  his 
disadvantage.  He  found  his  friend  dress- 
ed, and  on  the  point  of  going  out. 

"Ha,  Will  !"  exclaimed  he,  as  soon  as 
the  other  entered  the  room,  "How  liketh 
the  queen  thy  new  play  ?  Doth  it  please 
her?  Dost  think 'twill  draw  her  to  the 
playhouse  ?  How  was  it  taken  among 
the  noble  lords  and  fair  ladies  of  the 
court  ?" 

"  I  prythee  have  patience,  Dick,"  re- 
plied Master  Shakspeare,  sitting  of  him- 
self down   awhile,  "  I  will  answer  thy 
questions  as  speedily   as  I    may.     The 
queen  liketh  my  new  play  well — it  doth  i 
please  her,   because  she   liketh   it — she  [ 
will    be  at  the  playhouse  the  first  time 
of  its  performance,  because  it  pleaseth  i 
her — and  the  noble  lords  and  fair  ladies  \ 
were  taken  with  it  exceedingly,  because  ; 
it  was  exceedingly  taken  of  the"  queen."    | 

"Bravo,  Will!  thou  answereth  mar- 
vellously to  the  purpose,"  cried  Master 
Burbage,  cutting  a  caper,  as  if  the  intelli- 
gence was  hugely  to  his  liking. 

"  I'faith,  'tis  well  that  thou  art  pleased," 
remarked  the  other,  "  for  I  had  need  of  ; 
half  a  dozen  tongues  to  do  justice  to  thy 
questions,  they  come  so  thick  upon  one." 

"  Tongues !  Talk  not  to  roe  of  tongues, 
1  prythee,"  exclaimed  his  companion,  in 


seeming  anger.  "  Thou  hast  one  of  such 
a  sort  that  it  requireth  no  other  to  help  it. 
O'  my  life,  I  do  believe  thou  couldst 
wheedle  the  moon  into  a  nut-shell — thou 
hast  got  such  a  tongue.  Didst  thou  not 
cut  me  out  with  the  mercer's  daughter, 
and  be  hanged  to  thee  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  fared  no  better  than  thyself 
in  that  quarter,  believe  me,"  said  Master 
Shakspeare. 

"  No !"  cried  Master  Burbage,  in  ex- 
treme astonishment.  "  What,  did  she 
not  become  villanously  in  love  with  thee  ? 
Did  she  not  give  thee  most  exquisite,  fond 
entertainment  ?  Didst  thou  not,  now, 
in  honest  truth,  find  her '  a  most  delicious 
creature,'  as  thou  didst  say  to  me  through 
the  keyhole — thou  aggravating  villain  !" 

"  In  honest  truth,  then,  Dick,  I  must 
answer  to  all  thy  questions — no  !" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  'tis  good  !  'tis  excellent 
good  !"  exclaimed  Master  Burbage,  and 
he  began  to  caper  about  the  room,  seem- 
ingly in  a  monstrous  delight.  "  That  be 
the  pleasantest  news  I  have  heard  a  long 
time  ;  and,  in  truth,  thou  hast  been  but 
rightly  served  for  the  very  heathenish 
wickedness  thou  didst  commit,  of  cutting 
me  out  with  her." 

"  Nay,  I  do  assure  thee,  Dick,  I  knew 
not,  till  within  a  minute  or  so  of  thy 
coming,  that  thou  wen  at  all  of  her  ac- 
quaintance ;  and  I  then  was  resolved  to 
have  some  sport  at  thy  expense,  merely 
because  of  thy  having  disparaged  me  to 
her,  and  claiming  for  thyself  the  merit 
of  my  best  verses." 

"  Ah,  that  was  done  out  of  no  malice, 
thou  shouldst  be  well  aware  I  said  it  but 
out  of  vanity,  and  would  have  been  the 
very  first  to  tell  thee  of  it  again.  By  this 
light,  Will !  I  do  think  it  lawful  to  tell  a 
pretty  woman  anything.  I  would  swear 
to  her  I  was  the  greatest,  wisest,  faith- 
fulest  of  men,  if  1  thought  she  would  be- 
lieve me.  I  would  brave  it  out  with  her 
I  was  the  pope  of  Rome,  or  the  Great 
Mogul,  or  even  one  of  the  Anthropophagi, 
if  it  looked  as  if  'twould  advantage  me 
in  my  suit.  Nay,  Ovid  himself  knoweth 
not  the  metamorphoses  I  would  undergo 
under  such  circumstances.  Dost  think 
they  would  have  no  disguises  ?  Dost 
think  they  stand  upon  the  saying  of  any- 
thing with  us  ?  By  this  hand,  I  would 
as  soon  expect  to  find  sunbeams  in  a  snow- 
ball, as  truth  in  a  pretty  woman.  Ask 
of  her  if  she  love  thee,  she  shall  answer 
'no'  straight,  when  be  sure  she  hath 
'yes'  in  her  heart  all  the  time.  Attempt 
to  lay  siege  to  her  lips,  she  shall  present- 
ly frown  and  seem  in  a  monstrous  to-do, 


122 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


but  so  completely  doth  her  nature  assent 
to  it,  that  do  but  persist  for  a  sufficient 
time,  and  make  no  doubt  the  citadel  shall 
surrender  at  discretion." 

"  I  do  believe,  Dick,  thou  knowest  very 
little  of  the  matter,"  observed  Master 
Shakspeare.  "  Thou  art  like  to  a  many 
more  I  have  met  with,  that  can  speak 
bravely  of  the  difficultest  things,  but  ques- 
tion them  close  of  their  knowledge,  and 
they  shall  be  proved  as  ignorant  as  a 
dead  horse." 

"  None  of  thy  dog's  meat  similes,"  ex- 
claimed Master  Burbage,  as  if  in  some 
disdain:  "I  tell  thee  'tis  a  subject  that 
none  have  studied  closer  than  have  I — I 
have  entered  into  it  thoroughly.  I  have 
pursued  my  investigations  (albeit  though 
it  be  a  matter  so  exceeding  profound  that 
no  one  ever  got  to  the  bottom  on't)  as 
deep  as  have  any.  But  tell  me,  Will, 
how  did  it  happen  that,  notwithstanding 
of  thy  villany  in  cutting  of  me  out,  for 
the  which  I  now  heartily  do  forgive  thee, 
thou  hadst  no  better  luck  with  the  in- 
comparable Joanna." 

"  She  told  me  that  she  loved  a  youth 
for  whom  I  entertained  great  friendship," 
replied  his  companion,  "  and  thereupon 
did  I  desist  of  my  intentions  toward  her 
out  of  respect  to  him.  She  did  speak  to 
me  of  him  with  marvellous  earnestness  ; 
and  knowing  that  he  had  such  excellence 
as  well  deserved  her  praise,  I  joined  with 
her  in  such  commendation.  But  liking 
not  the  character  of  her  behavior  to  me 
previous  to  this  avowal,  which  was  that 
of  one  who  in  appearance  is  indifferent 
to  admiration,  and  yet  doth  encourage 
the  admirer,  I  spoke  to  her  upon  the 
possible  mischief  of  it  to  herself,  as  much 
as  to  those  whose  advances  she  allowed 
of;  and  the  palpable  injustice  of  it  to  my 
young  friend,  Master  Francis,  whom  thou 
hast  seen  with  me  once  or  twice.  Upon 
this  she  sought  to  defend  herself  upon  the 
plea,  that  if  she  could  without  sinfulness 
create  the  happiness  of  others,  she  thought 
there  could  be  no  harm  in  so  doing  to  ever 
so  many.  But  I  stBaightway  gave  her  to 
understand  that  the  philosophy  of  love  be 
the  possession  of  the  beloved  object ;  and 
assured  her  it  was  a  truth  beyond  all  dis- 
pute, that  no  real  lover  ever  yet  existed 
who  did  not  at  some  time  or  other  hope 
to  possess  his  mistress." 

"  Spoke  like  an  oracle,  Will,  as  thou 
art,"  said  the  other. 

"I  said  also,"  continued  Master  Shak- 
speare, "  that  one  of  so  much  beauty  of 
person  and  kindliness  of  heart,  as  she 
seemed  to  be,  might,  without  the  com- 


mission of  any  apparent  criminality  cre- 
ate a  present  pleasure  of  no  ordinary  kind 
among  such  as  may  be  content  with  affec- 
tionate looks  and  sugared  phrases — but 
no  man  that  truly  loveth  will  remain  all 
lis  life  so  easily  contented  ;  and  the  pres- 
ent pleasure  will  in  all  likelihood  be 
;urned  to  a  continual  misery,  when  he 
inds,  as  find  he  must,  'tis  all  profitless 
and  inconclusive." 

"That  be  indisputable !"  observed  Mas- 
ter Burbage.  "  'Tis  marvellous  pleasant 
certainly  for  a  pretty  woman  to  say  she 
loveth  thee,  but  if  that  be  the  full  ex- 
tent of  her  love,  then  is  her  parrot  to 
be  as  much  envied  as  art  thou.  I'd  be 
none  of  such  parrots,  I  promise  thee, 
Will.  I  would  hop  her  perch  in  a  twink- 
ling." 

"But  more  than  all,"  continued  his 
companion,  smiling  at  what  had  dropped 
from  the  other,  "I  dwelt  particularly  on 
the  impossibility  of  her  creating  such 
happiness  with  any  honesty.  The  hap- 
piness that  may  be  created  at  the  expense 
of  another  can  never  be  defended.  Mas- 
ter Francis  I  knew  had  given  her  his  ex- 
clusive affections,  and  he  naturally  looked 
for,  and  imagined  himself  possessed  of, 
hers  to  the  same  extent.  Any  division 
of  her  love  to  another,  I  told  her  was 
not  only  an  injustice  to  him,  but,  as  the 
knowledge  of  it  was  very  like  to  make 
him  uneasy,  it  would  decidedly  be  at  the 
expense  of  his  happiness.  It  so  happened, 
that  in  a  play  of  some  merit  Master  Fran- 
cis showed  me  on  our  first  acquaintance, 
there  were  certain  passages  marvellously 
to  the  purpose  on  this  very  point,  which 
hath  since  given  me  reason  to  believe  he 
had  some  suspicion  of  her  true  character, 
and  wrote  it  as  in  the  nature  of  an  expos- 
tulation, hoping  she  would  mend.  I 
know  not  whether  I  quite  succeeded  in 
proving  to  her  her  error ;  but  I  fear  much 
for  my  young  friend  if  she  alter  not  speed- 
ily. I  know  that,  though  of  a  truly  mod- 
est disposition,  he  may  be  easily  moved  ; 
and  as  for  Joanna,  I  think  she  is  one 
of  a  very  insatiate  vanity  and  selfishness, 
and  seeketh  with  great  cunning  to  be  ad- 
mired of  as  many  as  she  can  with  as  lit- 
tle peril  to  her  virtue  as  possible  ;  or  else 
she  is  one  of  those  well-meaning,  incon- 
siderate creatures  who  cajole  themselves 
with  the  belief,  that  as  long  as  they  do 
what  at  the  first  blush  appeareth  no  abso- 
lute harm,  the  greater  degree  of  pleasure 
they  may  be  able  to  create  around  them, 
the  greater  degree  of  good  will  they  be 
enabled  to  produce ;  which,  under  those 
circumstances,  is  nothing  better  than  a 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


123 


robbery  of   one    to    be    shared    among 
many." 

"  Well,  let  her  rob  and  go  hang,"  cried 
Master  Burbage  impatiently,  "I've  had 
enough  of  her ;  and  if  ever  I  be  caught 
going  after  a  mercer's  daughter  again, 
tickle  me  with  a  fishhook.  It  hath  cost 
me  a  world  in  moneys  expended  with  her 
father  in  such  braveries  as  methought 
would  the  sooner  win  me  her  love  and 
his  good  will,  and  I  have  got  about  as 
much  by  it  as  I  might  kick  my  shins 
against  without  fear  of  a  hurt.  A  plague 
on  all  mercers'  daughters,  say  I ;  and  as 
for  that  cot-quean  Joanna,  I  have  a  huge 
suspicion  her  lip  is  like  a  nutmeg  in  a 
vintner's  parlor — every  one  may  have  the 
flavor  on't  when  he  lists.  She  hath  gone 
clean  out  of  my  opinion.  I'll  have  none 
of  her." 

"  That's  a  most  magnanimous  resolu- 
tion of  thine,  Dick,"  said  Master  Shak- 
speare laughingly,  "considering  she'll 
have  none  of  thee." 

"By  this  hand,  she  loved  me  as  flies 
love  sugar  !"  exclaimed  the  other. 

"As  flies  love  pepper,  thou  shouldst 
have  said.  Dick,"  observed  his  compan- 
ion; "for  I  do  assure  thee  she  acknowl- 
edged to  me  that  she  heeded  thy  fine 
compliments  as  a  thrifty  housewife  does 
a  litter  of  kittens  she  be  pitching  all  of  a 
lump  into  the  next  pool." 

"  Ha  !  said  she  so  ?  the  little  villain  !" 
cried  Master  Burbage.  "  But  it  mat- 
ters not — I  have  done  with  her.  And 
now  attend  to  me,  I  prythee,  for  I  have 
more  attractive  matter  in  hand." 

"Another  Joanna?"  inquired  Master 
Shakspeare  maliciously. 

"Another  polecat !"  sharply  replied  the 
other.  "  I  tell  thee,  Will,  I  but  want  thy 
assistance  to  have  such  sport  as  we  have 
not  seen  together  this  many  a  day." 

"Surely  thou  wouldst  seek  of  me  no 
more  verses?"  said  his  companion  archly. 

"Verses!  hang  thy  verses!"  answered 
Master  Burbage. 

"Well,  if  thou  wilt  hang  them,  let  it 
be  with  one  of  the  lines  I  have  been  so 
oft  obliged  to  borrow  of  thee  when  I 
came  to  a  halt  in  my  measure,"  observed 
the  other  with  exceeding  «eriousness. 

"  By  this  light,  thou  art  like  a  woman 
that  hath  left  off  having  children — thou 
an  past  bearing,"  said  his  associate,  as 
if  in  some  sort  of  vexation.  "  But  listen 
now,  I  prythee:  thou  knowest  my  Lords 
Simple  and  Dimple  ?" 

"What,  our  Damon  and  Pythias?  our 
Castor  and  Pollux  ?  our  David  and  Absa- 
lom ?"  asked  his  friend  with  a  laugh. 


'  To  be  sure  I  know  them.  There  exists 
not  a  pair  of  fools  so  well  matched 
throughout  these  realms." 

"  Thou  hast  it,  Will,"  added  Master 
Burbage,  in  a  like  humor.  "  They  are 
precious  fools  indeed — as  innocent  as 
lambkins,  and  as  loving  as  turtles.  They 
seem  born  of  Folly,  and  twinned  at  a 
birth.  I'faith  they  seem  such  sworn 
friends  that  one  might  as  well  expect  to 
meet  with  but  one  pannier  on  an  ass  as 
one  of  these  lords  without  the  other. 
Now,  methinks  such  pestilent  affectations 
should  be  put  down.  I  like  them  not : 
and  doubtless  'twould  be  exquisite  sport 
could  we  two  set  this  Damon  and  Pythias 
by  the  ears  so  completely,  that  they  shall 
not  only.be  eager  to  forswear  each  oth- 
er's company,  but  that  there  shall  be  so 
deadly  a  quarrel  betwixt  them,  that  they 
shall  presently  out  with  their  tools,  and 
appear  to  thrust  away  so  nimbly,  that  it 
shall  be  a  difficult  matter  to  say  which  be 
the  most  ready  to  destroy  the  other." 

"  I  like  the  humor  of  it  vastly,"  replied 
Master  Shakspeare,  who  seemed  to  enter 
into  the  jest  with  great  spirit — "  indeed 
'tis  exceeding  well  conceited.  But  there 
must  be  no  mischief  come  of  it." 

"  Mischief!"  exclaimed  the  other,  as  if 
in  some  astonishment  at  the  idea.  "  Nay, 
Will,  make  thy  mind  easy  on  that  score. 
If  ever  they  come  nigh  enough  with  their 
weapons  to  hurt  each  other,  then  am  I  no 
judge  of  true  valor :  but  we  will  be  ready 
to  interfere  in  case  they  shall  be  bent  up- 
on anything  deadly." 

"  Well,  'tis  a  goodly  scheme,"  said  his 
companion,  "  and  I  doubt  not  'twill  af- 
ford marvellous  proper  sport.  But  how 
dost  mean  to  set  about  it?" 

"In  this  way,  sweet  Will,"  replied 
Master  Burbage.  "  About  this  time  we 
may  make  sure  of  finding  these  faithful 
shepherds  taking  of  their  customary 
walk  toward  Finsbury  Fields,  discours- 
ing in  very  delicate  phrase  of  the  delights 
of  friendship.  We  will  then  bevupon 
them.  Thou  shah  draw  one  aside  and  1 
the  other,  and  with  well  asserted  accounts 
of  what  one  hath  said  and  done  in  con- 
tempt of  the  other,  we  will  move  both  to 
a  monstrous  furiousness." 

"  'Tis  admirable,  Dick  !"  cried  Master 
Shakspeare,  starting  up  in  evident  de- 
light. "I  do  commend  thy  wit  hugely, 
in  the  devising  of  so  superlative  a  piece 
of  wickedness;  and,  mayhap,  it  shall  af- 
ford thee  a  far  more  exquisite  pleasure 
than  did  thy  aims  upon  the  mercer's 
daughter." 

"Hang  the  mercer's   daughter!"    ex 


124 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


claimed  his  companion,  seemingly  in 
some  dudgeon.  "By  this  light  I  would 
not  throw  away  a  thought  on  so  errant  a 
jade." 

"  The  grapes  be  sour,  Dick,"  said  the 
other  mischievously. 
•  "  Grapes !  grapes,  quotha  !"  cried  Mas- 
ter Burbage,  with  a  well-assumed  indig- 
nation. "  Yes,  she  shall  be  thought  such 
when  grapes  do  grow  on  thorns  and  figs 
on  thistles." 

"  Oh,  thou  perjured  piece  of  villany  !" 
exclaimed  Master  Shakspeare,  laughing 
very  heartily.  "  Dost  remember  when 
thou  first  spoke  of  her  to  me  in  my  lodg- 
ing at  the  Bankside,  how,  in  a  feverish 
ecstasy,  thou  didst  assert  that  she  had  an 
eye  like  Venus,  a  bust  like  Juno,  and 
every  grace  that  all  Olympus  possessed  ?'* 

"  That  was  out  of  the  very  generosity 
of  my  disposition,  I  do  assure  thee,  Will, 
added  his  companion,  with  as  serious  a 
face  as  he  could  put  on.  "  Thou  knowest 
I  am  ever  inclined  to  make  the  best  of 
matters  at  all  times,  let  them  be  ever  so 
bad  ;  but  believe  me,  her  teeth  be  like 
park  palings  after  a  hurricane ;  and  her 
nose  hath  an  exceeding  resemblance  to 
an  onion  running  to  seed — it  doth  sprout 
up  so  abominably." 

"  Alack,  that  disappointed  vanity  should 
make  of  thee  such  a  thorough  slanderer !" 
cried  Master  Shakspeare.  "  If  she  be 
not  as  pretty  a  piece  of  womanhood  as 
eye  ever  dwelt  on  delightedly,  then  know 
I  not  what  is  perfection  in  comeliness. 
All  the  harm  I  could  say  of  her  is,  that 
in  my  thinking  she  is  either  mightily  de- 
ceiving herself,  or  deluding  others  to  a 
similar  extent — mayhap,  'there  shall  be 
something  of  both  when  the  truth  cometh 
to  be  known ;  and  I  blame  her  only  be- 
cause I  feel  assured  there  will  mischief 
happen  of  it  either  to  one  party  or  the 
other — like  enough  to  all.  But  come 
along  with  thee,  and  let  us  after  these 
lords." 

Saying  this,  the  two  friends  started  off, 
and  laughing  and  jesting  all  the  way, 
they  made  for  Finsbury  Fields,  out  by 
Cripplegate.  Here  had  they  scarce  ar- 
rived when  lo  !  they  spied  my  Lords  Sim- 
ple and  Dimple  very  soberly  a  strolling 
together  for  to  take  the  air,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  windmills  ;  and  so  earnest  in 
talk,  they  knew  not  that  the  two  players 
were  close  upon  them,  endeavoring  all 
they  could  not  to  laugh  aloud  ;  and  nudg- 
ing of  each  other  on  the  elbow  when 
anything  fell  from  them  which  was  more 
han  ordinary  ridiculous. 

"  Now,  Simpl?,  thou  art  in  the  wrong 


there,"  said  one,  as  if  with  great  serious* 
ness.  "Thou  knowest  I  am  fully  two 
days  older  than  art  thou  ;  therefore,  if, 
as  I  before  said,  some  tyrant  should  order 
us  to  be  executed  to  the  death,  I  would 
have  precedency  of  thee,  and  suffer  first." 

"By  this  glove,  that  would  I  never  al- 
low !"  exclaimed  the  other  with  extreme 
eagerness.  "  What,  shall  it  be  said  that 
such  a  true  heart  as  am  I,  should  allow 
his  friend  to  die  before  him  ?  I  tell  thee, 
Dimple,  it  must  not  be.  I  will  set  thee 
such  an  example  of  friendship  as  shall 
do  thee  infinite  good  to  look  on  ;  and  shall 
be  a  marvel  to  the  world  ever  after." 

"  It  is  for  me  to  set  the  example,  who 
am  the  oldest,"  cried  Dimple,  more  seri- 
ously than  at  first.  "  I  claim  it  of  natural 
right,  which  will  I  never  give  up  ;  and 
peradventure  it  shall  happen  as  I  have 
said,  then  shall  thou  wonder  to  see  how 
heroic  I  will  behave  myself — ay,  with 
such  a  strength  of  soul,  that  the  name  of 
Dimple  stall  be  engraved  on  monuments 
of  adament  unto  latest  posterity." 

"If  I  let  thee,  then  am  I  no  true 
friend,"  replied  Simple,  with  a  more 
earnest  eagerness.  "  I  will  have  it  so. 
I  would  give  way  to  none  in  so  vital  a 
matter!  Indeed  it  must  be.  Then  will 
I  astonish  human  nature — then" — 

"  Indeed  it  shall  never  be,  my  lord  !'' 
exclaimed  the  first,  as  if  in  some  way 
nettled — "  I  am  the  elder,  and  if  I  die 
not  first,  then  will  I  know  the  reason 
why." 

"  My  lord,  you  do  ill  in  disputing  upon 
this,"  observed  the  other  somewhat  warm- 
ly. "  'Tis  my  particular  wish  to  suffer 
before  you,  and  I  will  have  it  so." 

"  You  be  no  true  friend  for  wishing 
what  be  against  my  inclination,  and  I 
will  not  suffer  it."  said  Dimple,  as  if  get- 
ting into  a  rage. 

"You  be  a  scurvy  fellow, if  you  say  I 
be  no  true  friend,"  replied  Simple  an- 
grily. 

"What  caitiff!  dost  call  me  scurvy  fel- 
low ?"  shouted  one  in  a  very  monstrous 
fierceness. 

"  My  lords,  this  be  a  marvellous  sight, 
indeed !"  exclaimed  Master  Burbage, 
now  breaking* in  upon  them  with  as 
grave  a  face  as  he  could  assume  for  the 
occasion,  and  leading  of  Dimple  on  one 
side  behind  one  of  the  windmills,  whilst 
Master  Shakspeare  did  the  same  with 
Simple.  "Between  ourselves,  my  lord," 
added  he,  "you  do  exceeding  right  in 
quarrelling  with  this  person.  He  hath 
no  proper  estimation  of  your  lordship's 
excellent  parts.  I  did  myself  hear  him 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


125 


say  that  you  had  no  more  brains  than  a 
maggot." 

"  He  lies  in  his  throat !"  furiously  cried 
my  Lord  Dimple.  "  I  will  prove  on  his 
villanous  body  that  I  have  more  brains 
than  fifty  maggots." 

"My  Lord  Simple,"  said  Master 
Shakspeare  very  concernedly,  "  I  think 
'tis  exceeding  strange  that  you  should 
hold  acquaintance  with  one  who  hath 
said  you  are  of  so  faint  a  heart,  you 
would  not  draw  upon  a  snail  for  fear  he 
should  run  at  you." 

"  Oh  !  the  pitiful  traitor  !"  shouted  my 
Lord  Simple  in  a  tearing  passion.  "By 
this  glove,  there  liveth  not  on  this  earth 
the  snail  that  I  am  afeard  of." 

"  See  !  he  is  going  to  draw  upon  you, 
ray  lord!"  said  Master  Burbage.  "I 
pray  you  out  with  your  weapon  quick, 
or  he  shall  take  you  unawares,  and  may- 
hap, give  you  a  mortal  wound." 

"  Prepare  you,  my  lord,  quickly,"  cried 
Master  Shakspeare.  "  He  hath  his  weap- 
on out,  and  corneth  with  deadly  mischief 
in  his  eyes." 

"  Thou  villain,  Dimple  !" 

"  Thou  villain,  Simple !"  shouted  both 
at  the  same  moment  of  time,  as  they 
came  furiously  on  with  their  drawn 
weapons  and  began  a  thrusting  at  each 
other,  though,  without  doubt,  at  a  won- 
derful respectful  distance,  after  as  fierce 
a  fashion  as  might  be  possible  to  behold. 
But  this  continued  not  for  long — for  sud- 
denly they  dropped  the  points  of  their 
rapiers,  upon  hearing  of  such  a  burst  of 
laughter  as  startled  them  exceedingly, 
and  looking  round,  observed  Master  Bur- 
bage a  holding  of  his  sides,  and  Master 
Shakspeare  with  his  hand  before  his 
mouth.  The  two  lords,  upon  this,  looked 
as  if  they  knew  not  what  to  make  of  it. 

"  Didst  say  I  had  no  more  brains  than 
a  maggot,  my  lord?"  inquired  Dimple, 
as  if  wonderfully  moved. 

"By  this  glove,  no,"  replied  Simple, 
with  exceeding  gravity.  "  For,  if  thou 
hadst  no  more  brains  than  half  a  mag- 
got, it  be  not  the  part  of  such  a  true 
heart  as  am  I,  to  say  it  of  his  friend. 
But  didst  thou  assert  I  was  of  so  faint  a 
heart,  I  would  not  draw  upon  a  snail  for 
fear  he  should  run  at  me  ?" 

"  By  all  true  friendship,  never  asserted 
I  aught  of  the  kind,"  answered  the  first 
with  a  monstrous  seriousness.  "  For,  if 
thou  wouldst  not  draw  upon  half  a  snail, 
I  would  assert  it  to  none,  because  I  could 
aever  do  so  unfriendly  a  thing." 

"  These  players  be  making  fools  of  us," 
whispered  the  other  as  he  put  up 


his  weapon.  "Lei  us  away  from 
them." 

"They  be  low  fellows,  that's  a  sure 
thing,"  replied  his  friend  as  he  sheathed 
his  weapon.  "  So  we'll  e'en  have  none 
of  their  villanous  company."  Upon  this 
both  went  off  together  as  quick  as  they 
might;  and  in  no  way  relishing  the 
mirth  that  was  so  loudly  shouted  from 
behind  them. 

"  Oh  !  Dick,  Dick  !"  exclaimed  Master 
Shakspeare,  as  seriously  as  he  could, 
"  thou  hast  spoiled  the  most  exquisite 
sport :  'tis  a  thousand  pities  thou  shouldst 
have  broken  out  into  a  laugh." 

"  Laugh  !"  cried  Master  Burbage,  still 
holding  of  his  sides ;  "  'twould  have 
made  a  man  laugh  that  had  been  dead 
this  seven  year.  Never  saw  I  so  rare  a 
sight !  they  skipped  about  like  two  fleas 
on  a  bolster !  0'  my  life,  'twould  be  no 
easy  matter  to  say  which  was  the  most 
afraid  of  the  two.  And  then  the  terrible 
fierceness  of  their  looks,  and  the  awful 
manner  in  which  they  made  their  thrusts, 
compared  with  the  monstrous  safe  dis- 
tance at  which  they  kept  from  the  point 
of  each  other's  weapon,  made  me  roar 
again.  By  this  hand,  I  would  not  have 
missed  so  fine  a  jest  for  half  my  share  of 
the  playhouse." 

"But  who  have  we  here?"  said  his 
friend,  pointing  to  a  man  who  was  ma- 
king up  to  them,  wearing  at  his  side  a 
rapier  of  extraordinary  length. 

"  I'faith  he  taketh  care  he  may  be 
known  by  a  goodly  weapon,  at  least," 
observed  the  other ;  "  but  see,  here  come 
two  others  across  the  fields,  from  t'other 
side." 

"And  beyond  all  doubt  one  of  them  is 
my  young  friend,  Master  Francis,"  ex- 
claimed Master  Shakspeare. 

The  person  first  alluded  to,  whom  the 
courteous  reader  will  have  no  great  diffi- 
culty in  recognising,  as  soon  as  he  came 
nigh  unto  the  two  players,  stopped, 
placing  his  right  foot  a  little  forward,  one 
arm  stretched  out,  and  the  other  a-kimbo, 
as  was  usual  with  him,  and  thus  ad- 
dressed them : — 

"  Look  on,  great  princes  !  for  'tis  I  who  come 
To  rend  the  world  with  adamantine  groans, 
And  suck  sweet  horror  from  the  empty  air. 
Then  let  some  holy  trance  convey  my  thoughts 
Up  to  the  palace  of  th'  empyreal  heaven, 
That  this  my  life  may  be  as  short  to  me 
As  are  the  days  of  sweet  Zenocrate." 

Master  Burbage,  upon  this  speech,  did 
nudge  his  companion  on  the  elbow,  and 
look  as  if  he  were  marvellously  inclined 
for  another  laugh. 

"Attend  not  to  him,  I  pray  your  wor- 


J26 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


ship,"  shouted  Harry  Daring,  as  he,  with 
Master  Francis,  hastily  approached  the 
spot,  cudgel  in  hand  ;  "  there  be  no  more 
truth  in  him  than  you  shall  find  in  an 
empty  walnut." 

"  Casane  and  Theridamas,  to  arms  !" 

now  cried  Ralph  Goshawk,  in  exactly 
the  same  posture  as  he  had  used  at 
first  :— 

"  Raise,  cavalieros  higher  than  the  clouds, 
And  with  the  cannon  break  the  frame  of  heaven  ; 
Batter  the  shining  palace  of  the  sun, 
And  shiver  all  the  starry  firmament." 

"  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you,  Master 
Francis,"  said  Master  Shakspeare,  sha- 
king of  his  young  friend  heartily  by  the 
hand  ;  "  but  I  pray  you  tell  me  what  all 
this  may  mean." 

"  Please  your  worship,  that  will  I  tell 
you  straight,"  said  Harry  Daring,  as  soon 
as  he  heard  the  question.  "  You  must 
know  that  this  be  my  particular  friend, 
Master  Francis,  who  be  as  sweet  a  gentle- 
man as  you  shall  find  anywhere,  and  I 
will  undertake  to  prove  it  with  any 
weapon,  against  all  comers ;  and  he,  as 
be  but  proper  for  one  in  his  condition, 
happened  for  to  look  with  a  sort  of  affec- 
tionateness  upon  a  comely  wench ; — albeit 
I  of  late  have  had  some  suspicion  her 
virtue  be  somewhat  out  at  elbows;  when 
up  cometh  this  fellow,  who,  for  all  he 
may  appear  so  bounceable,  be  nothing 
more  than  a  rubbishing  haberdasher ; 
and  taketh  the  opportunity,  to  use  some 
devilish  potion  or  another,  for  the  ruin  of 
my  friend's  mistress, — which  I  hugely 
suspect  he  hath  accomplished  ; — there- 
upon Master  Francis  sendeth  him  a  chal- 
lenge by  me  purposing  here  to  meet  him, 
and  punish  him  for  his  villany ;  upon  the 
which  he  breaketh  out  into  such  lan- 
guage as  would  make  a  dog  vomit  to 
hear  of,  were  he  within  a  mile  of  it,  and 
straightway  calleth  him  'Zenocrate.' 
Upon  the  which,  I,  taking  it  to  be  some 
vile  name  it  was  not  proper  for  me  to 
put  up  with*  did  on  the  instant  fetch  the 
pitiful  villain  such  a  punch  under  his 
ribs,  that  it  made  him  cry  out  like  a 
scalded  pig:  and  here  have  I  brought 
my  true  friend  to  do  him  battle,  as  be- 
cometh  a  gentleman  who  hath  received 
so  deadly  an  offence  as  to  have  his  mis- 
tress ruined  away  from  him,  and  then 
called  such  a  horrid  name  as  Zenocrate." 

"  Am  I  to  gather  from  this  that  you  in- 
tend to  fight  this  person  ?"  asked  Master 
Shakspeare. 

"  I  am  here  for  that  purpose,"  replied 
Master  Francis. 


"Well,  I  will  at  least  see  that  you 
have  fair  play,"  said  his  friend  ;  "  but 
methinks  'tis  not  honest  of  him  to  come 
with  so  monstrous  a  weapon." 

"If  it  please  you,  sir,  to  let  me  fight 
the  villain  instead  of  my  friend,  I  would 
thank  you  for  it,"  observed  Harry  Dar- 
ing, earnestly.  "  I  care  not  for  his  mon- 
strous weapon,  I  promise  you.  Nay,  by 
Gog  and  Magog,  if  I  am  not  hindered,  I 
will  undertake  to  beat  him  out  of  the 
field  with  this  my  cudgel." 

"Harry,  I  have  told  thee  before,  he 
must  be  left  to  me,"  replied  Master  Fran- 
cis determinedly. 

"But  you  must  fight  with  equal  weap- 
ons, my  masters,"  cried  Master  Burbage ; 
"  'tis  not  fair,  Master  Haberdasher,  to 
come  to  the  field  with  a  thing  at  your 
side  long  enough  for  the  devil's  tooth- 
pick." 

"  Art  not  ashamed  to  bring  such  a  vil- 
lanous  tool  before  gentlemen  of  wor- 
ship ?"  inquired  Harry  Daring,  flourishing 
of  his  cudgel  before  Ralph  Goshawk,  as 
if  he  did  itch  to  let  fly  at  him. 

"  What  daring  god  torments  my  body  thus, 
And  seeks  to  conquer  mighty  Tamburlane  ?" 

answered  the  other  as  he  retreated  a  lit- 
tle way  out  of  the  reach  of  the  stick. 

"I  pray  you,  sir,  let  him  keep  his 
weapon,  and  I  will  have  at  him  with 
mine,"  said  the  youth,  gallantly  drawing 
of  his  rapier.  Seeing  this,  Ralph  Gos- 
hawk, with  a  fierce  swaggering  air,  drew 
from  its  scabbard  the  two-handed  sword 
he  carried  :  which  in  truth  had  a  blade 
of  prodigious  length  ;  and  he  being  much 
stouter  built  than  his  opponent,  and  look- 
ing as  if  he  were  a  thorough  master  of 
fence,  did  seem  unto  Master  Shakspeare 
and  Master  Burbage  a  very  formidable 
fellow. 

"  Come,  let  us  march  against  the  powers  of  heav'n, 
And  set  black  streamers  in  the  firmament, 
To  signify  the  slaughter  of  the  gods  !" 

"I  tell  thee  what,  thou  detestable  fus- 
tian rogue,"  here  exclaimed  Harry  Dar- 
ing to  Ralph  Goshawk,  "  slaughter  the 
gods  and  welcome,  for  they  be  fellows  I 
know  not  of,  and  therefore  care  not  for; 
but  if  thou  shouldst  hurt  but  a  hair  of  my 
friend's  head,  I'll  cudgel  thee  to  death  ere 
thou  hast  lived  another  minute."  Upon 
hearing  of  this  the  other  cried  out, — 

"  Villain,  away,  and  hie  thee  to  the  field ; 
I  and  mine  army  come,  to  load  thy  back 
With  souls  of  thousand  mangled  carcases." 

and  thereupon  he  advanced  toward  Mas- 
ter Francis,  flourishing  of  his  long  rapier 
about,  in  a  manner  that  made  his  friends 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


127 


tremble  for  his  safety.  But  the  youth 
waited,  with  his  weapon  upon  guard, 
hatching  of  the  haberdasher's  move- 
ments with  a  cautious  eye,  and  presenting 
a  bold  front  to  him  as  he  came,  slashing 
away,  now  on  this  side,  and  now  on  the 
other.  This  had  remained  for  some  few 
moments,  when  as  if  Ralph  Goshawk 
had  calculated  upon  frightening  his  rival, 
by  his  terrible  swagger  and  dangerous 
weapon,  and  was  himself  in  fear  of  the 
youth's  courageous  bearing  and  light 
sharp  rapier,  his  looks  began  to  lose 
much  of  their  fierceness;  his  impudence 
seemed  about  to  forsake  him  ;  and  ob- 
serving Master  Francis  draw  back  his 
arm,  as  if  about  to  make  a  thrust,  with  a 
wonderful  frightened  aspect,  he  suddenly 
put  his  sword  under  his  arm,  and  took  to 
his  heels  as  fast  as  they  could  carry  him 
along. 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  thou  shall  escape 
without  a  cudgelling,"  cried  Harry  Dar- 
ing ;  and  while  the  others  were  laughing 
famously  at  the  fellow's  cowardice,  the 
barber's  apprentice  pursued  the  runaway 
haberdasher  wiih  all  the  speed  he  was 
master  of.  Ralph  Goshawk  took  but  one 
look  behind  him,  and  finding  that  he  was 
followed  by  the  little  desperate  fellow 
who  had  hit  him  so  sore  a  punch  in  the 
ribs,  he  seemed  to  take  wings  and  fly,  he 
was  so  quickly  out  of  sight. 

"  And,  if  'tis  a  fair  question,  I  pray  you 
tell  me  who  is  this  pretty  piece  of  frailty, 
for  whom  you  have  so  ably  frightened 
this  hero  out  of  the  field  ?"  asked  Master 
Shakspeare  of  his  young  friend,  as  soon 
as  their  mirth  had  subsided  a  little. 

"  By  this  hand,  'twas  almost  as  good  a 
jest  as  that  we  had  of  the  two  lords !" 
exclaimed  Master  Burbage,  who  appeared 
to  have  taken  it  in  huge  delight. 

"  Oh  !  she  be  of  a  very  delicate  come- 
liness," replied  Harry  Daring,  as  he  re- 
turned out  of  breath  from  his  bootless 
chase.  "And  she  be  called  Joanna,  the 
mercer's  daughter  in  Eastcheap." 

"  Joanna  !"  cried  both  the  players  in  the 
same  breath,  as  if  marvelling  exceedingly. 

"  That  be  her  name  beyond  all  doubtj" 
added  the  barber-chirurgeon's  appren- 
tice ;  and  Master  Francis,  looking  ex- 
ceedingly disturbed,  said  nothing. 

"  Will !"  said  Master  Burbage,  as  he 
came  up  close  to  his  friend,  with  a  mighty 
serious  countenance. 

"  What,  Dick  ?"  answered  the  other. 

Master  Burbage  stooped  his  head  a  lit- 
tle and  whispered  into  the  other's  ear, 
with  all  the  emphasis  he  could  put  into 
the  words,  "  The  grapes  be  sour!" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Great  miracle  of  constancy  !  my  miseries 

Were  never  bankrupt  of  their  confidence 

In  worst  afflictions,  till  this— now  1  feel  them. 

Report,  and  thy  deserts,  thou  best  of  creatures, 

Might  to  eternity  have  stood  a  pattern 

For  every  virtuous  wife,  without  this  conquest. 

Thou  hast  outdone  belief :  yet  may  their  ruin 

In  after  marriages  be  never  pitied, 

To  whom  thy  story  shall  appear  a  fable.     FORD. 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH  sat  at  table,  on 
which  were  many  books  and  papers,  in 
a  small  chamber  in  the  Tower ;  which, 
certes,  was  properly  furnished  enough 
though  everything  therein  was  of  an  ex- 
ceeding antique  fashion :  and  the  beauti- 
ful Dame  Elizabeth,  now  looking  with  a 
very  matronly  dignity,  sat  as  near  as 
might  be  opposite  to  him,  working  of  a 
baby's  cap,  whilst  close  by  her  side  was 
a  cradle,  in  which  slept  a  marvellous 
pretty  infant.  Now  she  would  take  her 
eyes  from  her  work  and  fix  them  on  the 
slumbering  child  with  such  sweet  and 
smiling  looks,  as  showed  her  heart  was 
delighted  with  what  she  gazed  on ;  and 
anon  she  would  turn  them  to  where  sat 
her  nusband,  leaning  of  his  head  on  his 
hand  over  a  large  book  he  seemed  to  be 
a  studying  of  so  intently  that  he  could 
regard  naught  else  ;  and  there  was  then 
so  tender  a  solicitude  in  her  eyes  as  was 
quite  moving  to  see.  She  seemed  as 
though  she  would  have  spoke,  and  yet 
refrained  from  it  for  fear  of  disturbing 
him  in  his  studies.  Again  she  continued 
at  her  work,  but  not  without  stealing  of 
an  occasional  glance  at  the  babe,  or  at 
Sir  Walter.  Yet  was  there  ever  a  singu- 
lar difference  in  the  expression  of  her 
look  to  each.  She  still  regarded  her  child 
with  a  foud  and  truly  delicate  smile, 
whilst  upon  her  husband  her  gaze  fell 
with  an  increasing  melancholy,  which  at 
last  became  exceeding  pathetic.  It  so 
happened  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  turn- 
ing  over  a  leaf,  raised  his  head,  and 
noticed  the  moving  sadness  of  her  looks. 
"  What  makes  thee  look  so  woful, 

1  Bess  ?"  inquired  he  affectionately. 

j ,    "  Woful  ! — Surely  I   look  not  woful, 

j  dear  Walter?"  she  replied  as  if  with  an 
assumed  cheerfulness.  "  I  am  content — 

j  I  lack  nothing.  Thou  art  everything  I 
could  wish.  For  what  should  I  look 
woful  then  ?  Indeed  thou  must  have 

i  mistaken  my  countenance  hugely,  if  thou 
hast  gathered  from  it  I  be  in  any  way  out 
of  heart." 

"  In  truth,  sweetest,  thou  hadst  but  now 
so  piteous  a  look  that  I  was  moved  at  it," 
said  he. 


128 


SHAKSPEARE  AM)  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Thea  was  it  a  false  look,  dear  Wal- 
ter ;  and  therefore  regard  it  not,  I  pry- 
thee  !"  exclaimed  his  beautiful  wife  very 
earnestly.  "Let  it  not  move  thee  at  all, 
for  it  must  have  been  a  villanous  deceit- 
ful look  if  it  hath  given  thee  a  moment's 
uneasiness." 

"I  have  never  yet  seen  aught  in  thee 
deceitful,  dear  Bess," observed  Sir  Walter. 
"  Therefore  am  I  now  loath  to  believe 
that  thou  couldst  have  to  do  with  such. 
Have  I  said  or  done  any  such  thing  as 
might  have  made  thee  sad  ?" 

"  Nay,  on  my  life,  thou  hast  been  to 
me  the  kindest  best  creature  fond  woman 
ever  loved  !"  replied  Dame  Elizabeth  with 
great  eagerness.  "  I  am  not  sad  at  all, 
dear  Walter.  I'faith  !  methinks  I  should 
be  more  merry  than  sad,  seeing  what 
bountiful  good  fortune  is  mine.  Thou 
art  with  me.  The  queen  might  have 
done  me  such  ill  office  as  to  have  kept  us 
separate  ;  yet  hath  she  graciously  allow- 
ed me  the  extreme  happiness  of  being 
with  thee.  Then  why  should  I  be  sad  ! 
Looked  I  less  cheerful  than  ordinary, 
mayhap  it  was  for  fear  such  deep  study 
as  thou  dost  fall  into  may  do  thy  health 
some  hurt." 

"Fear  not,  sweet  heart,"  said  he,  with 
a  most  endearing  smile.  "  There  dwell- 
eth  such  excellent  good  philosophy  in 
these  books,  that  the  perusing  of  them 
maketh  me  forget  I  am  here  cribbed 
within  stone  walls  a  doing  of  nothing  of 
any  advantage  to  the  world  ;  but  if  it 
doth  now  afflict  thee  to  see  me  so  intent 
upon  such  labors,  I  will  for  the  present 
leave  them,  and  study  a  more  alluring 
lesson — which  is  no  other  than  thee,  dear 
Bess." 

"Prythee  do  not,  dear  Walter!''  ex- 
claimed she  very  fondly.  "  If  these  books 
are  such  as  have  taught  thee  to  become 
so  brave  of  soul,  so  good,  so  noble,  so 
kind  and  generous  as  thou  art — I  would 
on  no  account  have  thee  leave  such  ex- 
cellent studies  to  regard  one  who  can 
teach  thee  no  one  thing  of  any  usefulness. 
But  I  like  not  to  hear  thee  say  that  thou 
art  doing  of  nothing  of  advantage  to  the 
world  ;  for  art  thou  not  constantly  writing 
upon  such  matters  as  I  doubt  not  must  be 
of  great  profit  to  all,  and  in  after  times 
will  make  thee  as  exceeding  famous,  as 
thou  well  deservest  to  be  ?" 

"  'T would  be  a  right  wonderful  com- 
fort could  I  think  so,"  observed  Sir 
Walter. 

"Then  such  shouldst  thou  ever  think," 
she  replied.  "  I  know  that  'tis  something 
too  much  to  expect  of  thee  to  show  a 


cneerful  heart  at  all  times,  when  I  reflect 
to  what  a  doleful  strait  thy  goodness  to 
me  hath  brought  thee  to,  the  thought  of 
which  is  enough,  methinks,  to  make  the 
most  patient  nature  feel  vast  discomfort 
upon  occasion  :  yet  well  assured  am  I 
that,  whether  thou  art  within  stone  walls, 
a  powerless  prisoner — or  aboard  of  a 
goodly  ship,  the  leader  of  a  gallant  arma- 
ment— thy  noble  mind  would  ever  be  de- 
vising of  some  greatness  whereof  all  man- 
kind might  receive  benefit.  If  thou  art 
melancholy  let  me  sing  to  thee,  dear 
Walter,  and  perchance  thou  shalt  find 
some  pleasure  in  it." 

"  Indeed,  thy  singing  is  of  so  sweet  a 
sort  that  my  spirit  is  enraptured  when  I 
hear  thee,"  said  he.  "Sing,  dear  Bess! 
I  do  feel  somewhat  weary.  'Tis  of  little 
moment  that  thy  virginals  be  not  at  hand  ; 
for  thy  voice  doth  discourse  such  delicate 
music  as  requireth  no  accompaniment  to 
set  it  off." 

Then  placing  of  her  work  in  her  lap 
she  turned  upon  him  a  look  full  of  most 
exquisite  devotedness,  and  with  such 
tuneful  notes  as  were  a  marvel  to  hear, 
she  presently  did  commence  the  following 
words  :— • 

"  Prythee,  sweetheart !  be  not  so  sad, 

Else  shall  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  not ; 
For  he  that  loves  to  love  is  glad, 

And  loving,  hath  all  else  forgot. 
If  that  the  Past  doth  seem  unkind, 
I  will  a  better  Present  find : 
If  Present  things  should  bring  annoy, 
Pll  make  thy  Future  brim  with  joy. 

"  If  friends  to  thee  have  proved  untrue, 
I  will  be  all  they  should  have  been  j 
If  Fortune  frown  upon  thy  view, 

I'll  give  the  smiles  thou  sjiouldst  have  seen : 
Then  shalt  not  want  for  anything 
That  she  who  loveth  thee  can  bring  ; 
And  love  makes  all  things  to  be  had  : 
Prythee,  sweetheart  !  be  not  so  sad." 

"  Truly  a  simple  ditty  and  a  kind,  Bess  !" 
exclaimed  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  had 
listened  with  evident  delight  both  to  the 
singer  and  the  song.  "  I'failh  ! — it  almost 
maketh  me  think  that  to  be  in  a  cage 
with  so  sweet  a  bird  as  art  thou,  must 
needs  be  better  than  to  have  the  freedom 
of  the  whole  world,  and  lack  the  hearing 
of  so  brave  a  songster." 

"  I  care  not  what  it  maketh  thee  think, 
Walter,"  replied  Dame  Elizabeth  affec- 
tionately ;  "  so  that  thou  canst  be  in  any 
way  the  happier  for  it :  and  as  for  thy 
freedom,  I  do  believe  thou  canst  acquire 
it  at  very  slight  pains." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  he,  as  if  in  some  sur- 
prise. "  'Tis  strange  I  knew  it  not.  Be- 
lieve me,  \  would  not  stay  here  an  in- 
stant longer  than  I  could  help." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


129 


"  Then  why  not  seek  to  moye  the 
queen  to  thy  pardon  ?"  she  asked. 

"Because  I  know  'twould  avail  me 
nothing  with  her,"  he  replied.  "  My 
enemies  are  numerous  and  powerful,  and 
would  be  on  the  watch  to  overthrow  any 
attempt  I  might  make  for  my  liberation  ; 
for  they  know  full  well  'tis  to  their  ad- 
vantage to  keep  me  where  I  am  ;  and 
having  constant  access  to  the  presence, 
could  easily  increase  the  queen's  wrath 
against  me." 

"  That  will  I  never  believe,  dear  Wal- 
ter," said  the  devoted  woman.  "Her 
majesty  hath  had  considerable  profit  out 
of  the  galleon  that  was  taken  at  the 
Azores,  hath  she  not  ?" 

"  Sir  John  Hawkins  hath  writ  me 
word,"  added  Sir  Walter,  "  that,  in  con- 
sequence  of  the  villanous  pilfering  of 
some  of  the  men,  theMadre  de  Dios,  on 
examination,  fell  very  far  short  of  its  es- 
timate :  and  of  this,  although  the  queen 
had  but  one  of  her  ships  present,  she  hath 
seized  upon  as  great  a  share  as  if  she 
had  been  at  more  than  one  half  the  trou- 
ble and  charges  of  the  expedition." 

"  The  possessing  of  so  much  treasure 
through  thy  means  will  assuredly  make 
her  somewhat  favorably  disposed  toward 
thee,"  she  observed;  "and  that  the 
greatness  of  her  rage  hath  by  this  time 
much  abated  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt. 
This  being  the  case,  dear  Walter,  as  it 
needs  must  be ;  and  I — knowing  her  to 
be  one  with  whom  some  pretty  adulation 
will  do  anything,  so  that  there  be  enough 
of  it — would  wager  mine  existence  that 
if  thou  wouldst  But  contrive  some  pleas- 
ant conceit,  in  which  it  shall  appear  that 
thou  art  cone  distracted  because  of  the 
impossibility  of  seeing  her,  and  season  it 
Avith  such  pretty  tropes  as  thou  knowest 
she  most  affects,  thou  shalt  have  thy  lib- 
erty in  a  presently." 

"I  like  it  not,  dear  Bess,"  replied  her 
husband,  as  if  he  entertained  the  pro- 
posal with  some  distaste.  "  I  have  played 
the  courtier's  and  the  lover's  part  with 
her  already  to  such  an  extreme,  that  it 
made  her  "all  the  more  enraged  against 
me  when  she  discovered  my  marriage 
with  thee.  She  must  be  exceeding  cred- 
ulous if  she  would  believe  anything  of 
the  kind  of  me  now.  Besides,  it  is  a 
fashion  that  however  oft  I  may  have  fall- 
en into,  I  liked  never  ;  and  at  the  present 
time  am  more  than  ever  disinclined  to." 

"That  ought  thou  not  to  hold  in  any 
sort  of  consideration,  dear  Walter,"  she 
answered  quickly.  "  Remember  that  she 
hath  made  such  flattery  the  common  Ian- 


guage,  without  which  none  who  seek 
her  favor  can  expect  to  get  aught  of  her; 
and  thou  art  no  more  to  blame  in  using 
of  such  means  than  art  thou  for  wearing 
of  a  doublet  of  a  certain  make  :  for  both 
are  the  court  fashion,  which  every  one 
must  adopt  who  would  be  in  good  esteem 
with  bis  sovereign.  And  who  can  be  so 
worthy  of  such  estimation  as  art  thou  ? 
In  truth,  if  thy  merit  were  properly  re- 
warded thou  shouldst  then  have  the  high- 
est place  there,  and  take  precedence  of 
all.  As  for  her  indignation  in  finding  out 
that  thou  hast  been  playing  of  the  lover 
to  her  whilst  thou  were  acting  it  more 
truly  to  me,  heed  it  not.  In  the  first 
place,  the  blame  must  be  entirely  her 
own:  for  when  a  woman  entertaineth  a 
lover  of  whose  affection  she  hath  good 
knowledge  that  it  can  be  naught  but 
words,  she  is  but  rightly  served  when  he 
leaveth  her  for  the  enjoyment  of  a  more 
sincere  and  more  profitable  passion.  And 
in  the  next  place,  the  queen  hath  so  ex- 
cessive a  vanity,  that  there  be  nothing 
so  preposterous  told  her  of  the  power  of 
her  "beauty  she  will  not  believe.  Do  but 
say  that  I  have  been  the  party  to  blame 
— and  in  truth,  dear  Walter,  all  the  cen- 
sure should  be  -mine — and  assert  with  a 
sufficient  show  qf  sincerity  that  none  but 
her  can  be  mistress  of  thy  affections,  and 
I  make  no  manner  of  doubt  that  she 
would  presently  take  thee  into  more  fa- 
vor than  ever." 

"  Nay,  if  ever  I  say  a  word  in  censure 
of  one  who  hath  shown  to  me  so  true  a 
heart  shall  I  be  the  basest  wretch  that 
lives!"  exclaimed  Sir  Walter. 

"  Indeed  I  should  think  of  thee  all  the 
better  for  it,"  replied  she  very  earnestly. 
"  Of  a  truth,  dear  Walter,  lean  know  no 
true  pleasure  till  I  see  thee  in  the  poses- 
sion  of  such  greatness  as  thy  noble  heart 
deserves.  For  me  thou  hast  sacrificed 
all  thy  well-earned  honors ;  and  know- 
ing this,  it  can  not  be  possible  I  should 
feel  any  easiness  of  heart  till  they  have 
been  restored  to  thee.  As  for  me,  I  am 
nothing  but  what  thy  infinite  goodness 
hath  made  me  ;  and  thou  couldst  say  no 
censure,  however  great  it  might  be,  that 
my  demerits  have  not  called  for.  Prythee  ! 
— do  it,  dear  Walter." 

"Never!"  cried  her  husband  with  a 
very  sincere  earnestness.  "  I  will  never 
be  brought  to  say  aught  of  thee  but  that 
thou  art  the  kindest,  truest,  and  best  of 
wives,  and  the  very  fairest,  sweetest,  and 
dearest  of  women." 

"0'  my  life,  thou  thinkest  a  vast  deal 
too  kindly  of  me  !"  said  the  affectionate 


130 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


wife ;  and  then  putting  aside  her  work, 
rising  from  her  chair,  and  taking  him  by 
the  hand,  she  led  him  to  the  cradle, 
where,  resting  of  her  arm  fondly  upon 
his  shoulder,  she  did  address  him  with 
more  seriousness,  as  she  pointed  to  the 
sleeping  child.  "Dear  Walter!  think 
of  that  boy.  He  is  now,  as  thou  seest,  as 
lovely  an  infant  as  ever  fond  mother  was 
blest  withal ;  but  when  he  cometh  to  riper 
years,  what  poor  hap  must  be  his  if  he 
come  only  to  succeed  to  the  ruined  for- 
tunes of  a  disgraced  father ! — and  how 
can  he  properly  reverence  that  parent, 
who,  having  it  in  his  power  by  means  of 
a  few  idle  words  to  gain  the  restoration 
of  his  own  honors,  and  leave  them  in 
costly  legacy  to  his  child,  chose  rather  to 
remain  in  discredit  with  the  world,  and 
to  leave  his  son  no  better  inheritance 
than  the  remembrance  of  his  father's 
misfortunes.  See,  Walter !  he  openeth 
his  little  rose-buds  of  lips,  and  smileth  on 
thee !  He  pleads  with  his  mother  that 
thou  wilt  have  more  heed  of  thyself  and 
of  him.  Now  his  eyes  unclose  and  look 
upon  thee  like  glimpses  of  heaven.  Wilt 
thou  deny  him  ?  And  now  he  stretcheth 
forth  his  little  arms  to  implore  thee  to 
such  an  act  of  justice.  Canst  thou  deny 
him?" 

"  Indeed,  dear  Bess,"  said  he,  looking 
fondly  upon  her — "  thou  hast  proved  thy- 
self so  excellent  an  advocate,  that  I  shall 
never  attempt  after  this  to  argue  a  cause 
against  thee.  I  will  promise  thee  to  use 
my  best  endeavors  with  the  queen ;  but 
as  for  saying  aught  of  thy  unworthiness, 
it  is  a  thing  of  which  I  am  so  entirely 
ignorant,  and  is  a  theme  for  which  I  have 
so  little  inclination,  that  I  do  feel  assured 
I  should  break  down  in  the  very  smallest 
attempt.  But  I  must  take  up  this  thy 
admirable  little  assistant  in  thy  pleading, 
for  in  truth  he  appeareth  as  if  he  would 
not  rest  where  he"  is."  Thereupon  Sir 
Walter  did  take  the  babe  into  his  arms, 
and  fondle  him,  and  toss  him  up,  in  the 
which  the  little  fellow  seemed  to  find 
huge  delight,  for  he  crowed  and  clapped 
his  hands  famously ;  while  Dame  Eliza- 
beth stood  close  by,  watching  of  the  two 
as  if  she  knew  not  which  she  loved  the 
best. 

"  I'faith,  the  rogue  seems  to  like  it,  me- 
thinks!"  exclaimed  Sir  Walter,  as  he  kept 
throwing  the  child  up  in  his  arms ;  and 
it  was  difficult  to  say  which  seemed  the 
most  gratified  of  the  two. 

"  Like  it !  to  be  sure  he  likes  it,  Wal- 
ter," replied  his  beautiful  wife.  "And 
when  he  careth  not  to  be  caressed  and 


dandled  by   so  good  a  father,  'tis  like 
enough  I  shall  fall  out  with  him." 

"  What,  canst  talk  of  falling  out  with 
so  handsome  a  babe?"  asked  Raleigh, 
seemingly  in  some  astonishment;  and 
gazing  upon  the  smiling  infant  as  he  held 
it  before  him,  added:  "There  are  its 
mother's  eyes,  of  a  surety  !" 

"  Nay,  Walter,"  said  she,  with  an  ex- 
ceeding affectionate  smile;  "  if  he  be  not 
every  bit  of  him  like  thee,  then  am  I  but 
an  indifferent  judge  of  a  resemblance." 

"  Out  on  thee  for  a  flatterer,"  exclaimed 
her  husband  playfully. 

"Well,  if  thou  wilt  not  acknowledge 
what  all  be  ready  to  swear  to,  it  be  so 
manifest,  thou  shah  have  none  of  him," 
replied  the  devoted  woman,  coming  as  if 
to  take  him  away.  "  So  hand  him  over 
to  me,  I  prythee." 

"  Be  assured  I  will  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  said  Sir  Walter,  as  he  caught  the 
child  close  to  his  breast.  "  He  is  mine  ; 
I  have  him,  and  will  keep  him.  Get 
thee  gone,  good  woman,  thou  hast  had 
nothing  to  do  with  him,  and  therefore  art 
not  at  all  a  proper  creature  to  trust  him 
with/' 

"  Oh,  shame  on  thee,  for  saying  so," 
answered  Darae  Elizabeth,  laughingly. 
"  But  I  must  have  him,  Walter — his 
mouth  is  on  the  silver  buttons  of  thy 
doublet,  and  he  will  put  thee  in  a  most 
woful  slobber." 

"  Better  to  spoil  my  doublet  than  lose 
ray  boy !"  cried  he ;  and  then  sportively 
made  off  with  him,  as  if  he  would  give 
him  up  on  no  account,  while  his  beautiful 
wife  kept  following  them  round  the  room 
with  her  arms  stretched  out,  begging  to 
have  the  child.  Presently,  the  little  fel- 
low spying  of  his  mother,  put  out  his 
arms  likewise,  and  soon  after  cried  to  be 
taken. 

"  Tis  nothing  else  but  a  conspiracy," 
observed  Sir  Walter,  as  he  gave  the  boy 
into  his  mother's  arms.  "  He  assists  thee 
in  everything.  I  like  not  being  opposed 
to  so  unnatural  a  combination ;  so  I  will 
to  my  books  again." 

Then  he  returned  to  his  chair,  and 
Dame  Elizabeth  did  go  to  hers  with  the 
infant  in  her  arms,  who  was  soon  very 
quietly  enjoying  of  himself  after  such  a 
fashion  as  seemed  to  be  wonderfully 
pleasant  to  him.  This  continued  for  some 
short  time,  when  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
looked  up  and  said — 

"  Hast  seen  anything  of  Stephen  ?" 

"  He  hath  been  here  this  morning,*'  re- 
plied his  wife,  "with  a  letter  from  Alice, 
who  writes  me  in  a  most  merry  vein,  as 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


131 


if  for  the  enlivening  of  ray  spirits.  I  have 
it  here,  if  thou  wilt  read  it."  And  then 
she  offered  to  him  the  letter. 

"  If  there  be  no  secret  matter  unlawful 
for  husband  to  look  into,  I  should  like, 
infinitely,  to  see  what  theyinerry  wench 
hath  to  say  for  herself,  observed  Sir 
Walter,  as  he  took  the  letter  into  his 
hand. 

•'  I  can  never  have  any  secrets  from 
thee,  dear  Walter,"  answered  Dame  Eliz- 
abeth ;  and,  upon  this,  her  husband  did 
open  and  read  the  letter,  which  proceeded 
to  this  effect : — 

"  '  SWEET  Coz  :  While  uncle  is  amu- 
sing of  himself  by  cudgelling  of  Peter,  I 
will  seek  entertainment  for  you  in  cudgel- 
ling of  my  brains.  I  am  willed  to  do  this 
by  Sir  Nicholas,  who  thinketh  you  shall 
be  all  the  belter  for  some  intelligence  of 
home  ;  yet  I  find  no  lack  of  mine  own  in- 
clination in  it,  I  do  assure  you,  for  there 
is  nothing  in  which  I  take  such  singular 
pleasure,  as  in  affording  of  some  comfort 
to  my  excellent  good  Bess.  But,  first  of 
all,  I  know  'tis  necessary,  if  I  seek  to  be 
loved  of  you,  I  should  inquire  concerning 
of  that  man-animal,  his  worship,  your 
husband ;  the  which  I  now  do  with  ex- 
ceeding courtesy,  thinking  it  a  thousand 
pities  he  should  be  the  queen's  prisoner, 
when  I  am  oft  left  to  the  small  profit  of 
counting  of  my  fingers  for  lack  of  having 
him  to  teaze.' 

"  The  little  villain  !"  exclaimed  Sir 
Walter  with  a  smile,  when  he  came  to 
the  perusing  of  this  passage  ;  then  con- 
tinued. 

"'I  like  him  hugely — just  as  mis- 
chievous boys  like  cats,  old  women,  and 
bonfires — for  the  sport  they  afford.' 

"  Oh  the  impudent  baggage  !"  cried 
he. 

"  'But,  as  you  have  told  me,  that  he 
is  the  very  best,  and  kindest  of  creatures 
to  you,  dear  Bess,  for  his  sake  will  I 
think  well  of  all  man-animals — if  I  can.' 

"  There  is  nothing  I  should  so  much 
delight  in,  as  seeing  her  ladyship  despe- 
rately in  love,"  observed  Raleigh.  "  F- 
faith,  'twould  be  a  delectable  revenge." 

"I  doubt  not  her  lime  will  come," 
said  Dame  Elizabeth.  After  which  her 
husband  did  proceed. 

"  '  It  must  be  known  unto  you  that, 
on  the  report  of  the  fortune  Aunt  Dorothy 
left  me,  I  have  got  me  a  famous  set  of 
lovers.  Oh,  'twould  be  a  comfort  to  your  ! 
heart  to  behold  what  goodly  fools  they 
be.  By  my  troth,  there  shall  be  no  occa- 
sion for  any  of  them  to  wear  motley — 
they  may  be  known  for  such  as  they  are 


let  them  wear  what  they  list.  First  of 
these,  for  methinks  he  should  have  pre- 
cedence, being  out  of  all  contradiction, 
the  greatest  wittol  of  the  lot,  there  cometh 
Sir  Narcissus  Wrinkles.  Hast  ever  been 
at  table  where  there  hath  been  mutton 
dressed  lamb  fashion  ?  If  so,  then  shall 
you  have  some  notion  of  Sir  Narcissus 
Wrinkles.  „  He  is  nothing  else  than  a 
poor  old  wether  that  would  needs  pass 
himself  off  for  as  innocent  a  lambkin  as 
ever  frisked  in  a  meadow.  Yet  is  he  so 
marvellous  stiff  in  the  hams,  that  when 
I  drop  my  fan,  which  I  do  on  the  purpose 
pretty  oft,  it  taketh  him  a  monstrous  space 
of  time  before  he  can  stoop  to  lay  hold 
of  it,  and  then  he  presenteth  it  lo  me  with 
his  hand  on  his  heart,  swearing  by  Cer- 
berus, he  would  find  infinite  pleasure  to 
fetch  and  carry  for  me  like  a  very  spaniel ; 
and  all  the  whilst  he  looks  as  if  he  had 
broken  his  back,  and  hath  scarlet  enough 
in  his  face  for  the  making  of  an  old  wo- 
man's cloak.  Then  he  hath  such  oaths 
as  be  a  marvel  to  hear.  Mayhap,  if  you 
heard  him,  you  should  presently  affirm 
that  he  was  nothing  better  than  an  an- 
cient pagan  dug  out  of  the  earth  after  a 
sleep  of  some  centuries,  for  he  swears 
by  all  the  heathen  gods  and  goddesses. 

"  '  He  skips  after  me,  as  perchance  he 
shall  fancy,  like  a  mountain  kid ;  but  as 
it  seemeth  to  me  in  much  more  resem- 
blance of  its  venerable  grandfather  ;  and 
he  looketh  upon  my  face  till  his  eyes 
water,  and  sighs  heavily  enough,  I  war- 
rant you  ;  but  though  he  would  have  me 
take  such  signs  for  love,  I  do  very  affec- 
tionately tell  him  I  grieve  that  his  eyes 
should  be  so  weak,  and  that  he  should  be 
troubled  with  so  pitiful  an  asthma.  Upon 
this  'tis  exquisite  sport  to  see  how  brave- 
ly he  ventureth  to  swear  he  hath  such 
excellent  vision,  he  can  read  print  so 
small  others  can  in  no  way  make  out, 
and  that  his  constitution  be  of  so  fine  a 
character,  he  knoweth  not  what  illness 
means — and  to  this  he  hath  the  unblush- 
ing impudency  to  add,  that  he  is  so  sound 
of  limb,  and  so  active  withal,  that  he 
doubts  not  when,  he  shall  be  forty,  he 
shall  be  as  young  as  is  another  at  thirty 
or  less.  Now,  think  of  his  saying  this, 
when  he  is  as  like  to  see  any  more  fifties 
as  am  I  to  marry  him  ! 

"  '  Afler  him  cometh  my  Lord  Wisea- 
cre, a  young  coxcomb  of  a  fellow,  who 
looketh  as  grave  as  is  a  death's  head  upon 
a  tombstone,  and  seemeth  as  sanctimo- 
nious as  an  alderman  saying  of  grace. 
He  seeketh  to  be  a  wooing  of  me  with 
the  saws  of  a  graybeard,  and  talketh  of 


132 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


his  experience  with  so  solemn  an  air, 
that  I  can  scarce  help  laughing  Tn  his 
boyish  countenance.  Then  he  hath  so 
pragmatical  a  humor  with  him,  that  he 
liketh  not  to  see  anything  which  doth 
not  assort  with  the  very  monstrousness 
of  his  own  gravity,  and  this  profound 
conceit  he  carrieth  to  such  an  extreme, 
that  if  any  do  but  attempt  to  jest  in  his 
presence,  he  shall  look  as  solemn  as  one 
with  the  toothache,  and  at  the  breaking 
out  of  a  laugh  he  shall  appear  as  if  he 
should  swoon  on  the  instant.  I  do  assure 
you,  Bess,  you  would  wonder  mightily 
were  you  tp  see  us  two.  If  he  look  se- 
rious, I  look  grave — if  he  look  grave,  I 
look  solemn — if  he  look  solemn,  I  look 
stern — if  he  accost  me  in  saws,  I  answer 
him  in  proverbs — and  if  he  lament  the 
frivolity  of  youth,  I  sigh  for  one  who  hath 
the  experience  of  Methusalem.  I  believe 
the  varlet  maketh  sure  of  me  for  this,  yet 
will  I  show  him  such  a  change  as  shall 
incline  him  the  rather  to  wed  with  the 
parish  pump. 

"  «  The  next  is  Master  Aniseed — one 
who  seemeth  but  lately  to  have  exchang- 
ed the  grub  for  the  butterfly.  His  phrases, 
whereof  he  hath  a  goodly  assortment,  he 
ever  and  anon  mingles  with  some  of  a 
coarser  quality,  that  plain  enough  betray 
him  to  have  been  no  gentleman  born ; 
yet  in  his  attiring  is  he  as  fine  an  insect 
as  ever  fluttered  in  silk  and  satin  ;  the 
which  fabrics,  however,  he  weareth  not 
with  that  becoming'ness  that  would  prove 
him  to  be  properly  used  to  such.  What 
he  hath  been  I  know  not,  yet  will  I  strive 
to  find  it  out ;  for  methinks  I  shall  have 
some  sport  in  the  finding.  Already  I  do 
enjoy  very  pretty  pastime  in  the  exceed- 
ing daintiness  of  his  speech,  when  he  hath 
discourse  with  me,  it  seemeth  so  all  of  a 
piece  with  his  doublet,  which  be  ever  of 
the  delicatest  hue  or  finest  fabric.  He 
can  not  talk  of  the  smallest  matter  with- 
out dressing  it  up  in  the  courtliest  terms. 
If  he  ask  after  my  health,  it  shall  be  in 
so  nice  a  phrase  that  one  who  heard  him 
would  think  me  to  be  some  marvellous 
fragile  being  or  another,  that  requireth 
to  be  wrapt  up  in  lavender,  and  handled 
as  tenderly  as  a  sparrow's  egg  ;  and  if  he 
bid  me  good  day,  it  shall  be  after  so  em- 
broidered a  fashion  as  a  mercer  would 
speak  of  his  choicest  goods. 

"  *  After  him  I  have  Dr.  Bashful,  a 
young  divine,  who  can  not  look  at  me 
without  blushing;  and  if  he  offereth  me 
his  hand  when  he  approacheth  me,  'tis 
after  such  a  sort  as  if  he  thought  I  should 
bite  him.  F»  trembleth  terribly  when  I 


speak  to  him  ;  and  if  I  ask  of  him  to  take 
wine,  he  shall  contradict  himself  half  a 
dozen  times  before  he  maketh  up  his 
mind  whether  to  take  it  or  leave  it  alone. 
He  is  so  entertaining  a  companion  that 
he  will  sit  by  me  a  whole  hour  as  dumb 
as  a  post,  and  then,  on  a  sudden,  ask  of 
me  what  I  think  of  the  fathers.  Although 
he  seemeth  to  love  me,  he  would  as  soon 
dare  lay  hold  of  my  hand  whilst  we  sit 
together,  as  take  a  mad  dog  by  the  tail : 
and  although  I  doubt  not  he  likes  nothing 
as  well  as  to  gaze  on  my  face,  he  can 
only  have  courage  to  steal  a  look  at  me 
when  I  be  a  turning  another  way.  Then 
he  seemeth  continually  intent  upon  the 
making  of  some  blunder.  He  be  ever 
upsetting  of  something  in  his  haste  to 
show  me  some  courtesy.  He  will  destroy 
everything  breakable  he  shall  lay  his 
hands  on — for  he  will  either  grip  it  so 
firm  that  it  shall  smash  in  his  hands,  or 
hold  it  so  tremblingly  that  it  shall  fall  to 
pieces  at  his  feet.  Mayhap  at  dinner  he 
shall  pay  his  court  to  me  by  knocking  off 
a  tankard  of  ale  into  my  lap,  and  then, 
in'  his  hurry  to  repair  the  mischief,  he 
shall  upset  a  bowl  of  soup  into  his  own. 
If  he  be  «watch,ed,  he  shall  be  found  sau- 
cing of  his  pudding  with  catsup  ;  and, 
anon,  drinking  of  the  vinegar  for  wine. 
Then,  when  he  discovereth  his  mistake  he 
grins  like  a  monkey  over  a  bone,  and  sets 
to  a  blushing  till  his  face  outrivalleth  the 
crimson  of  a  poppy  in  a  cornfield.  Oh,  what 
goodly  fools  these  man-animals  be !  But 
were  I  to  describe  to  you  every  one  of  the 
worshipful  set  by  which  I  am  environed, 
methinks  'twould  tire  your  patience  won- 
derfully, therefore  will  I  wait  till  you  can 
have  sight  of  them  for  yourself;  the 
which  I  am  exceeding  hopeful  will  not 
be  long  first,  for  there  is  none  I  so  much 
desire  to  see  as  my  own  sweet  Bess. 

"'Uncle  hath  been  in  excellent  good 
health,  but  though  I  do  all  I  can  to  make 
him  merry,  I  know  that  he  doth  miss  you 
oft.  I  have  heard  say  that  the  queen  is  go- 
ing the  progress,  and  perchance  she  may 
be  in  so  gracious  a  mood  as  to  forgive  her 
prisoners  and  let  them  have  their  liberty. 
I  would  she  could  be  brought  to  it.  But 
keep  a  good  heart,  and  I  doubt  not  mat- 
ters will  go  right  enough  soon. 

"  '  From  your  loving  cousin, 

"   ALICE  THROCKMORTON.' 

"I'faith,  if  Alice  had  such  lovers,  I 
doubt  not  she  will  have  famous  sport  of 
them,"  observed  Sir  Waller  Raleigh,  as 
he  finished  the  letter.  "  Some  of  them  I 
know,  and  therefore  can  I  safely  say  she 
hath  hit  them  off  to  a  nicety.  I  will  lay 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


133 


a  wager  upon  it  that  she  will  play  them 
such  tricks  out  of  her  infinite  genius  for 
mischief,  that  they  shall  be  right  glad  to 
get  themselves  out  of  her  way." 

"  Tis  a  thousand  pities  she  meets  not 
with  some  of  more  likely  sort,"  said 
Dame  Elizabeth.  After  this  there  was  a 
pause  of  some  few  minutes. 

"I  marvel  much  at  not  seeing  of  Mas- 
ter Francis,"  exclaimed  her  husband,  at 
last.  "He  is  not  wont  to  make  such 
long  stays.  I  hope  nothing  amiss  hath 
happened  to  him.'' 

"  In  honest  truth,  I  hope  so  too," 
added  his  fair  companion,  "for  he  seem- 
eth  to  serve  thee  so  lovingly,  and  with  so 
modest  a  spirit.  Methinks  he  doth  look 
exceedingly  unhappy." 

'•I  do  believe  his  mind  is  ill  at  ease," 
replied  Sir  Walter.  "  There  existeth 
some  obscurity  in  his  birth  which  he 
doth  allow  to  prey  on  his  sensitive  spirit 
more,  I  think,  than  the  matter  calls  for. 
Without  doubt,  he  is  a  youth  of  admira- 
ble good  qualities  ;  yet  hath  he  his  faults 
nevertheless.  He  is  oft  too  apt  to  draw 
conclusions  which  the  premises  will 
scarce  warrant:  this  is,  however, a  natu- 
ral error  at  his  time  of  life,  and  one  that 
time  will  correct.  I  have  great  hopes 
of  him." 

Having  said  this,  he  did  again  return 
to  his  books,  and  Dame  Elizabeth  con- 
tinued nursing  of  her  babe,  who  seemed 
at  it  to  crow  and  laugh  so  prettily,  that 
Sir  Walter  did  more  than  once  raise  his 
head  and  smilingly  observe  him ;  and 
mayhap  would  call  to  him  in  such  sort 
of  prattle  as  parents  do  usually  adopt  on 
the  like  occasions.  Presently  there  was 
heard  a  knocking  at  the  door,  and  admit- 
tance being  allowed,  in  walked  Master 
Francis,  with  a  very  gentlemanly  cour- 
teousness,  yet  looking  as  pale  and  melan- 
choly as  ever. 

"  I  have  been  detained,  Sir  Walter, 
upon  certain  of  mine  own  affairs  that 
did  require  instant  attention,  else  had  I 
been  here  earlier,"  observed  the  young 
secretary. 

"It  matters  not,"  replied  his  patron, 
kindly.  "  But  now  sit  you  down,  Master 
Francis.  I  would  have  some  talk  with 
you." 

The  youth,  at  this  request,  put  his  hat 
on  one  side,  and  sat  himself  down  near 
the  table. 

"  Hast  ever  considered  the  moral  effecis 
of  solitude  upon  the  heart?"  inquired 
Raleigh,  after  a  little  while. 

"  Methinks  its  tendency  must  needs  be 
of  a  very  soothing  kind,"  replied  the 


other  modestly,  "yet,  save   the  impres- 
sions I  have  got  of  books,  know  I   bm 
little  of  the  matter.      I   have  heard  of 
divers  philosophers  and  many  godly  ere- 
mites, who,  by  retiring  from  the  cares  of 
the  busy  world,  have  acquired  a  marvel- 
lous wisdom  and  a  right  notable  holiness. 
Nay,  it  hath  been  writ  in  credible  histo- 
ries, that  men  used  to,  and  moving  in  the 
restless  turmoil  of  political  governments 
and  military  avocations,  have  found  won- 
derful comfort  from  the  enjoyment  of  a 
perfect   solitariness.     It   hath  been  said 
of  Pericles,  as  an  example  among  many 
i  such   famous  lawgivers  and  statesmen, 
that  when  he  entertained  in  his  mind  any 
j  great   object,   the   which,  peradventure, 
|  might  be  for  the  right  governing  of  the 
:  Athenian  people,  he  would  refrain  from 
•  all  social  feastings,  and  every  pleasure  he 
!  was  wont  to  delight  in  whatsoever,  and, 
j  as  much  alone  as  might  be  possible  to 
I  him,  give  himself  up  to  the  perfect  con- 
sideration of  the  question.     As  far  as  I 
may  be  capable  of  judging,  this  seemeth 
a  truly  excellent  good  plan.     Out  of  no 
small   number   of  notable   commanders, 
Scipio  Africanus,  the  Roman,  and  Epam- 
iaondas,  the  Theban  general,  had  a  like 
passion  for  retirement,   and,   doubtless, 
found   profit  in   it.     And  of  the  learned 
and  pious  is  there  so  great  a  number  who 
have  lauded  its  advantages,  as  is  almost 
impossible  for  me  to  name." 

"  And  from  their  report  you  do  consider 
that  solitariness  is  to  be  recommended  *" 
said  his  patron,  inquiringly. 

"  It  seemeth  so  to  me,"  answered  the 
youth. 

"Believe  me,  'tis  a  great  error,"  ob- 
served Sir  Walter.     "  Of  all  things  con- 
tained   within    this   infinite   world    that 
have  powers  and  offices,  over  man,  you 
shall  find  nothing  so  pernicious  and  un- 
natural as  this  same  solitude.     That  it 
be  pernicious,  is  on  the  face  of  it,  for  it 
doth   rob  society  of  a   member,   whose 
duty  it  should  be  to  labor  for  the  rest  as 
much  as  in  him  lieth.     As  you  shall  see 
i  in  a  hive  of  bees,  or  in  a  community  of 
i  ants,  there  be  none  that  go  into  holes  and 
corners,  shutting  of  themselves  up  from 
all  fellowship,  and  working  only  for  their 
own  gratifications;  so  ought  it  to  be  in 
the  common  hive   of  the   world.      'Tis 
sociality  that  createth  the  sweet  honey 
j  of  life,    to  wit,  philanthropy  :     and  he 
'.  who  is  active  in  doing  of  jjpod  amongst 
his  fellows,  is  the  industrious  ant,   thac 
!  ever  storeth  up  grain  for  the  general  use. 
He  who  findeth    enjoyment   in    solitari- 
ness, can  not  help  but  b°  selfish  in  his 


134 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


nature ;  for  it  requireth  of  a  man  to  con- 
centrate all  his  affections  upon  himself 
ere  he  can  take  any  pleasure  in  it.  That 
'tis  unnatural,  is  full  as  evident:  for 
nature  hath  made  us  all  one  universal 
brotherhood,  for  the  helping  of  each 
other,  for  the  pleasure  of  each  other,  and 
for  the  teaching  of  each  other,  by  such 
exemplary  doings  as  may  be  profitable  in 
the  following.  For  one  to  get  away 
from  the  rest,  and  keep  himself  in  secre- 
sy,  and  labor  in  loneliness  he  shall  be 
accounted  a  deserter  from  his  colors,  the 
defence  of  which  he  hath  abandoned  to 
save  himself;  and  deserveth  no  better 
treatment  than  to  be  shot  for  the  acting 
of  such  an  infamous  cowardice. 

"As  for  what  you  have  said  of  Pericles 
and  others,  in  no  instance  must  such  be 
brought  forward  as  examples  of  solitude, 
else  with  as  much  show  of  truth  it  may 
be  said  of  me  because  I  have  oft  retired 
unto  the  privacy  of  my  study  that  I 
might  not  be  disturbed  in  my  contempla- 
tions, that  I  did  it  for  no  other  end  than 
to  gratify  a  desire  for  a  like  thing.  I 
would  take  it  upon  me  to  say,  that  he 
who  maketh  it  a  practice  to  live  out  of 
the  world,  is  in  no  way  worthy  to  live 
in  it." 

"  And  yet  I  have  found  it  asserted,  both 
of  philosophers  and  divines,"  observed 
Master  Francis,  "  that  solitude  doth  af- 
ford excellent  opportunity  for  a  man  to 
study  himself,  without  a  proper  knowl- 
edge of  which,  he  shall  be  considered  ex- 
ceeding ignorant." 

"Better  be  ignorant  in  one  thing  than 
useless  in  all, "answered  his  patron.  "If 
a  man  having  only  one  book  of  his  own, 
and  that  mayhap  of  no  great  value,  goeth 
into  a  goodly  library  where  there  shall  be 
volumes  of  every  sort  out  of  all  number, 
whereof  he  may  find  admirable  enter- 
tainment when  he  lists  by  perusing  them, 
still  keepeth  poring  over  his  own  book, 
what  knowledge  think  you  he  would  get 
by  it?" 

"  It  could  not  help  being  but  little,  es- 
pecially when  brought  into  some  com- 
parison with  what  he  might  have  had," 
said  the  youth. 

"  I 'faith  you  could  not  have  answered 
me  more  in  accordance  with  what  I  ex- 
pected of  you,"  added  his  patron.  "  Like 
unto  that  man  is  he  who  goeth  away 
from  the  numberless  natures  around 
him,  where  Doubtless  he  shall  find  an 
exhausiless  stock  of  learning  ever  at  his 
hand,  to  creep  into  some  desert  place  or 
another,  with  nothing  to  study  from  but 
himself,  the  which  I  do  hugely  suspect 


would  turn  out  to  be  a  very  sorry  volume. 
Such  a  one  must  needs  be  a  fool  all 
his  life — ay,  though  he  thumb  his  book 
till  he  knoweth  it  every  bit  by.heart:  and 
he  shall  be  a  doing  of  no  more  good  by  it, 
than  if  he  had  been  dead  and  buried  a 
hundred  years." 

"  Maj^  I  ask  of  you  then  how  cometh 
it  that  there  hath  been  such  store  of 
learned  books  and  pious  discourses  writ 
in  solitude,  from  which  surely  the  world 
hath  been  the  gainer  ?"  asked  his  secre- 
tary. 

"  It  must  be  proved  that  they  are  the 
result  of  solitariness,  ere  solitariness 
should  have  the  praise  of  them,"  replied 
Sir  Walter.  "It  may  perchance  hap 
that  they  were  writ  in  retirement,  yet  are 
they  the  result  of  much  previous  study 
among  men.  Doubtless  there  are  such  mat- 
ters of  science  as  perfect  abstraction  from 
all  things  else  shall  greatly  advance  the 
knowledge  of ;  and  this  abstractedness 
passeth  among  the  many  for  the  love  of 
solitude,  yet  of  that  selfishness  which 
solitude  engenders  hath  it  nothing  ;  for 
the  man  of  science  careth  as  little  for  his 
own  person  as  for  all  other  things,  and, 
like  Archimedes,  would  allow  himself  to 
be  slaughtered  in  the  working  of  a  prob- 
lem, than  have  the  slightest  care  for  his 
safety.  Nor  is  the  solitude  of  out-of-the- 
way  places  a  thing  for  them  to  heed, 
when  they  shall  be  as  much  alone  in 
the  most  populous  city  as  in  the  desert- 
est  spot  that  can  be  found.  Surely  such 
books  as  I  may  chance  to  write  in  this 
my  imprisonment,  ought  in  no  way  to  be 
attributable  to  solitude,  when  it  is  certain 
I  would  have  writ  the  same  at  Durham 
house  had  I  enjoyed  the  like  leisure. 
Nor  is  this  to  be  considered  a  solitude  at 
all ;  for  I  do  not  confine  my  studies  unto 
myself,  but  look,  as  well  I  may,  into  "the 
natures  of  all  with  whom  I  can  get  dis- 
course: then  ought  you  to  be  cautious  of 
believing  that  such  books,  to  the  which 
you  have  made  allusion,  because  they 
were  produced  in  some  secludedness, 
were  writ  otherwise  than  from  a  necessity 
in  the  putting  up  with  such  a  place,  or  in 
some  advantage  it  giveth  to  the  perfect 
contemplation  of  the  subject  writ  upon.' 

"  Then  it  seerneth  to  me  you  have  no 
opinion  of  the  efficacy  of  seclusion  upon 
human  nature?"  remarked  the  youth. 

"Entire  seclusion  methinks  is  entire 
foolishness,"  answered  his  patron.  "Oc- 
casional meditation  in  privacy  may  be  so 
far  beneficial  as  to  give  a  greater  zest  to 
the  right  humanizing  pleasures  of  social 
intercourse  when  taken  to  again ;  but  se- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


131 


clusi  \reness  is  exclusiveness,  it  shutteth 
the  breast  against  all — perchance  with 
no  great  loss  to  the  world,  for  I  doubt  not 
on  examining  the  hearts  of  such  they 
should  be  found  exceeding  hollow." 

"  From  this,  if  I  understand  aright, 
monasteries,  nunneries,  and  institutions 
of  the  like  sort,  which  seemed  framed  for 
the  express  purpose  of  providing  oppor- 
tunity for  meditation,  in  your  judgment 
can  be  of  no  particular  benefit  to  the  com- 
munity at  large,"  said  Master  Francis. 

"  Of  so  little  that  their  benefit  must  be 
in  no  comparison  with  their  mischief," 
answered  the  other.  "The  ostensible 
object  of  all  such  establishments  appear- 
eth  to  be  the  exclusive  serving  of  God, 
but  that  God  is  better  served  by  a  certain 
set  of  dirty  fellows  that  mayhap  live  in 
unwholesome  cells,  when  they  might 
have  comfortable  lodging,  going  bare- 
footed when  they  might  be  properly  shod, 
wearing  of  one  dress  when  they  might 
have  a  change  as  cleanliness  made  it  ne- 
cessary, and  fasting  nigh  unto  starvation 
when  they  might  eat  enough  and  be 
thankful,  than  he  shall  be  by  those  who 
come  to  him  with  a  clean  skin  and  a  de- 
cent garment,  and  a  heart  full  of  thank- 
fulness for  the  blessings  he  hath  sent  for 
their  partaking,  and  are  moreover  indus- 
trious citizens,  good  husbands,  and  care- 
ful fathers,  I  will  never  believe.  But  all 
monasteries  are  not  of  this  sort.  In  the 
greater  number,  as  was  proved  at  the 
dissolving  of  the  religious  houses  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  there  were 
fellows  whose  portly  persons  showed  they 
lacked  nothing  either  in  eating  or  drink- 
ing ;  and  as  for  other  indulgences  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  they  rioted  in  a  very 
infamous  dissoluteness  and  prodigality. 
And  that  this  be  serving  of  God  in  the 
best  way  will  I  never  believe. 

"  Then  as  to  nunneries,  the  chief  boasts 
of  them  seemeth  to  be  in  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  chastity  of  their  members, 
who  are  such  women  as  choose  to  retire 
from  the  allurements  of  the  world,  or  are 
forced  to  it.  In  the  first  place  I  main- 
tain, and  I  doubt  not  to  find  plenty  to  be- 
lieve me,  that  such  chastity  as  can  only 
De  preserved  by  being  shut  up  close  in 
stone  walls,  is  not  worth  the  keeping.  It 
is  very  snow,  that  must  be  kept  in  a  cold 
corner,  else  it  will  clean  melt  away.  In 
the  next  place,  'tis  no  preservation  at  all, 
for  it  he  nothing  else  than  a  continual 
endeavor  to  stifle  the  very  delicatest  feel- 
ings of  humanity,  that  have  been  given 
as  a  source  of  every  excellence  in  wo- 
man, and  every  happiness  in  man.  Nor 


is  it  chastity,  for  the  wife  may  be  chaste, 
but  a  nun  knoweth  nothing  of  chastity, 
she  only  practiseth  c.ontinency,  which  is 
no  virtue  of  any  kind,  but  a  quality 
of*  no  more  service  to  herself  or  to  any- 
body else  than  her  ever  wearing  of 
a  certain  kind  of  a  garment,  instead  of 
others  in  which  she  would  find  the  great- 
er comfort,  or  fasting  for  any  unnatural 
long  time  when  she  hath  plenty  of  whole- 
some food  at  hand.  That  a,  way  of  life 
that  preventeth  a  woman  from  becoming 
a.  loving  wife  and  a  tender  mother,  and  a 
giver  and  receiver  of  such  sweet  affec- 
tion as  be  a  delight  to  think  of,  which 
beyond  all  dispute  are  the  properest 
qualities  of  womanhood,  be  the  best  way 
of  serving  God  will  I  never  believe.  Yet 
as  there  have  been  other  monasteries  than 
the  strict  ones,  so  have  there  been  other 
than  such  nunneries,  in  the  which  it  was 
proved,  every  conceivable  kind  of  profli- 
gacy was  proceeding ;  and  that  this  be 
serving  of  God  in  the  best  way  will  I 
'never  believe." 

"  Methinks  then  you  must  have  a  still 
less  opinion  of  hermits  and  the  like,"  ob- 
served the  secretary. 

"  Hermits,  anchorites,  and  others,  who 
live  entire  by  themselves,   are  of  three 
sorts — fools,  knaves,  and  madmen,"  re- 
plied Sir  Walter.     «  They  shall  be  fools 
if  they  live  upon  herbs  when  they  might 
have  wholesome  food — they  are  knaves 
if  they  practise  austerity  for  the  sake  of 
such  offerings  as  a  few  simple  peasants 
may   bring   to   their   abodes — and    they 
must  be  madmen   if  they   imagine  that 
standing  upon  a  pillar,  lying  on  a  board 
covered  with   nails,   wearing   of  a  hair 
shirt,  or  flagellating  of  themselves  with- 
out mercy,  shall  be  of  any  kind  of  service 
to  them  either  in  this   world  or  in   the 
next.     I  would  as  soon  respect  a  jackass 
for  eating  of  thistles  as  a  man  for  living 
upon  roots:  and  as  for   the  humility  of 
such  men,  there  lieth  a  monstrous  deal 
more   ostentation   under   rags   and   filth 
than  you  shall  find  beneath  a  robe  of  pur- 
ple and  a  clean  skin.     Now,  it  hath  gen- 
erally happened    that  anchorites    either 
leave   the  world,  or   the   world  leaveth 
them,  and  seek  to  live  in  solitary  places 
I  when  they  no  longer  can  find  pleasure  in 
1  the  abodes  of  their  fellow-men  ;  or  that 
!  knowing  something  ill   that  they    have 
i  done,  these  their  fellow-men  will  have 
j  none  of  them,  and  force  them  to  take  to 
!  a  hiding-place  and  a  severe  life    for  the 
i  acquirement  of  a  better  reputation   than 
what  they  had.     In  most  instances  a  man 
;  becometh  a  hermit  or  a  monk  from  dis- 


136 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


gust  of  life,  or  disappointment  of  the 
world,  and  seeketh  in  self  mortification 
and  a  solitary  living,  to  lose  remembrance 
of  what  he  hath  suffered.  None  but  a 
fanatic  ever  became  such  upon  choice. 
It  seemeth  to  me  that  he  is  considered 
the  happiest  amongst  them  who  shall 
succeed  in  making  himself  the  most  mis- 
erable ;  and  that  this  be  serving  of  God 
in  the  best  way  will  I  never  believe. 

"  In  short,  it  hath  all  along  been  my 
conviction  that  if  these  pretended  lovers 
of  solitude,  instead  of  seeking  of  a  re- 
cluse life,  and  undergoing  of  numberless 
voluntary  hardships,  had  attempted  the 
practice  of  some  honest  calling,  and  had 
bestowed  on  the  poor  and  helpless  such 
assistance  as  might  have  been  in  their 
power  to  giv-e,  they  would  have  lived  in 
such  a  sort  as  would  have  been  much 
pleasanter  to  themselves,  of  more  advan- 
tage to  the  world,  and  a  wonderful  de- 
gree more  to  the  true  glory  of  Him  they 
sought  to  serve  by  it." 

To  this  Master  Francis  replied  not 
Dame  Elizabeth  had  all  the  time  seemed 
to  take  exceeding  interest  in  the  discourse, 
now  turning  to  her  husband,  and  now  to 
his  secretary,  as  each  spoke,  with  a  coun- 
tenance that  evinced  she  found  wonderful 
pleasure  in  what  was  going  on,  and  oc- 
casionally putting  up  of  her  finger  to  the 
child  when  he  appeared  in  any  way  in- 
clined to  interrupt  either  of  ihem.  It 
was  in  this  way  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
oft  invited  his  young  companion  to  ex- 
press his  thoughts,  and  then,  if  he  found 
him  in  any  error,  would  straightway  pro- 
ceed to  set  him  right  in  the  matter. 

"  Liked  you  our  last  voyage,  Master 
Francis?"  inquired  he,  after  a  silence  of 
some  few  minutes. 

"  Indeed  did  I  Sir  Walter,"  replied 
the  youth. 

"  Then,  if  I  gam  my  liberty,  as  soon 
after  as  may  be,  will  I  be  upon  another," 
added  his  patron.  "  In  truth,  have  I  for 
some  time  considered  of  it,  and  methinks 
you  will  find  in  it  far  more  attraction 
than  the  preceding,  for  it  hath  for  its  ob- 
ject no  other  than  a  search  after  the  right 
famous  El  Dorado,  or  city  of  gold,  the 
which  am  I  in  tolerable  certainty  of  find- 
ing." 

"  I  like  the   idea  of  it  exceedingly," 
observed  Master  Francis,  with  some  earn- 
estness :  and  then  he  waited  in  expecta- 
tion of  hearing  more  upon   the  subject; 
but,   somewhat   to    his    disappointment,.! 
Sir  Walter  soon  after  set  him  about  the  I 
writing  of  some  papers,  and  then  went  to 
lean  out  of  the  window,  where  he  long 


remained,  gazing  upon  the  vessels  in  the 
river. 

"  There  goeth  the  queen's  barge,"  ex- 
claimed he,  all  of  a  sudden  ;  then  turning 
to  his  wife,  added,  "now,  Bess,  will  1 
essay  what  thou  hast  desired  of  me,"- 
and  hastily  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

If  so  be  that  one  had  a  pump  in  your  bosom,  I  be- 
lieve we  should  discover  a  foul  hold.  They  say  a 
witch  will  sail  in  a  sieve,  but  I  believe  the  devil 
would  not  venture  aboard  your  conscience. 

CONGEEVE. 

Seal  up  your  lips,  and  give  no  words  but— mum  ! 
The  business  asketh  silent  secresy. 

SHAKSPEARE. 
Olivia.  Did  he  write  this  ? 
Clown.  Ay;  madam. 

Duke.  This  savors  not  much  of  distraction. 
Olivia.  See  him  delivered.  IBID. 

IT  was  not  many  hours  after  the  trans- 
piring of  what  hath  been  writ  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  that  Sir  Robert  Cecil  and 
my  Lord  Henry  Howard  sat  together  in 
close  converse  in  the  armory  at  Burghley 
house.  How  long  'they  hacl  been  so  en- 
gaged no  man  knoweth  to  this  day ;  but 
there  seemed  a  marvellous  deal  of  secresy 
in  what  they  were  talking  of — their  looks 
were  exceeding  mysterious,  and  they 
smiled  in  such  a  sort  as  do  men  pleased 
with  their  own  craftiness.  Upon  a  small 
circular  table,  close  to  which  they  sat  op- 
posite each  other,  lay  sundry  papers  and 
letters,  which  Cecil  did  read  and  make 
comments  on,  as  if  they  were  of  great  im- 
port ;  and  the  other  appeared  to  give  such 
explanations  as  might  be  necessary  to  the 
perfect  understanding  of  them. 

"  Then  you  are  sure  that  my  Lord  Es- 
sex hath  constant  communication  with 
the  Scottish  king  ?"  inquired  Sir  Robert. 

"  I  have  it  from  my  trusty  correspond- 
ent Master  Edward  Bruce,  replied  the 
Lord  Henry  Howard,  "  that  King  James 
stands  well  affected  toward  my  Lord  Es- 
sex, from  whom  he  hath  continual  in- 
telligence of  all  things  relating  to  the 
queen." 

"  That  hath  a  bad  look  for  our  inter- 
ests," remarked  Cecil.  "  If  we  mind  not, 
Essex  will  so  ingratiate  himself  with  his 
majesty,  that  we  shall  scarce  be  able  to 
keep  up  our  heads  when  he  cometh  to 
these  realms.  And  yet  the  king  seemeth 
to  hold  us  in  good  countenance." 

"  Without  doubt  doth  he,"  answered 
the  other.  "  I  do  believe,  from  what 
Master  Bruce  hath  writ,  that  he  puttetb 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


137 


great  confidence  in  you.  Would  it  not 
be  good  policy,  think  you,  to  set  the 
king's  mind  against  him,  as  we  have  done 
against  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  my  Lord 
Cobham." 

"  That  would  be  a  difficult  matter,  and 
a  dangerous  matter  to  boot,"  replied  Sit 
Robert.  "King  James  hath  knowledge 
of  my  Lord  Essex,  and  hath  of  him  a 
favorable  opinion,  the  which  methinks 
would  be  no  easy  matter  to  shake  ;  while 
of  Raleigh  or  Cobham  he  knew  naught, 
therefore  could  the  easier  believe  aught 
that  was  said  of  them.  My  Lord  Essex 
hath  also  divers  powerful  friends  at  the 
Scottish  court,  who,  'tis  like  enough, 
would  not  rest  idle  while  attempts  were 
made  to  ruin  him  with  the  king :  and  of 
such  influence,  neither  my  brother-in-law 
nor  his  fine  friend  could  make  any  boast. 
I  doubt  not  being  able  to  spoil  the  ambi- 
tiousness  of  all  such  in  good  time  ;  but 
at  present  it  be  a  difficult  task  to  do 
either  Raleigh  or  Essex  any  great  hurt 
without  the  other  being  the  sole  gainer 
by  it." 

"  Mean  you  to  let  Raleigh  out  ?"  asked 
his  companion. 

"  It  must  needs  be,"  said  Cecil.  "  I 
mean  to  move  the  queen  about  it ;  and 
these  letters  I  have  received  will  doubt- 
less go  far  to  the  completing  of  the  busi- 
ness. As  I  expected,  my  Lord  of  Essex 
hath  grown  all  the  haughtier  for  the  ban- 
ishment of  his  rival.  He  beareth  himself 
as  if  he  had  sovereign  authority  ;  but,  par- 
amount as  he  thinketh  himself,  will  I  pull 
him  down." 

"  He  hath  now  got  completely  the  favor 
of  the  queen,"  observed  the  Lord  Howard. 
"  Indeed,  never  saw  I  her  majesty  so  gra- 
cious to  him  as  she  hath  been  of  late :  it 
seemeth  as  if  he  might  have  what  he  lists 
for  the  asking  of  it." 

"  Count  not  upon  that,"  replied  his 
companion,  with  something  of  a  sneer 
upon  his  countenance ;  "  he  is  one  of 
'hose  fools  that  seem  ever  inclined  to  the 
quarrelling  with  their  good  fortune.  He 
playeth  the  lover  bravely,  I  am  well 
aware ;  and  that  her  majesty  delighteth 
in  having  one  of  such  gallant  bearing  at 
her  side,  I  make  no  manner  of  doubt;  but 
such  happens  to  be  his  disposition,  that 
the  more  she  alloweth  him  of  her  favor, 
the  more  will  he  increase  his  demands 
upon  it ;  and  upon  ever  so  slight  a  cause, 
will  straightway  become  petulant,  and 
give  her  majesty  some  offence." 

"I  doubt  much  all  that  we  have  said 
to  him  concerning  Raleigh  hath  been  of 
any  service,"  said  the  other.  "  I  noticed 


him  some  time  back  speaking  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter, in  the  presence,  in  exceeding  friendly 
terms." 

"  That  is  easily  accounted  for,"  en- 
claimed  Cecil;  "he  can  afford  to  speak 
well  of  one  who  is  in  discredit,  and  there- 
fore can  in  no  way  excite  his  jealousy,  or 
ruffle  his  pride  ;  but  let  Raleigh  return  to 
I  his  former  influence,  and  I  warrant  you 
|  Essex  shall  be  marvellously  sparing  of 
his  good  word  for  him."  f 

"  0'  my  life  I  know  not  which  I  mis- 
like  the  most,"  cried  his  companion,  evi- 
dently with  much  sincerity — "  the  one  be 
so  pestilent  proud,  and  the  other  such  a 
thorough  upstart." 

"Both  shall  fall,  and  neither  know  who 
giveth  the  blow,"  replied  Sir  Robert  very 
coolly.  "For  all  that  my  Lord  Essex 
seemeth  in  such  fine  feather  at  present, 
methinks  he  will  be  the  first  for  the  tum- 
ble ;  for  he  is  the  more  easily  worked 
upon,  being  rash,  haughty,  and  apt  at  a 
desperate  fancy.  Though  he  can  per- 
suade himself  that  I  am  honest  to  him, 
yet  would  he  none  the  less  be  ready  to  quar- 
rel with  me,  should  I  give  him  occasion. 
Raleigh  considereth  me  his  true  friend, 
and  this  character  must  I  keep  up  with 
him,  else  might  he  have  some  suspicion 
of  my  real  intentions.  He  is  by  far  the 
difficultest  character  to  deal  with,  for  he 
hath  prudence  and  knowledge  as  much 
as  any  man  ;  but  methinks  I  shall  touch 
him  through  Cobham,  who  is  weak 
enough  to  be  easily  misled,  and,  on  ac- 
count of  their  strict  intimacy,  may  as 
easily  involve  the  other." 

"Hast  heard  of  this  Master  Francis 
Bacon,  the  son  of  old  Sir  Nicholas,  that 
is  said  to  counsel  my  Lord  Essex  in  every 
thing  ?"  inquired  his  companion. 

"I  have  heard  of  his  being  well 
learned  in  the  subtleties  of  the  law,"  re- 
plied Cecil.  "  But  further  than  this 
know  I  nothing." 

"I  have  heard  famous  talk  of  him," 

I  added  my  Lord  Henry  Howard  eagerly. 

;  "  It  hath  been  said  that  the  greatness  of 

his  learning  maketh  all  persons  marvel. 

;  He  can  discourse  on  the  abstrusest  mat- 

[  ters  of  science  and  philosophy  in  such  a 

|  sort  as  will  astonish  even  the  profoundest 

scholars,  and  there  appeareth  no  particle 

of  human  knowledge  he  is  not  as  familiar 

with  as  others  shall    be  with   the  com- 

'  monest  things.     Nay,  I  can  not  te!l  you 

half  the  wonderful  things  that  be  said  of 

him.     It  be  moreover  related,  on  credible 

testimony,  that    my    Lord    Essex    hath 

taken  him  to  live  with  him  in  his  house, 

where  he  is  to  be  his  friend,  and  counsel 


138 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


him  on  all  matters  of  difficulty  and  im- 
portance." 

"  I  doubt  hugely  my  Lord  Essex  will 
allow  of  the  counselling  of  any  man," 
replied  his  companion.  "  He  is  of  too 
great  a  spirit,  of  too  proud  a  heart,  and 
too  vain  a  mind." 

"  Nevertheless,  'tis  believed  of  all  that 
he  will  advance  his  fortunes  at  court," 
observed  the  other.  "Where,  if  Master 
Bacon  possess  guch  monstrous  excellence 
as  report  hath  declared,  it  be  like  enough 
he  will  come  to  some  distinction.  May- 
hap we  shall  then  have  to  deal  with 
him;  and  if  he  hath  any  particular 
knowledge  of  laws  and  government  be- 
yond that  of  others,  it  may  chance  he 
shall  attain  to  so  high  an  eminence  as 
shall  put  him  out  of  our  reach." 

"  He  shall  be  raised  high  indeed  if  I 
can  not  lay  a  hold  on  him,"  said  Cecil. 
"  If  he  be  sufficiently  pliant  I  will  make 
a  tool  of  him,  let  his  learning  be  what 
it  may,  and  then  shall  he  work  for  his 
own  advantage  and  mine  too  ;  but  if  he  be 
of  such  nature  as  are  those  whose  stub- 
born spirits  will  not  bow  to  any  control 
of  mine,  then  will  I  seek  either  to  over- 
. reach  him,  or  undermine  him,  so  that  he 
shall  topple  headlong,  as  in  good  time 
shall  I  make  Essex  and  Raleigh." 

"  How  mean  you  to  work  with  these 
two  when  Raleigh  is  let  out  ?"  asked  his 
companion. 

"  In  a  like  manner  as  hath  been  done 
hitherto,"  replied  Sir  Robert.  "I  will 
with  as  much  secresy  as  shall  be  possi- 
ble, set  the  one  in  opposition  unto  the 
other,  and  yet  in  the  belief  of  both  en- 
deavor to  appear  the  very  good  friend  of 
each.  With  Essex  methinks  my  labor 
will  be  easy,  notwithstanding  he  hath 
taken  to  himself  so  sage  a  counsellor  as 
Master  Bacon,  for  immediately  he  findeth 
the  other  in  rivalship  with  him,  you  shall 
find  him  ready  of  belief  to  aught  con- 
cerning of  Raleigh  that  seemeth  to  threat- 
en his  pre-eminence,  then  straightway 
will  he  become  as  haughty  and  insolent 
as  you  please,  the  which  will  sufficiently 
convince  Sir  Walter  that  he  beareth  him 
no  good  will,  and  he  will,  as  it  were  in 
self-defence,  set  about  the  strengthening 
of  his  own  position  in  the  queen's  favor, 
and  the  lessening  of  his  rival's  influence  ; 
and  this  appearing  a  greater  show  of  op- 
position shall  so  incense  my  Lord  Essex, 
that  if  he  break  not  out  quickly  into  di- 
rect and  open  violence,  I  lack  judgment 
in  his  character.  Upon  this,  'tis  like 
enough  the  queen  shall  be  in  some  way 
wrath  with  him ;  for  despite  of  her  seem- 


ing fondness,  I  am  hugely  mistaken  if 
she  would  not  look  upon  any  affront  done 
upon  Raleigh  whilst  he  possessed  her 
consideration,  as  an  offence  to  herself; 
whereupon  it  would  be  easy  to  move  her 
to  send  my  lord  from  court  to  some  office 
of  great  honor,  yet  of  greater  difficulty 
afar  off,  the  which  the  boastfulness  of  his 
spirit  would  make  him  eager  to  accept: 
there  placed,  his  rashness  and  unskilful- 
ness  would  soon  involve  him  and  her 
majesty's  government  in  some  terrible 
embarrassment,  which  should  more  and 
more  lose  him  the  queen's  favor,  till  she 
put  upon  him  such  disgrace  as  his  proud 
spirit  can  never  stomach,  and  then  his 
rashness  will  like  enough  set  him  upon 
some  desperate  enterprise  of  a  treasonable 
nature  to  regain  his  lost  ascendency, 
which  failing,  as  it  needs  must  in  the 
hands  of  one  so  headstrong,  there  shall 
presently  be  an  end  of  my  Lord  of  Essex." 

"Admirably  devised!"  exclaimed  the 
Lord  Henry  Howard,  in  a  marvellous 
cheerfulness.  "  'Tis  good  !  I'faith,  'tis 
excellent  good  !  'Tis  a  plan  so  deep  and 
of  so  fine  a  contrivance  that  it  can  not 
fail  of  success.  But  how  shall  this  affect 
our  interest  with  the  Scottish  king,  who 
by  all  accounts  is  so  well  inclined  toward 
my  Lord  of  Essex,  that  he  would  take 
instant  indignation  against  any  who 
should  do  him  an  injury." 

"  We  will  so  bring  it  about  that  it  shall 
appear  as  if  we  had  no  hand  in  it,"  re- 
plied his  wily  companion.  "  At  the  same 
time  we  would  contrive  to  shift  the 
blameableness  of  it  upon  Raleigh  and 
Cobham,  which  shall  the  more  incense 
the  king  against  them." 

"  Good  again !"  cried  the  other  with 
increased  gratification.  "  'Tis  as  well 
conceived  a  plot  as  was  ever  thought  of. 
Then  how  shall  we  do  with  Raleigh 
when  the  other  is  put  out  of  the  way  ?" 

"  Methinks  we  shall  have  some  diffi- 
culty to  get  him  to  commit  himself,  be- 
cause of  his  exceeding  prudence,"  an- 
swered Cecil.  "  He  will  in  no  way  anger 
the  queen  if  he  can  help  it,  if  she  forgive 
him  his  foolishness  in  marrying  of  Eliza- 
beth Throckmorton :  therefore  he  shall 
not  be  made  to  lose  his  influence  at  court 
so  easily  as  may  at  first  be  thought.  We 
must  either  build  upon  her  majesty's  vari- 
able humor,  or  await  a  better  opportunity. 
At  least,  we  will  do  what  we  can  ;  and, 
in  the  meantime,  by  persuading  of  the 
Scottish  king  that  Raleigh  and  Cobham 
are  ever  in  opposition  to  his  succession — 
that  they  hold  him  in  small  respect,  and 
were  foremost  in  the  working  of  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


139 


downfall  of  my  Lord  of  Essex,  he  shall 
acquire  such  a  dislike  of  them  both,  that 
upon  the  king's  coming  to  these  realms, 
which  can  not  in  the  course  of  nature  be 
long  first,  seeing  that  the  queen  waxeth 
old  and  sickly  exceeding  fast,  he  shall 
disgrace  them  and  distinguish  us.  'Me- 
thinks  even  then  'twill  be  a  difficult  task 
to  get  Raleigh  into  the  doing  of  such  an 
act  as  would  put  his  life  in  jeopardy, 
though  'tis  easy  to  believe  he  would  be 
hugely  discontented.  But  I  know  my 
brother-in-law  Cobham  to  be  vain  and 
weak,  and  like  enough  to  be  so  indignant 
at  the  slight  which  would  be  put  upon 
him  by  the  Scottish  king,  as  to  be  readily 
drawn  into  any  treasonable  conspiracy, 
into  the  which  'tis  natural  enough  to 
believe  he  would  presently  seek  to  draw 
his  friend ;  whereupon,  if  Raleigh  will 
have  no  share  in  it,  I  doubt  not  being 
able  to  make  it  appear  as  if  he  was  a 
principal,  which  shall  be  quite  sufficient 
to  bring  him  to  such  a  trial  as  must  needs 
end  in  the  lopping  off  of  his  head." 

"  O'  my  life  !  never  heard  I  any  scheme 
possessed  of  so  wonderful  a  cunning!" 
exclaimed  his  companion,  as  if  in  a  mon- 
strous admiration.  "  In  my  mind  is  there 
no  doubt  of  the  very  completeness  of  our 
success." 

"  All  that  be  necessary  to  secure  it  is 
a  sufficient  secresy,"  added  Sir  Robert. 
"  In  your  letters  to  Master  Bruce  seek  not 
to  say  more  than  the  occasion  shall  war- 
rant ;  and  in  all  other  communications 
whatsoever  take  heed  to  write  or  speak 
in  such  a  style  as  none  but  the  trustwor- 
thy can  make  anything  of.  Appear  to 
all  three  acting  toward  them  with  a  suf- 
ficient friendliness  ;  and  if  you  say  aught 
to  one  against  the  other,  let  it  not  appear 
too  officious  of  you,  but  the  rather  lament- 
ing that  there  should  be  anything  but 
harmony  betwixt  them.  By  these  means 
shall  you  gain  their  confidence,  and  give 
no  color  of  suspicion  in  your  actions.'1 

"I  will  fail  in  nothing  that  infinite  dis- 
like of  them  can  accomplish,"  answered 
my  Lord  Howard. 

"Now  will  I  take  these  letters  to  the 
queen,"  said  his  companion,  as  he  took 
some  papers  from  the  table.  "If  I  find 
her  in  the  mood,  which  'tis  like  she  will 
be,  I  will  essay  to  move  her  to  Raleigh's 
liberation,  the  which  if  I  accomplish,  I 
doubt  not  by  it  raising  myself  so  high  in 
his  opinion,  that  he  will  take  me  for  his 
best  friend  ever  after ;  and  give  me  by 
his  confidence  such  opportunity  as  I  may 
want  for  the  furtherance  of  my  plans." 

Upon  the  saying  of  this  both  prepared 


themselves  to  depart,  and  soon  after  went 
together  to  court,  which  was  held  at  no 
great  distance,  the  queen  then  staying  at 
Somerset  house.  Somehow  it  did  hap- 
pen that  as  they  were  journeying  in  that 
direction  they  chanced  to  meet  my  Lord 
Cobham ;  and  between  him  and  them 
there  were  presently  such  greetings  as 
might  have  convinced  a  looker-on  that 
few  could  be  so  well  disposed  toward 
each  other  as  were  Sir  Robert  Cecil  and 
my  Lord  Henry-Howard  toward  my  Lord 
Cobham.  Presently  Cecil  did  tell  his 
brother-in-law,  in  a  manner  as  if  his 
whole  heart  was  in  the  business,  how 
long  and  how  anxiously  he  had  been 
seeking  for  an  opportunity  to  serve  their 
imprisoned  friend,  and  now  that  he  was 
going  to  the  queen  with  great  hopes  of 
so  disposing  her  toward  him,  that  at  the 
least  the  accomplishment  of  his  object, 
which  was  no  other  than  the  liberation  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  for  whom  he  would 
at  all  times  strain  his  utmost,  he  held  him 
in  so  high  a  respect  for  his  many  com- 
mendable qualities,  would  be  achieved 
at  no  very  distant  day.  At  this  my  Lord 
Cobham  seemed  in  a  very  excess  of  grati- 
fication ;  and  did  not  proceed  on  his  way 
before  he  had  expressed  himself  to  that 
effect. 

"Now  will  that  silly  woodcock  make 
such  a  report  of  what  I  have  said  to  his 
chosen  friend,"  observed  Sir  Robert  to 
his  companion  when  my  Lord  Cobham 
was  out  of  hearing,  "  that  I  shall  be  con- 
sidered so  honest  of  heart  toward  Raleigh 
as  to  be  quickly  in  high  esteem  of  both. 
But  'tis  with  such  baits  these  fine  birds 
are  caught." 

They  had  not  made  much  progress 
after  this,  before  they  observed  my  Lord 
Essex,  surrounded  with  a  goodly  group 
of  some  of  the  highest  nobles  in  the  land 
and  men  of  distinction,  in  such  gallant 
array  as  was  quite  a  splendor  to  behold, 
bearing  it  so  bravely  among  them  as 
made  it  evident  he  was  considered  as  the 
very  greatest  man  of  them  all.  He  hardly 
seemed  to  notice  Cecil  and  his  associate, 
save  by  a  haughty  bend  of  his  head,  and 
so  little  were  they  cared  for  by  the  group, 
that  the  two  were  obliged  to  content 
themselves  with  the  road,  the  pathway 
being  entirely  taken  up  with  my  Lord 
Essex's  friends,  who  appeared  in  no  way 
inclined  to  make  room  for  them  to  pass. 

"  Ah  !"  exclaimed  Cecil  with  some  bit- 
terness, looking  after  them  with  an  ex- 
ceeding frowning  countenance  when  they 
had  got  some  way,  "  you  ruffle  it  fa- 
mously, my  lord,  without  doubt ;  but  high 


40 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


as  you  hold  your  head,  if  I  make  it  not 
lie  as  low  as  shall  lie  that  of  the  meanest 
man  in  these  kingdoms,  then  have  I 
strangely  mistaken  mine  own  power." 

"A  set  of  pestilent  proud  fellows!" 
cried  my  Lord  Howard  very  indignantly, 
"  to  force  us  into  the  road  !  Nay,  if  this 
Essex  be  not  put  down  shortly,  there  will 
be  no  finding  of  a  pathway  for  oneself  in 
all  the  realm,  for  him  and  his  insolent 
followers." 

A  fevv  minutes  after,  they  arrived  at 
Somerset  house,  where,  bidding  my  Lord 
Henry  Howard  tarry  in  one  of  the  wait- 
ing-rooms, Sir  Robert  Cecil  went  straight 
to  the  queen's  closet,  in  which  he  found 
her  majesty  dressed  to  go  on  a  journey, 
and  seemingly  in  a  very  fair  humor. 
Upon  saying  that  he  had  private  business 
to  communicate,  the  queen  instantly  did 
dismiss  all  her  attendants,  and  sat  herself 
down  in  some  stateliness,  to  know  of 
what  pressing  matter  it  might  be,  for  he 
was  greatly  in  her  confidence. 

"Any  news  from  France?"  inquired 
the  queen,  "or  is  Philip  of  Spain  pro- 
ceeding to  any  further  hostile  measures 
against  us?" 

"  I  have  news  from  France,  please  your 
majesty,"  replied  Cecil,  "which  seemeth 
to  me  of  the  uttermost  importance." 

"  Ha  !"  quickly  exclaimed  her  majesty. 
"Hath  the  league  got  the  upper -hand  ? 
But  God  forbid  such  murderous  villains 
should  triumph  !  Is  the  Due  de  Guise  in 
paramount  authority  ?  But  'tis  not  to  be 
believed  so  base  and  brutal  a  wretch 
could  be  allowed  to  have  sovereign  pow- 
er. Doth  not  the  Huguenots  prosper  ?  Or 
hath  any  ill  hap  come  to  their  gallant 
leader  Henri  ?" 

"Please  your  majesty,  my  advices  are 
enough  to  make  me  despair  of  my  fellow- 
protestants,"  answered  Sir  Robert.  "  'Tis 
reported  that  Henri  is  about  to  change 
his  religion." 

"  The  traitor  !"  cried  the  queen,  look- 
ing exceeding  disturbed.  "Surely  he  can. 
never  think  of  so  base  a  thing  as  to  for- 
sake the  holy  protestant  cause  to  become 
a  spiritual  vassal  of  his  arch  enemy  the 
pope  ?  'Tis  not  to  be  believed  of  him." 

"  I  doubt  not,  please  your  majesty,  that 
by  this  time  'tis  already  done,"  observed 
her  companion,  then  laying  some  papers 
before  her,  added,  "  here  is  the  corre- 
spondence of  your  majesty's  agent  at  the 
French  court,  in  which  will  be  found  the 
excuses  Henri  hath  made  to  him  for  the 
taking  of  such  a  step." 

"  What  inexcusable  villany  !"  exclaim- 
ed Elizabeth,  seemingly  in  great  anger. ; 


"What  horrible  ingratitude!  After  we 
have  sought  to  serve  him  in  all  possible 
ways,  he  can  show  no  better  return  for 
such  goodness,  but  the  doing  of  this 
shameful  apostacy.  We  will  write  to 
him  speedily  our  opinion  of  so  deplora- 
ble, so  wicked  an  act:  and  for  these 
papers,  we  will  look  over  them  at  our 
leisure.  What  letters  are  those  you  have 
in  your  hand  ?" 

"Please  your  majesty,  they  shall  be 
found  of  very  different  sort,"  replied  the 
other.  "  They  relate  to  a  matter  in 
which  your  majesty  is  like  to  be  charged 
with  the  death  of  a  certain  gallant  knight, 
who,  having  incurred  your  majesty's  dis- 
pleasure, seemeth  to  have  gone  quite  dis- 
traught because  he  can  no  longer  delight 
his  heart  with  the  marvellous  comeliness 
of  your  majesty's  royal  countenance." 

"  Alack  !  and  is  it  so  indeed  ?"  inquired 
the  queen,  with  an  expression  of  some 
concern.  "  Hath  his  wits  forsook  him  on 
that  account  ?  Poor  man  !  mayhap  he  is 
to  be  pitied.  But  who  is  this  knight  ?" 

"  It  is  one,  please  your  majesty,"  an- 
swered Cecil,  "  who  hath  doubtless  well 
deserved  all  he  hath  got,  for  'tis  beyond  all 
doubt  he  hath  committed  great  offence  ; 
but  methinks — that  is,  if  your  majesty  will 
graciously  allow  your  poor  servant  to 
think  upon  such  a  business — that,  as  he 
hath  suffered  very  severely,  and  undoubt- 
edly hath  that  opinion  of  your  majes- 
ty's perfections  which  be  very  proper  in 
him  to  have,  your  gracious  consideration 
of  his  offence  may  not  be  otherwise  than 
beneficial  to  him,  for  it  -.an  not  help  ma- 
king him  the  more  ashamed  of  what  he 
hath  done,  whilst  the  punishment  he  hath 
endured  must  needs  keep  the  fault  prop- 
erly in  his  remembrance.  Please  your 
majesty,  it  is  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  who 
hath  been  brought  to  this  pitiable  strait." 

"  Away  with  him  !"  exclaimed  Eliza- 
beth, yet  not  with  any  particular  anger. 
"We  doubt  that  he  deserves  any  pity  of 
us  whom  he  hath  so  foully  wronged." 

"  Mayhap,  if  the  truth  could  be  come 
at,  please  your  majesty,"  said  Sir  Robert, 
"  she  who  brought  him  into  the  doing  of 
such  a  wickedness  was  /the  more  to 
blame  than  he  ;  for  upon  perusing  of  these 
letters,  and  from  divers  other  sources,  I 
feel  assured  that  the  entireness  of  his  de- 
votion unto  your  majesty  was  so  extreme, 
that  he  could  not,  of  his  own  accord, 
have  committed  such  evil.  He  was  be- 
guiled into  it,  as  it  were." 

"Like  enough,"  replied  the  queen, 
"  that  Elizabeth  Throckmorton  was  vile 
enough  to  induce  him  into  any  baseness  : 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


141 


hut  he  should  have  known  better  than 
to  have  tolerated  so  infamous  a  crealure. 
And  then  to  have  taken  her  to  wife.  Oh, 
it  was  villanous  !'' 

"  Perchance  he  did  it  to  save  her  from 
utter  disgrace,"  observed  Cecil.  "It  is 
on  the  face  of  it,  please  your  majesty,  he 
married  her  from  no  hope  of  advantage. 
He  could  get  no  gain  of  it.  MethinKs, 
then,  he  is  more  to  be  pitied  than  blam- 
ed, or  that  he  should  be  considered  more 
foolish  than  ill  inclined.  But  I  have  a 
letter  here  from  Master  Arthur  Gorges — 
one  of  a  creditable  testimony — that  re- 
la  teth  to  something  which  hath  lately 
taken  place  in  the  Tower,  in  the  which 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  did  behave  very 
strangely,  that  seemeth  to  me  to  be  ex- 
ceeding proper  that  your  majesty  should 
hear  of." 

"  We  are  careless  whether  you  read  it 
or  not,"  said  the  queen  ;  yet  looking  all 
the  while  as  if  she  was  wonderfully  ea- 
ger to  hear  it  read.  "  But  since  you  have 
it  in  your  hand  you  may  as  well  make  us 
acquainted  with  its  contents." 

Permission  had  scarcely  been  given  be- 
fore Sir  Robert  did  commence  the  perusal 
of  the  following : — 
"  HONORABLE  SIR  : 

"  I  can  not  choose  but  advertise  you  of 
a  strange  tragedy  that  this  day  had  like 
to  have  fallen  out  between  the  captain  of 
the  guard,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  and  the 
lieutenant  of  the  ordnance,  if  I  had  not 
by  great  chance  come  at  the  very  instant, 
to  have  turned  it  into  a  comedy.  For, 
upon  the  report  of  her  majesty's  being  at 
Sir  George  Carey's,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
having  gazed  and  sighed  a  long  time  at 
his  study  window,  from  which  he  might 
discern  the  barges  and  the  boats  about 
the  Blackfriars'  stairs ;  suddenly  he  brake 
into  a  great  distemper,  and  sware  that 
his  enemies  had  on  purpose  brought  her 
majesty  thither  to  break  his  gall  in  sun- 
der with  Tantalus's  torment,  that  when 
she  went  away  he  might  gaze  his  death 
before  his  eyes — with  many  such  like 
conceits.  And  as  a  man  transported  with 
passion,  he  sware  to  Sir  George  Carew 
that  he  would  disguise  himself,  and  get 
into  a  pair  of  oars  to  ease  his  mind  but 
with  a  sight  of  the  queen,  or  else  he  pro- 
tested his  heart  would  break.  But  the 
trusty  jailer  woald  none  of  that,  for  dis- 
pleasing the  high  powers,  as  he  said, 
which  he  more  respected  than  the  feed- 
ing of  his  humor ;  and  so  flatly  refused 
to  permit  him.  But  in  conclusion,  upon 
this  dispute  they  fell  flat  out  to  outrage- 
ous choleric  words,  with  straining  and 


struggling  at  the  doors,  that  all  lameness 
was  forgotten,  and,  in  the  fury  of  the  con- 
flict, the  jailer  had  his  new  perwig  torn 
off  his  crown ;  and  yet  here  the  battle 
ended  not,  for  at  last  they  had  gotten  out 
their  daggers,  which,  when  I  saw,  I 
played  the  stickler  between  them,  and  so 
purchased  such  a  rap  on  the  knuckles, 
that  I  wished  both  their  pates  broken  ; 
and  so  with  much  ado  they  stayed  their 
brawl  to  see  my  bloody  fingers.  At  the 
first  I  was  ready  to  break  with  laughing, 
to  see  them  two  scramble  and  brawl  like 
madmen,  until  I  saw  the  iron  walking, 
and  then  I  did  my  best  to  appease  the 
fury.  As  \  et,  I  can  not  reconcile  them  by 
any  persuasions,  for  Sir  Waiter  swears 
he  shall  hate  him  for  so  restraining  him 
from  the  sight  of  his  mistress,  while  he 
lives;  for  that  he  knows  not,  as  he  said, 
whether  he  shall  ever  see  her  again, 
when  she  has  gone  the  progress.  And 
Sir  George,  on  his  side,  swears  that  he 
had  rather  he  should  lose  his  longing 
than  he  should  draw  on  him  her  majes- 
ty's displeasure  by  such  liberty.  Thus 
they  continue  in  malice  and  snarling ; 
but  I  am  sure  all  the  smart  lighted  on  me. 
I  can  not  tell  whether  I  should  more  al- 
low of  the  passionate  lover  or  the  trusty 
jailer.  But  if  yourself  had  seen  it,  as  I 
did,  you  would  have  been  as  heartily 
merry  as  ever  you  were  in  all  your  life 
for  so  short  a  time.  I  pray  you  pardon 
my  hasty  written  narration  which  I  ac- 
quaint you  with,  hoping  you  will  be  the 
peace-maker.  But,  good  sir,  let  nobody 
know  thereof;  for  I  fear  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh will  shortly  grow  to  be  Orlando 
Furioso,  if  the  bright  Angelica  persevere 
against  him  a  little  longer." 

Queen  Elizabeth  appeared  to  listen 
with  marvellous  attention  while  the  let- 
ter was  being  read,  ever  and  anon  smi- 
ling very  prettily,  and  smirking  up  her 
wrinkles  after  such  a  fashion  as  showed 
she  was  monstrous  well  pleased  with  the 
whole  affair. 

"Well,  he  must  be  in  a  tearing  humor, 
certainly,  if  he  goeth  on  at  such  a  rate  as 
that,"  observed  the  queen,  laughingly. 
"We  knew  not  that  our  venturing  to  Sir 
George  Carey's  would  have  caused  so 
terrible  to-do,  else  mayhap  we  might 
have  changed  our  course.  'Tis  grievous 
to  think  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  should  take 
on  so  on  our  account,  yet  hath  he  none 
other  to  thank  for  it  but  himself,  and  the 
wicked  Jesabel  he  hath  married." 

"  Then,  am  I  to  judge,  from  what 
your  majesty  hath  stated,  that  you  will 
graciously  be  pleased  to  give  your  un- 


142 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


happy  prisoner   his   liberty  ?"   inquired 
Cecil. 

"  Not  so  fast !"  exclaimed  her  majesty, 
with  a  more  serious  countenance.  "  We 
intend  naught  of  the  kind,  depend  on't. 
'Twould  be  a  fine  thing,  truly,  were  we 
so  credulous  as  to  believe  all  that  hath 
been  writ  in  your  friend's  letter.  How 
know  you  not  it  be  all  a  counterfeit? 
'Tis  like  enough  the  whole  affair  is  mere 
invention.  But  we  are  not  juggled  so 
easily  as  may  be  supposed  of  us.  We 
put  no  faith  in  fine  words.  We  can  not 
abide  flatterers." 

"  Ah  !  please  your  majesty,"  cried  Sir 
Robert,  in  a  wonderful  earnestness,  "I 
can  not  see  how  there  can  be  anything 
in  the  shape  of  flattery  ever  presented  to 
your  majesty's  ear ;  for  your  majesty,  it  is 
well  known,  hath  such  extraordinary  ex- 
cellences, that  however  the  world  may 
praise,  it  can  not  do  otherwise  than  speak 
the  truth." 

"  Nay,  we  are  in  no  way  better  than 
the  ordinary,"  replied  the  queen,  as  if 
carelessly,  yet  well  delighted  with  such 
language.  "  By  God's  good  help,  we  are 
not  badly  off  in  some  qualities,  yet,  doubt- 
less, have  we  our  faults,  nevertheless." 

"If  your  majesty  hath  faults,  'tis  a 
marvel  to  know  where  they  lie,"  answer- 
ed her  wily  companion  ;  "  for  many  have 
carefully  looked  for  such,  and  could  get 
no  sight  of  them,  let  them  search  ever  so. 
If  it  be  not  thought  too  bold  of  me,  I 
would  fain  present  unto  your  majesty 
that  clemency  hath  ever  been  your  ma- 
jesty's brightest  attribute:  and  although 
this  Raleigh  hath  behaved  himself  in- 
famously, which  none  can  gainsay,  yet 
hath  he  suffered  in  such  a  sort" 

"By  God's  wrath,  he  shall  stay  where 
he  is,"  sharply  exclaimed  the  queen,  in- 
terrupting the  other  in  the  very  middle 
of  what  he  had  been  about  to  say. 

"  Then  there  is  no  occasion  for  me  to 
read  your  majesty  this  letter,"  observed 
Cecil,  turning  another  letter  over  and 
over  in  his  hand.  "  It  is  of  Sir  Walter's 
own  writing  tome  ;  and  speaketh  of  your 
majesty  in  such  exeeeding  delicate  terms, 
that  my  heart  was  quite  moved  at  it.  But 
I  will  put  it  up,  since  the  perusing  of  it 
meeteth  not  with  your  majesty's  appro- 
bation." 

"  Nay,  do  not  so,"  cried  the  queen,  as 
she  observed  the  letter  about  to  disap- 
pear ;  "  we  care  not  for  its  being  read, 
yet  if  it  be  worded  with  a  proper  respect 
of  us,  it  can  do  us  no  Wrong  to  hear  of 
it." 

"Indeed,  'tis  the  very  properest  pisce 


of  writing  eye  of  mine  ever  beheld*  please 
your  majesty,"  replied  Sir  Robert;  and 
thereupon  proceeded  quickly  to  the  peru- 
sing of  what  hath  here  been  writ : — 

"Sin: 

"  I  pray  you  be  a  mean  to  her  majesty 
for  the  signing  of  the  bills  for  the  guards 
coats,  which  are  to  be  made  now  for  the 
progress,  and  which  the  clerk  of  the 
check  hath  importuned  me  to  write  for. 
My  heart  was  never  broken  till  this  day, 
that  I  hear  the  queen  goes  away  so  far 
off,  whom  I  have  followed  so  many  years 
with  so  great  love  and  desire  in  so  many 
journeys,  and  am  now  left  behind  her  in 
a  dark  prison  all  alone.  While  she  was 
yet  near  at  hand,  that  I  might  hear  of 
her  once  in  two  or  three  days,  my  sorrows 
were  the  less  ;  but  even  now  my  heart  is 
cast  into  the  depth  of  all  misery.  I  that 
was  wont  to  behold  her  riding  like  Alex- 
ander— hunting  like  Diana — walking  like 
Venus  ;  the  gentle  wind  blowing  her  fair 
hair  about  her  pure  cheeks,  like  a  nyrnph  ; 
sometimes  sitting  in  the  shade  like  a  god- 
dess— sometimes  singing  like  an  angel — 
sometime  playing  like  Orpheus.  Behold 
the  sorrow  of  this  world  !  once  amiss  hath 
bereaved  me  of  all.  O  glory !  that  only 
shineth  in  misfortune,  what  is  become  of 
thy  assurance  ?  All  wounds  have  scars, 
but  that  of  fantasy ;  all  affections  their 
relenting,  but  that  of  womankind.  W  ho 
is  the  judge  of  friendship,  but  adversity  ; 
or  when  is  grace  witnessed,  but  in  offen- 
ces? There  were  no  divinity,  but  by 
reason  of  compassion ;  for  revenges  are 
brutish  and  mortal.  All  those  times  past, 
the  loves,  the  sighs,  the  sorrows,  the  de- 
sires, can  they  not  weigh  down  one  frail 
misfortune  ?  Can  not  one  drop  of  gall 
be  hidden  in  such  great  heaps  of  sweet- 
ness ?  I  may  then  conclude,  spec  et  for- 
luna,  valete  !  She  is  gone,  in  whom  I 
trusted  ;  and  of  me  hath  not  one  thought 
of  mercy,  nor  any  respect  of  that  that 
was.  Do  with  me  now,  therefore,  what 
you  list.  I  am  more  weary  of  life  than 
they  are  desirous  that  I  should  perish  ; 
which,  if  it  had  been  for  her,  as  it  is  by 
her,  I  had  been  too  happily  born. 

"  Yours,  not  worthy  any  name  or  title, 
"W.  R." 

It  was  a  marvellous  sight  to  observe 
the  countenance  of  the  queen  during  the 
perusal  of  the  foregoing.  At  the  first  few 
sentences  she  seemed  moved  to  a  great 
attention  ;  when  it  came  to  the  describing 
of  her  riding  like  Alexander,  and  the  like 
gross  flattery,  the  sudden  flushing  of  her 
face  showed  itself  all  through  her  cos- 
metics ;  and  at  her  being  likened  unto  a 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS, 


143 


goddess,  an  angel,  and  Orpheus,  she  sim- ' 
pered  famously,  and  showed  her  teeth, 
which  were  none  of  the  whitest.  But 
when  the  writer  began  to  make  his 
dolorous  moan,  the  which  Sir  Robert 
read  with  so  pitiful  an  accent,  as  if  his 
heart  Was  a  breaking,  her  majesty  look- 
ed concerned,  then  piteous,  then  sorrow- 
ful, and  at  the  ending  of  the  letter  she 
put  up  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  ;  but 
whether  there  Was  any  likelihood  of  tears, 
know  I  not. 

"  Odds  pittikins  !  it  be  wonderful  mov- 
ing," exclaimed  the  queen;  "he  hath 
suffered  more  than  we  thought  of:  he 
shall  have  some  comfort  straight.  But 
read  that  passage  again,  Sir  Robert,  that 
beginneth  concerning  of  our  riding  like 
Alexander." 

At  this  Cecil,  with  very  good  expres- 
sion, read  the  whole  of  that  dainty  piece 
of  extravagance  a  second  time,  to  the 
which  the  queen  did  lend  her  ears  in  a 
manner  that  showed  she  was  infinitely 
pleased  at  it. 

"  Ah  !  never  was  anything  so  delicately 
writ,"  cried  her  majesty,  earnestly;  "he 
hath  a  good  opinion  of  us,  that  is  a  sure 
thing ;  so  we  must  e'en  let  him  out  of 
prison.  Go  on  the  instant  and  ^ee  that 
he  have  his  liberty.  ^Tis  a  crfrel  thing 
to  let  him  suffer  what  he  doth.  Indeed, 
it  be  exceeding  delicately  writ." 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  Cecil  lost 
hut  little  time  in  executing  of  her  maj- 
esty's commands;  and  to  the  great  joy  of 
all' his  friends,  and  in  particular  to  his 
beautiful  wife,  Sir  Waller  Raleigh  left 
the  Tower  the  same  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Come,  spur  away, 
I  have  no  patience  for  a  longer  stay  ; 

But  must  go  down, 

And  leave  the  changeable  noise  of  this  great  town. 
I  will  the  country  see, 
Where  old  simplicity, 
Though  hid  in  gray, 
Doth  look  more  gay 
Than  foppery  in  plush  and  scarlet  clad. 

RANDOLPH. 

In  thy  fair  breast,  and  once  fair  soul, 
I  thought  my  vows  were  writ  alone  ; 

But  others'  oaths  so  blurred  the  scroll, 
That  I  no  more  could  read  my  own. 

And  am  I  still  obliged  to  pay, 

When  you  had  thrown  the  bond  away? 

SIR  ROBERT  HOWARD. 

I  MUST  now  hurry  the  courteous  reader 
a  little  forward  in  this  my  narration,  first 
premising  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
'hough  he  had  his  liberty  of  the  queen, 


was  not  allowed  of  her  to  appear  al 
court,  and  was  still  a  sort  of  prisoner  at 
large;  the  which  to  Dame  Elizabeth, 
was  of  huge  discomfort,  and  she  was 
ever  urging  him  to  the  doing  of  such 
honorable  deeds  and  great  enterprise  as 
the  report  thereof  might  regain  for  him 
the  queen's  favor.  Indeed,  so^admirable 
a  wife  scarce  ever  lived  as  she  proved 
herself  to  be  at  all  times ;  for,  though  the 
knowledge  of  his  disgrace  having  come 
upon  him  on  her  account,  ever  made  her 
monstrously  ill  at  heart,  she  was  intent 
upon  the  continual  cheering  of  him, 
seemingly  with  such  fine  spirits  as  was 
marvellous  to  behold,  knowing  of  her 
unhappiness ;  and  though  it  could  not  be 
disputed  she  loved  him  as  her  life,  and 
cared  for  nothing  so  much  as  his  society, 
she  would  in  no  way  allow  of  his  giving 
such  attention  to  her  as  might  interfere 
with  the  carrying  on  of  such  great  in- 
tentions as  appeared  likely  to  restore  him 
to  the  honorable  influence  he  had  lost. 
Despite,  however,  of  this  seeming  dis- 
paragement of  his  fortunes,  he  was  chos- 
en at  this  time  for  a  parliament  man,  and 
soon  did  so  distinguish  himself  as  an 
orator,  in  the  advancement  of  all  such 
measures  as  were  for  the  public  good, 
and  for  the  safety  of  the  state,  more  par- 
ticularly in  the  complete  disclosing  of* 
the  hateful  intrigues  and  malignant  de- 
signs of  Queen  Elizabeth's  powerful  ene- 
my, the  king  of  Spain,  that  he  won  for 
himself  the  opinion  of  many  who  had 
thought  ill  of  him  hitherto :  and  though 
her  majesty  looked  exceeding  inveterate 
against  him,  and  would  not  hear  of  his 
venturing  into  her  presence,  this  was 
merely  the  behavior  of  an  offended  wo- 
man ;  for,  as  a  sovereign,  she  could  not 
help  esteeming  of  his  worth,  and  as  a 
sign  thereof,  at  some  solicitation  of  him, 
she  did  grant  him  the  manor  of  Sher- 
borne,  in  Dorsetshire ;  a  very  princely 
gift,  for  it  did  include  the  castle  and  park, 
and  a  fair  piece  of  land. 

Here  did  he  employ  himself  delight- 
edly for  some  time.  He  builded,  he 
planted,  he  sowed  with  such  skilfulness, 
that  the  place  all  around  and  about  be- 
came quite  an  earthly  paradise.  There 
was  soon  newly  raised  a  most  fine  house, 
bountifully  embellished  with  all  manner 
of  orchards,  gardens,  and  groves,  so  fair 
to  look  upon,  that  for  a  right  delicate 
aspect,  it  had  not  its  like  in  those  parts. 
But  his  excellent  wife  would  not  allow 
him  to  be  satisfied  with  these  pursuits, 
doubtless  thinking  that,  surrounded  by  so 
many  enticing  pleasures,  his  noble  spirit 


144 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


might  sink  into  indolence,  and  he  should 
not  be  able  to  recover  his  lost  greatness  ; 
therefore  he  did  liberally  employ  his  pen 
in  the  writing  of  such  papers  to  the 
queen,  concerning  of  the  dangers  of  Eng- 
land from  foreign  states,  as  might  put 
her  to  a  careful  regard  of  her  own  securi- 
ty. Though  he  failed  not  to  accompany 
them  with  most  moving  complaints  of 
the  unpleasantness  of  his  situation,  in 
being  kept  from  serving  of  her  majesty 
in  such  sort  as  he  desired,  while  she  paid 
the  properest  attention  to  what  he  stated 
upon  matters  of  state,  she  heeded  not 
anything  that^  related  to  his  own  affairs. 
In  truth,  she  'was  so  taken  up  with  my 
Lord  Essex  at  this  time,  that  she  cared 
not  for  the  presence  of  his  rival.  Yet 
had  she  such  estimation  of  Raleigh's 
insight  into  the  designs  of  her  enemies,  in 
the  which  her  great  discrimination  in 
such  matters  made  her  a  profound  judge, 
that  she  would  receive  aught  from  him, 
in  the  way  of  information,  with  more 
respect  than  she  would  give  even  to  the 
opinions  of  any  in  greater  favor  with 
her. 

Finding  that  all  these  endeavors  of 
his  availed  him  nothing,  he  then  com- 
menced preparations  for  the  going  upon 
a  grand  expedition,  having  for  its  object 
no  other  than  the  discovery  and  conquest 
of  that  wonderful  rich  country  called 
Guiana,  in  which  was  situated,  as  had 
been  related  by  many  credible  writers, 
that  far-famed  city  styled  El  Dorado. 
Now  it  was  the  belief  of  all  persons  of 
experience  inhabiting  the  coast  of  the 
Spanish  main,  that  there  was  an  inland 
country  abounding  in  such  store  of  gold 
and  precious  things,  as  exceeded  all 
sober  belief  among  other  people.  And, 
moreover,  it  was  said  by  the  Spaniards 
generally,  that  upon  their  conquest  of 
the  great  empire  of  Peru,  a  kinsman  of 
the  last  reigning  inca  Atabalipa  did 
make  his  escape  from  that  country,  and 
taking  with  him  a  powerful  force,  and 
so  wonderful  a  store  of  treasure  that  the 
like  hath  never  since  been  heard  of,  did 
migrate  into  a  place  afar  off,  where,  in 
the  course  of  time  he  established  for  him- 
self a  richer  kingdom  than  that  he  had 
left.  This  new  country  so  abounded 
with  mines  of  the  most  precious  ore,  as 
was  reported,  and  with  other  costly 
things,  that  the  fame  of  such  great  riches 
had  stirred  up  divers  Spanish  commanders 
to  attempt  its  conquest;  but  all  had 
failed,  from  the  lack  of  such  knowledge 
in  them  as  might  lead  them  to  the  dis- 
covery of  the  exact  place  where  this  El 


Dorado  might  he  found.  In  the  mean- 
while, the  fame  of  such  a  wealthy  coun- 
try more  and  more  increased,  not  only 
among  the  Spaniards,  but  it  spread  from 
them  into  other  nations ;  and  among 
those  notable  commanders  who  were 
ambitious  to  attempt  its  discovery  and 
conquest,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  had  long 
been  of  the  foremost. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was 
nothing  so  like  to  restore  him  to  the 
queen's  favor  as  the  succeeding  in  so  fa- 
mous an  enterprise ;  and  to  the  acquiring 
of  the  necessary  knowledge,  and  the  get- 
ting of  proper  assistance  from  his  friends, 
he  now  bent  all  the  powers  of  his  mind. 
With  the  first  of  these  objects  in  view, 
he  presently  fitted  out  a  ship  under  the 
command  of  one  Captain  Whiddon,  in 
whom  he  placed  his  trust,  to  obtain  such 
information  as  he  could  of  Guiana  at  the 
island  of  Trinidad,  and  make  such  obser- 
vations of  the  coast  bordering  on  the  Ori- 
noco (a  famous  river  in  the  New  World, 
up  which  he  must  go  to  approach  the 
place  he  sought),  as  might  be  serviceable 
to  him  when  he  proceeded  on  the  voyage. 
Then  for  the  other  object — he  maie  it 
public  that  he  was  about  to  venture  him- 
self on  this  alluring  expedition,  and  such 
was  his  reputation  in  these  things,  that 
in  a  marvellous  brief  space  he  was  ad- 
dressed by  scores  of  the  bravest  spirits  in 
the  land,  eager  to  join  him  iu  the  adven- 
ture. With  his  share  of  the  prize  taken 
at  the  Azores,  which,  despite  of  what  was 
seized  of  the  queen  and  pilfered  by  the 
men,  amounted  to  so  large  a  sum,  that 
after  the  making  of  all  his  improvements 
at  Sherborne,  he  had  still  enough  to  spare 
to  commence  the  procuring  of  such  an 
armament  as  seemed  to  him  sufficient  for 
the  realizing  of  his  wishes  ;  in  the  doing 
of  which  it  was  not  long  before  he  had 
such  assistance  from  those  desirous  of  em- 
barking with  him,  that  his  preparations 
proceeded  so  fast  as  to  make  him  and 
his  adventure  the  subject  of  the  general 
talk. 

When  the  captain  whom  he  had  sent 
out  returned  from  his  voyage,  the  infor- 
mation he  brought,  though  it  spoke  of 
difficulty  and  danger,  in  no  way  abated 
the  eagerness  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  or 
his  associates  for  the  adventure ;  and 
now  so  well  was  it  entertained  of  all 
men,  even  of  those  skilled  in  maritime 
affairs,  and  others  of  too  much  gravity  to 
be  easily  misled,  that  my  Lord  Howard, 
the  lord  high  admiral,  did  send  him  a  ship 
of  his  own  called  the  Lion's  Whelp,  and 
Sir  Robert  Cecil  did  forward  him  such 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


145 


assistance  as  was  like  to  stand  him  in 
good  stead,  and  both,  it  hath  been  sus- 
pected, not  without  some  coloring  of 
probability,  were"  done  at  the  command 
of  the  queen  ;  but  as  if  it  c.ime  of  them- 
eelves,  because  she  would  seem  as  if  she 
would  have  no  hand  in  it,  in  consequence 
?f  his  having  so  hugely  offended  her  in 
the  matter  of  Elizabeth  Throckmorton. 
By  these  means  there  were  collected  of 
soldiers  and  their  officers,  and  .the  gen- 
tlemen-ad venturtrs,  as  many  as  a  hun- 
dred, with  mariners  in  sufficiency,  and  a 
squadron  of  five  sail  well  equipped  with 
all  manner  of  warlike  stores,  and  with 
puch  a  complement  of  barges,  wherries, 
ind  tenders,  as  might  suffice  for  the  in- 
land navigation. 

During  this  time  Master  Francis  had 
grown  to  be  as  gallant  a  gentleman  as 
you  shall  see  of  his  years,  well  taught  in 
all  proper  accomplishments,  and  in  the 
possession  of  a  beard  which  would  have 
put  his  fitness  for  "  doing  the  women," 
completely  out  of  the  conceit  of  Gib  the 
call-boy.  He  was  held  in  such  estimation 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  for  the  aptness  he 
displayed  in  everything,  his  modesty,  and 
his  affectionateness,  that  Sir  Walter  seem- 
ed inclined  to  stop  at  nothing  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  his  welfare,  and  his  fortunes 
thus  seemed  to  be  in  such  goodly  keeping 
that  it  was  believed  of  many  none  ought 
to  be  more  happy  than  he.  Yet  was  he 
very  doleful  upon  occasion.  The  more  he 
moved  among  persons  of  worship,  which 
he  did  in  some  respect  of  them,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  visible  esteem  he  was  held 
of  Sir  Walter  and  his  lady,  the  more  the 
knowledge  he  had  acquired  of  his  birth 
preyed  upon  his  spirits.  That  he  did  ear- 
nestly pant  after  honor  and  distinction 
there  is  not  a  doubt;  but,  in  the  extreme 
sensitiveness  of  his  mind,  his  illegitimacy 
came  as  a  bar  to  his  ambition  ;  and  the 
more  he  saw  of  what  good  opinion  he  was 
held  in  by  others,  the  less  did  he  live  in 
his  own  repute.  Whenever  he  was  in 
company,  and  there  began  a  talk  about 
noble  descent  and  the  like,  the  hot  blood 
would  rush  into  his  cheek,  and  he  would 
feel  as  if  well  inclined  to  sink  into  the 
pround,  so  that  he  might  escape  the  gaze 
of  those  around  him.  To  him  it  were  as 
if  all  had  a  suspicion  of  the  disgrace  he 
was  born  in,  and  he  was  continually  in 
fear  that  some  one  or  other  would  find 
him  out  for  what  he  was,  and  would  be- 

fin  a  whispering  it  about,  till  he  should 
e  turned  from  with  coldness,  or  pointed 
at  with  contempt. 

Of  Joanna  he  found  himself  thinking 
10 


more  often  than  he  desired,  For  some 
time  after  he  had  seen  her  last  he  had 
heard  nothing  from  her  ;  then  there  came 
to  him  a  letter  in  her  hand,  the  which  he 
straight  returned  unopened.  After  that 
there  came  a  message  from  her  borne  by 
one  whom  he  knew  not,  that  she  earnest- 
ly desired  to  have  speech  of  him,  of  the 
which  he  took  no  heed.  Since  that  he 
was  troubled  no  more  by  her ;  but  he 
heard  of  his  true  friend  Harry  Daring  that 
she  had  been  seized  with  a  sickness  that 
brought  her  nigh  unto  death's  door;  and 
it  was  said  by  Dame  Margery  that  she 
was  all  the  while  in  a  violent  phrensy  that 
could  not  in  any  way  be  allayed,  and  that 
she  called  upon  Master  Francis  so  pite- 
ously,  that  old  Lather,  who  attended  her, 
knew  not  what  it  all  meant.  This  put 
the  young  secretary  in  some  trouble,  for 
though  he  doubted  not  of  her  guiltiness, 
he  had  no  desire  that  she  should  be  in  such 
a  strait  as  she  then  was.  Sometimes  he 
would  think  he  had  been  too  hasty,  and 
a  doubt  would  occasionally  arise  in  him 
that  she  was  not  so  blameable  as  she 
seemed,  for  what  had  been  said  of  her  by 
the  old  woman  might  not  be  true.  But 
then  he  quickly  remembered  it  was  so 
strongly  corroborated  by  what  Harry  Dar- 
ing had  seen ;  and  what  he  had  himself 
been  witness  to  under  the  gateway,  was 
of  such  a  sort  that  it  was  plain  her  con- 
duct could  not  be  justified.  Upon  her  re- 
covery he  treated  her  letter  and  message 
as  hath  been  described,  and  determined 
in  his  mind  to  forget  her,  as  one  unwor- 
thy of  a  thought ;  but  forget  her  he 
never  did. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Master 
Francis,  baving  oft  spoken  to  his  patron 
of  the  courageous  spirit  of  the  barber- 
chirurgeon's  apprentice,  did  earnestly  re- 
quest of  Sir  Walter  his  good  offices  in 
providing  of  the  boy,  now  grown  of  some- 
what higher  stature,  and  of  great  activity, 
some  fitter  employment  for  his  courage- 
ous nature  than  what  he  held  ;  and  hav- 
ing sent  for  him  at  his  patron's  request, 
the  latter  was  so  pleased  at  Harry  Dar- 
ing's undauntedness  that  he  presently 
took  him  .into  his  service,  and  had  him 
taught  something  of  maritime  affairs,  de- 
signing him  to  be  a  petty  officer  in  his 
projected  expedition.  At  this  no  one 
could  be  in  such  huge  delight  as  our 
young  barber-chirurgeon.  He  left  East- 
cheap  with  an  especial  contempt  of  all 
things  appertaining  to  chirurgery  and 
barbering,  and  with  the  particular  grati- 
fication of  his  masier ;  for  the  tricks  the 
apprentice  had  played  upon  his  best  cus- 


146 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


tomers  were  so  frequent  and  of  such  a 
sort  that  they  were  quickly  destroying  of 
his  business.  Therefore  with  marvellous 
gladness  of  heart  he  cancelled  his  inden- 
tures, and  was  well  pleased  to  get  rid  of 
him  at  so  cheap  a  rate:  but  Harry  Dar- 
ing went  not  without  displaying  of  his 
love  of  mischief,  or  as  he  called  it,  "  ex- 
quisite fine  fun,"  in  a  manner  best  suited 
to  his  humor  at  such  a  time.  He  played 
such  confusion  among  the  medicaments 
as  must  sadly  have  puzzled  old  Lather 
to  know  what  he  had  hold  of  when 
he  should  next  meddle  with  them  ;  for 
he  mixed  the  liniments  with  the  juleps, 
the  syrups  with  the  acids,  and  the  purga- 
tives with  the  carminatives.  Then  he 
notched  the  razors,  broke  off  the  points 
of  the  lancets,  cut  the  brushes  in  such  a 
fashion  that  upon  being  used  all  the  bris- 
tles should  fall  out,  and  set  a  shelf  of  gal- 
lipots so  insecure  that  on  the  slightest 
touch  of  his  master  they  should  all  tum- 
ble on  his  head.  After  this  he  parted 
with  the  old  man  in  a  wonderful  gravity, 
but  from  the  time  he  got  out  of  sight  of 
him,  up  to  his  joining  of  Master  Francis, 
he  kept  himself  in  a  continual  chuckle 
of  delight  at  the  thought  of  the  mon- 
strousness  of  old  Lather's  rage  upon  his 
discovering  of  what  he  had  been  at. 

When  he  found  himself  with  his  true 
friend  Master  Francis  he  seemed  as  hap- 
py as  his  heart  could  be,  for  that  he  loved 
him  with  a  perfect  sincerity  was  out  of  all 
question.  His  friend  was  some  few  years 
the  elder  of  the  two,  and  was  looked  up 
to  by  him  as  something  much  superior  to 
himself,  because  of  his  superior  learning 
and  the  gentlemanliness  of  his  appear- 
ance. Though  he  sought  as  much  as  he 
was  able  to  keep  down  the  mischievous 
propensities  of  the  other,  and  Harry  Dar- 
ing seemed  as  if  he  would  do  anything  to 
pleasure  him,  he  had  no  great  success  in 
his  efforts,  for  Harry  was  always  a  play- 
ing of  some  tricks  upon  the  serving-men, 
whereof  there  were  few  who  liked  him 
much  at  first,  but  before  a  very  long  time 
he  had  cudgelled  them  all  into  respect 
of  him  ;  and  once  when  Peter  had  come 
with  his  master,  Sir  Nicholas  Throck 
morton,  a  visiting  at  Sherborne,  and  that 
quarrelsome  varlet  had  began  a  bullying 
of  Harry  Daring  for  having  chalked  an 
ass's  head  upon  his  back  while  he  was 
asleep,  Harry  straightway  challenged 
him  to  a  bout  at  quarter  staff,  and  in 
half  of  an  hour  or  less,  had  given  the  big 
fellow  such  a  drubbing  that  he  was  fain 
to  cry  out  he  had  had  enough  of  him, 
But  such  was  the  greatness  of  his  spirit 


that  upon  very  little  occasion  he  would 
Eight  like  a  dragon  with  any  one,  or  any 
number,  be  they  big  or  little,  and  he 
seemed  as  if  he  would  rather  die  than 
give  in.  He  constantly  exercised  himself 
with  Master  Francis  in  the  firing  of  pis- 
tols, guns,  in  the  use  of  the  sword,  and 
other  warlike  amusements,  in  which  he 
quickly  attained  great  practice,  and  he 
took  care  that  he  should  hart  him  not; 
but  if  he  was  a  fencing  with  any  othei 
for  whom  he  cared  but  little,  depend  on't 
he  would  give  him  a  sly  cut,  and  then  put 
on  a  face  of  such  concern  at  the  accident, 
that  every  one  believed  he  had  not  done 
it  on  the  purpose. 

With  Stephen  Shortcake,  who  had 
now  become  Sir  Walter's  steward,  though 
he  rated  him  famously  when  he  found 
him  at  such  things  as  driving  of  all  the 
cocks  together  and  setting  them  a  fight- 
ing— or  getting  of  the  dogs  to  worry  the 
bull — or  tying  of  the  tail  of  the  old  sow 
to  that  of  a  cat,  and  while  the  one 
scratched  the  other  with  a  hideous 
screeching,  the  old  sow  took  to  her  heels 
a  grunting  at  such  a  rate  that  the  whole 
neighborhood  was  in  an  uproar,  and  he 
upon  the  back  of  a  jackass,  without  any 
other  bridle  than  a  halter,  hunted  them 
over  the  fields,  whipping  of  his  steed,  a 
laughing,  and  hallooing  like  mad — his 
fearlessness  made  him  somewhat  of  a 
favorite,  the  which  grew  to  a  greater 
liking  when,  as  he  was  returning  from 
a  neighboring  fair,  the  old  man  was  set 
upon  by  thieves,  and  as  they  were  a  rifling 
of  him,  up  came  Harry  Daring  with  his 
cudgel,  and  he  so  belabored  them  that 
one  was  left  for  dead,  and  the  rest,  sorely 
bruised,  took  themselves  off  with  such 
speed  of  foot  that  they  presently  were 
gone  clean  out  of  sight.  This  piece  of 
good  service  Stephen  Shortcake  never 
forgot,  and  told  Sir  Walter  of  it,  and  ev- 
ery one  else  he  could,  to  the  great  credit 
of  his  defender ;  nay,  when  complaints 
were  made  to  him  of  such  mischief  as 
the  young  rogue  would  oft  do,  he  would 
hush  it  up  as  well  as  he  could,  that  it 
might  not  come  to  the  ears  of  his  master. 

Once  Harry  Daring  was  a  walking 
along  the  high  road  by  himself,  anxious 
for  some  sport,  he  cared  not  of  what  sort, 
he  met  an  old  woman  in  a  red  cloak  a 
going  to  market,  seated  on  the  top  of  a 
high  horse  between  two  panniers  full  of 
eggs  ;  and  walking  by  the  side  of  her,  he 
very  soberly  entered  into  a  discourse  upon 
the  price  of  butter  and  cheese  and  such 
things ;  when  all  of  a  sudden  he  fired  a 
pistol  close  unto  the  horse's  ear,  at  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


147 


which  the  animal  set  off  full  gallop, 
pitching  of  the  old  woman  head  foremost 
into  a  neighboring  ditch,  and  shaking  of 
the  panniers  till  the  eggs  were  all  of  a 
smash.  .After  laughing  heartily,  he  pres- 
ently lifted  the  old  dame  out  of  the  ditch, 
luckily  in  no  way  hurt,  yet  in  as  com- 
plete a  pickle  as  was  possible  for  her  to  be 
in  ;  and,  much  lamenting  of  the  accident, 
he  caught  her  horse,  which  he  brought  to 
her  to  mount ;  but  when  she  saw  all  her 
eggs  a  streaming  through  the  panniers, 
and  Dobbin's  sides  as  yellow«as  a  piece 
of  gold,  she  would  have  none  of  his  lam- 
entations, and  on  the  instant  broke  out 
into  such  a  fury  as  might  have  been  ter- 
rible for  any  one  else  to  have  looked  upon. 
Of  this  he  took  no  heed  ;  but  quickly 
began  abusing  of  her  in  return,  after  so 
aggravating  a  fashion,  that  she  ran  at 
him  to  give  him  a  good  clouting,  where- 
upon he  dodged  her  round  the  horse  till 
he  made  her  legs  ache  again,  laughing 
all  the  time,  as  if  he  had  never  had  such 
excellent  pastime  ;  and  when  he  had 
made  sufficient  sport  of  her,  he  took  a 
quick  run,  and  making  a  leap  over  the 
hedge  close  by  which  she  stood,  to  her 
great  astonishment  vanished  from  her 
sight.  However,  it  so  happened  that  she 
found  out  where  he  lived,  and  she  soon 
came  in  a  desperate  rage,  and  with  a 
woful  tale,  to  Stephen  Shortcake,  who, 
rather  than  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  should 
hear  of  it,  paid  her  handsomejy  out  of  his 
own  gains  for  the  damage  she  had  been 
at,  which  sent  her  away  in  a  better  hu- 
mor ;  but  he  allowed  not  Harry  to  get 
off  from  this  mischievous  trick  of  his 
without  speaking  to  him  severely  upon 
the  very  heinousness  of  such  doings,  and 
showing  him  how  like  it  was  to  lose  him 
Sir  Walter's  favor,  at  the  which  the  boy 
expressed  such  great  contrition,  with  so 
very  innocent  a  face,  that  the  old  steward 
was  charmed  with  him,  and  gave  him  a 
cup  of  choice  old  wine  to  warm  his  young 
heart,  as  he  said.  Nevertheless,  his  con- 
trition lasted  not  long,  for  the  very  next 
day  Gabriel  and  Roger,  two  of  the  ser- 
viug-men,  fell  into  the  brook,  because  of 
the  plank  going  across  having  been  sawn 
nearly  through  ;  and  although  upon  close 
investigation  it  was  found  out  nobody  had 
done  it,  that  it  was  a  trick  of  Harry  Dar- 
ing's contrivance  none  doubted.  During 
this  time  he  discoursed  frequently  with 
Master  Francis  and  others  upon  what  he 
would  do  when  he  was  a  venturing  of 
himself  in  foreign  parts :  for  the  intended 
adventure  in  search  of  El  Dorado  suited 
his  humor  to  a  nicety,  and  he  spoke  of 


the  exquisite  fine  fun  he  should  have  in 
the  killing  of  Spaniards,  with  a  wonder- 
ful degree  of  pleasantness,  as  if  all  other 
pastimes  were  as  naught  to  it. 

Now  that  preparations  for  the  expedi- 
tion were  so  far  advanced,  there  was  a 
large  party  of  the  gentlemen-adventurers 
and  the  principal  officers  met  at  Sher- 
borne,  and  with  them  a  many  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter's choicest  friends,  to  take  leave  of 
him.  For  two  or  three  days  these,  his 
guests,  were  kept  in  the  constant  enjoy- 
ment of  such  pleasures  as  the  country 
afforded.  There  was  hunting  and  hawk- 
ing for  some,  and  others  seemed  to  take 
most  delight  in  going  a  fishing:  the 
dainty  walks,  the  delicate  orchards,  the 
flowery  gardens,  and  the  solitary  groves, 
did  invite  many  to  a  stroll,  where,  as  the 
gallants  with  their  ladies  passed  along, 
mayhap  they  would  come  to  a  party  of 
country  people,  dressed  up  very  famously, 
dancing  of  a  morrice  to  the  pipe  and 
tabor,  or  on  a  sudden  their  ears  should  be 
ravished  with  a  concert  of  concealed 
music  from  all  manner  of  sackbuts,  cor- 
nets, flutes,  and  the  like  pleasant  instru- 
ments. Then,  when  they  got  into  the 
solitary  groves,  they  should  hear  voices 
singing  of  a  roundelay,  and  none  could 
tell  whence  they  came,  which  made  them 
all  marvel  exceedingly.  In  the  evening 
there  was  dancing  and  singing  of  madri- 
gals among  the  guests;  and  some  did  act 
in  masques  marvellous  well  devised,  and 
others  played  them  on  the  lute,  the  vir- 
ginals, and  the  theorbo,  to  the  complete 
enrapturing  of  the  whole  company :  be- 
sides which  there  were  some  of  the  best 
musicians  who  could  be  had  for  money, 
and  they  were  placed  in  different  rooms, 
and,  when  desired,  struck  up  most  ex- 
cellent sweet  music. 

Among  the  company  there  came  the 
merry  Alice  and  her  lovers,  and  she  being 
desirous  of  vexing  them  as  much  as  possi- 
ble for  her  own  especial  amusement,  did 
dance  oft  and  very  lovingly  with  Master 
Francis,  and  appear  wonderfully  taken 
with  him  ;  and  he,  with  a  courteousness 
that  was  natural  to  him,  though  his  heart 
was  not  in  it,  at  her  requesting,  did  play 
the  lover  to  her  in  jest,  paying  her  such 
close  attention  as  moved  them  all  into  a 
wondrous  jealousy.  Dr.  Bashful  sat  him- 
self in  a  corner,  and  would  have  speech 
of  no  one,  he  was  so  disturbed  at  the 
sight ;  others  looked  on  exceeding  mel- 
ancholy and  dejected  :  and  Sir  Narcissus 
Wrinkles,  my  Lord  Wiseacre,  and  Mas- 
ter Aniseed,  did  get  into  such  a  rage,  that 
after  remarking  unto  each  other  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


strange  familiarities  of  the  young  heiress 
wi.h  Master  Francis,  it  was  resolved 
amongst  them,  that  each  should  send  him 
a  challenge,  not  doubting  that  one  or  other 
should  kill  him,  and  so  the  survivors 
have  the  better  chance.  The  next  ques- 
tion was,  who  was  to  lake  the  challenge  ; 
and  whilst  they  were  debating  upon  it, 
who  should  come  up  to  them  but  Master 
Shakspeare,  whom  they  all  knew;  and 
they  instantly  agreed  it  should  be  no  other. 

•'By  Tartarus!"  exclaimed  Sir  Nar- 
cissus, to  him,  "  you  are  come  in  the 
v«ry  nick  of  time  to  do  us  three  a  mar- 
vellous piece  of  service." 

"  Then  have  I  come  at  the  proper- 
est  time  I  could  have  chosen,"  replied 
Master  Shakspeare,  very  merrily.  "What 
want  you  of  me,  my  masters?  Hast  got 
ever  a  message  for  a  pretty  woman  ?  if 
so,  I  will  do  my  best  she  shall  like  either 
the  message  or  messenger,  so  that  she 
should  be  well  pleased  to  hear  more  by 
the  same  conveyance." 

"Nay,  it  be  a  graver  matter,  I  do  as- 
sure you,"  said  my  Lord  Wiseacre,  with 
a  monstrous  serious  countenance.  "Jest 
not  at  Death,  else  he  may  make  your  wit 
come  to  a  sorry  ending.  You  must  know 
that  a  lady  of  no  indifferent  comeli- 
ness"  

"By  this  sword!"  cried  Master  Ani- 
seed, interrupting  of  the  other,  "  she  be 
of  such  wonderful  blessed  condition  that 
the  enamored  air  feedeth  on  the  delicacy 
of  her  most  absolute  beauty,  as" 

"  By  Charon,  she  be  the  very  sort  of 
creature  for  any  of  us  youth  to  love  !" 
exclaimed  Sir  Narcissus.  "  And  she 
hath  given  me  such  abundance  of  her 
favor  as  to  tell  me  she  could  not  abide 
men  in  general,  but  that  a  young  fellow 
of  my  years  was  more  entertaining  to  her 
than  many  others  of  riper  age." 

"  And  of  me  she  hath  said  that  the 
very  look  of  my  face  maketh  her  smile," 
observed  my  lord.  "And  it  must  be 
known  unto  you  that  women  only  smile 
upon  those  they  most  affect.  They  that 
be  pleased  shall  have  reason  for  smiling." 

"  Smile  !"  cried  Master  Aniseed,  in  a 
seeming  ecstasy,  "  never  did  the  cerulean 
heavens  in  sapphire  beauteousness  shine 
out  on  this  terraqueous  globe,  as  did  this 
paragon  of  prodigal  attractions  smile  on 
me,  while,  to  her  ever-attentive  ear,  I 
poured  out  the  infinite  eloquence  of  my 
unfathomable  affection.  Nay,  I  would 
take  upon  me  to  swear,  by  the  very  ever- 
lastingness  of  my  fantasy  that  she  hath 
as  great  regard  for  the  many  inconceiva- 
ble fine  qualities  I  have  made  manifest 


to  her,  as  you  shall  find  in  a  rat  for. a 
piece  of  rusty  bacon  that  has  been  a  lit- 
tle roasted  at  the  fire." 

"Well,  I  dispute  not  what  hath  been 
said,"  observed  the  old  knight,  "  but  by 
Cerberus  and  all  his  heads  !  if  she  loved 
not  me  as  any  pretty  woman  might  regard 
one  so  young  and  active  as  ami,  then 
know  I  not  what  loving  be.  However, 
up  comes  this  pestilent  varlet,  Master 
Francis" 

"  Master  Francis  !"  exclaimed  Master 
Shak&peare,  in  some  surprise. 

"  A  paltry  secretary,"  added  the  retired 
rat-catcher,  with  a  look  of  monstrous  con- 
tempt. 

"  A  mere  boy,"  said  my  Lord  Wiseacre, 
disdainfully,  although  he  was  not  many 
years  his  senior. 

"  By  gloomy  Styx  !"  cried  Sir  Narcis- 
sus, "if  he  be  a  boy  then  am  I  one  like- 
wise, for  methinks  we  are  much  of  an 
age:  but  whether  or  no,  he  hath  had  the 
abominable  effrontery  to  thrust  himself 
into  the  notice  of  Mistress  Alice"- 

"  Speak  you  of  Mistress  Alice  Throck- 
morton,  my  masters  ?"  inquired  Master 
Shakspeare,  who  now  began  to  have  some 
insight  into  the  matter. 

"You  have  her  name  of  a  surety,"  re- 
plied my  Lord  Wiseacre,  very  gravely. 
"A  good  memory  misnameth  nothing." 

"Ah,  'tis  the  delectable  she  herself," 
added  Master  Aniseed,  with  a  great  earn- 
estness. "  The  incomparable  dainty 
sweet  creature,  who  hath  such  super- 
lative excellences  of  condition  that" 

"  And  so  we,  being  filled  with  indigna- 
tion at  his  monstrous  impudency,"  said 
Sir  Narcissus,  assuming  a  very  fierce 
aspect,  "  have  resolved  to  punish  him  as 
the  fellow  deserveth  of  us,  and  would  de- 
sire of  you,  from  us  three,  to  challenge 
him  to  a  combat  of  life  or  death,  if  that 
he  do  not  instantly  give  up  all  claim  to 
her  hand,  and  take  himself  straightaway 
from  her  society  :  and,  by  the  god  of  war ! 
you  may  tell  him  from  me,  he  had  best 
provide  him  a  coffin,  for  I  will  leave  him 
not  while  there  be  any  life  in  his  pestilent 
body." 

"  I  will  slay  him  outright,"  cried  my 
Lord  Wiseacre.  "  A  dead  lover  giveth 
no  cause  for  jealousy." 

"He  shall  die  before  me  like  unto  a 
rat  after  a  dose  of  nux  vomica,"  exclaim- 
ed Master  Aniseed. 

"But  it  seemeth  to  me  you  know  noth- 
ing of  this  person,"  observed  Master 
Shakspeare,  very  seriously.  "  You  sure- 
ly can  have  no  knowledge  of  his  true 
character,  else  would  you  as  soon  fighi 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


149 


with  the  devil  as  fight  with  him.  For  all 
that  he  look  so  quiet,  there  liveth  not  so 
deadly  a  swordsman  in  the  queen's  do- 
minions. He  is  so  cunning  of  fence  that 
no  man  can  do  him  any  hurt.  Indeed,  I 
can  say  of  my  own  knowledge,  that  a 
great  fellow  of  a  Frenchman,  who  had 
boasted  of  his  skill  at  the  weapon,  he 
challenged,  and  after  a  few  passes  he 
left  him  dead  at  his  feet.  In  private 
quarrel  I  have  heard  that  he  hath  kill- 
ed at  least  a  score.  Nay,  I  know  of  a 
surety,  he  be  so  bloody-minded  that  he 
maketh  it  a  rule  to  kill  all  who  oppose 
him." 

At  the  hearing  of  this  alarming  intel- 
ligence the  three  did  look  infinitely  un- 
easy, and  there  was  a  dead  silence  for  the 
space  of  some  seconds,  each  one  looking 
at  the  face  of  the  other  as  if  he  expected 
of  him  to  speak;  and  Master  Shakspeare 
gazing  upon  all,  as  if  watching  the  effect 
of  what  he  had  said. 

'•He  be  nothing  better  than  a  paltry 
secretary  !"  cried  Master  Aniseed,  at  last, 
with  a  wonderful  disdain,  "  therefore  is 
he  no  fit  opponent  for  a  gentleman." 
And  then  the  rat-catcher's  son  marched 
himself  off  very  haughtily. 

"I  will  have  naught  to  do  with  such 
boys,"  observed  my  Lord  Wiseacre,  in 
seeming  great  contempt.  "  He  that  would 
be  wise  consorteth  only  with  they  that 
have  wisdom."  And  away  went  he  after 
a  like  fashion  as  his  companion. 

"By  Medusa  and  all  her  horrid  snakes, 
he  be  a  murderous  villain,  and  I  will  have 
none  of  him,'1  exclaimed  Sir  Narcissus 
Wrinkles,  in.  a  sort  of  terrible  indignation, 
and  off  he  started. 

When  Master  Shakspeare  had  suffi- 
ciently laughed  at  the  success  of  his  ex- 
periment, he  went  in  search  of  Master 
Francis,  whom,  after  some  trouble,  he 
found  in  an  adjoining  room,  dancing  of  a 
gullard  with  the  merry  Alice,  so  grace- 
fullv,  and  with  such  spirit,  that  it  was 
the  admiration  of  the  whole  company. 
Upon  the  conclusion  of  it,  his  partner 
hurried  away,  as  she  said,  to  make  Dr. 
Bashful  dance  with  her  a  coranto,  because 
she  knew  he  could  not  dance  at  all. 
Master  Shakspeare  found  no  difficulty  in 
drawing  of  his  young  friend  out  of  the 
crowd,  through  the  glass  door,  into  the 
open  air,  where,  as  they  walked  together, 
he  told  him  of  what  Mistress  Alice's 
)overs  had  said  of  him,  and  how  he  had 
made  them  so  marvellous  fearful  that  they 
would  as  soon  take  a  mad  bull  by  the 
horns  as  meddle  wiih  him.  Whereat 
the  young  secretary  could  not  help  smi- 


ling ;  for  his  companion   took  off  their 
several  humors  so  capitally. 

"  I  congratulate  you  that  you  are  on 
such  excellent  terms  with  Mistress  Alice," 
said  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Indeed,  'tis  very  good  of  her  she  should 
take  such  notice  of  me,"  replied  Master 
Francis ;  "  but  she  does  it  at  present  mere- 
ly to  vex  these  fellows  who  are  after  her, 
knowing  that  she  hath  a  fortune." 

"  Methinks  you  have  had  a  lucky  es- 
cape with  that  Joanna,"  observed  the 
other;  and  at  the  mention  of  her  name, 
the  youth's  cheek  became  of  a  sudden 
paleness.  "I  must  say  I  had  a  better 
opinion  of  her,  for  she  did  appear  to  me, 
although  acting  with  great  imprudence, 
considering  of  her  acknowledged  fond- 
ness for  you,  one  of  a  far  superior  nature 
than  the  ordinary." 

"  I  knew  not  you  were  acquainted  with 
her,"  said  his  companion,  rather  tremu- 
lously. 

"  I  knew  of  her  but  little,  and  that  was 
before  I  had  knowledge  of  your  intimacy 
with  her,"  answered  his  friend;  "and 
though,  from  what  I  saw,  I  did  tremble 
for  your  happiness,  I  could  not  believe 
she  was  so  bad  as  she  hath  proved  her- 
self, till  calling  upon  her  father  a  short 
time  since  to  make  me  a  doublet,  I  found 
him  like  one  that  is  crazed ;  and  inqui- 
ring of  the  old  woman  of  the  house,  I 
learned,  to  my  absolute  astonishment, 
that  Joanna  had  suddenly  disappeared, 
taking  with  her  her  things,  and  gone  no 
one  knew  where.  But  the  old  dame 
hinted  to  me  that  there  was  very  good 
reason  for  her  taking  of  herself  away ; 
for  that,  10  her  certain  knowledge,  she 
could  not  stay  in  the  house  much  longer 
without  disgracing  of  herself  and  her 
family." 

"Lost,  misguided  creature  ["exclaimed 
Master  Francis,  with  great  earnestness; 
"  how  hath  she  fallen   from   that  high 
opinion  in  which  I  once  held  her.     I  do 
[  assure  you,  Master  Shakspeare,  that  there. 
j  was  a  time,  when  she  showed  to  rae  as 
i  noble  a  heart  as  ever  woman  possessed. 
She  did  me  many  kindnesses — many  great 
|  kindnesses,  and  I  could  not  but  love  her, 
she  appeared  to  me  of  so  loveable  a  na- 
i  ture.     Alack !  'tis  a  most  piteous  thing 
I  she  should  have  so  changed  for  the  worse, 
!  I  have  been  monstrously  deceived  in  her, 
and  never  will  I  put  my  trust  in  woman 
again." 

"  This  is  ill  said,  Master  Francis,"  ob- 
served the  other,  seriously,  "and  I  doubt 
|  not  you  will  live  to  unsay  it.     There  can 
not   be  a  more  gross  injustice   than  the 


150 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


condemning  of  ihe  whole  sex,  because 
one  hath  been  found  at  fault.  Believe 
me,  there  is  that  excellence  in  woman 
which  exceedeth  your  conception  and 
mine  too.  In  fact,  her  extreme  goodness, 
her  enduring  patience,  her  wonderful 
kindness  of  heart,  and  the  exquisite 
sweetness  of  her  regard  fur  the  one  she 
doth  most  affect,  is  a  marvel,  and  will 
remain  a  marvel  to  the  end  of  time." 

Soon  after  this  they  returned  to  the 
dancing-room,  where  they  arrived  just  in 
time  to  see  the  conclusion  of  Mistress 
Alice's  coranto  with  Dr.  Bashful,  which 
every  one  had  crowded  to  see,  it  was  of 
so  amusing  a  sort.  There  was  the  merry 
Alice,  with  as  serious  a  face  as  if  she  had 
never  laughed  in  her  life,  going  through 
the  graceful  figure  of  the  dance,  with  the 
young  divine,  one  with  an*  exceeding 
grave  countenance,  and  with  a  habit  be- 
coming his  profession,  who,  with  his  face 
in  a  constant  blushing,  his  arms  a  trem- 
bling so  they  seemed  about  to  drop  from 
his  shoulders,  and  his  feet  a  shuffling 
along  as  though  they  knew  not  where 
they  should  go,  tried  to  get  through  it  as 
well  as  he  could.  His  awkwardness  was 
most  ridiculous,  and  the  gravity  of  his 
appearance  not  the  less  so;  and  as  he 
occasionally  heard  the  suppressed  titter- 
ing around  him,  with  a  perfect  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  the  object  of  it,  he 
seemed  as  if  he  would  gladly  have  given 
all  he  was  worth  to  have  been  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea.  When  it  was  over,  he 
received  the  congratulations  of  his  fair 
partner  at  the  grace  with  which  he  had 
conducted  himself,  and  heard  the  like 
praise  from  other  ladies,  who 'helped  to 
carry  on  the  jest,  with  a  sort  of  hysterical 
laugh,  and  stared,  as  though  he  knew 
not  the  parties  who  spoke  ;  and  making 
haste  to  break  away  from  the  mischiev- 
ous circle,  he  took  himself  out  of  the 
room  as  fast  as  he  could  ;  but  not  with- 
out first  laying  of  his  length  on  the  floor, 
irom  stumbling  over  the  feet  of  an  old 
lady  who  was  sitting  down  to  rest  her- 
self. 

Supper  was  served  in  the  great  hall,  a 
famous  large  chamber,  with  a  goodly 
roof  of  carved  cedar,  very  lofty,  and 
pleasant  to  look  up  to,  and  the  walk 
hung  round  with  old  battleaxes,  helmets, 
bucklers  and  swords  ;  and  there  were 
tables  laid  all  along,  and  at  the  top  was 
a  raised  dais,  at  which  sat  Sir  Walter 
and  Dame  Elizabeth  ;  and  at  each  side 
sat  the  guests,  a  lady  between  two  gen- 
tlemen, the  whole  length  to  the  salt, 
which  was  as  gallant  a  sight  as  eye 


could  wish  to  see  ;  and  there  was  brought 
on  every  delicacy  that  could  be  had,  and 
wines  and  liquors  of  every  sort  ;  and  all 
feasted  merrily,  and  ihejest  went  round, 
and  the  laugh  followed,  and  there  was 
such  a  flashing  of  bright  eyes,  and  such 
a  wagging  of  beards,  as  had  not  been 
seen  there  for  many  a  day.  It  so  hap- 
pened that,  when  the  whole  company 
seemed  in  the  finest  of  possible  humors 
Master  Shakspeare,  after  filling  of  the 
silver  goblet  he  had  before  him  with 
choice  Muscovadine,  stood  upon  his  legs, 
as  if  about  to  say  something  ;  and  as  he 
was  well  known  of  all  for  the  noble 
creature  he  was,  there  was  presently  such 
a  silence  as  you  might  have  heard  a  pin 
drop. 

"  Methinks  we  lack  something,  my 
masters,"  said  he",  looking  rpund  upon 
the  long  lines  of  gallant  gentlemen  and 
lovely  dames  who  were  gazing  upon  his 
admirable  countenance  with  mingled 
feelings  of  curiosity  and  respect.  "We 
have  been  somewhat  amiss  in  our  beha- 
vior. Our  worshipful  host  hath  pro- 
vided us  of  his  own  bountiful  nature, 
with  all  things  necessary  for  our  delight* 
and  with  such  store  of  delicates  as  must 
have  been  equally  refreshing  unto  the 
eye  as  the  palate.  Yet,  hitherto,  have 
we  enjoyed  all  and  said  naught.  May- 
hap, if  you  give  a  dog  a  bone,  if  he  wag 
not  his  tongue  he  shall  wag  his  tail,  in 
token  that  the  kindness  be  not  lost  on 
him ;  but  we  have  had  each  thing  that 
heart  could  desire,  and  we  have  wagged 
nothing  but  our  beards.  Of  a  truth,  this 
seemeth  not  to  be  holding  the  giver  of 
the  feast  in  proper  esteem.  Under  favor 
I  would  say,  it  hath  but  an  ungrateful 
look.  Another  thing — 'tis  not  unknown 
unto  us,  that  our  excellent  and  most  lib- 
eral host  goeth  on  the  morrow  on  a  dan- 
gerous adventure  across  the  wide  seas, 
and  far  away  into  foreign  lands  seeking 
of  great  perils,  and  having  such  great 
ends  in  view  as,  to  those  who  know  not 
the  greatness  of  his  spirit,  seem  impossi- 
ble to  be  achieved  ;  and  yet  no  man  hath 
said  to  him,  '  God  speed  you  !'  Among 
so  many  brave  captains  and  princely  gen- 
tlemen, is  there  not  one  who  hath  such 
proper  estimation  of  the  pleasure  he  hath 
enjoyed  as  to  be  able  to  speak  his  thank- 
fulness, or  careth  so  little  for  him  who 
gave  it,  as  to  seem  indifferent  as  to  his 
safety  in  his  dangerous  undertaking  ?  I 
will  not  think  of  you  so  unkindly.  I  see 
a  different  spirit  in  your  looks.  Like 
enough,  all  are  ready  to  do  this  proper 
office,  but  wait  in  hopes  of  one  appearing 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


151 


who  will  express  their  inclinations  after  j 
a  belter  fashion  than  could  they  of  .their 
own  accord. 

"  Gladly  will  I  do  this  office  for  you," 
continued  Master  Shakspeare,  when  the 
applause  which  followed  the  close  of  the 
last  sentence,  and  plainly  said  it  was  him 
they  wished  to  speak  for  them,  had  sub- 
sided. "  Yet  can  not  I  help  thinking  that 
there  be  many  of  this  noble  company  fit- 
ter than  a  poor  player  to  discourse  of  the 
courtesies  of  so  gallant  a  knight,  and  to 
give  him  God  speed  in  such  terms  as  so 
brave  a  commander  properly  meriteth ; 
but  I  who  have  put  so  many  speeches 
into  the  mouths  of  others,  now  must 
needs  put  what  should  have  been  anoth- 
er man's  speech  into  mine  own.  If  it 
wanted  naught  but  friendliness  in  the 
speaker,  methmks  I  could  not  fail  in  the 
speech ;  for  I  will  allow  of  no  man 
acknowledging  a  greater  regard  for  his 
truly  famous  virtues  than  do  I.  Then,  at 
once,  I  will  begin  by  saying,  as  the 
mouthpiece  of  all  present,  that  the  enter- 
tainment we  have  been  furnished  with 
hath  been  of  that  princely  sort  which 
could  not  come  of  a  less  prodigal  dispo- 
sition than  the  giver  possesseth.  But  as 
I  can  never  hope  to  do  it  justice,  I  will 
e'en  let  it  alone,  only  saying,  that  like 
unto  the  bountifulness  of  his  hospitality 
would  we  show  the  bouatifulness  of  our 
gratitude,  could  we  express  the  one  as 
well  as  he  hath  done  the  other. 

"  And  now  be  it  known  unto  you,  that 
he  of  whom  I  have  been  speaking  is  in- 
clined to  play  the  part  of  Jason,  and  is 
about  to  set  off  in  search  of  another  golden 
fleece.  Shall  we  not  pray  for  him  and 
his  adventurous  band  of  argonauts,  and 
hope  for  them  success  in  their  efforts, 
and  security  in  their  perils  ?  If,  to  have 
for  their  leader  as  skilful  a  commander 
as  ever  led  men  to  victory  is  the  proper- 
est  thing  to  secure  their  fortunate  return- 
ing, they  have  it.  If  an  honorable  mind, 
a  courageous  spirit,  and  a  heart  well  dis- 
posed toward  every  one  who  shareih  with 
him  in  the  dangers,  are  at  all  necessary 
for  their  succeeding,  they  have  them.  If  j 
knowledge  in  all  things  appertaining  to 
matters  of  warfare  on  sea  or  land  is  re- 
quisite for  the  complete  realizing  of  their 
hopes,  out  o.f  all  manner  of  doubt  they 
have  it.  In  short-  they  have,  in  their 
commander,  every  one  thing  that  could  , 
at  all  assist  them  in  making  success  j 
their  own ;  and  none  of  us  are  there  here  j 
who  feel  not  satisfied  that  such  success 
will  be  theirs.  This  being  our  farewell 
of  this  heroic  leader,  we  must  not  allow  j 


the  night  to  wane  without  the  taking  of 
a  parting  cup.  Therefore  fill  my  mas- 
ters, I  pray  you,  every  one  his  cup  tb  the  . 
brirn,  and  join  with  me  in  drinking,  with 
a  true  heart,  to  the  health  of  Sir  Waltei 
Raleigh,  wiih  our  earnest  wishes  fof'the 
prosperity  of  his  expedition  in  search  of 
the  famous  El  Dorado." 

Master  Shakspeare  tossed  off  his 
draught  in  the  instant,  and  he  was  quick- 
ly followed  by  the  whole  of  the  worship- 
ful company  amid  a  very  uproar  of  ap- 
plause, and  then  Sir  Walter  did  rise,  and 
spoke  very  much  to  the  purpose  concern- 
ing of  his  thankfulness  for  the  honor  that 
had  been  done  him  and  the  like,  and  he 
launched  out  into  exceeding  commenda- 
tion of  Master  Shakspeare,  which  was 
well  received  of  all ;  and  then  he  proposed 
his  health,  which  was  acceded  to  with 
great  heartiness.  And  so  they  kept  a 
drinking  of  healths  till  it  grew  into  the 
morning  ;  and  at  last  separated  every 
one  with  Wonderful  regret  at  the  parting 
with  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  but  with  an 
equal  degree  of  satisfaction  at  the  enter- 
ment  they  had  received. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Whene'er  the  skilful  youth  discoursed  or  writ, 

Still  did  the  notions  throng 

About  his  eloquent  tongue, 
Nor  could  his  ink  flow  faster  than  his  wit. 

COWLEY. 

Now,  by  the  gods,  I  pity  his  misfortune,    , 
And  will  awake  him  from  his  melancholy. 

'  SH  AKSPE ARE. 

I  would  leave  kingdoms,  were  I  queen  of  some, 
To  dwell  with  thy  good  father  ;  for,  the  son 
Bewitching  me  so  deeply  with  his  presence, 
He  that  begot  him  must  do't  ten  times  more. 

MASSING  EB. 

Sm  WALTER  RALEIGH  sailed  from 
Plymouth  in  the  Lion's  Whelp,  accom- 
panied only  by  a  small  bark,  because  of 
the  other  ships- and  pinnaces  not  being 
ready  at  the  appointed  time,  and  he 
stretched  out  to  Teneriffe,  giving  orders 
they  were  to  overtake  him  there.  Among 
others  who  had  come  on  board  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter's vessel  was  Simon  Mainsail,  as  chief 
gunner,  and  between  him  and  Harry 
Daring  there  was  presently  a  huge  liking, 
because  of  the  boy's  apparent  great  cour- 
age, and  his  eagerness  to  be  taught  of  all 
matters  relating  to  maritime  affairs,  and 
of  the  old  man's  wonderful  experience  in 
such  things.  The  former  seemed  of  a 
sudden  to  lose  his  relish  for  mischief  in 
the  strictness  of  his  attention  to  the  gain- 


152 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


ing  of  this  knowledge,  and  he  would  go 
over  every  part  of  the  ship  to  know  its 
use,  and  be  familiar  with  it ;  then  he 
would  handle  the  ropes  and  the  sails,  till 
he  w*s  as  well  acquainted  with  their  ap- 
plication as  was  any  ;  and  as  for  climb- 
ing, he  had  scarce  been  at  sea  a  week 
before  he  would  ascend  to  the  topmast 
yards  with  such  nirnbleness  and  fearless- 
ness that  none  would  follow  him,  and  all 
were  in  dread  of  his  falling.  He  seemed 
to  like  nothing  so  much  as  to  hear  the 
old  mariner  tell  of  the  dangers  he  had 
passed  ;  of  the  terrible  storms  he  had 
seen;  and  of  the  fearful  fights  he  had 
been  in  ;  and  it  appeared  as  if  Simon 
Mainsail  liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  talk 
of  them.  Often  and  often  would  they 
two  get  together,  mayhap  sitting  on  the 
breech  of  a  gun,  as  the  goodly  ship  was 
a  ploughing  the  waves  in  right  admira- 
ble fashion,  and  whilst  the  boy,  wrapt  up 
in  the  very  earnestness  of  his  attention, 
gazed  upon  the  veteran's  honest  weather- 
beaten  face,  the  latter  would  discourse  in 
his  homely  yet  stirring  manner  upon  the 
great  store  of  riches  the  Spaniards  had 
acquired  in  the  New  World,  and  how 
many  brave  spirits  had  enriched  them- 
selves by  plundering  of  their  ships  and 
sacking  of  their  towns,  till  the  boy,  en- 
tering into  the  excitement  of  his  com- 
panion, would  cry  out  in  the  midst  of  the 
narration,  "By  Gog  and  Magog,  what 
exquisite  fine  fun !" 

"You  see,  Harry,"  continued  the  chief 
gunner,  "  these  same  villain  Spaniards 
are  the  most  treacherous  craft  as  you 
shall  find  anywhere — they  be  the  sav- 
agest,  rascalliest,  falsest  set  of  caitiffs 
that  ever  warped  out  of  this  world  into 
t'other,  and  it  be  but  the  doing  of  God's 
good  work  to  sink  the  whole  crew,  if  per- 
adventure  they  could  be  met  within  one 
ship.  There  be  no  telling  of  what  horrid 
cruelties  they  have  practised  upon  the 
poor  Indians  when  they  came  aboard  of 
them  in  their  own  country,  from  the  which, 
being  but  simple,  and  not  having  so  much 
as  an  harquebus  among  the  whole  lot, 
much  less  any  piece  of  ordnance,  the  poor 
Indians  were  soon  driven  out,  and  rifled 
of  all  their  gold  and  of  every  one  thing 
they  possessed.  Well,  in  the  wake  of 
this  the  Spaniards  built  themselves  fine 
towns  along  the  coast  of  the  Spanish 
main,  which,  what  with  the  plunder  they 
had  of  the  natives,  and  what  they  got  out 
of  the  mines — for  I  have  heard  it  said 
that  in  those  parts  the  earth  be  solid 
gold — they  soon  became  so  monstrous 
rich  that  they  sent  fleets  of  huge  ships 


every  year  to  Spain  laden  with  bars  of 
gold  and  silver." 

"It  would  serve  them  but  righi,  me- 
thinks,  could  any  of  our  ships  meet  with 
such,  and  spoil  them  as  they  had  done 
the  Indians,"  observed  Harry  Daring. 

"It  hath  been  done  scores  of  times,' 
replied  Simon  Mainsail.  "Nay,  I  have 
more  than  once  given  a  helping  hand  in 
the  business.  Many  of  their  tall  masts 
have  I  sent  by  the  board,  and  I  have 
made  such  havoc  upon  their  decks  as 
would  have  been  pitiful  to  look  upon, 
had  they  been  anything  but  the  monstrous 
villains  they  be.  Then  comes  the  board- 
ing ;  and  I  promise  you  I  never  lagged 
astern  at  that.  I  tell  you,  Harry,  'tis  a 
wonderful  fine  thing  to  have  sight  of  these 
galleons  of  theirs,  every  one  with  three 
decks,  sailing  along  as  proudly  as  if  they 
were  the  castles  of  some  prince  or  anoth- 
er, that  would  not  consort  with  vessels 
of  meaner  quality;  but  presently  we  in 
our  craft,  that  seemed  unto  them  like 
cockle-shells  to  a  Gallego  boat,  gave 
chase,  and  accosted  them  more  familiarly 
than  pleased  their  mightiness.  At  them 
we  went  with  every  gun  as  could  be 
brought  to  bear,  sweeping  them  into  the 
sea  after  such  a  sort  as  they  knew  not 
what  to  make  of;  and  then,  if  perchance 
they  allowed  us  to  get  upon  their  decks 
before  they  struck,  up  we  came  clamber- 
ing  like  so  many  cats,  caring  no  more  for 
their  fire  than  if  they  had  naught  but 
popguns ;  and  then  there  was  such  cut- 
ting and  slashing  and  pistolling  ;  driving 
of  them  here  and  slaughtering  of  them 
there  ;  now  on  the  upper  deck  and  now 
on  the  lower  ;  pinning  them  to  the  bul- 
warks with  our  pikes,  or  sending  of  them 
headlong  down  the  hatchway  with  our 
pieces,  till  we  had  got  the  ship  in  our 
possession,  and  the  captain  had  sung  out 
for  quarter." 

"What  would  I  have  given  to  have 
had  a  share  in  such  glorious  doings!" 
exclaimed  Harry  in  huge  delight.  "  In- 
deed, methinks  there  can  be  nothing  like 
the  killing  of  Spaniards.  By  Gog  and 
Magog  !  I  am  in  a  monstrous  impatience 
to  be  at  them,  and  if  I  kill  not  a  score  or 
two  at  least  before  any  long  time  is  past, 
I  shall  grow  exceeding  dull  at  heart." 

"  But  you  have  not  heard  all,  mess- 
mate,"said  the  old  mariner,  looking  well 
pleased  at  the  boy's  eagerness.  "  Having 
secured  our  prisoners,  we  had  next  to  look 
after  the  cargo ;  and  there  we  would  find 
such  a  prize  !  The  commonest  things 
were  solid  cakes  of  silver  piled  in  heaps, 
and  ingots  of  the  most  precious  gold  io 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


153 


the  like  abundancy;  and,  in  overhauling 
of  them,  mayhap  we  would  light,  upon 
bags  of  costly  pearls,  and  all  manner  of 
rare  stones,  each  one  a  fortune  of  itself. 
And  then  every  man  of  us  were  so  wealthy 
when  we  returned  to  port,  that  it  was  the 
difficultest  thing  as  could  be  to  find  out 
what  course  to  go  upon  so  that  we 'might 
spend  it  all." 

'Tfaith  !  if  I  were  so  rich  I'd  soon  get 
me  a  ship  of  my  own,"  observed  his 
young  companion.  "  0'  my  life,  Simon  ! 
there  be  nothing  I  have  so  much  desire 
of  as  to  be  the  captain  of  a  goodly  ship 
like  this;  or  failing  in  that,  that  my  true 
friend  Master  Francis  should  be  captain, 
and  I  next  him,  that  we  might,  with  a 
plenty  of  brave  fellows  and  lots  of  muskets 
and  swords,  great  guns  and  the  like,  go 
after  these  same  galleons,  and  when  we 
have  peppered  them  famously,  and  slash- 
ed the  Spaniards  after  so  excellent  a 
fashion  as  you  have  said,  enrich  ourselves 
with  their  gold  and  silver." 

"  Perchance  that  shall  come  to  pass  in 
good  time,"  replied  the  gunner.  "  Un- 
der so  noble  a  commander  as  is  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh,  if  you  stand  to  your  gun  like 
a  true  man,  you  shall  fail  not  in  the  get- 
ting of  proper  advancement." 

"Nay,  if  I  turn  tail  I  would  like  to  be 
pistolled  on  the  instant  !"  cried  Harry 
Daring  earnestly.  "  I  promise  you  I  am 
none  of  such  sort,  whereof  you  shall  have 
good  evidence  on  a  fitting  occasion." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  Harry — I  doubt  it  not," 
exclaimed  Simon  Mainsail.  "  You  bear 
up  bravely ;  and  to  my  thinking,  would 
carry  all  the  sail  you  could  after  an  enemy 
— never  asking  of  what  force  she  may 
be.  Thougn  you  be  of  small  tonnage, 
I've  seen  many  a  bigger  vessel  I  have 
had  less  hope  of.  Let  your  gun  want 
nothing  but  the  firing,  and  if  your  enemy 
spring  her  loof,  let  her  not  slip  away  for 
want  of  proper  speed  in  the  chase." 

"  If  she  slip  away  when  I  once  have 
hold  of  her,  I  will  give  her  leave,"  an- 
swered Harry  Daring.  "But  what  more 
of  these  Spaniards?  Melhinks  I  could 
listen  all  day  to  hear  of  them." 

"Why,  they  be  so  preposterous  greedy," 
replied  the  old  mariner,  "that  they  will 
allow  of  no  ship  of  any  other  country  tra- 
ding in  that  part  of  the  world  in  the 
which  they  have  gained  such  store  of 
riches:  and  if  they  but  catch  any  suffi- 
ciently weak  for  them  to  overpower,  they 
will  presently  set  a  torturing  of  them 
with  such  cruelties  as  be  horrible  to 
think  of." 

"  Hang  them,  the  villains !     How  I  do 


wish    to  be   at    them !"   cried    the  boy, 
seemingly  in  a  very  moving  indignation. 

"  And  to  such  mariners  as  be  of  Eng- 
land, they  be  dreadful  inveterate  against, 
because  of  their  being  heretics,  as  they 
call  u?,"  continued  the  gunner.  "And 
nothing  seemelh  so  pleasing  to  such 
abominable  papists,  as  the  doing  of  ug ' 
all  manner  of  treachery  and  deadly  hurt. 
'Slife !  it  was  only  last  year,  when  Sir 
Walter  sent  Captain  Whiddon  on  a  voy- 
age to  the  Orinoco  to  see  how  things 
looked  for  this  expedition,  there  was  a 
certain  governor  of  these  villain  Span- 
iards, named  De  Berrio,  in  the  island  of 
Trinidad,  who  with  a  great  cunning  and 
cruelty,  got  hold  of  eight  of  the  captain's 
men,  whom  he  used  after  an  infamous 
fashion,  and  would  have  given  Captain 
Whiddon  no  better  treatment  had  he  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  his  prisoner." 

"  'Tis  to  be  hoped  he  will  now  be  well 
paid  for  it,"  remarked  Harry  Daring. 

"  Our  commander  be  not  of  that  sort  to 
pass  over  such  a  thing,"  replied  Simon 
Mainsail.  "I  doubt  not  Sir  Walter  will, 
cut  off  his  head." 

"  Hath  he  ever  a  son  or  two  ?"  inquired 
the  boy  earnestly. 

"Indeed  I  know  not,"  answered  the 
other. 

'«  If  he  have,  and  they  be  but  big 
enough,  by  Gog  and  Magog  !  I  will  cut 
off  their  heads  too,  if  I  meet  with  them  !" 
exclaimed  his  young  companion  reso- 
lutely. 

"  'Tis  like  enough  we  shall  have  fight- 
ing and  plenty  of  it,"  said  Simon  Main- 
sail. '  "For  these  caitiffs  will,  on  no  ac- 
count, let  us  make  way  in  Guiana,  if  they 
can  help  themselves,  because  of  the  ex- 
ceeding richness  of  the  country  ;  and  they 
will  bear  down  upon  us  with  all  theii 
force  in  hopes  of  driving  us  back  into  the 
sea  ;  but  our  commander  careth  for  them 
no  more  than  do  I  for  a  maggot  in  a 
mouldy  biscuit,  and,  I  doubt  nol,  we  shall 
have  such  sacking  and  burning  as  will  be 
a  delight  to  see." 

"  'Twill  be  exquisite  fine  fun,"  cried 
Harry  Daring,  overjoyed  at  the  very, 
thought  of  it.  "  It  be  a  thousand  pities 
we  shall  be  so  long  before  we  get  ta 
them  ;  for,  in  truth,  I  do  long  for  nothing 
so  much  as  the  killing  of  a  Spaniard." 

"  Take  heed  the  Spaniard  kill  not 
you,"  observed  the  other. 

"  Kill  me  !"  cried  his  young  compan- 
ion in  exceeding  astonishment.  "Nay, 
'twould  savor  very  much  of  the  ass  if  I  let 
him.  I  promise  you  I  can  now  handle 
my  piece  as  well  as  the  rest — at  the  firing 


154 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


of  pistols  ora  a  match  for  any  ;  and  as  for 
sword  or  dagger,  if  I  show  my  back  lo  an 
enemy,  be  he  big  or  little,  at  such  weap- 
ons, I  will  give  up  fighting,  and  get  me 
back  to  Eastcheap  for  to  be  nothing  bet- 
ter than  a  barber-chirurgeon  all  my  life. 
A  Spaniard  kill  me  !  Hang  the  villain,  I 
should  like  to  catch  him  at  it." 

"  Indeed,  if  vou  get  in  the  way  of  a 
bullet,  you  shall  hardly  escape,"  added 
the  old,  man  seriously. 

"Escape!  Dost  think  I  would  try  to 
escape,  Simon?"  asked  Harry  Daring,  as 
if  like  to  be  wrath  at  the  thought  of  such 
a  thing.  "  Hast  that  ill  opinion  of  me, 
as  to  fancy  I  be  of  so  poor  a  spirit  I  must 
need  take  heed  of  my  life  when  there  be 
a  plenty  of  enemies  to  kill?  By  Gog  and 
Magog,  if  you  catch  me  doing  of  so  pal- 
try a  thing  as  escaping,  methinks  I  had 
better  be  made  meat  for  dogs." 

"In  honest  truth,  messmate,  I  meant 
not  you  should  take  me  on  that  tack,"  re- 
plied Simon  Mainsail,  inwardly  much 
pleased  with  his  young  companion  for 
the  courageousness  of  his  manner.  "  It 
was  but  my  intention  to  hold  out  a  signal 
to  tell  you,  'twould  show  but  a  proper 
cunning  to  change  your  course  a  little, 
if  that  a  bullet  should  be  a  coming  that 
way." 

"  I  will  change  my  course  none,"  cried 
the  boy,  determinedly.  "  If  the  bullet  go 
another  way,  let  it  go  and  be  hanged  ! 
If  it  come  at  me,  I  care  not  to  shrink 
before  a  thousand  of  them." 

"  But  if  you  keep  not  a  good  lookout, 
you  shall  show  no  sense  in  it,"  observed 
the  old  gunner.  "  Suppose,  now,  I  be  the 
only  one  left  at  my  gun,  I  see  a  sho;  ma- 
king straight  for  my  figure-head,  there- 
upon I  veer  a  point  or  two,  and  the  shot 
goeth  by  harmless ;  then  do  I  discharge 
my  gun  at  the  enemy  and  do  them  great 
damage  !  whereas  had  I  stayed  where  I 
was,  I  could  not  help  to  be  killed  out- 
right, and  my  gun  having  none  to  serve 
her,  could  be  of  no  service  against  the 
enemy,  who  would  quickly  have  had 
some  advantage  of  it,  and  mayhap  have 
taken  the  ship.  So  you  see  it  be  the  duty 
of  one  that  wisheth  to  be  thought  skilful 
in  war,  not  to  be  rash,  else  not  only  him- 
self, but  his  messmates  may  suffer  for't." 

"  I  will  be  no  more  rash  than  I  can 
help,"  replied  Harry  Daring  ;  "  but  if  that 
I  am  to  be  ever  a  looking  after  the  shot, 
there  shall  be  no  opportunity  for  me  to  a 
killing  of  any  one  ;  and  in  my  thinking, 
it  be  more  satisfaction  to  cut  down  a 
whole  lot  of  pitiful  Spaniards,  than  to  be 
a  jumping  away  from  a  few  pestilent  bul- 


lets. But  I  promise  you  I  wul  give  them 
no  time  to  aim  at  me,  for  I  will  presently 
get  into  the  midst  of  them,  and  commence 
slashing  away  at  such  a  rate,  now  here, 
now  there,  and  now  in  another  place, 
that  they  shall  be  glad  to  take  more  heed 
of  themselves  than  me.  Would  the  time 
were  come  !  I  shall  rest  but  little  tu  the 
fighting  commence.  Indeed,  I  be  ever  a 
dreaming  of  the  storming  of  towns,  the 
taking  of  ships,  or  the  like,  whereof  I  find 
excellent  entertainment  in  hearing  of  the 
clashing,  and  groaning,  and  shouting,  and 
seeing  heads  flying  this  way,  and  arms 
that,  and  other  pleasant  pastime  of  the 
same  sort,  that  when  I  wake  and  find  I 
have  killed  none,  I  be  monstrous  down  at 
heart  at  it." 

"  Be  not  out  of  patience,  messmate," 
replied  the  veteran ;  "  you  shall  take  your 
own  course  in  time,  depend  on't.  There 
be  no  making  a  ship  sail  faster  than  she 
will,  unless  perchance  you  shall  have 
dealings  with  those  who  have  power  over 
the  elements,  which  I  take  to  be  both  dis- 
honest and  unlawful." 

"  Think  you  there  be  any  such  ?"  in- 
quired the  boy,  earnestly. 

"There's  no  doubt  on't,  -messmate," 
replied  Simon  Mainsail ;  "  there  be  cer- 
tain old  hags  as  familiar  with  the  devil 
and  his  imps,  as  am  I  with  the  breec.i 
of  this  gun.  And  having  sold  themselves 
body  and  soul  to  him,  they  be  allowed 
for  some  period  of  time  to  do  as  they  list : 
to  command  what  wind  shall  blow,  raise 
a  storm,  sink  ships,  and  work  such  mis- 
chief as  they  have  a  mind  to ;  and  if  you 
put  not  a  horseshoe  on  the  mast,  or  carry 
not  a  child's  caul  aboard,  it  be  a  thorough 
certainty  that,  when  these  witches  choose 
it,  the  ship  and  all  hands  shall  go  to  the 
bottom." 

"What  horrible  villany !"  exclaimed 
Harry  Daring ;  "  but  methinks  I  have 
knowledge  of  some  of  these  old  hags.  Hast 
heard  whether  any  be  ever  troubled  with,!, 
a  raging  tooth,  or  ride  on  a  high  horse 
between  two  panniers  of  eggs  ?  For  then 
have  I  known  some ;  and  exquisite  fine 
fun  I  have  had  of  them  too."  And  then 
he  laughed  heartily  at  the  remembrance 
of  how  he  had  served  the  two  old  women, 
as  hath  been  already  described. 

"  0'  my  life  it  be  no  laughing  matter, 
if  you  have  angered  any,"  remarked  the 
gunner ;  "  they  be  desperate  in  the  doing 
of  some  terrible  mischief." 

"I  care  not,"  cried  the  boy;  "I  war- 
rant you  I  will  give  them  as  good  as  they 
send,  be  they  ever  so  familiar  with  the 
devil  and  his  imps.  Indeed,  I  care  as 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


155 


little   for   the  best  devil   that  wears  a 
head." 

"  Hush,  Harry,  it  be  exceeding  wicked 
to  say  so  ;  how  know  you  not  the  old  fel- 
low be  a  listening  ?" 

"Let  him  listen  and  be  hanged  to 
him,"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring,  fearless- 
ly ;  "I  say  my  prayers  nights  and  morn- 
ings, and  therefore  will  I  take  heed  of 
none  such.  By  Gog  and  Magog,  if  it 
comes  to  that,  I  would  as  soon  kill  a 
devil  as  a  Spaniard,  they  be  both  such 
thorough-going  villains." 

"I  would  on  no  account  have  you  say 
so,"  observed  the  veteran,  looking  timidly 
around  him  : — for  though  brave  as  a  lion, 
he  was  as  superstitious  as  the  rest  of  his 
class;  "he  be  ever  stealing  alongside  of 
some  of  us,  and  giveth  us  a  broadside  if 
we  be  not  on  the  watch." 

"  Then  up  and  have  at  him  again," 
cried  the  boy,  quickly;  "it  be  not  the 
part  of  an  honest  man  to  give  in  to  a 
scurvy  devil.  For  mine  own  part,  1  know 
not  what  his  weapon  may  be  ;  but  sword 
or  dagger,  pistol  or  harquebus,  I  am  for 
him  at  any  time." 

"  'Slife  you  will  anger  me  if  you  go  on 
so,"  exclaimed  Simon  Mainsail,  with  a 
countenance  somewhat  disturbed  :  "  it  be 
as  easy  for  him  to  sink  this  ship,  as  for 
me  to  walk  the  deck.    Now  on  that  point 
I  have  made  an  entry  in  my  log,  which, 
mayhap,  it  shall  do  you  good  to  know  of: 
— and  this  be  it.     You  must  know  that 
there  was  a  messmate  of  mine  once,  by 
name  Jack  Buntline,.who  was  just  such 
another  dare-devil   as  yourself,  only  he 
had  been  launched  many  years  before, 
and  he  had  no  more  religion  in  him  than 
you  shall  find  in  a  shark's  belly.     Well, 
he  was   always   a    blowing  great  guns 
about  what  monstrous  things  he  would 
do  wiih  the  arch  enemy  of  all  true  mari- 
ners, if  peradventure  he  could  have  the 
weather-gage  of  him  :  and  he  often  said  j 
he  should  like  to  get  sight  of  the  devil  for 
a  few  minutes  or  so,  he  would  soon  make 
him  mighty  glad  to  sheer  off.     Now  it 
so  happened,  that  one  night  while  he  was 
upon  watch,  something  he  had  got  in  the 
hold  made  him  wonderful  drowsy,  and  he 
was  just  a  casting  of  his  anchor  in  snooze  \ 
harbor,  when  he  felt  a  queer  sort  of  a ! 
something  a  grappling  of  him  on  the  lee  | 
quarter ;  at  the  which  he  opened  his  day- ! 
lights  pretty  quickly,  and  there  he  saw  \ 
what  was  enough  to  cast  him  on  his  beam  ; 
ends  in  no  time." 

"  And  what  did  Jack  Buntline  see  ?" 
inquired  his  companion,  unconcernedly.  ] 

"  He  saw  Old  Nick  himself!"  replied 


the  old  mariner,  with  a  look  of  exceed- 
ing horror  and  alarm;  "there  he  stood 
afore  him  with  two  great  saucer  eyes 
flashing  tire  and  smoke ;  a  huge  pair  of 
horns  growing  out  of  his  head  ;  a  Jong 
tail  that  hung  abaft,  with  a  sting  to  it; 
two  ugly  hoofs  instead  of  feet ;  monstrous 
claws,  by  way  of  hands;  and  all  over 
him  flames  of  blue,  and  red,  and  yellow. 
Now  Jack  hadn't  a  word  to  throw  away 
upon  a  dog;  he  was  as  dumb  as  a  fish; 
he  hadn't  fight  enough  in  him  to  have 
killed  a  cockroach  ;  but  he  sat  stern  on, 
with  his  jaw-port  open,  and  his  eyes  a 
winking  at  the  rate  of  fifty  knots  an  hour. 
Thereupon  Old  Nick  flew  upon  him, 
blazing  away  like  a  fire-ship,  and  was 
for  taking  him  up  in  his  claws :  when 
Jack  had  sense  enough  to  mutter  a  bit  of 
a  prayer  his  mother  had  taught  him  when 
he  was  a  baby — albeit  'twas  a  long  time 
since  he  had  been  on  his  marrow-bones ; 
and  at  that  Master  Beelzebub  vanished 
like  a  flash  o'  lightning,  leaving  behind 
such  a  smell  of  brimstone  there  was 
scarce  breathing  for  it.  After  this  Jack 
Buntline  made  no  more  boasting  on  that 
head,  as  you  may  suppose." 

"For  all  that,  I  would  as  soon  kill  a 
devil  as  a  Spaniard, "said  Harry  Daring, 
and  then  walked  himself  away,  to  have 
speech  with  his  true  friend,  Master 
Francis. 

In  the  meantime  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and 
his  secretary  were  pursuing  their  studies 
quite  as  vigorously  as  if  they  were  on  land ; 
for  it  was  the  practice  of  ihe  former  to 
devote  so  many  hours  a  day  to  his  books, 
whether  he  were  on  sea  or  on  shore ;  and 
on  all  his  voyages  he  failed  not  to  take 
with  him  a  choice  collection  of  volumes. 
From  this  habit  of  his  Master  Francis 
profited  much,  for  it  did  enable  him  to 
keep  storing  of  his  mind  with  useful  lore ; 
and  the  conversations  he  \vas  ever  hav- 
ing with  his  patron  were  usually  of  that 
instructive  character  which  was  the  most 
fit  to  assist  in  the  like  object.  Indeed, 
Sir  Walter,  not  only  of  such  things  as  he 
thought  properestfor  him  to  have,  helped 
him  in  the  acquisition  of  those  languages 
as  seemed  ihe  profitablest  to  learn ;  but 
had  that  affection  for  him  as  to  encour- 
age him  in  his  efforts  at  composition, 
showing  where  lay  the  faults,  that  they 
might  be  corrected  ;  and  giving  him  such 
commendation  as  looked  the  likeliest  to 
make  him  renew  his  labors.  Could  he 
have  lost  all  thought  of  Joanna,  or  have 
been  careless  on  the  subject  of  his  birth, 
there  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt  he  would 
have  enjoyed  a  very  marvellous  comfort : 


L56 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


but,  despite  of  his  altempting'to  dismiss 
the  subject  as  being  unworthy  of  a 
thought,  the  mercer's  daughter  would 
ever  be  foremost  in  his  contemplations; 
and  "he  would  at  last  acknowledge  to 
himself  it  was  pitiful — exceeding  pitiful, 
she  shpuld  so  have  disappointed  his  ex- 
pectations: and  when  he  got  a  thinking 
of  his  reputed  father,  it  grieved  him  to 
the  heart  to  know  he  should  be  the  son 
of  such  a  notorious  poor  scoundrel  as  that 
Holdfast. 

Sir  Walter  had  been  walking  with 
him  on  deck,  as  was  his  custom,  after, 
what  was  considered  by  both,  the  business 
of  the  day  had  been  done,  and,  as  was 
usual  with  them,  they  were  discoursing 
together  on  such  knotty  points  as  might 
chance  to  come  uppermost  in  their 
thoughts.  From  this  there  came  to  be 
some  talk  concerning  of  those  who  had 
distinguished  themselves  in  any  famous 
manner  as  commanders,  which  was  ever 
a  favorite  subject  with  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh ;  though  with  his  secretary  there 
were  divers  other  matters  he  would  have 
preferred  the  discourse  of. 

"Think  you  that  war  is  not  a  thing 
in  some  degree  to  be  lamented  of  all  true 
Christians?"  inquired  Master  Francis  to 
his  patron,  when  the  latter  had  finished 
a  very  moving  picture  of  damage  done  to 
the  enemy  in  one  of  his  campaigns  abroad. 
"  Methinks  all  this  wasting  and  spoiling, 
this  burning  and  slaughtering,  is  after  all 
nothing  better  than  the  creating  of  so 
much  misery  and  mischief,  of  which  the 
world  hath  already  such  store,  that  it  be 
scarce  eadurable  at  times." 

"Doubtless  warfare  is  attended  with 
such  effects  as  must  be  exceeding  dis- 
tasteful to  a  benevolent  spirit,"  replied 
his  patron ;  "  but  you  shall  scarce  find 
one  good  without  having  in  it  some  ad- 
mixture of  evil ;  and  among  evil  things 
there  shall  always  be  some  that  are  ab- 
solute and  necessary ;  nevertheless  have 
they  an  especial  good  purpose.  War  is 
a  sharp  remedy  for  an  intolerable  disor- 
der— ii  raiseth  a  blister  and  createth  great 
irritation  ;  yet  in  the  end  doth  it  remove 
the  infkmmatoriness  of  the  parts  adja- 
cent; and  the  peace  which  followeth  is 
the  state  of  health  that  treadeth  on  the 
neels  of  such  powerful  medicaments." 

'  Tis  a  thousand  pities  all  cause  for 
quarrel  among  neighbor  states  can  not  be 
done  away  with,"  observed  the  secretary. 

"  'Tis  a  thousand  pities  all  disturbances 
ot  the  body  can  not  be  done  away  with," 
answered  Sir  Walter.  "The  learned 
Cusanus  hath  it  '  Mundus  universus  nihil 


aliud  est  quam  Deas  explicatusWthe 
world  universal  is  nothing  else  than  God 
expressed  ;  thereunto  woukl  I  add,  you 
shall  see  in  one  man  (he  whole  world  in 
a  small  compass ;  for,  as  the  universe 
showeth  the  greatness  of  the  Deity,  in 
one  man  appearelh  the  universe  in  minia- 
ture. There  is  in  him  strange  passions 
and  fierce  desires,  that  .are  the  rebellions 
of  the  flesh — pride  and  ambiliousrress,  the 
very  tyrants  of  the  body ;  and  jealousies 
and  revenges,  ^|lentless  enemies  that 
carry  fire  and  sword  through  every  vein  : 
and  these  a,re  oft  the  workers  of  such 
strife  in  the  man  as  could  not  be  exceed- 
ed in  the  world  look  where  you  will.  It 
be  these  agencies  that  have  a  many 
score  of  tijxies  set  the  mind  against  the 
body,  or  stirred  one  member  into  the  de- 
sire of  overpowering  the  rest,  with  so 
desperate  an  opposition,  that  at  last 
nothing  has  come  of  it  but  the  absolutest 
rack  and  ruin  over  all.  Let  a  man  gov- 
ern himself  as  well  as  he  may,  still  shall 
something  or  another  internally  or  exter- 
nally put  him  in  a  disturbance  either  with 
himself  or  with  others:  so  let  a  state  be 
ever  so  properly  ruled,  it  can  not  help 
upon  occasion,  avoiding  of  a  quarrel  either 
among  its  own  parties,  or  with  a  neigh- 
boring kingdom.  War,  therefore,  it  must 
not  be  expected  of  any,  can  ever  be 
altogether  done  away  with ;  and  wars 
against  the  enemies  of  one's  country,  or 
for  the  hinderance  of  foreign  invasion,  in 
my  opinion  is  as  lawful  an  occupation  as 
any  man  could  be  engaged  in." 

"But  surely  the  warfare  of  the  mere 
conqueror  hath  no  excuse  for  it,"  observed 
Master  Francis. 

"That  is  as  it  shall  happen,"  replied 
Raleigh.  "  If  be  shall  be  a  leader  of 
barbarians  and  over-run  a  more  civilized 
state,  perchance  he  shall  do  but  little 
good,  unless  as  it  hath  come  to  pass  be- 
fore this,  the  conquerors  being  of  a  nota- 
ble courageous  spirit,  mingling  with  the 
conquered,  who  may  be  luxurious  and  of 
an  effeminate  heart,  produce,  in  a  future 
generation,  a  people  having  the  valorous- 
ness  of  the  one  and  the  greater  learning 
of  the  other  mixed  into  one  harmonious 
whole  ;  but  when  such  heroes  as  Alexan- 
der the  Great  or  Julius  Caesar  carry  the 
arts  and  arms  of  a  more  enlightened 
country  into  countries  rude  and  untaught, 
they  shall  presently  make  of  their  con- 
quests a  great  benefit,  inasmuch  as  they 
spread  abroad  the  superior  civilization 
they  possess  at  home.  What  degree  of 
good  followed  the  victorious  achievements 
of  the  son  of  Philip  none  can  say  \vilh 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


157 


an}'   great  exactness  of  calculation,  but  ^remember  me  when  I  went  as  one  of  the 
,that  they  were  entirely  unprofitable,  as   hundred  gentlemen  volunteers  under  my 


some  would  assert,  will  I  never  believe. 
It  is,  however,  more  notorious,  that  the 
Gauls  and  tjie  Britons,  to  say  nothing  of 
other  nations  that  were  possessed  of  the 
Romans,  dfd  gain  exceeding  advantage 
by  the  dwelling  among  Ihem  of  their  en- 
lightened conquerors.  To  come  more  to 
our  own  time,  the  conquests  of  Cortes  and 
of  Pizarro,  though  they  might  be  attended 
with  many  very  monstrous  cruelties,  pro- 
duced wonderful  advantage  in  increasing 
of  our  knowledge  of  the  earth,  making 
known  unto  us  kingdoms  whereof  the 
skilfulest  geographers  were  ignorant,  and 
diffusing  among  a  heathenish  and  bar- 
barous people  some  insight  into  the  reli- 
gion and  the  arts  and  the  sciences  of  a 
nation  of  Christians.  In  brief,  it  must 
needs  be  an  evil  indeed  that  hath  no  good 
mixed  with  it — war  may  ,be  considered 
an  evil,  but  upon  proper  scrutiny  it  shall 
be  found,  except  upon  rare  occasions,  to 
be  attended  with  such  advantages  as 
must  make  it  a  thing  necessary  to  the 
maintaining  of  the  world  in  heakhiness." 

"Allowing  of  the  necessity  of  warfare," 
said  the  young  secretary,  "  which  I  can 
in  no  way  help  grieving  at,  it  doth  appear 
to  me  a  monstrous  sort  of  thing,  that 
there  should  be  companies  of  men  willing 
to  leave  their  own  nation  and  take  part 
in  the  brawls  of  another.  Of  such  mer- 
cenary soldiers  I  think  they  deserve  but 
little  respect  of  their  fellow-men.  They 
fight  not  for  their  country  but  for  their 
hire ;  and  perchance  they  shall  care 
nothing  against  whom  they  fight,  so  that 
they  be  well  paid  for  it." 

"  0'  my  life,  you  are  rather  hard  upon 
them,"  exclaimed  his  patron.  "  I  have 
known  as  gallant  spirits  as  ever  breathed, 
which  were  such  as  you  have  dispara- 
gingly spoken  of.  Were  not  the  ten 
thousand,  of  whose"  exploits  Xenophon 
hath  given  so  marvellous  a  history,  of 
this  kind  ?  And  surely  none  could  behave 
themselves  more  like  good  men  and  true. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  great  conveniency  when 
one's  country  is  at  peace,  and  there  be  no 
employment  for  its  valorous  spirits, 
which  country,  for  lack  of  such,  may  be- 
come so  ignorant  of  warlike  accomplish- 
ments as  to  be  made  an  easy  prey  of  by 
some  other  state,  for  them  to  take  part 
in  wars  abroad,  and  by  such  means  im- 
proving of  themselves  in  strategy  and 
good  soldiership,  as  to  make  of  them  all 
the  more  valuable  when  they  shall  return 
home.  This  remindeth  me  of  something 
which  seemeth  a  little  to  the  purpose.  I 


kinsman,  Henry  Champernon,  sent  by  the 
queen  to  assist  the  Huguenots  in  France, 
of  the  chiefest  among  them  was  one 
Colonel  Harquebus,  who  was  some  years 
my  senior,  and  as  proper  a  soldier  as  you 
shall  find  anywhere.  He  had,  before 
this,  served  in  the  Venetian,  and  in  the 
Scottish  wars,  to  the  obtaining  of  a  nota- 
ble reputation.  Indeed  I  do  'believe  he 
cared  but  little  for  whom  he  fought,  so 
that  the  cause  seemed  to  him  a  good  one. 
He  had  travelled  much,  and  had  gathered 
abundance  of  information  concerning  of 
the  characteristics  of  the  many  different 
people  he  had  journeyed  among,  and 
few  were  so  familiar  with  their  different 
ways  of  behaving  in  the  field,  so  that  for 
a  young  soldier  like  myself  there  could 
scarce  have  been  found  a  more  agreeable 
companion. 

"Our  intimacy  became  the  more  confi- 
dential in  consequence  of  our  families 
having  been  very  friendly  for  many  years, 
their  lands  adjoining  each  other  in  Dev- 
onshire ;  and  seeing  me  in  some  delight 
with  his  society,  he  did  give  me  as  much 
of  it  as  he  could.  Thus  it  was  I  ascer- 
tained that  his  mother,  who  I  knew  to  be 
of  as  proud  a  nature  as  was  ever  met 
with,  being  importunate  that  he  should 
marry  a  lady  of  high  birth  and  great  for- 
tune in  those  parts,  for  whom  he  could 
have  no  liking,  he  chose  the  rather  to  go 
to  the  wars,  where  he  remained,  making 
most  excellent  use  of  his  sword  wherever 
there  was  any  fighting  to  be  met  with,  or 
improving  himself  by  foreign  travel  as  I 
have  said,  to  avoid  a  marriage  he  so 
much  misliked.  A  most  gallant  heart 
had  Harquebus.  Ever  foremost  in  dan- 
ger, he  would  seek  the  thickest  of  the 
enemy,  and  make  such  havoc  in  their 
ranks  as  caused  him  to  be  held  most  con- 
spicuous in  their  dislike  of  us.  The 
queen  of  Navarre  had  oft  noticed  him 
for  his  gallantry,  and,  with  Admiral  Col- 
igni  and  the  Prince  of  Conde  he  was 
ever  a  special  favorite. 

"  I  remember  well,  at  the  battle  of 
Jarnac,  which  was  of  such  great  disad- 
vantage to  our  cause — for  we  suffered  a 
signal  overthrow,  and  the  prince  of  Conde 
being  taken  prisoner  of  the  catholics,  was 
treacherously  murdered  by  them  in  cold 
blood — Harquebus  had  before  the  battle 
sent  a  challenge  to  the  enemy  to  fight 
any  of  a  like  condition  with  himself,  and 
a  certain  Colonel  de  Bombardiere  did  an- 
swer it.  He  was  as  tall  and  proper  a  man 
as  I  have  seen  in  my  time,  and  reckoned 


<5S 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  .HIS  FRIENDS. 


the  completes!  swordsman  in  France,  j 
Now,  both  of  the.  combatants  were  well  | 
esteemed  of  iheir  weapons,  therefore  it 
was  agreed  they  should  fight  with  swords 
only  :  and  each  was  above  six  feet  in 
heiglu,  brave,  and  soldier-like.  After 
there  had  been  some  passes  between 
them,  De  Bombardiere's  rapier  flew  out 
of  his  hand,  at  the  which  he  expected 
instant  death  ;  but  his  opponent  quickly 
picked  up  the  fallen  weapon,  and  pre- 
senting him  the  handle  of  it,  merely  beg- 
ged of  him  to  be  more  careful  in  his  hold. 
Then  at  it  they  went  again,  but  the 
Frenchman  was  disarmed  sooner  than 
at  first ;  and  upon  the  getting  back  of 
his  sword,  wilh  some  comment  upon  his 
unskilfulness,  he  was  so  nettled  that  he 
rushed  upon  his  adversary  with  more 
heat  than  cautiousness,  and  thereupon 
was  run  through  the.  body.  My  friend 
also  distinguished  himself  greatly  in  the 
battle ;  but  his  valor  could  not  save  the 
day.  ,- ' 

'"'  Afterward,  at  Moncontour,  when  we 
suffered  a  like  disastrous  defeat  at  the 
hands  ot'  the  duke  of  Anjou,  he  did  be- 
have himself  most  valorously  during  the 
fight,  killing  of  so  many  of  the  eriemy 
wilh  his  own  hand  as  would  almost  seem 
incredible  to  tell  of,  and  in  the  retreat  so 
conducting  of  himself  as  to  bring  upon 
him  the  commendation  of  Count  Ludo- 
wick  of  Nassau,  to  whose  ability  and 
generalship  we  who  survived  the  day 
were  indebted  for  our  safety.  Of  the  six 
years  I  sojourned  in  France,  endeavoring 
to  perfect  myself  in  the  military  art,  I 
was  kept  in  constant  admiration  of  his 
great  bravery,  for  he  Was  of  so  valiant  a 
spirit  he  could  not  rest  a  doing  of  nothing. 
He  was  blunt  in  his  language,  and  plain 
in  his  apparel,  and  despised  all  who  were 
not  of  the  profession  of  arms ;  and  he  was 
ready  to  undertake  any  man's  quarrel,  so 
that  there  did  appear  to  him  no  injustice 
nor  dishonor  in  it.  He  was  free  and  hearty 
in  his  manners  upon  general  occasions ; 
yet  have  I  come  upon  him  when  he  hath 
been  in  so  melancholy  a  mood  he  seemed 
not  fit  society  for  any.  Mayhap  this  was 
on  account  of  his  mother  pressing  of  him  to 
return  to  England  to  accomplish  the  mar- 
riage which  she  was  so  intent  about ;  but 
I,  liking  not  to  appear  inquisitive,  did 
make  no  inquiry,  therefore  know  I  not 
exactly  whether  this  was  it  or  no. 

'•  I  met  with  him  again  in  the  force 
under  Sir  John  Norris,  sent  by  the  queen 
to  assist  the  states  of  Holland  against  the 
power  of  Spain.  This  was  a  body  of  five 
thousand  strong  in  foot,  and  one  thousand 


in  horse,  and  they  did  great  service  in  the 
Netherlands.  Of  these  none  distinguish- 
ed themselves  more  nobly  than  did  Colo- 
nel Harquebus;  and  upon  one  occasion, 
in  the  right  famous  battle  of  Rimenant, 
in  the  which  we  gave  a  complete  over- 
throw to  the  Spanish  army  under  the 
command  of  Don  John  of  Austria  and 
the  prince  of  Parma, .he  seemed  to  excel 
all  his  former  efforts.  Before  the  battle 
we  were  joined  by  a  Scottish  force  under 
Sir  Robert  Stuart,  who  gave  us  excellent 
assistance  ;  but  it  did  so  happen  that, 
coming  into  the  field  after  a  weary  march 
on  a  sultry  day,  we  straightway  took  off 
our  armor  and  our  doublets  to  be  the  more 
at  our  ease,  and,  doubtless  to  the  wonder- 
ful astonishment  of  the  Spaniards,  fought 
them  in  our  shirts  and  drawers.  Now  it 
be  out  of  all  questioning,  that  the  success 
of  that  day  was  owing  to  the  ardor  with 
which  the  enemy  were  attacked  by  the 
English  and  Scottish  volunteers,  for  noth- 
ing could  exceed  iheir  determined  courage 
and  great  discipline.  At  one  time,  led 
away  by  the  heat  of  the  conflict,  I  had 
got  completely  surrounded  by  divers  of 
the  Spaniards,  by  whom,  though  I  was 
doing  of  my  best,  I  must  soon  have  been 
cut  down,  had  not  Colonel  Harquebus, 
seeing  of  my  danger,  dashed  in  among 
them  with  so  absolute  a  furiousness,  that 
I  was  rescued  in  a  presently,  and  just  in 
the  very  nick  of  time  to  save  me  from 
their  bloodthirsty  weapons. 

"  Now  the  volunteers  that  did  assist 
the  suffering  Huguenots,  and  those  that 
entered  into  the  service  of  the  States, 
though  they  were  what  you  call  merce- 
nary soldiers,  and  spoke  so  ill  of  because 
of  their  leaving  their  own  country  to  share 
in  the  conflicts  of  another,  were  as  honor- 
able men  as  can  be  met  with  anywhere ; 
and  my  friend  that  I  have  described  to 
you  at  some  length  was  a  fair  specimen 
of  the  class.  For  mine  own  part  I  think 
it  no  disparagement  of  a  man,  but  rather 
showing  of  his  sense,  let  him  be  of  what 
profession  he  may,  if  that  there  shall  be 
abroad  better  opportunities  for  the  study- 
ing of  it  than  at  home,  he  seeketh  to  ad- 
vance his  knowledge  by  attending  of  a 
foreign  school." 

"  I  deny  it  not,"  replied  Master  Fran 
cis ;  "  yet  would  I  rather  that  all  men 
should  seek  improving  of  themselves  in 
such  studies  as  give  no  provocation  to 
anger,  than  be  earnest  in  the  acquiring 
of  such  skill  as  can  only  be  used  for  the 
slaughtering  of  their  fellow-creatures." 

"  Every  truly  philanthropic  mind  would 
'  say  amen  to  your  wish,"  observed  Sir 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


159 


Walter.     "Bat  while  different  govern-  ]  nation  for  s;udy  that  will  lead  to  the  wri- 
menis  have  different  religions,  the  people    ting  of  books;  .net  can  all  "books  be  of 


of  one  will  in  some  wav  be  prejudiced 
against  the  inhabitants  of"  the  other;  and 
if  such  prejudice  lead  not  to  a  war  be- 


advantage  to  the  reader  when  he  hath 
such  in  his  hand.  However  it  dotb  oft 
happen  that  what  is  stupidly  writ  shall 


tween  them,  it  shall  continue  it  with  find  admirers ;  or,  as  St.  Jerome  hath  it,  . 
greater  fierceness  than  can  any  other  1 '  Nulius  est  imperitus  scriptor,  qui  lecto- 
thiug.  There  are  a  many  hot-headed  |  rein  non  inveniat' — there  be  no  book  so 
zealots  who  seem  to  think  of  their  Crea-  i  dull  but  it  shall  meet  with  a  suitable  dull 
lor  as  but  another  Mars,  who  delighteth  reader.  You  should  quarrel  with.no  man 
only  in  sanguinary  fields  ;  and  think  the  |  for  having  his  taste  or  disposition  unlike 
fittest  service  they  can  render  him  is  the  j  your  own  ;  for  if  it  were  not  for  the  in- 
slaughtering  of  as  many  as  they  can  of  j  finite  diversity  of  likings  which  are  to  be 
such  as  worship  him.  not  after  the  exact  I  met  with  in  the  world,  all  mankind  would 


fashion  as  themselves.  St.  Bernard  hath 
justly  said  :  'Frustra  sperant  qui  sic  de 
misericordia  Dei  sibi  blandiuntur,'— they 
hope  in  vain  who  in  this  sort  flatter  them- 
selves with  God's  mercy." 

"But  what  became  of  Colonel  Har- 
quebus?" inquired  the  secretary,  after 
there  had  been  a  pause  of  some  few  min- 
utes, for  he  had  listeried  with  some  in- 
terest to  Sir  Walter's  account  of  him. 


be  everlastingly  set  by  the  ears  because 
of  the  insufficiency  of  what  they  most 
affect  to  satisfy  so  great  a  number; 
whilst  of  what  they  mislike  there  should 
be  nothing  but  a  monstrous  wastefulness 
ever  a  going  on,  because  there  is  not  one 
who  careth  for  a  taste  of  it." 

"  Had  I  my  will,  there  is  none  living 
I  should  so  much  desire  to  be  like  as 
yourself,"  said  Master  Francis,  "  for  it 


'By  the  last  intelligence  he  was  fight- i  must  be  manifest  unto  all  that  you  are 


ing  with  his  customary  valor  against  the 
Spaniards,  who  had  come  to  assist  the 
Leaguers  in  Bretajjne,"  replied  SirWal- 


as  excellent  in  the  most  admirable 
schojarship  as  you  are  in  every  kind  of 
thing  necessary  for  the  statesman  and 


ter.     "Yet  I  marvel  somewhat  he  hath  ]  commander." 

not  returned  to  England  before  this,  for       "And  why  should  you  not  belike  me  ?" 

his   mother  hath    been   dead    these   ten  j  inquired  his  patron,  kindly.     "Do  as  I 

years,  and  the  lady  she  was  so  eager  for    have  done.     No  mutter  how   many  and 

how  pressing  be  your  occupations  of  the 
day,  give  but  five  hours  to  sleep,  and  six 
to  study,  and  you  shall  find  time,  as  I 
have,  for  the  acquiring  of  a  proficiency 
in  such  matters  as  some  think  me  perfect 
in.  I  began  life  with  no  better  advantage 
than  yourself — scarce  so  much — for  when 
I  went  with  the  volunteers  into  France, 
and  had  little  beside  my  sword  to  help 
me,  I  was  then  but  about  seventeen  years 


him  to  wed,  hath  long  since  been  mar- 
ried to  another  ;  so  that  there  can  be  now 
no  hinderance  to  his  coming  back  ;  but 
possibly  the  stirring  life  he  hath  led  abroad 
for  the  last  twenty  years  he  hath  grown 
so  accustomed  to,  that  he  could  not  put 
up  with  the  quietness  he  should  meet 
with  at  home." 

"  Methinks  'tismarvellons  strange  there 
should  be  such  a  fondness  in  one  man  to 


seek  the  lives  of  his  fellows,"  observed  of  age.  However,  by  doing  of  what  I 
Master  Francis.  "He  must  needs  be  j  have  said,  and  throwing  away  of  no  op- 
bur  a  poor  spirit  who  will  not  do  battle  j  portunity  for  honorable  advancement,.  I 
with  the  enemies  of  his  country  when  |  have  become  what  I  am.  And  why 
they  are  intent  upon  her  disadvantage  ;  should  you  not  be  like  me?" 
but  of  the  sort  of  satisfaction  that  is  to  be  I  His  secretary  did  hesitate  in  giving 
enjoyed  by  constant  strife  wherever  it  is  j  him  an  answer,  and  seemed  a  little  dis- 
to  be  met  with,  I  know  not,  nor  wish  to  turbed  ;  and  when  his  patron  repeated 
know.  I  think  he  that  be  most  worth  j  the  question  he  grew  more  embarrassed 
the  respecting  is  one  that  hath  ever  his  ]  in  his  countenance. 

weapon  ready,  hut  is  loath  to  draw  it  j  "  Supposing  I  possessed  the  wondrous 
save  upon  warrantable  grounds;  and  em-  talents  you  have  sliown,  which  cannot  be 
ployeth  his  leisure  to  gain  such  knowl-  imagined  a  moment,"  at  last  he  observ- 
edge  as  may  be  most  useful  to  mankind,  ed,  with  a  manner  that  looked  as  if  he 
whereof  he  shall  essay  to  make  it  profit-  j  were  ill  at  ease.  "  My  birth  must  be  an 
able  by  the  writing  of  books  and  the  insurmountable  bar  to  my  rising  above 
like."  what  your  goodness  hath  made  me." 

"If   all    were   to   write   books    there       "You  will  have  that  Holdfast,  then,  for 
should  presently  be  no  readers,"  replied    your  father!"  exclaimed  Sir  Walter, 
his  patron,  "nor  can  all  have  that  incli-  !      "I  have  spoken    to  my  uncle  on  the 


[60 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


subject,"  replied  Master  Francis,  "and 
he  hath  assured  me  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  it." 

"  I  had  ralher  it  had  been  otherwise 
for  your  sake,"  said  his  patron,  with  all 
sincerity  of  heart ;  then,  as  if  desirous  of 
changing  the  subject,  he  pointed  out  to 
his  secretary  the  little  bark  that  had  ac- 
companied the  Lion's  Whelp,  breasting 
the  waves  very  gallantly  at  the  distance 
of  half  a  mile  astern,  with  all  her  sails 
spread  out.  Both  watched  her  progress 
with  exceeding  interest,  for  truly  it  was 
a  pleasant  sight  to  look  upon  so  small  a 
ship — the  only  thing  visible  in  the  wide 
expanse  of  waters,  save  a  few  por- 
poises, nearer  at  hand,  sportively  tum- 
bling about — dancing  over  the  huge  bil- 
lows as  lightly  as  a  rose-leaf. 

"She  smacks  along  at  a  brave  rate," 
observed  Sir  Walter,  "  seemingly  a^s  if 
she  were  proud  of  the  adventurous  spirits 
she  carries.  Well,  they  be  noble  hearts, 
sure  enough,  yet  are  they  of  the  same 
sort  of  stuff  as  have  been  many  others 
since  the  days  of  Columbus,  who  boldly 
dashed  through  unknown  seas  in  vessels 
of  no  greater  burthen." 

"  It  seetneth  to  me,  that  for  a  daring 
spirit,  the  mariners  of  England  bear  the 
palm  from  all  others,"  remarked  the  sec- 
retary. 

"  That  do  they,  whether  in  the  fight 
or  in  quest  of  adventure,"  replied  Ra- 
leigh. 

"  The  consideration  of  this  hath  put 
me  upon  the  writing  of  a  ballad,"  said 
Master  Francis. 

"  'Tis  a  stirring  subject,  and  I  should 
like  to  hear  what  you  have  made  of  it," 
added  his  patron.  Upon  this  his  young 
companion  gave  a  paper  out  of  his  vest 
(with  some  modest  apologies  for  its  im- 
perfections), the  which  Sir  Walter  open- 
ing, did  read  aloud,  as  followeth : — 

Old  Neptune  rules  no  more  the  ever-rolling  seas, 
And  from  their  ozier  beds  have  fled  the  Oceanides  ; 
And  despots  of  the  earth  that  sought  to  sway  the 

waves, 
Though  they,  like  Xerxes,  flung  them  chains,  could 

never  make  them  slaves. 
The  mem'ry  of  the  ark  hath  vanished  from  them 

now, 
And   unesteemed  the  Bucentaur  may  bare   her 

golden  brow  ; 

Whilst  fearfully  to  port  the  Argosie  must  flee. 
For  the  Mariners  of  England  are   lords  of  all  the 

sea ! 

"  A  voice  that  pierced  the  world  was  shouted  from 

the  isles 
Wrere  Phcebus  in  his  glory,  o'er  aland  of  freemen, 

smiles  ; 

The  Adriatic  heard,  and  started  at  the  sound, 
The  In! lows  of  the  Bosphorus  made  each  a  loftier 

bound  ; 
Far  o'er  th'  Atlantic  waste  that  voice  in  thunder 

roars, 


And  now  the  vast  Pacific  sends  its  echoes  from 

her  shores  ; 
And  every  Ocean  deep  cries  out,  '  Come  bow  the 

knee, 
For  the  Mariners  of  England  are  lords  of  all  the 

sea!' 

"  No  more  shall  England's  foes  hci  island  throne 

put  down, 
Since  Hawkins,  Frbbisher,  and  Drake,  have  proved 

she  wears  the  crown  ; 
No  more  Armadas  now  will  come  to  work  her 

shame, 

Since  Howard  made '  th'  Invincible*  to  wear  a  mean- 
er name ; 
Nor  shall  her  gallant  ships  fear. all  the  power  of 

Spain, 
Since  they  have  spoiled  the  Spanish  coast  and 

swept  the  Spanish  main  ; 

And  dread  of  foreign  rule  in  England  shall  not  be, 
For  the  Mariners' of  England  are  lords  of  all  the 

sea !" 

What  Sir  Walter  Raleigh-might  have 
said  upon  the  ballad  know  I  not,  for  just 
as  he  had  finished  the  perusing  of  it,  there 
came  the  master  of  the  ship  to  him  on 
pressing  business,- and  returning  the  paper 
to  Master  Francis,  he  did  give  up  his  at- 
tention entirely  to  the  other. 


;/j^  CHAPTER  XXI. 

Aspasia.  He  has  a  cozening  face— 
You  meant  him  for  a  man  1 

Ant.  He  was  so,  fnadam. 

Asp.  Why  then  'tis  well  enough.    Never  look  oats 
You  have  a  full  wind  and  a  false  heart,  Theseus. 
Does  not  the  story  say  his  keel  was  split, 
Or  his  masts  spent,  or  some  kind  rock  or  other 
Met  with  his  vessel  ? 

Ant.  Not  as  I  remember. 

Asp.  It  should  have  been  so. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

I'll  drown  more  sailors  than  the  mermaid  shall ; 
I'll  slay  more  gazers  than  the  basilisk  ; 
I'll  play  the  orator  as  well  as  Nestor  ; 
Deceive  more  slyly  than  Ulysses  could: 
And  send  the  wondrous  Machiavel  to  school. 

SHAKSPEARK. 

AFTER  staying  of  several  days  at  Ten- 
eriffe  without  being  joined  by  any  of  his 
ship,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  proceeded  on 
his  way  to  Trinidad,  and  cast  anchor  at 
a  Spanish  settlement  called  of  the  colonists 
Puerto  de  los  Espafloles,  where  .to  his 
great  joy  he  found  a  part  of  his  squadron. 
From  the  bay  the  town  had  a  very  goodly 
aspect,  being  of  some  size.  The  houses 
were  principally  those  of  the  natives,  and 
were  built  of  wood  very  pleasant  to  look 
upon,  with  trees  growing  among  them  in 
great  abundance,  lofty,  and  of  marvellous 
verdure.  Some  buildings  there  were  of 
the  Spaniards  of  a  more  stately  sort;  and 
the  country  round  about  seemed  exceed 
ingly  inviting,  stretching  here  and  there 
into  green  pastures,  with  much  diversity 
of  rock,  and  wood,  and  mountain.  Of 
natives  they  saw  a  vast  number,  but  they 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


161 


were  af  a  great  distance,  and  came  not 
any  nigher ;  but  at  the  landing-place  there 
was  seen  a  company  of  Spaniards  drawn 
up  as  if  keeping  guard,  whereof  were 
some  stately  fellows  in  long  high-crown- 
ed hats  with  feathers  in  them,  carrying 
of  famous  long  pieces :  seeing  of  the 
strength  of  those  in  the  ships,  they  pru- 
denl-ly  gave  them  no  molestation.  Indeed, 
some  of  them  presently  got  into  boats  and 
came  on  board,  and  Sir  Walter  had  them 
treated  very  courteously,  went  amongst 
them  himself,  giving  of  them  a  plenty 
of  wine  and  good  cheer,  of  the  which 
having  been  without  a  long  time,  it  made 
them  exceeding  merry  in  a  small  space, 
and  he  talked  to  them  in  their  own 
language  inquiringly  of  Guiana — of  the 
riches  thereof — and  of  the  bays  and  pas- 
sages that  were  most  practicable  ;  making 
it  appear  all  the  while  that  he  cared  not 
for  the  going  there,  being  bound  for  the 
English  colony  he  had  planted  in  Vir- 
ginia ;  and  the  simple  soldiers,  charmed 
with  his  courtesy,  not  only  told  him  all 
they  knew,  but  all  they  had  heard  of,  one 
eagerly  interrupting  of  the  other  in  some 
alluring  narration  of  the  wondrous  riches 
of  the  place. 

It  did  look  exceeding  picturesque  to 
see  those  Spaniards  grouped  about  on 
the  deck,  some  a  sitting  where  they  could  ; 
one  or  two  lying  of  their  full  length,  resting 
of  themselves  upon  their  elbows  ;  and 
the  rest  lolling  wherever  they  might  find 
a  conveniency  ;  their  Spanish  habits  look- 
ing soiled  and  worn  ;  thi-ir  faces  swarthy, 
with  peaked  beards,  long  mustaches, 
piercing  eyes,  and  curly  hair,  all  very 
black ;  every  man  armed,  yet  passing  of 
the  wine-cup  from  one  to  another  with  as 
cheerful  a  spirit  as  if  such  a  thing  as 
strife  was  gone  clean  out  of  their  hearts  ; 
and  Sir  "Walter  standing  amongst  them — 
whose  princely  figure  and  noble  counte- 
nance as  much  won  their  admiration  as 
did  the  liberality  of  his  spirit  as  evinced 
in  his  treatment  of  them — doing  of  every 
courtesy  that  could  make  them  feel  at 
their  ease,  the  whilst  he  was  dexterously 
intent  upon  the  getting  of  such  informa- 
tion as  might  be  serviceable  to  him  in 
his  hoped-for  conquest  of  Guiana.  Close 
unto  his  elbow  stood  Master  Francis,  ap- 
parently somewhat  interested  at  what 
was  going  forward,  for  he  understood  the 
language  pretty  well,  and  he  was  descri- 
bing to  two  or  three  of  the  officers  what 
was  said.  There  was  a  strong  guard  of 
soldiers  posted  about  the  ship  for  fear  of 
any  sudden  treachery,  and  the  mariners 
were  looking  on  from  different  places 
11 


about  the  deck  and  up  aloft, -and  if  with 
some  distrust,  yet  with  a  singular  curiosity 
of  their  visiters. 

A  little  apart  from  the  other  Spaniards, 
leaning  against  a  mast  by  which  he  was 
partly  hid  from  Sir  Walter  and  those 
about  him,  stood  a  man,  evidently  from, 
his  long  black  habit,  a  priest  of  the  order 
of  Jesus.  His  figure  appeared  to  be  rather 
above  the  ordinary,  formed  in  a  mould 
more  graceful  than  bulky,  as  far  as  could 
be  seen  of  it  under  the  ample  folds  of  his 
garment.  His  face  was  mostly  shaded 
by  his  arms,  which  were  against  the  mast, 
but  above  them  two  large  dark  eyes 
peered  out  upon  Master  Francis  with  an 
expression  so  fierce  and  penetrating,  that 
once  seen  it  was  not  possible  to  forget. 
Ever  and  anon  he  would  take  a  stealthy 
glance  round  the  ship,  doubtless  noticing 
of  all  things  there,  if  he  thought  he  could 
do  so  without  being  observed  of  any  ;  but 
if  he  saw  the  eyes  of  one  upon  him,  he 
would  on  the  instant  the  more  shade  his 
face,  and  seem  intent  only  upon  what  was 
going  on  before  him.  There  was  a  group 
round  a  gun  on  the  other  side  of  the  ves- 
sel, at  some  distance,  but  not  far  enough 
to  be  shut  out  from  a  fan1  view  of  these 
proceedings,  and  it  consisted  of  Harry 
Daring,  Simon  Mainsail,  a  rough-looking 
fellow  with  proper  broad  shoulders  and 
body  thick  and  short,  whose  right-ugly 
countenance  looked  none  the  handsomer 
for  a  huge  scar  across  the  face,  who  was 
no  other  than  Tom  Growler  the  boatswain 
— as  surly  a  piece  of  goods  as  you  shall 
see  anywhere — and  they,  with  divers 
others  of  the  petty  officers,  were  discour- 
sing about  the  strangers. 

"Methinks  it  be  clean  contrary  to  all 
rule  and  reason  to  let  these  caitiffs  live," 
observed  Harry  Daring.  "  If  they  be  the 
monstrous  villains  they  must  needs  be 
being  Spaniards,  I  marvel  they  should  be 
so  well  treated  of  us." 

"  Hang  'em  !"  exclaimed  Growler  em- 
phatically. 

"  Doubtless  our  commander  is  well  ad- 
vised of  their  true  natures,"  said  the  old 
gunner.  "  He  be  not  of  that  sort  likely 
to  venture  upon  a  strange  coast  without 
taking  soundings ;  and  mayhap  we  shall 
find  profit  in  what  he  be  a  doing  of." 

"  Mayhap  we  shan't,"  muttered  the 
boatswain. 

"  At  least  they  seem  proper  men 
enough  for  killing,"  added  Harry.  "  1 
expected  not  to  have  found  such  tall 
goodly-looking  fellows.  I  do  long  to  out 
with  my  tool  upon  them,  and  see  of  what 
stuff  they  be  made  of." 


163 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"They  be  dogs!"  cried  Tom  Growler. 

"Despicable  papists!"  exclaimed  one. 

"  The  very  cowardliest  villains  that 
live !"  added  another. 

"  Wretched  traitors  and  scurvy  rogues !" 
said  a  third ;  and  in  a  moment  nothing 
seemed  too  vile  to  be  said  of  them  by  any 
there. 

"  They  say  the  devil  may  be  painted 
blacker  than  he  is,"  remarked  Simon 
Mainsail.  "  But  if  you  seek  to  paint  any 
of  these  villain  Spaniards,  depend  on't 
you  shall  find  no  color  of  a  sufficient 
blackness.'' 

"Hang  'em!"  again  cried  the  boat- 
swain, in  the  very  gruffest  voice  that 
ever  was  heard. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog,  my  masters ! — it 
must  needs  be  a  good  action  to  rid  the 
earth  of  such  !"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring 
with  a  very  marvellous  earnestness.  "  In- 
stead of  giving  of  them  good  cheer,  it 
seemeth  to  me  the  best  thing  they  should 
have  is  no  other  than  cold  iron  ;  and  I  for 
one  would  be  well  pleased  to  see  they 
had  enough  of  it.  For  mine  own  part,  I 
think  it  be  quite  monstrous  that  these 
our  enemies  should  be  allowed  to  come 
aboard  of  us,  each  man  armed  as  if 
ready  to  do  us  all  manner  of  hurt,  and 
only  lying  in  wait  for  an  opportunity  to 
take  us  off  our  guard.  How  villanously 
familiar  they  be !  Some  lolling  in  this 
place,  and  some  in  that ;  and  jabbering 
away  as  if  there  was  either  sense  or  hon- 
esty in  their  speech.  I  do  hugely  sus- 
pect those  who  can  not  speak  honest  Eng- 
lish. There  be  no  good  in  them,  that's 
a  sure  thing." 

"  Never  was  and  never  will  be,"  mut- 
tered Growler. 

"  But  mark  you  that  fellow  leaning  of 
himself  against  the  mast,"  said  the  boy 
quickly,  as  he  pointed  out  to  his  compan- 
ions the  figure  of  the  priest.  "  Hath  he 
not  the  very  air  of  a  skulker  ?  See  how 
heathenishly  the  caitiff  stares  upon  my 
true  friend  Master  Francis.  Hang  me  ! 
if  he  don't  look  as  if  he  meant  him  some 
hurt.  0'  my  life !  if  I  knew  for  certain 
he  had  such  traitorous  thoughts  in  him  I 
would  not  rest  a  moment  ere  I  had  clove 
him  to  the  chine." 

I  have  seen  many  such.     He  be  a 
priest,"  observed  the  old  gunner. 

'He  shall  be  just  as  like  to  be  the 
devil,"  added  the  boatswain  gruffly. 

"Priest  or  devil.it  matters  not!"  ex- 
claimed Harry  Daring,  seemingly  some- 
what moved.  "His  looks  be  those  of 
a  murderous  villain.  And  see  how  he 
hideth  his  face  !  Mayhap  he  hath  a  hid- 


den dagger  with  him,  and  shall  be  intent 
upon  springing  upon  my  friend  and  kil- 
ling him  out-right  before  he  can  be  saved 
by  any.  By  Gog  and  Magog ! — I  will 
have  at  him  ere  he  hath  time  to  do  it." 

"  Not  so  fast,  messmate  !"  cried  Simon 
Mainsail,  holding  him  by  the  arm  as  he 
was  hastening  away.  "Seek  not  to  do 
a  man  damage  unless  you  have  belief 
warrant  for  it  than  his  looks.  He  be  a 
villain  Spaniard,  therefore  would  I  as 
soon  see  him  killed  as  look  at  him,  but 
he  be  now  under  the  protection  of  our 
commander,  who  could  not  help  but  be 
exceeding  angered  were  you  to  run  aboard 
of  him.  I  like  not  you  should  get  your- 
self among  breakers.  Besides,  he  be  but 
a  scurvy  papist  priest,  and  it  be  no  way 
in  the  nature  of  such  craft  to  seek  danger 
there  shall  be  no  chance  of  their  getting 
out  of.  I  will  venture  to  say  he  meaneth 
no  harm,  but  should  he,  it  be  quite  cer- 
tain he  dare  not  act  any." 

"  Let  him  go  hang !"  muttered  Tom 
Growler. 

Harry  Daring  was  prevailed  upon  to 
remain  where  he  was ;  but  not  without 
much  pressing  and  almosl  forcible  stop- 
ping of  him  by  his  companions.  In  the 
meantime  the  Spaniards  seemed  more  and 
more  pleased  with  their  reception,  for  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  did  allow  of  their  barter- 
ing for  linen,  a  thing  of  which  they  stood 
much  in  need. 

"And  is  Don  Antonio  de  Berrio  still 
governor  of  this  island  ?"  inquired  Sir 
Walter  of  one  better  dressed  than  ihe 
olhers  who  stood  by  him. 

"  Ay,  sefior,"  replied  he. 

"  Perchance  you  may  be  able  tell  me 
his  residence,  for  I  have  a  great  desire  to 
pay  my  respects  to  him  before  I  make  for 
Virginia,"  added  Raleigh. 

"  Doubtless  the  Sefior  Gobernador shall 
be  found  at  the  new  city  he  hath  called 
Santo  Josef  de  Oruno,"  answered  the 
Spaniard. 

"  Can  I  have  any  guide  or  direction  aa 
to  finding  it?"  asked  the  other. 

"  The  padre  is  going  there,  Sefior  Capi- 
taine,"  replied  the  Spaniard. 

"What  padre?" 

"  Padre  BartolomeV' 

"Have  you  left  him  on  shore?  Can 
I  see  him  ?  I  should  hold  it  in  everlast- 
ing estimation  if  he  would  be  my  guide 
to  your  excellent  governor." 

"  There  is  the  padre,  senor." 

Sir  Walter  looked  in  the  direction 
pointed  out,  and,  for  the  first  time,  ob- 
served the  Jesuit.  He  was  now  in  deep 
abstractedness,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


163 


a  crucifix  which  was  suspended  from  his 
neck  by  a  rosary  of  large  beads.  He 
might  be  nigh  upon  forty  years  of  age, 
yet  a  face  of  so  mild  a  character,  and  of 
so  pious  an  aspect,  seemed  the  gazer 
never  to  have  met  before.  Maphap  he 
was  younger,  for  was  there  a  freshness 
in  his  countenance  that  persons  of  the 
age  that  hath  been  stated,  seldom  have ; 
and  the  flesh  looked  of  such  transparen- 
cy as  may  rarely  be  met  with  save  in 
those  of  younger  years.  Be  that  how  it 
may,  it  is  certain  none  could  look  on 
him  without  being  possessed  in  his  favor 
as  he  stood  up  close  upon  the  mast,  his 
saint-like  head,  perfectly  uncovered,  bent 
a  little  back,  showing  of  a  most  comely 
neck,  and  his  arms  raised  holding,  as  if 
with  both  of  his  hands,  the  crucifix  be- 
fore his  face,  while  his  lips  delicately 
rounded  and  exceeding  rich  in  color, 
were  parted  but  a  little,  as  if  in  the  very 
act  of  breathing  of  some  internal  prayer. 
Sir  Walter  looked  on  with  some  wonder 
and  much  admiration,  Master  Francis 
also  was  surprised,  because  he  could  not 
help  fancying  he  had  seen  the  face  be- 
fore, yet  was  he  in  a  huge  puzzlement  to 
know  where — the  group  about  the  gun, 
despite  of  their  prejudices,  were  awed 
into  respect ;  and  others  of  the  crew  ap- 
peared to  regard  him  with  a  like  feeling, 
whilst  the  Spaniards  all  of  a  sudden  be- 
gan crossing  of  themselves  and  saying 
of  their  prayers  with  as  perfect  a  zeal  as 
ever  was  beheld  even  amongst  catholics. 

"  Salve,  Padre  Bartolome  !"  exclaimed 
Sir  Walter  with  much  reverence,  as  af- 
ter a  long  pause,  which  seemed  not  like 
to  have  an  end,  he  approached  the  eccle- 
siastic. 

"  Benedicte,  my  son  !"  replied  a  voice, 
the  softest  and  richest  he  had  ever  heard. 
Still  the  eyes  were  not  moved  from  the 
crucifix. 

"  You  speak  English  then,  father,"'  said 
Raleigh,  and  not  without  some  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Thou  hast  heard,"  answered  the 
priest  without  the  moving  of  a  muscle. 

"  I  would  gladly  have  speech  with 
you,  reverend  sir,  if  you  could  for  a  few 
minutes  favor  me  with  your  attention." 

"  At  the  concluding  of  my  devotions, 
which  are  now  nigh  unto  the  finishing,  I 
shall  be  at  thy  service." 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  waited  with  an  i 
exemplary  patience,  employing  of  him- 
self in  more  closely  examining  the  ap-  j 
pearance  of  the  Padre  Bartolome ;  but  i 
upon  the  very  closest  scrutiny  he  detected  ' 
nothing  which  could  in  the  slightest  de- 


gree shake  the  favorable  impression  the 
first  sight  of  him  had  created. 

"  Is  there  aught  a  poor  son  of  the 
church  can  do  to  serve  thee  ?"  inquired 
the  priest  at  last  in  such  mild  accents, 
and  with  so  benevolent  a  look,  that  the 
other  was  charmed  with  him. 

"  Being  in  these  parts,"  said  Sir  Wal- 
ter, "  methinks  I  should  be  wanting  in 
proper  courtesy  were  I  not  to  seek  to  pay 
rny  respects  to  your  illustrious  governor, 
Don  Antonio  de  Berrio,  to  whom  I  have 
heard  you  are  bound.  If  it  is  not  asking 
too  much  at  your  hands,  reverend  sir,  I 
should  esteem  it  of  you  mightily,  would 
you  be  my  guide  and  messenger  unto  him. 
I  am  about  to  sail  for  my  colony  in  our 
new  territory  of  Virginia,  but  I  should  be 
loath  to  go  till  I  had  seen  one  whose  ex- 
cellent merit  hath  been  so  much  bruited 
abroad." 

The  ecclesiastic  kept  his  dark  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  speaker  with  an  atten- 
tiveness  that  made  him  feel  he  was  be- 
fore one  who  could  look  through  the  eyes 
into  the  heart;  but  he  was  not  of  the  sort 
to  shrink  from  such  an  ordeal. 

"Itgiveth  me  pleasure  to  know  that  I 
can  be  of  use  to  thee,  my  son,"  replied  the 
padre  with  the  same  kindliness  of  man- 
ner as  at  first.  "  And  his  excellent  lord- 
ship, will,  I  doubt  not  at  all,  be  in  a  mar- 
vellous delight  to  make  thy  acquaintance, 
for  he  hath  ever  been  well  inclined  to  re- 
ceive with  a  proper  honor  all  creditable 
navigators  that  stop  at  his  ports.  I  am 
but  an  indifferent  judge  if  each  be  not 
greatly  admired  of  the  other.  It  will  be 
but  necessary  for  me  to  return  to  the 
shore  to  make  such  scanty  preparations 
as  will  suffice  me  for  my  departure,  when 
I  will  embark  in  this  ship  and  bring  with 
me  one  who  shall  pilot  thee  to  our  new 
city,  under  the  sanction  of  the  Most 
High  :  a  Dios,  my  son  !"  so  saying,  the 
priest  took  his  leave  with  a  respectful  in- 
clination of  his  head,  and  Sir  Walter,  all 
courteousness  at  the  finding  him  of  so 
obliging  a  spirit,  saw  him  enter  the  boat 
with  his  companions  and  regain  the  shore. 

The  good  ship,  the  Lion's  Whelp,  had 
scarcely  been  cleared  of  her  visiters,when, 
as  her  gallant  commander  was  speaking 
to  his  secretary  concerning  of  some  pri- 
vate matters,  up  comes  to  him  Harry 
Daring. 

"  Well,  Harry,  what  want  you  ?"  in- 
quired Sir  Walter. 

"  Want  to  go  ashore,  an'  it  please  you," 
replied  the  boy. 

"  Want  to  go  ashore  !"  exclaimed  his 
patron  in  a  considerable  surprise.  "Pfairh 


.04 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


that  is  a  marvellous  want  of  a  sure  thing,  ' 
considering  that  you  would  go  amoug 
enemies,  and  as  like  as  possible  get  your 
throat  cut  for  your  painstaking.  I  pray 
you  tell  me  what  want  you  to  go  ashore 
for  ?" 

"To  kill  a  Spaniard,  an' it  please  you," 
answered  Harry  Daring,  with  as  much 
unconcern  as  if  it  was  but  an  ordinary 
sort  of  thing.  Sir  Walter  could  not  re- 
strain his  mirth  at  this. 

"You  are  indeed  in  a  vast  hurry,  and 
possess  an  infinite  lack  of  discretion,"  at 
last  he  observed.  "  Why  you  stand  not 
an  atom  of  a  chance  at  the  killing  of  a 
Spaniard  should  you  go  ashore,  for  you 
could  not  help  but  get  shot  ere  you  could 
well  land." 

"  Indeed,  and  if  they  can  they  may," 
replied  the  boy  carelessly,  "  but  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  would  allow  a  paltry  Span- 
iard shooting  me.  An1  it  please  you  to 
let  me  go  ashore  by  myself,  if  I  kill  not 
one  or  two  at  least,  I  will  ask  not  to  go 
again." 

"  Quite  preposterous,  Harry,"  said  Sir 
Walter  in  an  excellent  good  humor. 

"An'  it  please  you,  I  am  quite  sick  for 
the  killing  of  a  Spaniard,"  added  Harry 
Daring,  with  a  dejected  look,  and  with  a 
more  earnest  voice.  "  I  have  clean  lost 
mine  appetite,  I  lack  sleep  wonderfully,  I 
care  not  for  one  thing  more  than  for  an- 
other, I  be  in  a  most  woful  taking  ;  and 
I  shall  break  my  heart  an'  I  do  not  kill  a 
Spaniard  straight. 

"  In  truth,  you  are  in  a  very  piteous 
way, "exclaimed  his  patron,  quite  amused 
at  the  boy's  impatience  to  be  at  his  ene- 
mies; and  then  added  in  a  kinder  voice, 
"Restrain  your  eagerness  awhile, Harry, 
and  mayhap  you  shall  have  the, opportu- 
nity you  seek:  but  at  present  it  ca"n  not 
be.  Attend  to  your  duties,  When  the 
time  comes,  if  you  distinguish  yourself 
as  I  hope  of  you.  I  will  see  that  you  shall 
be  properly  rewarded  for  it." 

Harry  Daring  was  turning  away  look- 
ing monstrous  disconsolate  at  what  he 
considered  to  be  his  exceeding  ill  fortune ; 
but  stayed  at  the  voice  of  Master  Fran- 
cis. 

"Can  you  say  naught  in  thankfulness 
unto  Sir  Walter  for  his  goodness  to  you  ?" 
inquired  he. 

"Indeed,  I  be  wonderful  thankful,"  re- 
plied the  boy,  yet  in  his  countenance 
looking  nothing  of  the  kind,  "  more  es- 
pecially for  showing  of  so  generous  a 
spirit  unto  you  who  hath  been  to  me  the 
truest  of  true  friends ;  but  would  he  have 
the  bountifulness  to  allow  of  my  swim- 


ming ashore,  for  I  need  not  a  boat  or  care 
for  a  companion,  carrying  with  me  only 
a  pistol  or  two  and  my  rapier,  I" 

"Sir  Walter  hath  already  told  you  his 
commands  on  that  head,"  said  Master 
Francis  in  some  seriousness,  interrupting 
of  him,  "  it  is  not  acting  a  good  part  to 
moot  the  matter  again,  and  I  shall  have 
great  cause  to  be  vexed  with  you  if  you 
make  angry  one  who  hath  done  you  such 
true  service." 

At  this  Harry  Daring  said  nothing,  for 
he  always  had  paid  most  extreme  atten- 
tion to  what  was  said  of  the  other,  but 
presently  moved  slowly  away.  In  a  short 
time,  however,  it  appeared  as  if  all  trace  of 
his  disappointment  had  vanished  utterly, 
for  having  dared  some  of  the  nimblest  of 
the  mariners  to  follow  him,  he  rapidly 
ascended  the  yards,  and  after  leaping  and 
scrambling  along  the  rigging  like  a  very 
wild  cat,  from  one  part  of  the  ship  to 
the  other,  he  at  last  got  himself  up  to  a 
point  so  high,  and  a  place  so  fearfully 
dangerous,  that  his  companions  halted 
below  with  dread  and  wonder,  and  would 
come  anighhim  on  no  account,  whilst  he 
continued  to  shout  to  them  all  manner 
of  taunts  and  bravadoes,  and  played  such 
tricks  as  proved  he  felt  himself  quite  at 
his  ease. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  had  said  nothing 
to  either  of  the  young  friends  after  Mas- 
ter Francis  spoke,  but  he  had  listened 
and  observed  the  two  with  a  deep  and 
lively  interest. 

"  0'  my  life  this  barber-chirurgeon  is 
as  famous  a  little  desperado  as  ever  I 
saw,"  observed  he  to  his  secretary.  "  He 
bids  fair  to  be  of  some  note,  but  his  too 
great  hastiness  must  be  put  down,  or  he 
must  needs  be  his  own  destruction  before 
he  is  much  older." 

"  I  have  feared  thaj  often,  and  have 
checked  him  as  much  as  I  could,"  replied 
Master  Francis,  "but  he  hath  always 
been  of  this  humor  after  any  sort  of  dan- 
ger or  mischief,  which  he  seeketh  entirely 
heedless  of  consequences,  and  merely  for 
the  kind  of  sport  he  findeth  in  it.  At 
present  and  for  some  time  past,  the  ex- 
pectation of  sharing  in  the  danger  of 
actual  warfare  hath  so  excited  him  that 
he  can  scarce  contain  himself.  Still, 
however  mischievously  inclined  he  may 
be,  it  is  ever  from  sheer  thoughtlessness. 
Although  his  tricks  have  often  been  to 
the  great  loss  of  some  one  or  another,  he 
hath  not  an  atom  of  malice  in  his  heart. 
He  can  not  see  any  wrong  in  what  he 
doth,  let  it  be  ever  so  full  of  harm  ;  every- 
thing of  the  kind  to  him  appeareth  only 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


165 


to  be  exquisite  fine  fun  !'  and  that  seem- 
eth  sufficient  excuse." 

"  He  wanteth  only  a  little  disciplining," 
said  his  patron,  "he  must  be  got  out  of 
that  recklessness,  which  I  doubt  not  will 
be  no  great  difficult  matter  as  he  gets 
older;  and  then  his  valorous  spirit  will 
carry  him  forward  wherever  he  goes. 
But  what  thought  you  of  the  Padre  Bar- 
tolome  ?" 

"  He  seems  exceeding  pious,"  remarked 
the  secretary. 

"  Few  are  what  they  seem,"  replied 
the  other.  -'Piety  is  a  cloak  that  ap- 
peareth  to  fit  all  who  wear  it,  and  beateth 
everything  for  excellence  in  the  hiding 
of  defects;  and  though  I  was  somewhat 
impressed  with  the  padre's  spiritual  coun- 
tenance and  benevolent  manner,  I  now  do 
suspect  that  when  religion  is  made  such 
a  display  of  as  was  apparent  in  him,  it  is 
but  the  cloak  I  have  stated  ;  and  conceal- 
eth  something  which  appeareth  so  to  be 
hid.  I  shall  watch  him  well."  ». 

"  At  the  first  it  did  strike  me  I  had  seen 
him  before,"  observed  Master  Francis, 
"  but  as  1  can  not  bring  to  my  mind 
under  what  circumstances,  methinks  I 
must  have  been  mistaken." 

"  Doubtless  you  have,"  answered  Sir 
Walter.  "It  can  scarce  be  possible  that 
you  have  met  before.  But  see — the  boat 
is  putting  off  with  him." 

Sure  enough  the  priest  was  seen  stand- 
ing up  with  his  hands  clasped,  as  the 
boat  left  the  land,  with  his  face  toward 
the  Spaniards,  who  were  now  kneeling 
in  a  confused  crowd  on  the  shore,  as  if 
sharing  in  his  parting  benediction,  and 
supplicating  of  Heaven  for  his  prosperous 
voyage.  In  the  space  of  a  few  minutes 
the  Padre  Bartolome  came  on  board  the 
Lion's  Whelp,  bringing  with  him  a  dark 
complexioned  man,  in  the  dress  of  a 
fisherman. 

"With  God's  good  help  I  am  here  to 
fulfil  my  promise,"  said  the  padre,  as  he 
approached  Sir  Waller;  "and  here  have 
I  brought  with  me  honest  Tobias,  who 
of  all  men  hereabouts  knowest  best  the 
navigation  of  this  island." 

"  I  am  infinitely  beholden  to  you,  rev- 
erend sir,"  replied  Raleigh  :  then  turning 
to  the  other,  inquired, — "You  are  well 
acquainted  wilh  the  coast,  my  friend  ?" 

"  Ay,  sefior,"  answered  the  man,  with 
a  sulky  look,  yet"  taking  off  a  rusty  old 
hat,  and  making  an  obeisance  nearly  to 
the  ground. 

"  And  can  undertake  to  conduct  a  ship 
safely  to  your  new  city  Santo  Josef  de 
Oiufic?' 


"  Ay,  sefior,"  replied  the  Spaniard,  re- 
peating the  genuflexion. 

"  Take  the  helm,  then  ;  and  if  your 
performance  be  as  good  as  your  promise, 
doubt  not  of  receiving  a  handsome  recom- 
pense." 

"  Ay,  sefior,"  repeated  the  pilot,  making 
a  more  profound  bow  than  either  of  the 
preceding  ;  and  straightway  went  to  fulfil 
his  mission,  as  orders  were  given  to 
weigh  anchor.  All  the  vessels  being.now 
in  full  sail,  Sir  Walter  was  walking  the 
deck  in  company  with  the  Jesuit. 

"I  have  heard  that  Don  Antonio  de 
Berrio  is  governor  of  the  right  famous 
province  of  Guiana,"  observed  Raleigh. 

"  Unquestionably  is  he,  my  son,"  replied 
the  priest.  "  He  hath  ever  been  a  duti- 
ful child  of  the  true  church,  and  the  virgin 
hath  favored  him  as  he  deserveth.  He 
married  a  kinswoman  of  the  illustrious 
Quesada,  the  conqueror  of  the  Neuvo 
Reyno  de  Grenada,  and  by  the  will  of 
that  hero,  confirmed  by  a  royal  grant, 
hath  become  governor  of  Guiana,  inclu- 
sive of  the  island  of  Trinidad  and  the 
mouths  of  the  Oronoco." 

"  'Tis  a  most  notable  fine  government," 
exclaimed  Sir  Walter,  "  and  one  that 
could  not  be  placed  in  fitter  hands  than 
in  those  of  so  noble  a  gentleman.  Me- 
thinks a  space  so  great  must  require  a 
vast  force  of  soldiery  for  its  proper  se- 
curity." 

"Doubtless  it  doth,  my  son,"  answered 
the  padre  ;  "  but  I  see  but  little  occasion 
for  soldiery,  the  governor  being  so  much 
beloved  of  the  natives." 

"  It  delighteth  me  to  hear  that  said  of 
him,"  remarked  his  companion.  "  I  sup- 
pose he  hath  a  garrison  at  this  new  city 
of  his,  and  if  he  feareth  not  an  attack  it 
need  not  be  of  any  great  strength." 

"  In  truth  no,  my  son,  for  he  might  do 
without,  and  no  harm  come  ol  it,"  said 
the  priest. 

During  this  questioning  and  replying, 
the  two  kept  ever  and  anon  eying  of 
each  other's  countenance  as  intently  as 
they  might,  without  exciting  of  any  par- 
ticular observation. 

"Surely  your  pilot  is  bringing  the  ship 
too  close  to  the  rocks,"' suddenly  exclaim- 
ed Sir  Walter,  as  he  noticed  the-gradual 
approximation  of  his  vessel  to  a  very 
dangerous  shore. 

"  He  is  reckoned  marvellous  skilful  in 
the  conveying  of  ships  about  the  island," 
replied  the  padre.  "  If  I  ,had  not  been 
well  assured  of  his  fitness,  I  would  on  no 
account  have  recommended  him  unto 
thee." 


166 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


At  (his  time  Raleigh  having  cast  his 
eyes  around  about  the  deck,  met  several 
anxious  faces  turned  toward  him,  many 
of  whom  were  his  most  experienced  mari- 
ners, and  it  did  appear,  bv  their  uneasy 
and  gloomy  looks,  that  they  suspected 
some  treachery.  He  gazed  steadily  on 
the  padre ;  but  the  same  calm  and  holy 
countenance  beamed  upon  him  as  had  so 
impressed  him  in  the  first  instance.  It 
was  scarce  possible  for  any  one  to  distrust 
so  saintlike  a  face:  but  Sir  Walter  did 
distrust  him.  Nevertheless  he  saw  he 
had  a  difficult  game  to  play,  and  in  his 
own  noble  features  exhibited  no  alarm. 

"  Methinks  this  Tobias  can  not  be  so 
well  skilled,  padre,  as  hath  been  repre- 
sented to  you,'* observed  he.  "Doubtless 
your  good  nature  hath  been  imposed  on." 

"  Nay,  'tis  impossible  any  should  have 
dared  deceive  me,  my  son,"  answered  the 
priest ;  "  I  am  convinced  of  his  trust- 
worthiness, and  that,  with  the  blessing 
of  God,  we  shall  in  good  time  be  safe  at 
our  destination." 

"Will  it  please  you  to  walk  with  me 
into  my  cabin  ?"  inquired  Raleigh,  very 
courteously. 

"  I  thank  thee,  my  son  ;  I  am  well 
enough  where  I  am,"  replied  the  Padre 
Bartolome,  as  if  inclined  to  stay  where 
he  was. 

"Nay,  padre,  I  can  hear  of  no  denial," 
added  the  other,  laying  hold  of  him  by 
the  arm.  "  It  is  necessary  you  should 
have  some  refreshment." 

"'Tis  a  strict  fast  with  me,  my  son," 
answered  the  ecclesiastic,  holding  back, 
as  it  were. 

"  But  I  have  matter  of  moment  for  your 
private  ear,  Padre  Bartolome,"  said  his 
companion,  more  earnestly,  as  he  still,  in 
a  very  friendly  manner,  forced  him  along. 
The  priest  perceiving  that  he  could  scarce 
nelp  himself,  did  as  he  was  desired,  and 
they  left  the  deck  together,  as  uncon- 
cernedly as  if  thinking  of  nothing  in  the 
world. 

"  I  pray  you  be  seated,"  exclaimed  Sir 
Walter  to  the  Jesuit,  as  they  entered  the 
cabin,  and  then  suddenly  added,  as  if  in 
a  wonderful  surprise,  "  6'  my  life  I  have 
forgotten.  Excuse  me,  padre,  a  brief 
space — I  will  return  anon."  He  then  left 
the  cabin,  locking  ihe  door  after  him, 
and  hastily  returned  to  the  deck.  Padre 
Bartolome  looked  as  though  somewhat 
disturbed,  and  his  large  dark  eyes  flashed 
glances  of  a  different  sort  to  those  that 
lately  had  given  to  his  countenance  so 
religious  an  aspect.  He  gazed  out  of  the 
window,  and  noticed  how  closely  the  ship 


was  approaching  the  rocky  coast.  At 
this  he  smiled  ;  but  the  smile  had  a  very 
devilish  malice  in  it. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  time  taken 
up  with  what  hath  just  been  described, 
Harry  Daring  was  seen  as  if  stealthily 
approaching  the  man  at  the  helm. 

"  I  say,  old  fellow,  can  you  fight  ?" 
exclaimed  he  to  the  pilot.  The  Spaniard 
turned  round  to  see  who  it  was  who  ad- 
dressed him  ;  and  observing  that  it  was 
no  other  than  a  boy,  merely  scowled  at 
him  and  said  nothing. 

"  Come  give  us  none  of  your  black 
looks,  Master  Dingey,"  cried  the  other, 
"  I  heed  not  any  such,  I  promise  you. 
You  be  the  first  villanous  Spaniard  I 
have  had  speech  with,  and  if  you  are  in 
the  humor,  I  would  fain  meet  you  when- 
ever there  shall  be  a  fitting  occasion  ; 
and  I  care  not  how  soon,  with  sword  and 
pistol,  or  any  other  honorable  weapon ; 
and  I  mean  not  to  leave  you  till  I  have 
killed  you  outright." 

The  man  stared  at  Harry  Daring  with 
a  fierce  and  malicious  expression  ;  for 
though  not  knowing  a  word  of  what  was 
said,  he  might  gather  from  the  undaunted 
looks  of  the  boy  that  he  meant  him  no 
good  ;  and  then,  in  a  deep  gruff  voice, 
muttered  the  word  "  herege,"  which  was 
calling  him  a  heretic — a  most  hateful  and 
contemptuous  appellation  in  the  eyes  of 
any  catholic. 

"  You  are  a  very  absolute  villain  and 
coward,  Master  Jack  Spaniard  ;  or  when 
one  comes  unto  you  with  a  civil  challenge, 
you  would  answer  me  in  honest  English. 
I  shall  feel  a  marvellous  comfort  in 
ridding  of  the  earth  of  so  thorough  a 
scurvy  rogue." 

To  this  the  other  answered  only  by 
calling  of  him  diablo,  meaning  devil,  and 
grinding  his  teeth  at  him. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog  !"  exclaimed 
Harry  Daring,  raising  of  his  voice  and 
regarding  the  pilot  with  famous  angry 
looks,  "  if  you  answer  me  not  in  honest 
English,  I  will  give  vou  a  clout  of  your 
knave's  pate."  And  thereupon  he  shook 
his  fist.  Then  the  brow  of  the  Spaniard 
grew  blacker  than  ever,  and  putting  of 
his  hand  into  his  vest,  he  showed  a  dag- 
ger, making  a  significant  nod,  and  mut- 
tering in  Spanish  that  he  had  a  mind  to 
stab  him ;  but  no  sooner  did  Harry  Dar- 
ing catch  sight  of  the  blade  than,  as  quick 
as  lightning,  he  bent  down  his  head,  and 
making  of  it  a  sort  of  battering-ram,  gave 
the  man  unexpectedly  so  vigorous  a  poke 
in  the  stomach  that  it  seemed  to  have 
sent  the  breath  out  of  his  body,  and  after 


I 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


167 


staggering  back  a  few  paces,  he  fell  so 
heavily  upon  a  coil  of  rope  that  the 
dagger  was  knocked  out  of  his  hand. 
In  the  next  instant  Harry  was  upon  him, 
and  then  commenced  a  most  furious 
tusselling.  between  the  two.  The  Span- 
iard cursing,  grinding  of  his  teeth,  and 
clutching  of  him  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
the  boy,  who  seemed  as  strong  as  a  young 
lion,  abusing  him  for  a  villain,  and  ever 
and  anon  hitting  of  him  such  hearty  cuffs 
as  was  evident  he  liked  not  at  all. 

This  could  scarce  go  on  without  at- 
tracting attention.  Indeed,  no  sooner 
was  Harry  Daring  seen  to  rush  upon  the 
pilot,  than  all  within  notice  of  it  came 
crowding  to  the  spot,  some  hanging  by 
the  rigging,  others  clambering  to  wherev- 
er they  might  get  a  place  to  stand  on,  and 
ail  cheering  and  encouraging  of  Harry  as 
much  as  they  could.  Some  of  the  officers 
were  hastening  to  interfere,  but  it  came 
to  a  stop  much  sooner  than  was  expected, 
for  the  Spaniard  having  regained  his  legs 
rushed  like  a  furious  mad  beast  upon  his 
youthful  adversary,  who,  stooping  as  he 
came,  sent  his  head  between  the  other's 
legs,  and  putting  forth  all  his  force,  gave 
him  a  jerk  that  pitched  him  on  his  head 
behind  him,  where  he  lay  stunned  for 
some  minutes.  At  this  moment  the  voice 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  heard  giving 
orders  to  put  the  ship  about ;  the  men 
returned  to  their  duties  ;  the  necessary 
alterations  were  made  in  the  sails;  an 
experienced  mariner  was  placed  at  the 
helm  ;  and  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour 
or  less  the  good  ship  the  Lion's  Whelp 
was  seen  retracing  of  her  way  to  the 
place  she  had  lately  left. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Sir,  be  appeased  ;  he  is  come  to  humble 
Himself  in  spirit,  and  lo  ask  your  patience, 
If  too  much  zeal  hath  carried  him  aside 
From  the  due  path.  BEN  JONSON. 

Nay,  then,  I  am  betrayed, 

I  feel  the  plot  cast  for  my  overthrow. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

In  at  the  window,  or  else  o'er  the  hatch  ; 
Who  dares  not  stir  by  day  must  walk  by  night ; 
And  have  is  have  however  men  do  catch, 
Near  or  far  off ;  well  won  is  still  well  shot. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

IT  was  with  exceeding  astonishment 
that  Padre  Bartolome  observed  the  ship 
receding  from  the  shore.  He  began  to 
feel  a  little  uneasy  at  his  own  situation, 
and  paced  the  cabin  floor  with  hasty 
strides,  and  with  wild  malignant  glances. 


Nevertheless,  upon  the  hearing  of  a  foot- 
step close  at  hand,  he  hurriedly  sunk 
down  on  his  knees,  and  began  praying 
with  wonderful  earnestness. 

"  I  have  tarried  not  a  moment  longer 
than  I  could  help,  padre,"  courteously 
exclaimed  Sir  Waller  Raleigh,  as  he 
entered  at  the  door. 

"  I  have  not  missed  thee,  my  son," 
replied  the  ecclesiastic,  after  he  had  risen 
from  the  ground. 

"But  a  strange  accident  hath  fallen 
out  that  had  like  to  have  kept  me  longer, 
had  I  not  done  what  I  have,"  continued 
Sir  Walter.  "But  sit  you,  good  padre, 
sit,  I  pray  you." 

"  I  hope  nothing  ill  hath  happened," 
observed  the  priest,  as  he  seated  himself 
opposite  the  other. 

"0'  my  faith  !  it  might  have  been  of 
great  detriment  to  us  all,"  answered 
Raleigh ;  "  for  upon  my  getting  upon 
deck  the  whole  ship  was  in  a  perfect 
confusion  and  uproar.  I  know  not  the 
exact  rights  of  it,  for  every  one  I  have 
spoke  to  seemeth  to  have  a  different  ac- 
count of  the  matter.  But  it  appears  that 
your  pilot  and  one  of  my  people  had  some- 
how or  other  got  to  giving  of  each  other 
ill  language,  and  Tobias  drawing  his 
dagger  upon  the  other,  they  presently  fell 
to  blows,  in  which  the  former  being  cast 
headlong  very  heavily  upon  the  ground, 
received  such  a  fall  that  for  the  time  be- 
ing it  knocked  all  sense  out  of  him.  In 
consequence  of  this  mishap  I  have  been 
obliged  to  turn  the  ship  about,  and  make 
for  the  place  whence  we  came,  for  I  could 
no  longer  allow  of  the  safety  of  the  ship 
and  crew  being  intrusted  to  one  who 
seemeth  of  so  hasty  a  temper :  and  in- 
deed I  am  exceeding  anxious  to  get  him 
back  with  a  whole  skin,  for  he  hath  made 
all  my  people  so  incensed  against  him 
that  I  expect  if  he  be  not  removed  away 
straight  he  will  suffer  for  it.  I  am  sorely 
vexed  at  this,  for  that  it  will  delay  my 
long-desired  interview  with  your  honora- 
ble governor." 

"  Indeed,  'tis  much  to  be  regretted,  my 
son,"  answered  the  Padre  Bartolome,  re- 
garding his  companion  with  one  of  his 
most  searching  glances.  "  Tobias  deserv- 
eth  to  be  well  censured  for  behaving  of 
himself  so  badly.  Alack  !  it  doth  make 
my  heart  ache  wonderfully  to  observe 
how  prone  to  strife  are  the  children  of 
one  Father.  What  vile  thing  can  there 
be  in  human  nature  that  preventeth  the 
whole  world  living  as  they  ought  in  a 
universal  brotherhood  ?  I  have  strove 
early  and  late  to  estroy  that  hatefulness 


168 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


one  of  another  which  leadeth  men  into 
such  riotous  turmoils ;  yet  it  hath  availed 
me  but  little,  in  vain  preached,  in  vain 
prayed  for  the  removing  of  their  quarrel- 
someness. Ever  have  I  gone  amongst 
them  on  missions  of  peace  and  charity, 
yet  have  I  seen  of  my  labors  no  better 
ending  than  war  and  bloodshed.  Oh, 
Madre  de  Dios  !"  continued  the  priest, 
lifting  up  his  brilliant  eyes  to  the  ceiling, 
and  raising  of  his  voice  to  a  tone  of  great- 
er excitement.  "  Pluck  from  our  sinful 
hearts  these  hateful  passions,  that  with 
one  accord  men  of  all  nations  and  con- 
ditions whatsoever,  may  bow  down  in 
thy  worship,  and  glorify  thy  name  with 
natures  attuned  by  thy  sweet  influence 
unto  everlasting  harmony  and  love." 

"  Amen  !"  exclaimed  his  companion 
reverently.  "  Much  pleased  am  I  to  hear 
of  such  sentiments,;  and  doubt  I  not  that 
if  they  were  common,  and  were  acted  on 
by  the  different  ministers  of  religion,  one 
faith  would  soon  pervade  the  world,  and 
one  feeling  of  love  unite  all  mankind  in  a 
bond  of  peace  that  should  never  be  sun- 
dered." 

"Ah,  my  son!"  cried  the  padre  with 
increased  fervor.  "  How  earnestly  would 
I  strife  to  bring  about  so  good  a  work. 
There  are  multitudes  of  my  brethren 
who  hold  that  a  man  can  not  be  saved 
unless  he  be  of  the  catholic  church  ;  but 
my  heart  can  not  consign  to  perdition  so 
many  of  my  fellow-creatures.  Among 
protestants  I  have  met  with  very  many 
who  without  doubt  were  truly  excellent 
Christians.  They  led  good  lives;  they 
gave  bountifully  to  the  poor ;  they  wor- 
shipped their  Creator  in  all  gratitude  and 
sincerity  ;  and  that  such  are  to  be  re- 
warded with  the  torments  of  the  damned, 
seemeth  to  me  incredible." 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  now  had  some 
doubt  that  his  companion  was  of  the  sort 
he  had  suspected.  Ideas  so  liberal  he 
had  not  met  with  before  in  any  catholic, 
much  less  a  priest :  and  he  could  never 
have  suspected  them  in  a  Jesuit. 

"  I  am  afraid,  padre,  the  superiors  of 
your  order  would  but  little  approve  of 
such  opinions  as  you  have  just  expressed," 
said  he.  "  Yet  I  am  wonderfully  delight- 
ed with  your  liberality,  and  shall  have 
better  thoughts  of  your  religion  for  pro- 
ducing such." 

"Indeed,  my  son,  I  speak  but  as  I 
think,"  replied  .the  ecclesiastic,  with  a 
look  of  very  convincing  earnestness.  "  It 
is  true  that  many  of  us  are  not  so  toler- 
ant; but  the  cell  and  the  cloister  are  the 
last  places  from  which  ideas  enlarged 


and  charitable  should  be  expected  to 
come.  It  hath  been  my  good  hap  to 
travel  much.  I  have  seen  with  mine 
own  eyes.  I  have  taken  my  opinion  of 
men  from  themselves,  and  not  from  an- 
other party  who  may  be  either  ignorant 
or  prejudiced,  and  like  enough  give  false 
testimony.  The  result  of  this  thou  dost 
behold.  I  can  respect  a  man  for  all  that 
he  be  of  a  nation  with  which  mine  is  at 
enmity.  I  can  believe  in  his  worth  for 
all  that  he  followeth  a  religion  which 
mine  declareth  to  be  damnation.  I  am 
not  to  be  cheated  out  of  my  admiration 
of  honorable  conduct  in  deference  to 
any  unjust  judgment  of  another,  though 
he  should  be  my  spiritual  chief  and  di- 
rector in  all  matters  of  conscience."  • 

"0'  my  life,  well  said!"  exclaimed 
the  other,  diligently  scrutinizing  the  fea- 
tures of  his  companion  to  detect  aught  of 
insincerity.  Finding  that  the  benevolence 
of  his  aspect  altered  not  a  jot,  he  was 
beginning  to  think  more  and  more  every 
minute  that  he  had  been  too  hasty  in 
what  he  had  done.  "And  so  you  have 
travelled,  padre  ?"  continued  he.  "  Cer- 
les,  there  can  be  nothing  like  travel  fo 
the  liberalizing  of  the  mind.  Have  you 
ever  been  in  England  ?" 

"  I  have,  my  son,  but  'tis  many  years 
since." 

"  My  secretary  doth  imagine  that  he 
hath  met  with  you." 

"  Indeed !"  cried  the  padre  in  some 
surprise,  then  added  with  more  indiffer- 
ence, "It  can  scarce  be,  for  I  left  Eng- 
land when  I  Was  but  a  boy." 

"I  thought  he  had  been  mistaken," 
observed  Sir  Walter.  Then  there  fol- 
lowed a  silence  of  some  few  minutes,  in 
which  each  was  busily  engaged  with 
thoughts  of  the  other. 

"  Have  you  resided  long  in  this  island  ?" 
inquired  Raleigh. 

"  For  some  years,  my  son,"  replied  the 
Jesuit. 

"  Doubtless  then  you  must  be  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  natives,  their  disposi- 
tions and  habits  ?" 

"  Methinks  there  are  but  few  who 
know  them  better.  I  ventured  here  un- 
der the  favor  of  the  Virgin,  in  the  hope  of 
converting  of  these  heathens  to  the  true 
faith.  I  have  labored  hard,  and  not  with- 
out some  success.  Still  I  must  in  friend- 
liness acquaint  thee  that  they  are  in  no 
way  to  be  depended  on.  They  are  thor- 
oughly treacherous  and  false  at  heart. 
Mayhap  if  thou  hast  speech  with  them 
they  shall  tell  thee  the  most  moving  sto- 
ries concerning  of  cruelty  and  oppression 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


169 


suffered  of  the  Spaniards,  whereof  there 
shall  be  no  sort  of  truth:  their  only  ob- 
ject beiog  to  create  a. confidence  by  the 
which  they  may  better  be  able  to  rob 
and  murder  those  who  put  their  trust  in 
them." 

"  They  must  be  a  bad  set  indeed  if  that 
be  the  case,  padre,"  answered  Sir  Wal- 
ter. "  Nevertheless,  it  seemeth  strange 
to  me  that  none  of  them  should  come  on 
board." 

"Fearing  of  some  mischief,''  said  the 
priest,  "  I  did  exert  my  influence  with 
the  commandant  to  stop  them  from  leav- 
ing the  shore,  knowing  how  inveterate 
they  be  against  foreigners,  and,  worst  of 
all,  against  thy  worthy  countrymen  the 
English." 

"  Then  am  I  under  much  obligation  to 
you,"  replied  his  companion :  yet  still  he 
had  his  doubts  upon  the  matter. 

"  Mention  it  not,  my  son.  I  am  happy 
that  I  have  the  power  of  doing  a  service 
to  one  of  a  nation  I  have  ever  had  such 
excellent  good  cause  to  respect.  I  hope 
thou  wilt  tarry  amongst  us  some  time?" 

"  I  know  not  how  long  my  stay  may 
be,  padre." 

"  Hast  thou  any  more  ships  besides 
these,  my  son  ?" 

"  I  have  ;  but  their  sailing  with  me 
has  been  delayed." 

"Perchance  they  shall  overtake  thee 
ere  long  ?" 

"  'Tis  like  enough  some  of  them  may." 

"  Be  they  ships  of  a  force  like  unto 
this,  my  son  ?" 

"Somewhat,  padre." 

"Prythee,  tell  me  again  what  number 
of  ships  thou  expectest  to  join  thee  ?"  said 
the  Jesuit. 

"I  said  not  any  number,"  answered  Sir 
Walter,  who  now  began  to  suspect  that 
his  companion  had  some  object  in  his 
questions. 

"  Oh,  'tis  of  no  sort  of  consequence  !' 
exclaimed  the  priest  as  unconcernedly  as 
he  might,  and  on  the  instant  turned  the 
conversation  into  another  channel.  Each 
tried  to  obtain  of  the  other  such  informa- 
tion as  he  required — the  one  concerning 
of  the  force  possessed  by  Don  Antonio — 
the  other  of  the  number  of  men  and  ships 
under  Sir  Waller's  command  ;  and  each 
strove  to  mislead  his  companion  as  mucl 
as  was  possible  of  him. 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind  as  to  going 
to  your  new  city,"  observed  Raleigh. 

"The  Sefior  Gobernador  will  be  righ 
glad    to  see   thee,"  replied    the    padre 
"And   he   will    take   it   unkind  of  ihee 
shouldst   thou  leave    the  island  withou 


laying  him  a  visit.  I  should  earnestly 
advise  thee,  as  a  friend,  to  neglect  such  a 
thing  on  no  account." 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  said  Sir  Walter. 
'But  you  are  proceeding  thither  I  be- 
.ieve  ?" 

'I  shall  go  by  land  immediately  I  get 
me  on  shore,"  answered  the  Jesuit. 

"  Is  the  distance  very  great  by  land  ?" 
inquired  the  other. 

"  Some  few  leagues,  my  son  ;  but  the 
roads  are  not  of  the  best,  and  the  way  by 
sea  being  the  shortest,  I  usually  prefer  it." 

"When  you  see  the  worshipful  Don 
Antonio  de  Berrio,  present  my  duty  to 
him,  and  say  I  be  most  earnest  in  wishing 
him  all  the  prosperity  in  his  government 
his  great  merit  deserveth:  and  that  if  he 
come  not  to  see  me  straight,  I  will  do  my 
best  to  pay  him  a  visit." 

"I  will  not  fail,  m,y  son." 

Soon  after  this  the  Padre  Bartolome 
and  the  man  Tobias  went  ashore,  but  not 
before  the  latter  had  expressed  in  Spanish 
to  Harry  Daring,  with  a  look  that  could 
not  be  misunderstood,  that  he  jvould  be 
glad  to  cut  his  throat  on  the  very  first 
opportunity  ;  to  the  which  Harry  replied 
by  an  action  more  expressive  than  ele- 
gant, that  the  Spaniard  could  not  help 
interpreting  much  better  than  if  any 
language  had  been  used,  in  what  con- 
tempt he  was  held. 

Toward  the  evening  of  the  same  day 
the  good  ship,  the  Lion's  Whelp,  being 
at  anchor  about  the  same  place  in  which 
she  lay  in  the  morning,  and  a  strong 
watch  being  set  for  fear  of  a  surprise 
Harry  Daring  being  on  duty,  observed 
several  boats  leaving  the  land.  These 
made  toward  the  ship,  and  it  was  pres- 
ently noticed  that  they  were  filled  with 
natives.  Upon  this  Sir  Walter  and  his* 
officers,  being  told  of  it,  hastened  on  the 
deck  having  everything  in  readiness  in 
case  of  any  hostile  intention  on  the  part 
of  those  in  the  boats  ;  but  upon  closer 
inspection,  seeing  that  they  were  without 
arms  it  was  evident  that  their  object  Was 
peaceable.  As  they  neared  the  vessels 
they  were  hailed,  and  one,  in  good  Span- 
ish, cried  out  to  be  taken  aboard.  To 
some  who  seemed  the  caeiques  or  chiefs 
this  was  allowed,  and  presently,  there 
came  aboard  the  Lion's  Whelp  five  or  six 
Indians,  most  of  them  very  proper  looking 
men,  though  of  a  dusky  hue,  clad  in  little 
else  save  a  linen  cloth  girt  about  the 
middle,  a  head  dress  of  tar  feathers  very 
stately  to  look  on,  and  a  sort  of  cloak 
made  of  a  curious  stuff  very  bright,  and 
ornamented  with  feathers  and  shells. 


170 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


They  came  upon  the  quarter-deck  where 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  with  his  officers, 
and  an  interpreter  which  Captain  Whid- 
don.had  brought  from  these  parts  on  his 
voyage  last  year.  The  latter  was  named 
Ferdinando,  and  was  an  Araucan  Indian 
from  some  place  betwixt  the  Orinoco  and 
the  Amazons,  and  had  been  taken  with 
his  brother  in  canoes  laden  with  cassava 
bread  to  sell  at  a  neighboring  island 
called  Margarita.  One  of  these  Indians 
was  a  tall  old  man  who  carried  himself 
very  stately,  and  whether  because  of  his 
being  the  chiefest  among  them,  or  the 
more  experienced,  is  not  known,  but  he 
acted  as  spokesman  for  the  rest.  He  was 
called  the  acarawana  or  lord. 

Upon  being  asked  their  intention  of 
coming  on  board,  he  said  that  it  was  for 
the  purpose  of  trading  for  such  things  as 
they  could  have,  and  that  the  reason  of 
their  not  attempting  it  by  daylight  was, 
because  of  the  governor  having  given 
orders  through  the  whole  island  that 
none  of  the  natives  should  go  aboard  of 
the  English  ships,  upon  pain  of  hanging 
and  quartering.  Upon  this,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  who  had  had  his  doubts  of  the 
Jesuit,  did  question  them  through  the  in- 
terpreter, of  the  majiner  in  which  behaved 
the  Spaniards  to  them;  and  the  acara- 
wana did  reply  right  movingly,  that  Don 
Antonio  had  divided  the  island,  and  given 
each  soldier  a  part,  making  of  all  the 
ancient  caciques,  who  were  the  rightful 
proprietors,  to  be  their  slaves,  some  of 
whom  he  kept  in  chains,  torturing  of 
them  by  dropping  upon  their  naked  bodies 
burning  bacon  and  the  like:  others  of 
these  Indians  then  spoke  divers  tales  of 
cruelty  and  oppression  which  had  been 
suffered  by  their  countrymen  of  these 
Spaniards,  till  all  who  heard  were  in  a 
monstrous  passion  at  such  barbarous  do- 
ings. 

Sir  Walter  then  inquired  of  then* 
where  the  governor  was,  and  was  told  as 
the  padre  had  stated,  with  the  which  he 
was  informed  that  Don  Antonio,  upon 
hearing  of  the  arrival  of  the  ships,  had 
sent  for  soldiers  to  Margarita,  and  like- 
wise to  a  small  place  on  the  main  land 
called  Cumana,  that  it  was  known  the 
padre  had  come  straight  from  the  very 
place  he  was  pretending  to  go  to ;  and 
that  the  way  the  pilot  was  directing  the 
ship,  was  right  upon  the  most  dangerous 
part  of  the  coast,  it  doubtless  being  his 
intention  to  get  the  vessels  so  entangled 
among  the  rocks  that  they  must  needs 
strike  ;  upon  which,  all  on  board  could 
not  but  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  soldiers 


which  should  be  brought  against  them. 
The  hearing  of  this  convinced  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  that  his  suspicions  had  been  cor- 
rect, that  some  treachery  was  intended 
him  ;  and  he  did  congratulate  himself 
on  the  manner  he  had  acted,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  rescue  bis  ships  from  the  snare 
without  exciting  the  alarm  of  the  Jesuit. 
This  he  knew  to  be  necessary,  should  he 
have  any  design  for  punishing  the  gov- 
ernor for  his  malice,  which  had  been  his 
intention  all  along,  and  he  forthwith 
began  considering  the  properest  way  to 
set  about  it.  In  the  meantime  other  of 
the  Indians  were  allowed  to  come  on 
board,  and  presently  the  whole  ship  was 
in  the  completest  bustle  ever  seen — all 
were  so  busy  a  trading. 

On  the  next  evening  the  acarawana 
came  again  with  many  of  his  country- 
men, and  they  were  exceeding  wrath  be- 
cause of  the  Spaniards  having  executed 
two  of  those  who  had  ventured  on  board 
the  previous  night.  Upon  this  Sir  Wal- 
ter sounded  them  as  to  whether,  in  case  he 
commenced  hostilities  against  their  ty- 
rants, he  could  depend  on  them  for  any 
assistance,  which,  when  they  heard,  they 
made  him  the  most  solemn  assurances 
not  only  of  their  co-operation  in  the  is- 
land, but  of  the  friendliness  of  all  the 
different  nations  on  the  main  land  should 
it  become  known  amongst  them,  that  Sir 
Walter  came  as  the  enemies  of  the  Span- 
iards ;  and  when  he  promised  them,  that 
if  he  had  of  them  proper  guidance  to  the 
new  city  he  would  rout  their  oppressors 
out  of  it,  they  seemed  so  overjoyed  they 
could  scarce  speak,  and  said  they  were 
ready  on  the  instant  to  do  whatever  he 
should  desire  of  them. 

Matters  being  so  far  favorable,  the 
officers  of  the  ships  were  called  together 
into  his  cabin  to  consult  with  their  com- 
mander as  to  the  best  measures  to  be  pur- 
sued at  this  crisis  of  their  affairs ;  and 
then  Sir  Walter  reminded  them  of  how 
treacherously  this  Don  Antonio  de  Berrio 
had  entrapped  eight  of  Captain  Whid- 
don's  men  in  his  voyage  last  year — how 
he  had  with  devilish  cunning,  endeavored 
to  cast  away  their  vessels  upon  the  rocks 
for  the  purpose  of  the  more  easily  attack- 
ing them  with  his  soldiers,  and  with 
what  extreme  cruelty  he  did  torment  the 
poor  natives  to  get  from  them  where  they 
had  concealed  their  treasures.  Then  he 
stated,  as  it  was  not  possible  to  pass  the 
Orinoco  in  his  ships,  he  must  leave  them 
behind  him  some  four  or  five  hundred 
miles,  whilst  he  got  along  as  he  best 
might  in  the  small  boats,  which  could 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


171 


never  be  done  with  any  safety  to  the 
former,  should  he  leave  a  garrison  at  his 
back,  who  were  anxious  to  spoil  his  en- 
terprise, and,  as  he  had  heard  of  the  In- 
dians, were  in  daily  expectations  of  great 
supplies  out  of  Spain.  Believing  too,  as 
he  could  not  help  doing,  that  the  Span- 
iards would  plot  his  overthrow  as  soon  as 
they  could  do  it  with  any  chance  of  suc- 
cess, he  stated  it  was  safest  to  come  upon 
them  unawares  before  they  could  hatch 
their  schemes;  and  he  doubted  not  at 
all  of  being  able  to  give  them  so  absolute 
an  overthrow  as  should  sufficiently  pun- 
ish them  for  their  villany. 

This  was  marvellously  well  liked  of  all 
the  captains,  for  there  was  scarce  one 
there  who  did  not  burn  with  impatience 
to  be  at  the  Spaniards ;  and  it  was  soon 
agreed  that  the  following  evening  a 
strong  force  should  be  secretly  got  ready 
to  attack  the  settlement  before  them, 
whence  it  was  immediately  to  proceed  to 
the  new  city  San  Josef  de  Oruno,  to  en- 
deavor to  take  the  governor  prisoner.  In 
consequence  of  this  resolve,  all  who  be- 
longed to  the  expedition  were  as  joyful 
as  such  brave  spirits  could  be,  their  dis- 
like of  the  Spaniards  was  so  great ;  and 
every  one  was  wanting  to  be  of  the  pariy  ; 
but  as  it  was  necessary  some  must  be 
left  behind  to  take  care  of  the  ships, 
many  of  those  who  were  the  readiest  to 
volunteer  were  hugely  disappointed,  be- 
cause of  their  ill  fortune  in  not  being  al- 
lowed to  go  with  the  others.  It  may 
readily  be  believed  that  of  all  who  were 
in  delight  of  the  approaching  encounter 
was  there  none  so  well  pleased  as  Harry 
Daring.  When  he  heard  of  it  he  flung 
his  cap  up  in  the  air,  and  hurraed  and 
jumped  about  as  if  he  were  crazed  with 
joy.  The  evening  before  he  could  sleep 
nothing,  because  of  his  thinking  so  much 
of  what  he  would  do  when  the  fighting 
began,  and  the  exquisite  fine  fun  he  should 
have  in  it.  He  would  scarce  allow  Master 
Francis, who  slept  with  him  to  get  a  wink, 
he  kept  so  continually  asking  of  him  how 
such  and  such  a  great  knight's  esquire 
had  behaved  when  he  first  ventured  into 
battle,  and  a  many  more  of  questions  to 
the  like  purpose,  whereof  the  other  at 
first  gave  him  such  answers  as  seemed  to 
inflame  his  humor  the  more,  for  he 
straightway  waxed  so  wonderfully  in- 
quisitive on  all  warlike  matters,  that 
Master  Francis  got  tired  of  it,  and  was 
obliged  to  tell  him  pretty  sharply  to  hold 
his  prate,  for  that  he  could  get  no  sleep 
for  him.  In  the  morning,  as  soon  as 
might  be,  he  was  found  in  an  out-of-the- 


way  corner  practising  with  one  of  the 
most  experienced  swordsmen  in  the  ship 
the  cunningest  cuts  that  he  knew  of,  and 
it  was  exceeding  fair  diversion  to  observe 
how  earnestly  the  boy  set  about  his  les- 
son, evidently  taking  such  huge  delight 
in  it  as  showed  he  had  a  greater  liking 
for  such  things  than  he  had  found  when 
j  he  was  apprentice  to  the  barber  chirur- 
j  geon  in  East  Cheap.  As  the  time  drew 
i  on  he  grew  more  impatient.  He  must 
needs  sharpen  his  sword  to  make  it  cut 
well — then  he  would  polish  up  his  piece 
and  oil  the  lock,  so  that  it  should  not  miss 
fire. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  had   taken 
great  note  of  him,  came  up  with  Master 
Francis  as  Harry  was  busy  in  the  steerage 
getting  ready  his  accoutrements,  assisted 
by  a  young  Indian,  whose  affections  he 
had  gained  by  cudgelling  of  a  big  fellow 
who  had  been  using  of  him  ill,  jeering  him 
and  playing  him  all  manner  of  shameful 
tricks,  ever  since  which  Harry  had  acted 
toward  him  as  a  sort  of  patron,  and  would 
allow  him  to  be  despisingly  used  on  no 
|  account.     This  youth,  though  dressed  as 
I  an  humble  ship-boy,  had  a  manner  with 
|  him   of  wonderful    courteousness.      His 
j  face,  albeit   his   complexion  was  of  the 
darkest,  was  not  uncomely,  and  his  eyes 
I  were   exceeding  bright   and  expressive ; 
i  indeed,  there  was  often  noticed  in  him, 
]  for  all  he  seemed  so  simple  and  humble 
i  at  other  limes,  a  look  of  pride  and  haugh- 
j  tiness,  that  did  the  more  draw  on  him 
i  the  uncivil  remarks  of  some  of  his  com- 
I  panions.  He  had  been  brought  to  England 
j  by  Captain  Whiddon  ;  and  being  of  Gui- 
ana, and    of  an  intelligent  nature,  it  was 
thought  he  might  be  of  service  in  the 
present  adventure. 

"Now,  Snowball,"  exclaimed   Harry 
Daring,  as  he  was  loading  of  his  piece 
and  the  other  was  looking  on  with  won- 
dering eyes,  "  you  see,  having  cleaned 
the  barrel  and  oiled  the  lock  as  well  as 
I  may,  I   presently   put  in   powder,  for 
i  there  shall  be  no  going  off  of  the  piece 
1  at  any  time  unless  there  be  powder  in  it." 
"  Deara  me  !"  cried    the  boy,  looking 
i  from  the  gun  to  its  possessor  with  un- 
!  feigned  astonishment  and  admiration. 

"  Then,  Snowball,"  continued  Harry 
i  with  the  like  importance  of  manner,  "I 
i  put  me  in  this  bullet,  for  it  be  a  sure 
|  thing  there  shall  be  no  killing  of  any  one 
i  unless  there  be  a  bullet  with  the  powder." 
"Oh,  my!"  said  the  other,  after  the 
i  same  wondering  fashion  as  at  first;  for 
j  it  seemed  a  very  marvellous  thing  to  the 
i  simple  Indian. 


172 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  The  which  done,  I  next  place  a  pinch 
of  the  powder  in  the  pan,  for  if  that  be 
not  done  it  shall  be  of  no  use  to  you  to 
load  your  piece  at  all." 

"  Dat  very  strange !  Massa  Harry,"  ex- 
claimed the  boy  with  more  wonder  than 
ever. 

"  Then,  supposing  you  to  be  one  of  those 
villanous  caitiffs  the  Spaniards,"  contin- 
ued his  companion,  as  he  raised  the  weap- 
on to  his  shoulder  and  pointed  the  barrel 
toward  the  young  Indian.  "I  take  aim 
at  you  thus — intending  to  have  the  kill- 
ing of  you  on  the  instant." 

"  No,  Massa  Harry,  you  no  killa  me,  if 
you  please,  sar  !"  cried  the  youth,  as  he 
shrunk  down  in  some  affright  and  looked 
imploringly  toward  the  other.  "  You  beat 
him  big  fellar  cause  him  kicka  me  and 
pincha  me.  You  no  hurt  poor  Indian 
boy.  You  no  killa  me,  Massa  Harry  ?" 

"Hullo,  sir,  what  mischief  have  you 
in  hand  now  ?"  inquired  Sir  Walter  some- 
what angrily,  as  he  caught  the  piece  out 
of  Harry's  hold. 

"  Surely  you  meant  not  any  harm," 
said  Master  Francis,  though  he  marvelled 
prodigiously  at  finding  of  the  two  in  such 
a  situation. 

"  Nay,  o'  mv  life  I  intended  not  to 
shoot  him,"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring  with 
extreme  earnestness,  "  I  was  but  showing 
of  him  how  to  manage  his  piece." 

"No,  no, — Massa  Harry  no  mean  to 
killa  me,  I  tank  you,  sar,"  cried  the  young 
Indian,  upon  whom  it  was  evident  some 
pains  had  been  at  for  the  instructing  of 
him  in  politeness.  "  He  beat  him  big 
fellar  cause  him  kicka  me  and  pincha 
me,  if  you  please,  sar ;  he  no  hurt  poor 
Indian  boy,  I  tank  you,  sar." 

"  0'  my  word  it  looked  exceeding  like 
intent  to  kill,"  said  Raleigh;  "but  it 
matters  not,  so  that  it  be  no  worse  than 
it  is." 

"  If  it  please  you,  I  was  but  showing 
the  boy  the  right  proper  manner  in  which 
I  purposed  serving  out  the  Spaniards," 
observed  Harry  Daring. 

"  But  how  know  you  you  are  to  be  al- 
lowed to  join  the  attacking  party?"  in- 
quired Sir  Walter. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog,  an'  I  be  not  al- 
lowed, I  shall  go  stark  mad  !"  exclaimed 
Harry,  very  earnestly  ;  and  he  looked  ut- 
terly dismayed  at  the  thought  of  being 
kept  away. 

"I'faith  that  must  never  be,"  replied 
his  patron,  with  a  smile;  "or  else,  if  it 
must  needs  be  that  you  go  mad,  methinks 
'twould  be  as  well,  were  you  to  bite  a 
few  that  would  lag  astern,  when  the  en- 


emy are  before  them  ;  and  mayhap  they 
shall  be  none  the  worse  for  it.  But  if  I 
let  you  go,  will  you  promise  me  to  be 
obedient  to  all  orders,  and  never  to  move 
from  the  place  you  are  put  in  till  I  shall 
think  there  be  occasion  ?" 

"  If  it  please  you  I  will  promise  any- 
thing, so  that  two  things  be  allowed  me," 
said  Harry  Daring  in  a  more  cheerful 
tone. 

"And  what  may  you  require  ?"  inquired 
Sir  Walter. 

"  First  that  my  place  be  by  the  side  of 
my  true  friend  Master  Francis;  so  that 
if  any  of  those  villanous  caitiffs  seek  for 
to  do  him  a  mischief,  I  may,  on  the  in- 
stant, cut  off  their  knaves'  heads  for 
them." 

"  Granted,"  cried  Sir  Walter,  seeming 
much  delighted  at  the  hearing  of  such  a 
request. 

"  And  next,  should  I  have  the  good  hap 
to  meet  with  that  monstrous  poor  worst- 
ed rogue  that  drew  his  dagger  upon  me, 
merely  for  giving  him  a  civil  challenge  to 
fight,  that  I  should  have  the  killing  of 
him  for  my  own  particular  pastime." 

"  For  the  granting  of  that  I  am  not  so 
ready,"  replied  Raleigh;  "I  think  he  is 
no  fit  match  for  you.  He  is  aTnan  grown, 
seemeth  strong  and  cunning,  and  doubt- 
less hath  had  much  experience  in  his 
weapon.  Depend  on't,  if  he  is  found  in 
arms,  and  maketh  much  resistance,  he 
shall  be  well  cared  for  by  those  who  are 
better  able  to  do  it  than  are  you." 

"  Say  you  not  so  if  it  please  you,  sir," 
asked  the  boy,  imploringly ;  "  my  heart 
be  set  upon  the  killing  of  him ;  and  as 
for  his  being  a  man  grown,  I  care  for  it 
not  a  fig's  end.  He  be  but  an  ass,  sir,  I 
do  assure,  for  he  hath  not  the  sense  to 
speak  honest  English." 

"Let  Massa  Harry  killa  him,  it  you 
please,  sar,"  said  the  young  Indian,  very 
urgently,  as  he  lifted  up  his  expressive 
eyes  unto  the  face  of  Sir  Walter.  "  Mas- 
sa Harry  brave  as  lion.  He  beat  him  big 
fellar,  'cause  him  kicka  me  and  pincha 
me,  I  tank  you,  sar." 

"  I  think  in  this  case,  a  conditional 
promise  might  be  given,  without  hurt  to 
any,"  here  observed  Master  Francis  to 
Sir  Walter.  "  It  may  be,  as  circumstan- 
ces shall  direct,  with  proper  caution  at- 
tending it,  as  should  save  Harry  from  all 
dangerous  consequences." 

"  Hang  dangerous  consequences  !  Mas- 
ter Francis,"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring, 
with  his  customary  undauntedness.  "I 
care  not  for  such,  I  promise  you.  It  be 
enough  for  me  to  look  at  what  I  be  about, 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


173 


without  heeding  what  shall  come  of  it. 
Let  me  have  but  the  getting  of  this  rom- 
bustious  fellow  weapon  to  weapon,  where 
all  shall  be  as  fair  for  one  as  for  t'other, 
and  if  I  let  him  get  the  better  of  me,  I 
Will  e'en  stick  to  a  barber's  pole  for  the 
rest  of  my  days,  deeming  myself  deserv- 
ing of  no  better  weapon.  Not  to  say  that 
it  be  one -in  any  way  to  be  despised  ;  for 
I  have  had  good  service  with  it,  as  when 
I  paid  out  that  valorous  knight  of  the 
brazen  countenance,  for  drawing  of  his 
monstrous  tool  upon  me,  because,  when 
breathing  of  a  vein  for  him,  I  could  find 
no  more  blood  in  him  than  you  shall  get 
from  a  cabbage-leaf." 

The  saying  of  this  made  Sir  Walter 
exceeding  curious  to  know  more  of  the 
matter  ;  but  when,  upon  inquiring,  he 
heard  the  boy  relate  the  whole  story  of 
how,  upon  his  first  attempt  in  the  breath- 
ing of  a  vein,  he  had  cut,  and  cut,  and  cut 
Captain  Bluster  in  the  arm,  to  no  manner 
of  purpose — the  rage  of  the  patient — the 
deadly  combat  which  ensued,  and  the 
overthrew  of  the  valorous  captain,  he  did 
laugh  as  if  he  would  never  have  done. 
And  so  droll  was  Harry  Daring  in  de- 
scribing the  whole  scene,  that  Master 
Francis  was  more  amused  than  when  he 
first  heard  it;  and  the  Indian  kept  show- 
ing of  his  ivory  teeth,  and  grinning  as 
though  nothing  could  have  so  tickled  his 
fancy. 

"  Well,  if  you  can  make  such  effective 
use  of  a  barber's  pole,  I  doubt  not  of 
your  being  able  to  do  as  much  with  more 
creditable  weapons,"  observed  Sir  Wal- 
ter, after  his  mirth  had  a  little  subsided  ; 
"  therefore,  supposing  you  shall  come  up 
with  this  Tobias,  as  I  think  he  is  called, 
provided  it  can  be  made  manifest  to  me, 
he  shall  have  no  unfair  advantage  of  you, 
I  will  allow  of  your  giving  him  battle ; 
and  you  shall  be  assured  of  my  earnest 
wishes  for  coming  off  victorious  in  the 
encounter." 

At  this  Harry  Daring  began  a  jump- 
ing about  as  if  he  was  out  of  his  wits  for 
joy.  In  truth  he  was  of  a  simple  artless 
nature,  for  all  that  he  was  oft  so  mis- 
chievously disposed — doing  naught  from 
malice,  as  hath  already  been  represented, 
but  merely  from  the  love  of  sport.  He 
had  not  the  heart  to  hurt  a  fly,  unless 
perchance  he  should  find  a  big  fly  a  bully- 
ing of  a  smaller  one,  and  then  he  would 
presently  settle  the  matter  after  a  fashion 
that  showed  he  had  the  very  properest 
sense  of  justice.  Sir  Walter  having  ex- 
pressed himself  as  hath  been  described, 
gave  notice  that  the  attack  was  to  be 


made  that  very  evening  as  soon  as  it  be- 
came dark,  which  being  made  known 
throughout  all  the  ships  put  every  one 
into  getting  of  himself  ready  for  the  con- 
flict. When  the  hour  appointed  had  ar- 
rived, and  it  was  thought  that  all  was 
still  upon  shore,  the  boats  being  got  ready, 
the  different  captains  with  about  a  hun- 
dred soldiers  and  such  mariners  as  were 
necessary,  did  leave  their  ships  without 
any  noise.  The  feelings  with  which 
Harry  Daring  steps  into  the  vessel  that 
was  to  bear  him  unto  his  enemies  are  not 
easy  of  description.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
he  was  in  a  monstrous  impatience,  and 
did  plant  himself  as  near  to  that  part  of 
the  boat  he  expected  would  first  touch 
the  land  as  he  could,  from  a  device  of  his 
own,  which  will  be  seen  anon.  Present- 
ly they  all  glided  along  the  water  neve"r 
a  one  saying  a  word,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's 
own  barge  taking  the  lead,  in  which  was 
Harry,  and  Master  Francis,  and  such  of 
the  ship's  company  as  the  barge  would 
hold,  all  armed  to  the  teeth  ;  and  the 
other  boats  lay  as  close  to  her  as  they 
could  get,  using  of  their  dars  so  dexter- 
ously as  to  make  no  great  splashing,  so 
as  in  any  way  to  alarm  the  Spaniards. 
The  night  was  somewhat  of  the  darkest, 
but  that  was  all  the  better  for  their  enter- 
prise, as  they  looked  to  surprise  the  corps 
de  garde  to  prevent  them  from  sending 
off  any  intelligence  to  the  governor. 

Scarcely  had  Sir  Walter's  barge  touch- 
ed the  shore  when  Harry  Daring  sprung 
out  of  it  before  any  one  entertained  a 
suspicion  of  what  he  intended,  and  leapt 
upon  land  the  first  of  all.  He  was  quick- 
ly followed  by  the  rest  with  as  little  noise 
as  could  be,  and  Sir  Walter  giving  some 
orders  to  his  officers  to  keep  the  men 
together,  marched  them  off.  They  passed 
several  buildings,  of  what  sort  they  knew 
not  because  of  the  darkness,  and  made 
direct  for  the  guard-house,  which  was 
marked  out  to  them  by  a  strong  light 
burning  within.  This  they  surrounded 
on  all  sides  so  as  to  prevent  every  chance 
of  escape.  There  was  a  sentinel  at  the 
door,  but  he  was  so  fast  asleep  leaning 
against  a  post,  that  he  saw  not  and  heard 
not  aught  of  what  was  going  on  around 
him.  He  was  not  disturbed  of  any,  but 
was  allowed  to  snore  where  he  was, 
which  he  did  in  very  earnest  fashion. 
An  open  window  stood  a  little  above  the 
ground,  and  Sir  Walter  causing  Harry 
Daring  to  be  lifted  in  the  arms  of  the 
tallest  man,  the  boy  gave  note  of  what 
he  saw  within.  There  were  the  Span- 
iards lying  of  their  lengths  on  the  floor, 


'74 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  frRIENDS. 


all  fast  asleep,  their  pieces  were  piled 
up  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  their 
swords  hung  against  the  wall.  What  to 
do  was  next  to  be  considered.  The  sen- 
tinel lay  across  the  door  as  it  were,  rest- 
ing of  his  back  against  one  post,  and  his 
feet  against  the  opposite.  He  seemed  to 
grasp  his  piece  so  tight  that  there  ap- 
peared to  be  no  getting  it  away  from  him 
without  his  crying  out,  nor  could  there 
be  any  passing  of  him  without  moving 
him  in  such  a  manner  that  he  should 
wake  on  the  instant.  The  casement  was 
somewhat  too  high  from  the  ground  to  be 
easily  got  at.  However,  it  was  determin- 
ed, come  what  would,  that  as  many  as 
could  should  get  in  at  the  window,  whilst 
others  should  remove  the  sentinel,  kill 
him  if  he  sought  to  give  the  alarm,  and 
rush  in  at  the  door. 

No  sooner  had  Harry  Daring  heard  of 
this  arrangement  than  he  leapt  from  the 
man's  shoulders  on  which  he  had  climb- 
ed, scrambled  quickly  up  to  the  casement, 
and  quietly  dropped  himself  down  into 
the  room.  There  was  he  among  the 
enemies  he  had  so  longed  to  grapple 
with  ;  but  every  man  of  them  seemed  to 
be  a  sleeping  soundly,  and  he  could  not 
think  of  attacking  a  sleeping  foe.  He 
examined  them  by  the  light  which  burn- 
ed in  the  chamber,  and,  as  he  was  intent 
upon  this,  who  should  he  discover  amongst 
them  but  his  old  antagonist  Tobias,  not 
dressed  as  a  fisherman,  as  he  was  when 
aboard  of  the  Lion's  Whelp,  but  in  the 
habit  of  a  soldier.  He  had  scarce  made 
this  discovery  when  he  observed  the 
man's  eyes  open,  and,  for  a  single  moment 
glaring  at  him  with-  the  ferocity  of  a  tiger, 
Tobias  jumped  on  his  feet  with  a  scream 
of  exultation,  and  made  for  the  place 
where  the  harquebuses  were  piled :  but 
Harry,  who  saw  there  was  no  time  to  be 
lost,  levelled  his  piece  at  him,  and  laid 
him  his  length  on  the  floor.  The  report 
of  this  roused  the  sleepers,  but  they 
seemed  all  taken  with  a  sudden  phrensy, 
running  this  way  and  that,  making  a 
strange  wild  outcry,  and  jostling  against 
each  other  as  if  they  knew  not  what  they 
were  about.  Now,  as  quick  as  could  be, 
one  man  dropped  from  the  window,  and 
then  another,  and  at  the  same  time  there 
was  heard  the  shout  of  the  sentinel,  a 
rushing  at  the  door,  and  the  hurra  of  Sir 
Walter's  soldiers,  for  whom  at  this  time 
silence  could  do  no  good. 

Hurry  Daring,  as  soon  as  he  had  brought 
down  Tobias,  did  himself  haste  to  the 
place  where  the  arms  were  piled,  and 
ii rawing  of  his  hanger,  slashed  about  with 


right  good  will,  so  that  the  whole  com- 
pany of  Spaniards  made  at  him  with  th'eir 
rapiers  for  to  get  at  their  fire-arms,  their 
numbers  did  so  incommode  each  other, 
and  Harry  did  use  his  weapon  with  such 
nimbleness,  that  he  kept  them  at  bay, 
giving  a  many  fearful  cuts  to  such  as 
ventured  within  his  reach,  till  some  of 
Sir  Walter's  men  jumping  in  at  the 
window,  and  others  rushing  in  at  the 
door,  at  once  bore  down  all  opposition, 
and  then  the  Spaniards  straightway  fell 
on  their  knees,  imploring  very  lustily  for 
quarter — which  was  granted  them  by  the 
victors.  Of  the  Englishmen  there  was 
none  hurt,  but  of  the  Spaniards  there 
were  six  killed,  beside  several  wounded. 
Leaving  these  last  to  the  surgeon,  and 
securing  of  his  prisoners,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  sent  one  of  his  captains  with 
sixty  soldiers,  guided  by  an  Indian,  whilst 
he  followed  with  forty  more,  to  look  after 
Don  Antonio  de  Berrio  in  his  new  city, 
San  Josef  de  Orufio. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

1  am  another  woman  ;— till  this  minute 
1  never  lived,  nor  durst  think  how  to  die, 
How  long  have  I  been  blind  ?   Yet  on  the  sudden 
By  this  blest  means,  I  feel  the  films  of  error 
Ta'en  from  my  soul's  eyes. 

MASSINGBB. 

Never  have  unjust  pleasures  been  complete 
In  joys  entire  :   but  still  fear  kept  the  door, 

And  held  back  something  from  that  vale  of  sweet, 
To  intersour  unsure  delights  the  more. 

For  never  did  all  circumstances  meet 
With  those  desires  that  were  conceived  betore, 

Something  must  still  be  left  to  cheer  our  sin, 

And  give  a  touch  of  what  should  not  have  been. 

DANIELL 

IN  a  handsome  chamber  of  the  gov- 
ernor of  Guiana  well  lighted,  and  decked 
with  such  costly  furniture  as  might  be- 
come the  dwelling  of  a  sovereign  prince, 
there  sat  a  right  beautiful  woman  in  a 
dress  in  the  Spanish  style,  of  exceeding 
rich  materials.  She  was  reclining  on  a 
silken  couch  figured  in  with  gold  in  a 
wonderful  costly  pattern,  supporting  her- 
self by  pillows  of  the  same,  and  was 
leaning  of  her  head  back  upon  her  hand, 
whilst  her  elbow  rested  on  the  cushions 
behind  her.  Her  eyes  were  somewhat 
dark  and  marvellously  lustrous,  her  face 
very  lovely  to  look  upon  ;  yet  the  expres- 
sion on  it  was  of  so  gloomy  and  disturbed 
a  nature,  mingling  great  grief  with  great 
ange.r,  that  there  would  be  few  so  hazard- 
ous as  to  venture  to  gaze  thereon  with 
any  sort  of  affection,  notwithstanding  o/ 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


175 


its  great  comeliness.  Her  form  was  truly 
beautiful,  showing  she  was  a  woman 
arrived  at  the  very  maturity  of  her  at- 
tractions. The  outline  of  her  limbs  was 
fully  rounded ;  whilst  her  spreading 
shoulders  and  swelling  <  bosom  were  of  a 
corresponding  character. 

Doubtless  was  she  wondrously  moved 
by  her  own  reflections,  for  her  breast 
heaved  violently,  and  the  glances  that 
shot  from  lier  brilliant  eyes  were  not  such 
as  betokened  a  mind  at  ease.  After  con- 
tinuing to  look  more  moodily  every  mo- 
ment, and  starting  every  now  and  then 
from  her  position  with  a  sort  of  half- 
stifled  sob,  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and 
began  pacing  of  the  room  with  haughty 
strides.  The  whilst  she  was  at  this  a 
door  opened;  and  there  entered  a  stately 
looking  man,  habited  in  all  the .  proud 
apparelling  of  a  Spanish  noble.  His  age 
might  be  somewhere  about  forty.  He 
Was  well  featured,  yet  had  he  in  his  coun- 
tenance a  sort  of  scornfulness  that  ever 
and  anon  gave  his  countenance  an  expres- 
sion in  110  way  amiable.  Even  when  he 
Was  striving  for  to  inspire  confidence  and 
affection,  he  had  so  much  of  guile  in  his 
look,  that  few  could  be  deceived  by  it.' 
An  experienced  observer  could  not  fail, 
should  he  be  long  in  his  company,  of  see- 
ing in  him  the  selfish  sensualist  and  the 
cruel  despot.  On  the  noise  of  the  door 
opening  the  lady  turned  round,  and 
noticing  who  entered,  she  seemed  to 
make  a  struggle  with  herself;  her  look 
was  not  so  gloomy,  but  still  it  Was  much 
disturbed. 

"  Ah  !  my  adored  !"  exclaimed  the  gen- 
tleman as  he  advanced  toward  her  with 
an  easy  carriage,  and  a  face  dressed  in 
smiles.  "I  have  hastened  to  thee  from 
a  thousand  pressing  duties  ;  but  when 
love  beckons  all  else  may  siay  behind. 
How  fares  it  with  thee,  senora  ?  Thy 
looks  scarce  welcome  me.  Is  there  ausfht 
I  have  neglected  providing  thee  with? — 
any  one  thing  thou  hast  the  desire  of? 
Nay,  by  the  Virgin,  thou  usestme  but  un- 
kindly if  thou  hast  any  wish  ungratified." 

"I  lack  nothing,  Don  Antonio,"  said 
the  senora  faintly,  as  she  moved  from 
him  as  if  to  hide  her  feelings. 

"  0'  my  life  'tis  but  uncivil  of  thee  to 
turn  away, "observed  the  governor,  as  he  ! 
went  up  to  her  and  took  her  hand,  gazing 
in  her  face  all  the  time  with  very  passion-  j 
ate  admiration.     "  For  art  thou  not  the 
very  light  of  mine  eyes?     Do  I  not  love  ; 
thee,  dofia  ?" 

"Love?"  cried  his  fair  companion 
with  a  sort  of  sarcastic  emphasis. 


"  Ay,  love,  Querida  !"  replied  de  Berrio. 
"  And  well  art  thou  worthy  of  such. 
Madre  de  Dios!  I  shall  think  better  of 
heretics  for  thy  sake,  and  I  shall  ever 
hold  the  worthy  padre's  piety  in  greater 
estimation,  because  he  hath  secured  so 
delectable  a  sinner  for  the  consoling  of  so 
good  a  catholic  as  am  I." 

"  Mention  him  not !"  exclaimed  the 
lady  somewhat  fiercely.  "  He  is  a  wretch, 
upon  whom  to  waste  a  thought  Would 
be  a  waste  indeed.  He  is  a  villain — a 
very  absolute  villain.  A  traitor — a 
|  thorough  black-hearted  hppocrite— the 
very  completest  wretch  that  ever  dis- 
graced the  name  of  humaniiy.  I  scorn 
and  loathe  and  detest  him  from  out  of 
the  very  depths  of  my  heart." 

"  Give  him  not  such  hard  words,  I 
prylhee,"  said  Don  Antonio,  seemingly  a 
little  surprised  at  the  earnestness  with 
which  she  had  spoke.  "  As  times  go, 
methinks  he  is  none  so  bad.  For  mine 
own  part,  I  see  nothing  in  him  worse 
than  shall  be  met  with  in  most  of  our 
holy  men.  He  is  n  marvellous  fine 
preacher,  and  is  altogether  so  skilled  in 
the  knowledge  of  human  hearts,  that  he 
hath  ofttimes  been  employed  by  our  gov- 
ernment on  the  delicatest  missions.  What 
hath  he  done  amiss  2" 

"  What  hath  he  done  amiss  ?"  echoed 
the  senora  in  a  voice  and  with  a  look 
that  startled  her  companion.  "But  no 
matter.  If  he  escape  punishment  in  this 
world,  which  I  doubt,  I  doubt  not  he 
shall  have  a  fearful  retribution  in  the 
time  to  come." 

"  Indeed,  I  can  not  help  but  think  thou 
hast  taken  a  great  prejudice  against  him," 
observed  de  Berrio,  "  I  have  found  him 
well  to  be  depended  on,  and  do  trust  him 
most  implicitly.  -Even  now  he  hath  gone 
on  an  adventure  for  me  that  hath  great 
risk  in  it,  for  'tis  no  other  than  the  en- 
deavoring to  entrap  that  notorious  English 
pirate  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  his  vil- 
lanous  followers,  so1  that  I  may  give  them 
a  complete  overthrow." 

"Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  said  you?"  in- 
quired the  senora,  seemingly  as  if  she 
marvelled  much  at  hearing  of  his  name 
mentioned, 

"The  same,  dofia,"  replied  the  gov- 
ernor. "  He  is  now  upon  the  coast  witii 
divers  of  his  ships,  intending  to  venture 
himself  and  the  pitiful  fools  he  hath  in- 
duced to  follow  him,  into  the  interior  of 
Guiana,  hoping  for  the  discovery  of  El 
Dorado;  but  if  I  spoil  not  his  voyage, 
then  am  I  wonderfully  mistaken." 

"Are  you  sure  'tis  Walter  Raleigh  ?" 


176 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


asked  liis  fair  companion,  seemingly  in  a 
monstrous  agitation. 

"  Sure  !"  cried  Don  Antonio,  in  some 
surprise.  "What  doubt  can  there  be  of 
it?  Did  not  Padre  Bartolome  bring  me 
certain  intelligence  of  every  one  thing 
connected  with  the  expedition.  I  faith, 
so  minute  is  my  information,  that  I  have 
with  me  a  paper  containing  the  names 
^f  every  officer  engaged  upon  it,  and  the 
exact  number  of  the  men  and  ships  ;"  and 
he  produced  a  paper  from  his  vest. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  said  the  sefiora,  and 
she  instantly  snatched  the  paper  from  his 
hand,  and  began  a  reading  of  it.  She 
had  not  put  her  attention  to  it  many  min- 
utes, which  she  did  holding  the  paper 
trembling  in  her  hand,  when  her  gaze 
stopped  a  moment,  and  then  quietly  fold- 
ing up  the  list,  she  returner!  it  to  the  gov- 
ernor. "I  thank  you.  But  are  you  sure 
this  is  to  be  relied  on  ?" 

"  I  will  be  bound  for't,  'tis  accurate  to 
a  letter,"  replied  Don  Antonio. 

"  Doubtless,  you  mean  to  take  them 
prisoners  if  you  can  ?"  inquired  his  fair 
companion,  seemingly  as  if  perfectly  un- 
concerned. 

"  By  the  Virgin !  I  mean  to  hang  up 
'•very  rascal  of  them  as  soon  as  ever  I 
can  get  them  in  my  power,"  answered 
De  Berrio.  "  I  will  make  such  an  exam- 
ple of  this  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  his 
piratical  associates,  that  no  more  such 
shall  ever  dare  venture  on  the  coast. 
But  away  with  all  thought  of  such  poor 
knaves !"  continued  he,  as  he  placed 
his  arm  round  her  waist.  "  This  deli- 
cious evening  surely  was  never  made 
to  be  wasted  in  idle  talk  concerning  of 
such  sorry  rascals ;  let  us  give  the  mo- 
ments to  love.  Turn  me  those  lustrous 
eyes  this  way,  dona,  and  smile  on  me  thy 
delicatest  smiles." 

"Smile  !  I  have  lost  all  humor  for  smi- 
ling," replied  the  senora. 

"  Then  find  the  humor  again,  I  prythee, 
for  'tis  a  humor  that  becoraeth  thee  in- 
finitely." At  the  hearing  of  this  his  fair 
companion,  mayhap  intent  upon  some 
object,  did  smile  most  bewitchingly ;  per- 
adventure,  it  may  have  been  at  the  flat- 
'cry  she  had  just  heard,  for  it  be  difficult 
to  find  any  woman,  upon  so  pretty  a  com- 
pliment entirely  indifferent ;  but  let  it  be 
as  it  may,  that  she  smiled  there  can  be 
no  manner  of  doubt,  even  though  the 
cause  of  her  smiling  there  shall  be  no  cer- 
tainty of. 

'•  O1  my  life,  thou  art  the  very  sweet- 
est piece  of  womanhood  eye  of  mine 
ever  dwelt  on,"  exclaimed  the  governor, 


gazing  upon  her  with  most  enamored 
glances. 

"  Thou  dost  but  flatter  me,  Don  Anto- 
nio,'1 replied  the  lady  ;  yet,  as  if  with  a 
manner  that  showed  she  was  not  ill 
pleased  with  what  she  had  heard. 

"  Nay,  by  our  Lady,  'tis  the  truest 
thing  that  ever  was  spoke,"  added  Don 
Antonio,  with  more  fervor,  as  he  did 
press  her  very  lovingly  in  his  arms. 
"  None  of  our  Spanish  women  are  to  be 
compared  with  thee.  Thou  hast  a  shape 
which  would  dissolve  the  icy  heart  of  an 
anchorite ;  and  looks  hast  thou  which 
heart  of  man.  never  could  stand  against. 
By  all  the  saints,  Querida  !  lean  not  look 
upon  those  pouting  lips  of  thine  without 
mine  own  being  drawn  thereto  with  a 
power  I  can  not  resist  for  the  soul  of  me." 

The  governor  was  about  attempting 
to  caress  his  fair  companion  when  the 
noise  of  a  door  opening  behind  him  was 
heard,  and  there  was  presently  seen  en- 
tering Padre  Bartolome,  look'ing  as  if 
exceeding  travel-worn.  As  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  two  in  the  position 
in  which  they  stood,  of  a  sudden  his 
handsome  features  did  put  on  a  scowl  of 
verv  great  malignity,  and  he  stopped 
where  he  was.  The  senora  was  the  first 
to  observe  him,  which,  when  she  did,  she 
broke  from  the  arms  of  Don  Antonio, 
and  with  a  look  of  extreme  disgust  and 
abhorrence,  proudly  swept  by  the  Jesuit, 
and  vanished  out  of  the  room.  De  Ber- 
rio upon  this  turned  round,  and  then  no- 
ticed the  padre  advancing  toward  him, 
now  with  a  countenance  of  profound  hu- 
mility. 

"Welcome,  Padre  Bartolome!"  ex- 
claimed the  governor,  with  wonderful 
cheerfulness ;  "  welcome  back  to  San  Jo- 
sef de  Oruno.  But  say,  how  hast  thou 
speed  on  thine  errand  ?  Are  those  wood- 
cocks snared  ?  Shall  we  have  a  famous 
revenge  on  these  villanous  Englishmen  ?" 

"  I  grieve  to  say,  my  son,  that  the  Vir- 
gin hath  not  smiled  on  my  efforts,"  an- 
swered the  ecclesiastic. 

"What,  have  they  escape  3  ?"  loudly 
inquired  Don  Antonio,  and  l\  ereupon  his 
face  became  mightily  clouded. 

"I  did  seek  to  cast  them  away  on  the 
coast,  as  I  sent  thee  word,"  continued  the 
padre.  "  Meaning  to  manage  it  so  that 
it  should  seem  but  the  result  of  an  acci- 
dent ;  yet  the  soldier  Tobias,  who  was 
recommended  to  me  as  one  of  so  daring  a 
nature  that  he  would  do  the  boldest  thing 
for  love  of  God  and  the  Virgin,  did  man- 
age so  ill,  that,  when  nigh  upon  the  very 
completing  of  our  purpose,  he  must  needs 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


177 


pick  a  quarrel  with  one  of  those  accursed 
heretics,  and  so  bring  on  a  brawl ;  which 
so  incensed  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  against 
him,  that  he  would  have  none  of  him  for 
a  pilot,  and  straightway  turned  the  ship 
about,  and  made  back  for  the  place 
whence  he  came." 

"  A  thousand  curses  on  that  villain's 
head  for  marring  so  goodly  a  plot !"  ex- 
claimed De  Berrio,  furiously.  "  He  de- 
serveth  to  be  flayed  alive,  at  least.  I 
will  see  that  he  have  fitting  punishment. 
But  thinkest  thou  those  piratical  rascals 
have  taken  the  alarm!'' 

"  I  can  not  say  for  certain,  my  son,"  re- 
plied the  priest.  "  It  did  seem  to  me 
more  than  once  that  Sir  Walter  had  sus- 
picion of  me  ;  but  I  could  not  be  assured 
of  it.  He  did  behave  very  courteously, 
and  talked  much  of  the  felicity  he  should 
enjoy,  could  he  but  assure  himself  of 
possessing  thy  company  for  a  brief 
space." 

"  Madre  de  Dios !  he  shall  have  it 
longer  than  he  looks  for,"  cried  Don  An- 
tonio, with  a  very  savage  expression  of 
countenance.  "  He  shall  have  right  fa- 
mous enjoyment  of  it.  I  will  give  him 
such  felicity  as  he  hath  met  nothing  like 
in  this  world,  or  may  expect  in  the  loath- 
somest  place  in  purgatory,  where  I  will 
send  him." 

"  Thou  hadst  best,  then,  be  quick,  my 
son,"  observed  the  padre,  "  else  shall  he 
slip  through  our  fingers,  and  then  shall 
the  church  suffer  a  great  loss ;  for  'tis  a 
most  commendable  thing  to  cut  off  these 
heretics  root  and  branch — they  be  so  in- 
veterate against  our  holy  religion.  Lose 
no  time,  1  prythee.  Their  force  is  al- 
ready far  from  contemptible,  and  if  they 
are  joined  by  the  other  ships,  it  will  be  the 
difficultest  thing  possible  to  do  them  any 
damage,  unless  thou  hast  those  supplies 
from  Spain  which  will  be  sent  thee  on 
purpose  to  spoil  their  adventure." 

"  I  would  they  had  arrived  !"  exclaim- 
ed^he  governor,  "  then  should  I  be  at  no 
loss  what  to  do:  but,  doubtless,  Aich  sol- 
diers as  I  can  have,  are  now  on  their 
march,  and  will  reach  here  in  a  few 
days.  Then,  meihinks,.  'twill  be  an  easy 
matter  to  inveigle  this  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh and  his  companions  into  the  island, 
where  they  shall  fall  into  an  ambuscade, 
in  the  which  they  shall  be  so  handled  as 
shall  make  the  survivors  glad  to  surren- 
der at  discretion." 

"  Dost  think  'twill  be  so  late  as  two  or 
three  days,  my  son,  before  thou  canst 
have  the  soldiers  ?"  inquired  Padre  Bar- 
tolome. 

12 


"  It  can  not  be  less,"  replied  Don  An- 
tonio. 

"  Metbinks  such  a  delay  is  exceeding 
dangerous,"  observed  the  Jesuit. 

"  What  makes  thee  think  so,  padre  ?" 
asked  De  Berrio. 

"  The  commander  of  these  heretics 
was  wonderfully  inquisitive  concerning 
of  what  force  thou  possesseth,"  answered 
the  priest  with  much  seriousness.  "  He 
asked  many  questions,  whereof,  as  might 
be  presumed  of  me,  I  gave  him  such  an- 
swers as  he  could  profit  little  from  :  but, 
supposing  that  he  should  get  speech  of 
the  natives,  the  which,  though  I  have 
endeavored  to  prevent,  is  like  enough  to 
happen  ;  perchance  he  may  procure  such 
information  as  may  lead  him  into  the 
making  of  a  sudden  attack  upon  thee." 

"Ha  !  dost  think  so  ?"  exclaimed  Don 
Antonio,  listening  attentively,  and  with 
some  uneasiness. 

"I  had  the  ill  hap  to  sprain  my  ankle, 
as  I  journeyed  this  way,  else  should  I 
have  been  here  sooner,"  continued  the 
padre.  "  But  it  oft  struck  me  in  my  prog- 
ress, 'twould  be  an  easy  thing  for  them 
to  master  the  guard  at  Puerto  de  los  Es- 
panoles,  and  proceeding  quickly  thence 
to  this  place,  come  upon  thee  unawares." 
"  Carba  de  San  Pedro,  'tis  like  enough  !" 
cried  the  governor,  now  in  some  alarm. 

"How  are  thy  forces  disposed?  Hast 
a  strong  guard  set  ?  Hast  thou  such 
strength  at  hand  as  could  beat  off  these 
cursed  heretics?"  inquired  the  ecclesias- 
tic, with  increasing  earnestness. 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  I  have  scarce  a  hun- 
dred men,"  replied  De  Berrio,  whilst  fear 
and  anxiousness  did  more  and  more  take 
possession  of  his  haughty  countenance. 
"  But  how  wears  the  night,  padre  ?  With 
the  blessing  of  the  virgin,  there  shall  yet 
be  time  to  prepare  for  these  wretched 
villains,  supposing  they  would  dare  to 
venture  against  me — which  I  doubt  huge- 
ly." 

"  Doubt  nothing  of  the  kind,  my  son," 
said  the  padre  quickly,  "I  know  them 
well.  There  is  nothing  so  like  to  hap- 
pen as  their  surprising  of  thee.  'Tisnow 
nigh  unto  midnight.  'Twould  be  best 
to  rouse  thy  soldiers  without  a  moment's 
delaying,  and  so  dispose  of  them  as 
to  keep  them  from  much  loss,  whilst 
they  do  what  damage  they  can  to 
these  Englishmen  should  they  make  an 
attack." 

"I  will  about  it  on  the  instant,"  an- 
swered Don  Antonio,  as  he  hastily  made 
for  the  door.  "  But  come  thou  with  me, 
I  would  have  speech  with  thee  on  the 


178 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


way."  The  two  then  went  forth  togeth- 
er, but  scarce  had  they  got  into  the  street 
when  they  were  aware  of  a  sudden  firing 
of  pieces,  a  clashing  of  swords,  and  a 
din  of  voices,  that^in  the  still  night 
sounded  with  marvellous  distinctness. 

"  By  Heaven,  they  are  upon  us  !"  ex- 
claimed the  governor,  drawing  his  sword 
and  hastening  to  whence  the  sounds  pro- 
ceeded. 

"  Thou  art  going  wrong,  my  son — the 
tiring  is  from  this  way  !"  cried  the  padre, 
holding  the  other  by  the  arm. 

"  Nay,  'tis  this  way,  I  am  assured  of 
it,"  said  his  companion  more  urgently,  as 
he  strove  to  proceed  in  the  direction  he 
was  a  going. 

"  Hark !  hearest  thou  not  the  firing: 
now  ?"  cried  the  priest,  still  detaining 
him. 

"  Madre  de  Dios,  they  have  us  on  both 
sides !"  exclaimed  Don  Antonio  with 
great  emphasis,  and  he  appeared  quite 
bewildered.  At  this  time  there  came 
running  past  him  sundry  of  the  inhabi- 
tants half-dressed,  as  if  they  had  just  fled 
from  their  beds,  a  screaming  and  crying 
out  wonderfully ;  and  seeing  of  the  gov- 
ernor, some  who  knew  him  did  implore 
his  assistance  with  very  piteous  accents 
— and  yet  none  knew  of  what  they  were 
afraid.  Some  said  it  was  one  thing  and 
some  another,  and  many  got  round  De 
Berrio,  every  one  telling  of  him  a  differ- 
ent story.  During  this  the  firing  and  the 
hurraing  increased,  and  came  so  nigh 
that  Don  Antonio  was  shortly  left  alone ; 
and  upon  his  looking  round  for  the  padre, 
he  was  nowhere  visible.  Presently  he 
observed  a  company  of  soldiers  retreat- 
ing in  haste  and  disorder,  and  running  in 
amongst  them,  he  called  on  them  to  stop  ; 
but  they  would  not  hearken  to  him,  and 
continued  their  flight,  with  him  in  the 
midst  of  them. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog,  here  be  more  of 
'em  to  kill !"  cried  out  Harry  Daring, 
at  the  head  of  a  party  of  his  countrymen 
that  now  made  their  appearance. 

"  Down  with  the  villain  Spaniards  !" 
shouted  Sirnon  Mainsail. 

"  A  Raleigh  !  a  Raleigh  !"  exclaimed 
some  score  of  voices,  and  a  discharge  of 
firearms,  followed  by  a  rush  sword  in 
hand  upon  the  affrighted  soldiers  of  Don 
Antonio  de  Berrio,  soon  convinced  the 
latter  that  they  had  fled  from  one  set  of 
em-mies  only  to  meet  with  others  of  a 
like  desperate  character.  They  made  hut 
litile  opposition:  most  of  them  threw 
down  their  arms  and  begged  for  mercy 
A  few  of  a  braver  sort  fought  rounc 


heir  commander,  but  they  were  soon  cut 
down  by  the  followers  of  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
eigh,  among  whom  Harry  Daring  dis- 
inguished  himself  in  a  manner  that  did 
jreatly  surprise  both  friends  and  foes. 

"  Yield  thee  my  prisoner  or  die  !"  ex- 
ilaimed  Harry,  after  having  knocked  the 
governor's  rapier  out  of  his  hand,  he  put 
he  point  of  his  own  to 'his  breast.  Don 
Antonio  looked  as  if  he  liked  not  to  be 
mastered  by,  so  young  an  antagonist,  but 
seeing  there  was  no  help,  he  said  in 
Spanish  that  he  yielded. 

"Nay,  if  thou  canst  not  speak  honest 
English,  thou  must  needs  be  a  rogue  and 
a  villain,  so  I  had  best  rid  the  world  of 
thee,"  said  the  other,  and  seemed  about 
to  fulfil  his  intention. 

"Hullo,  Harry,  hurt  him  not:  he  is  an 
officer  of  rank  !"  exclaimed  Master  Fran- 
cis, as  he  hastened  toward  him,  seeing 
what  his  friend  was  a  doing  of,  then  ad- 
dressing the  governor  in  Spanish,  added 
very  courteously — "  I  pray  you  yield 
yourself  prisoner,  senor,  and  say  of  what 
quality  you  are.  I  will  answer  you  shall 
tiave  fair  treatment." 

'  I  have  already  yielded,"  replied  the 
Spaniard  proudly,  "  and  am  Don  Antonio 
de  Berrio,  the  governor  of  Guiana." 

At  this  moment  who  should  come  up 
but  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  at  the  head  of  a 
portion  of  his  force,  and  he  heard  what 
was  going  on — "And  I  am  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,"  said  he,  addressing  the  gov- 
ernor in  his  own  language.  "  The  for- 
tune of  war  hath  made  thee  my  prisoner, 
Senor  Gobernador.  I  am  well  aware 
that  had  I  had  the  ill-hap  to  have  fallen 
into  thy  hands,  in  consequence  of  the  de- 
signs which  I  am  confident  thou  didst 
entertain  against  me,  I  should  have  fared 
but  ill :  but  I  follow  no  bad  example.  I 
forgive  thee  thy  malicious  intentions,  be- 
cause thou  art  in  my  power,  and  will 
have  thee  treated  as  I  should  have 
wished  to  have  been  used  had  I  been  in 
thine."  Don  Antonio  bowed,  haughtily, 
but  he  said  never  a  word.  Sir  Walter 
then  gave  certain  commands  to  his  offi- 
cers for  the  securing  of  the  prisoners,  and 
the  resting  of  the  men  after  their  fatigues ; 
and  then  proceeded,  accompanied  by 
Master  Francis,  Harry  Daring,  and  a 
sufficient  guard,  to  take  possession  of  the 
governor's  house. 

It  was  about  an  hour  after  what  hath 
already  been  related,  that  Master  Francis 
had  laid  himself  down  on  the  couch  in 
the  chamber  described  at  the  commence- 
ment of  this  chapter,  whilst  Harry  Dar- 
ing was  laying  of  his  length  upon  some 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


179 


rushes  at  his  feet.  Neither  had  taken 
off  any  of  their  clothes,  designing  only 
to  get  what  sleep  they  could  for  a  few 
hpurs,  the  which  they  greaily  needed, 
having  had  a  toilsome  march  before  they 
came  to  the  city.  The  lights  had  been 
put  out,  but  the  moon  shining  through  the 
windows  with  great  Splendor,  did  suffi- 
ciently enable  any  one'  to  distinguish 
objects. 

"Well,  this  be  exquisite  fine  fun  of  a 
sure  thing!"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring 
cheerfully.  "There  be  nothing  like  the 
Killing  of  Spaniards.  Indeed  it  be  the 
very  properest  way  of  breathing  of  a  vein 
after  all.  0'  my  word,  if  old  Lather  had 
seen  me  shooting  of  one  villain  here,  and 
cutting  down  another  villain  there,  the 
whilst  so  many  of  our  enemies  were  run- 
ning this  way  and  that,  some  shouting, 
some  crying,  and  some  a  fighting  as  well 
as  they  might,  and  the  more  peaceable 
sort  of  men,  women,  and  children,  stri- 
ving lo  escape  from  their  houses  in  so 
monstrous  a  fright,  that  they  could  scarce 
put  on  themselves  a  morsel  of  covering, 
would  he  not  have  marvelled  wonder- 
fully, Master  Francis?" 

"  I  dare  say  he  might,"  replied  his 
companion. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog !  methinks  he 
would  not  know  what  to  say  upon  it," 
added  the  boy.  "But  hang  all  barber- 
ing  !  say  I ;  and  as  for  physic,  let  them 
that  like  it  take  it.  I'll  meddle  no  more 
with  such  things,  I  promise  you.  How 
I  should  have  liked  big  Jack  o'  the 
Turnstile  lo  have  been  amongst  us.  He 
would  have  seen  how  bravely  thou  didst 
bear  thyself  in  the  thick  of  the  fray,  and 
would  not  have  dared  ever  after  to  call 
thee  '  mollycoddle.'  I'faith  !  I  do  be- 
lieve that  scurvy  rogue  of  a  Spaniard, 
when  we  were  forcing  of  our  way  through 
the  city-gates,  would  have  pinned  me 
against  the  wall — a  murrain  on  him  ! — 
hadst  thou  not  so  timely  cut  in  and  given 
the  fellow  his  deserts.  Dost  not  think 
'twas  a  great  pity  the  fighting  was  so 
soon  over  ?" 

"The  sooner  such  things  are  over  'tis 
the  better  for  both  the  conquered  and  the 
conquerors,"  observed  Master  Francis. 

"Dost  think  so  indeed!"  said  Harry 
Daring  in  some  surprise.  "  O'  my  life  ! 
1  can  not  see  it  in  that  light.  For  mine 
own  part,  I  would  not  care  to  meet  with 
an  enemy  who  would  soon  give  in. 
There  seemeth  to  be  no  credit  in  fighting 
with  such.  I  be  for  those  who  will  not 
allow  of  their  being  beat  till  they  can 
not  help  themselves.  Many  a  bout  of 


quarter-staff  have  I  had  with  fellows 
who  gave  me  no  lack  of  sore  thumps, 
and  had  I  then  said  I  had  had  enough 
of  it,  they  should  have  boasted  ever 
after  that  I  was  one  of  a  poor  spirit ;  but 
I  held  out  at  all  times,  and  thumped  the 
more  for  the  thumping  I  got,  the  which 
they  could  never  stand  so  well  as  could  I ; 
and  the  end  of  it  was  that  I  prevailed  over 
them,  and  made  them  acknowledge  they 
had  got  such  a  drubbing  as  till  then  they 
had  no  experience  of.  Dost  not  think 
quarter-staff  an  exceeding  pleasant  pas- 
time ?" 

"  I  never  had  liking  for  it,"  replied  his 
companion. 

"  True !"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  I  did 
forget  how  delicate  thou  wert.  'Twould 
never  have  done  for  thee  to  have  prac- 
tised at  so  rough  an  amusement,  for  thou 
couldst  not  have  helped  getting  thy  head 
broke  in  a  presently,  and  mayhap  some 
of  thy  limbs  into  the  bargain.  Indeed, 
there  was  but  slight  occasion  for  thy  li- 
king such  rude  sports  ;  for,  as  I  have  ever 
said,  thou  wert  a  gentleman  born."  - 

"Prythee,  talk  not,  good  Harry  !"  said 
Master  Francis  in  a  marvellous  tremulous 
voice,  which  showed  that  what  he  had 
just  heard  moved  him  exceedingly.  "I 
am  much  fatigued,  and  need  rest." 

"  Nay,  then,  I  am  a  villain  if  I  disturb 
thee !"  cried  Harry,  perfectly  unconscious 
that  he  said  aught  hurtful  to  the  feelings 
of  his  friend.  "  Good  night,  Master  Fran- 
cis !" 

"  Good  night,  Harry,"  replied  his  com- 
panion, and  for  the  space  of  a  minute  or 
so  there  was  a  strict  silence;  but  after 
that  the  courageous  boy  seemed  not  to 
lay  at  all  comfortable,  for  he  turned  him- 
self about  many  times. 

"What  aileth  thee,  Harry?"  asked 
Master  Francis  very  kindly. 

"  The  pestilent  moon  must  needs  shine 
upon  my  face^  and  be  hanged  to  it !"  ex- 
claimed Harry  Daring.  "  Do  what  1 
will  I  can  not  keep  my  eyelids  closed." 

"  Come  and  sleep  with  me  on  this 
couch — there  is  plenty  of  room,"  said  his 
friend. 

"That  will  I  never  do,"  replied  the 
other.  "  I  have  read  in  books  it  be  not 
customary  the  esquire  should  sleep  with 
the  knight,  nor  have  I  heard  of  such  a 
thing.  It  be  the  properest  place  for  me 
to  lie  at  your  feet;  and,  like  a  faithful 
esquire,  here  will  I  take  my  rest." 

"  Let  it  be  as  is  most  pleasing  to  thee, 
good  Harry,"  said  Master  Francis;  "  but 
I  would  not  have  thee  deprived  of  sleep 
for  such  notions." 


ISO 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"Oh  !  I  care  not  for  sleep  a  fig's  end," 
cried  Harry  Daring,  "and  would  as  lief 
ktep  awake  as  asleep.  0'  my  life  I  think 
there  bo  nothing  so  pleasant  as  having  a 
famous  talk  with  a  friend  just  before  one 
drops  off' like.  Did  I  ever  tell  thee  of  the 
exquisite  fine  fun  I  had  with  old  Barnaby 
Braddle,  the  constable  of  the  watch  ? 
Nay,  I  be  certain  thou  hast  not  heard  a 
word  of  it.  Well,  it  must  be  known  to 
thee,  that  Barnaby  could  scarce  see  be- 
vond  the  end  of  his  nose:  which,  by-the- 
by  had  no  end  at  all,  for  it  was  nigh  as 
round  as  a  ball,  and  of  a  very  fiery  red- 
ness: besides  which  he  was  so  deaf,  he 
could  hear  but  faintly.  For  all  that,  was 
he  made  constable  of  the  watch,  and  was 
ever  in  a  monstrous  tyrannical  humor  if 
he  caught  any  of  us  apprentices  playing 
of  such  innocent  tricks  as  breaking  win- 
dows, rousing  up  the  citizens  by  calling 
fire,  and  the  like;  therefore  did  I  deter- 
mine to  have  some  sport  with  him.  So  I 
and  big  Jack  o'  the  Turnstile,  long-leg- 
ged Tom  the  tailor's  son  round  the  cor- 
ner, Peter  Perriwinkle,  our  neighbor  the 
chandler's  apprentice,  and  ooe  or  two 
others,  did  station  ourselves  in  such  pla- 
ces as  we  knew  were  the  properest  for 
our  plan  ;  and  presently  we  saw  him, 
with  his  lanthern  in  one  hand,  and  his  bill 
in  the  other,  peering  about  him  with  as 
much  earnestness  as  if  he  could  see  but  a 
glimpse  of  anything,  though  it  might  be 
within  a  yard  of  him  ;  and  grumbling  the 
whilst  as  if  he  must  needs  hear  his  own 
voice  to  keep  up  his  courage. 

"  As  he  passed,  one  cried  out,  close 
at  his  elbow,  '  Watch  !  watch  !  I  be  set 
upon  by  thieves.' — '  Stand,  ye  dishonest 
caitiffs !'  straightway  would  he  cry ;  but 
he  ventured  only  a  step  or  two  in  the  di- 
rection he  fancied  the  sound  proceeded 
from,  and  then  slopped,  expecting  the 
thieves  would  run  away  at  the  hearing 
of  his  voice.  '  Help  !  Master  Consta- 
ble, help  !  here  be  a  cutpurse  upon  me  !' 
shouted  another  from  behind  him ;  and 
he  presently  turned  himself  round,  saying 
quickly,  '  I  charge  ye  hold  him  fast  till  I 
come  ;'  and  went  a  step  or  two  that  way. 
'Here,  honest  Barnaby,  help  a  poor  wo- 
man who  is  nigh  being  undone  by  vil- 
lains !'  screamed  a  third,  a  little  on  the 
opposite  side  of  him.  '  Murrain,  on  ye ! 
why  don't  ye  say  in  what  direction  ye  be 
to  be  found  ?'  grumbled  out  Master  Consta- 
ble, turning  himself  very  leisurely  about. 
'  Watch  !  watch  !  I  pray  you  come,  or  I 
shall  be  killed,'  cried  a  fourth  very  pite- 
ously,  from  another  place.  '  Be  killed 
and  be  hanged  to  ye !'  bawled  the  old 


follow,  now  in  a  horrible  bad  ftutnor ; 
•  canst  not  keep  in  ori*  place  ?  If  the  vil- 
lains but  stay  till  I  come  up  to  them,  I 
promise  to  show  them  no  mercy,  so  they 
had  best  look  to  it,  and  take  themselves 
off;'  and  then  he  ventured  a  few  steps  in 
that  way  ;  but  he  had  scarce  done  so,  when 
another  cried  out  something  else  from  an 
opposite  quarter,  at  the  which  lie  began 
to  swear  most  lustily ;  but  immediately 
he  stepped  in  any  direction,  there  was  a 
voice  calling  of  him,  from  one  totally 
different. 

"At  last,  when  he  appeared  so  bewil- 
dered, after  poking  of  his  lanthern  here, 
and  then  turning  of  it  round  there,  and 
looking  into  this  place,  and  then  into 
that,  with  marvellous  little  profit  and 
wonderful  vexation,  we  all  got  round  him 
and  commenced  a  calling  of  him,  every 
one  at  the  same  time ;  and  this  he  could 
in  no  manner  stand  ;  for  after  listening  a 
bit,  in  the  most  perfect  fear  and  trem- 
bling ever  beheld,  he  dashed  through  the 
circle,  bawling  out  that  he  was  set  upon 
by  devils,  and  stopped  not  a  moment  till 
he  found  himself  among  a  whole  com- 
pany of  his  brethren  of  the  watcjj,  who 
had  been  drawn  to  him  by  his  cries. 
Now  I  think  he  was  rightly  served  of  us. 
Dost  not  think  so,  Master  Francis?" 

Harry  Daring  waited  a  brief  space,  but 
received  no  answer. 

"  Dost  not  think  he  was  rightly  served 
of  us,  Master  Francis  ?"  he  again  in- 
quired, but  got  no  more  answer  than  at 
first.  "  0'  my  life  he  hath  gone  to  sleep," 
added  Harry,  as  if  in  some  surprise. 
"  Well,  I  douht  not  he  be  exceeding 
tired  ;  therefore  'tis  the  best  thing  he  can 
do,  poor  fellow.  Methinks  I  have  done 
but  an  ill  thing  in  having  talked  to  him 
so  much.  By  Gog  and  Magog,  this  be 
the  most  pestilent  moon  I  ever  saw  ;  for 
it  will  shine  on  rny  face  in  spite  of  me." 
Thereupon  he  turned  himself  upon  his 
stomach,  and  resting  of  his  forehead  on 
his  arms,  in  a  few  minutes  it  was  evident, 
from  his  regular  and  deep  breathing,  he 
was  as  sound  asleep  as  was  his  companion. 

This  had  scarce  concluded  when  the 
door  opened,  and  the  figure  of  Padre  Bar- 
tolome  glided  softly  into  the  room,  hiding 
of  his  face  in  his  garment.  Cautiously 
stepping  over  Harry  Daring,  he  approach- 
ed the  couch  on  which  Master  Francis 
was  lying.  For  a  minute  or  two  he  gazed 
upon  the  sleeping  secretary  with  a  coun- 
tenance more  of  a  demon  than  that  of  a 
human  being.  Every  trace  of  comeliness 
had  vanished  from  his  handsome  fea- 
tures, and  his  eyes,  that  had  been  seen  to 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


181 


beam  with  piety  and  benevolence  not 
long  since,  now  flashed  glances  of  the 
deadliest  hate  and  malice.  Master  Fran- 
cis lay  upon  his  back,  with  his  left  hand 
under  his  head,  and  his  right  upon  the 
handle  of  his  rapier.  His  shoulders  sun.k 
into  the  soft  pillows  that  he  rested  his 
arm  on,  and  his  legs  were  crossed  one 
over  another.  Scarce  any  face  could  be 
met  with  more  mild  and  affectionate  in 
its  expression  than  was  his.  'Twas  al- 
most doubtful  he  was  asleep  he  breathed 
so  softly,  yet  was  he  dreaming  a  most 
pleasant  dream  of  the  happiness  of  by- 
gone days,  when  Joanna  appeared  to  him 
all  he  thought  most  worthy  to  be  wor- 
shipped. Alack  !  that  such  visions  of 
woman's  perfectness  should  ever  be  so 
unsubstantial! 

The  Jesuit  slowly  drew  from  his  vest 
a  dagger.  He  knelt  down  on  one  knee 
to  bring  himself  more  upon  a  level  with 
the  sleeper.  The  weapon  was  raised 
above  the  breast  of  Master  Francis.  In 
the  next  moment  it  was  wrenched  out  of 
the  padre's  hand.  He  looked  up  in  some 
alarm,  and  beheld,  standing  over  him, 
the  beautiful  form  of  the  lady  described 
at  the  commencemeHt  of  this  chapter. 
Surely  never  woman  looked  with  such 
terrible  glances  as  did  she  on  Padre  Bar- 
tolome. 

"  Begone !"  whispered  she  to  him  in 
his  own  language,  holding  the  dagger 
over  him  with  her  right  hand,  whilst 
•with  her  left  she  pointed  to  the  door. 
"  Stay  but  another  instant  in  this  place 
and  I  will  cleave  thy  treacherous  heart 
ia  twain."  The  ecclesiastic  seemed  quite 
cowed.  Her  gaze  appeared  to  burn  with 
pride  and  disdain.  Her  whole  form  look- 
ed as  though  it  were  dilating  with  a  pow- 
er something  beyond  the  human.  The 
Jesuit  slowly  rose.  He  felt  as  if  he  did 
not  dare  speak.  His  looked  quailed  be- 
fore those  scorching  glances;  and  with 
cautious  steps  he  left  the  room,  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  him  as  he  went,  and  she  con- 
tinuing in  the  same  attitude,  and  with 
the  same  fearful  expression  of  counte- 
nance as  when  <he  first  spoke  to  him. 
When  he  had  departed  out  of  the  door 
she  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  form  of 
Master  Francis  like  one  that  is  almost 
afraid  to  look.  All  of  a  sudden  the  ex- 
pression of  her  features  changed  to  the 
most  devoted  affection.  She  came  closer. 
She  siooped  down  over  him  Wi  h  a  gaze 
of  the  very  sincerest  love,  and  there  stayed 
gazing  for  a  minute  or  two.  Presently 
she  siooped  lower,  aiid  looked  as  (hough 
*he  were  about  to  touch  his  lips  with  her 


own ;  but  on  a  sudden  she  drew  herself 
back  quickly — a  strong  shudder  passed 
over  her  limbs,  and  a  look  of  terrible 
anguish  took  possession  of  her  counte- 
nance. She  seemed  as  if  she  could  not 
glance  that  way  again ;  and  in  a  few 
seconds  quietly  followed  the  Jesuit. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PI-    .hi*    i.        •  .      r  breathes  on  England's  stage, 
'Hi  ii. '« itart  'mi  i   .u     SOUTHAMPTON,  in  whose  sight 
M>«1  i||.;pil  I  lu« '  <ltt   ,  and  in  his  absence  night  ? 
SIB  JOHN  BEAUMONT. 

'!'!•>•«  ulniioos  I  .:iu  ell  of  the  Muses'  hill ; 
V:li-ise  eye  ilotli  n'.  wne  the  most  victorious  pen  ; 
l!  'git',  l.ampeol  Vi  tue,  in  whose  sacred  skill 
I     -I  all  the  l'li*<M  «f  eares-inchanting  men. 

JAKVIS  MABKHAM 

'    night  lit  1 1  ii>  stranger  to  thy  worth, 
Vor.  let  i  In  v'i.mes  in  oblivion  sleep. 

WlTHEK 

TV     "e  Is  bellei  1ii>in  high  birth  to  me  ; 
Ri<'uor  than  weaUh.  prouder  than  garments  cost ; 
Of  'Hire  delight  than  hawks  or  horses  be, 
An  I  'nving  thee  of »;  I  men's  pride  I  boast. 

SHAKSPBABE. 

"  I  THANK  you  right  heartily  for  the 
cheerl  illness  with  v\hich  you  have  offered 
me  yo'ir  friendly  assistance  in  this  busi- 
ness," observed  trie  youthful  earl  of 
Southampton,  as  ho  sat  close  upon  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  io  his  lodgings  at  the  v 
Bankside.  "BelieAe  me,  of  all  mine  ac- 
quaintance there  is  none  I  could  so  readi- 
ly trust  as  yourselT  in  a  matter  of  so 
delicate  a  kind." 

."  Be  assured  I  will  in  no  way  discredit 
your  favorable  opiniin,"  replied  his  com- 
panion very  sincerely.  "Indeed,  I  arn 
delighted  that  it  lieU>  within  the  compass 
of  my  poor  ability  t<  do  a  service  to  one 
whose  friendliness  k  me  hath  been  made 
manifest  on  so  man\  occasions;  to  say 
naught  of  your  lordsl  ip's  singular  admi- 
rable qualities,  whirl  make  the  service 
doubly  honorable." 

"An,  Master  Shaktpeare  !"  exclaimed 
the  young  nobleman,  seemingly  in  a  more 
serious  humor.  "Ui  what  avail  is  the 
<jood  repnn  of  one's  associates  when  that 
happiness  which  sin  u)d  be  the  reward 
of  desert  is  denied  nit  '<" 

"Nay,  my  good  ««d,  not  altogether 
denied. "saiM  the  oil  u  "  Fortune  doth 
not  smile  on  v1  "».•  I-"  •  M  this  moment  as 
she  should  l;«a  i  the  controlling  of  her, 
nor  doth  her  op  position  look  so  formidable 
as  to  afford  no  hope  of  overcoming  it. 
Hath  not  the  lovely  Mistress  Varnon  al- 
rtady  favored  you  with  excellent  proof 
of  her  esteem  ?'"' 


182 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"Truly  she  hath,"  replied  his  friend, 
brightening  up  somewhat.  "  That  I  pos- 
sess her  young  heart's  best  affections, 
raethinks  then-  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt. 
She  hath  given  me  most  sweet  evidenc 
of  it  a  thousand  times." 

"And  is  she  not  bountifully  graced  by 
nature  with  all  loveable  qualities?"  in- 
quired Master  Shakspeare. 

"Indeed  is  she!"  answered  my  Lord 
Southampton  with  increasing  animation. 
"  Her  beauty  is  of  a  very  choice  kind. 
Her  disposition  gentle  and  full  of  great 
kindness,  and  her  modesty  that  of  one 
who,  innocent  herself,  believeth  in  the 
innocency  of  all  around  her." 

"  And  enriched  with  the  love  of  a 
cfea'ture  so  rarely  gifted,  you  can  assert 
that  happiness  hath  been  denied  you !" 
exclaimed  the  former  in  some  sort  of 
surprise.  "Fie  on  you>  my  lord!  I  can 
not  help  thinking  that  in  this  matter  you 
show  yourself  discontented  upon  exceed- 
ing little  occasion." 

"  But  her  kinswoman,  Dame  Deborah, 
hath  forbid  me  the  house,"  replied  his 
youthful  patron.  "  She  is  fearful  of  the 
queen's  anger  ;  for  her  majesty,  having 
heard  of  my  attachment,  hath  seated  she 
will  not  allow  of  my  marriage  with 
Mistress  Varnon,  on  the  ground  that  she 
is  no  fit  match  for  me ;  and  expecting 
the  same  harsh  results  that  followed  the  j 
union  of  Raleigh  wi'th  Mistress  Throck-  j 
morton,  the  old  gentlewoman  is  using  j 
measures  to  put  an  end  to  our  intimacy. 
'Slife,  Master  Shakspeare!"  continued 
the  young  nobleman,  evidently  much 
moved.  "  Call  you  not  this  most  tyran- 
nical usage?  Here  is  an  exquisite  sweet 
lady,  who,  because  she  is  noted  for  a 
lack  of  the  world's  gear,  is  to  be  deprived 
of  a  loving  husband;  and  I,  who  desire 
to  be  claimed  by  her  by  so  fond  a  title, 
am  to  be  denied  the  possession  •  of  an 
estimable  and  affectionate  partner,  who 
hath  in  her  nature  a  treasury  of  all 
sterling  commodities,  because  she  only 
wanteth  that  of  which  Island  in  no  need. 
She  is  of  good  family,  being  of  near  kin 
to  rny  Lord  of  Essex.  Her  behavior  is 
of  the  best,  she  having  been  brought  up 
in  all  courtly  accomplishments ;  and  for 
her  disposition,  it  is  not  possible  to  meet 
with  one  more  worthily  disposed:  and 
yet  the  queen  declareth  her  to  be  no  fit 
match  for  me  !  I'faith  !  fit  match  or  not, 
I  will  have  her,  holds  she  the  same  mind 
she  was." 

"  ]So\v  I  do  perceive  in  you  something 
of  the  true  lover,"  observed  his  companion 
with  a  smile;  "which  I  could  not  but 


have  my  doubts  of  before,  seeing  that  th« 
triHing  obstacles  you  spoke  of  seemed 
sufficient  to  put  you  out  of  heart.  Be 
assured  that  he  who  loveth  sincerely, 
loveth  only  the  more,  the  greater  shall  be 
the  difficulties  that  oppose  his  affection  ; 
for  love  is  that  sort  of  seed  which  once 
planted  in  the  soil  will  live  on  through 
the  sharpest  winter — nay,  though  hillocks 
of  snow  be  piled  upon  it,  and  all  manner 
of  fierce  storms  assail  the  very  spot  it 
doth  inhabit — there  shall  it  dwell  un- 
harmed ;  and  in  its  proper  season  of  sun- 
shine— lo ! — you  see  it  a  perfect  plant, 
rejoicing  in  such  exquisite  beauty  as 
ravisheth  the  heart  that  can  appreciate 
its  divine  perfections." 

"  Excellently  said,  sweet  Master  Shak- 
speare!" exclaimed  my  Lord  Southamp- 
ton, in  evident  admiration.  "  'Tis  indeed 
of  the  very  sort  you  have  so  eloquently 
expressed  ;  and  that  such  love  is  mine 
you  may  rest  assured.  But  the  obstacles 
I  am  now  threatened  with  can  not  be  of 
the  small  account  you  bold  them  in. 
Remember  I  can  get  no  speech  of  her 
though  I  have  strove  earnestly  for  such 
happiness  for  some  days  past.  I  can  not 
even  get  sight  of  her,  for  the  old  dame 
keepeth  her  under  strict  lock  and  key  in 
an  out-of-the-way  old  house  at  Islington, 
and  will  let  her  be  seen  of  none  save  such 
as  be  in  her  confidence.  My  letters  have 
been  returned  ;  my  messages  receive  no 
attention;  I  have  attempted  to  bribe  the 
servants  without  avail  ;  and  all  uny 
schemes  to  gain  admittance  to  her  dear 
presence  have  come  to  the  like  unprofita- 
ble conclusion.  In  sober  truth,  I  am  nigh 
driven  to  my  wit's  end  ;  and  if  that  you 
can  not  assist  me,  I  know  not  what  next 
to  be  about." 

"Despair  not,  my  good  lord,"  replied 
Master  Shakspeare.  "  Unpromising  as 
things  may  be,  I  doubt  not  to  make  them 
put  on  a  more  pleasing  aspect  in  no  very 
long  time." 

"  Say  you  so,  indeed  ?"  cried  the  young 
nobleman,  his  handsome  features  glow- 
ing with  pleasure.  "  Let  it  be  soon  then, 
I  pray  you.  Truly,  if  you  accomplish 
such  an  excellent  purpose,  I  shall  esteem 
you  the  truest  friend  man  ever  had." 

"  I  will  do  it,  or  else  my  wit  shall  he 
hugely  at  fault,"  replied  Master  Shak- 
speare. "  But  you  must  promise  to  be 
entirely  guided  by  me  in  this  matter,  else 
can  I  succeed  in  nothing." 

"All  that  you  please  to  desire  of  me 
I  will  willingly  perform,  depend   on't," 
said  the  other. 
"Then  come  you  this  way,  my  good 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


183 


lord,"  cried  his  companion  rising  from 
his  seat  and  approaching  what  looked  to 
be  the  door  of  a  closet.  "And  if  I  fail 
in  procuring  you  speech  with  your  fair 
mistress  before  the  day  is  over,  proclaim 
at  Paul's  that  Will  Shakspeare  is  no 
match  for  an  old  woman." 

"  Sweet  Master  Shakspeare,  I  am  at 
your  bidding,"  answered  the  Lord  South- 
ampton very  cheerfully,  and  thereupon 
they  both  proceeded  into  an  adjoining 
chamber.  There  we  must  leave  them 
for  awhile. 

In  a  room  of  moderate  dimensions  fairly 
hung  with  arras  that  looked  to  be  of  an 
ancient  manufacture — for,  out  of  all  doubt, 
the  colors  were  wofully  dim  ;  and  in  fact, 
the  whole  of  the  furniture  had  much  the 
same  appearance  of  wornout  splendor — 
there  were  two  ladies.  One,  from  her 
evident  antiquity  and  the  faded  costliness 
of  her  attire,  seemed  of  a  piece  with  the 
furnishing  of  the  chamber.  She  could 
not  have  been  many  years  short  of  sixty  ; 
her  features  were  sharp,  and  at  that  time 
wore  a  marvellous  cold  and  stern  ex- 
pression. Her  false  locks  had  been  dyed 
of  a  sandy  hue  (doubtless  in  compliment 
to  Queen  Elizabeth,  whose  natural  hair 
was  of  that  color)  and  dressed  in  the 
fashion  of  the  tire  valiant,  with  no  lack 
of  feathers  and  jewels.  Her  ruff  was 
laced  and  plaited  with  wonderful  art, 
coming  from  the  back  of  her  neck  very 
broad,  and  extending  on  each  side  of  her 
face  till  the  ends  rested  on  her  bosom, 
having  two  wings  of  lawn  stiffened  with 
wire,  and  starched  of  a  yellow  dye.  The 
stomacher  was  exceeding  long,  straight, 
and  broad,  and  in  the  fore  part  of  the 
waist  there  was  a  pocket  for  such  things 
as  were  needed  to  be  put  in  it.  The 
gown  was  of  velvet  embroidered  with 
bugles,  with  the  sleeves  curiously  cut ; 
and  the  farthingale  was  monstrously 
bulky.  Silk  stockings,  with  shoes  having 
famous  high  heel*,  and  long  gloves  trim- 
med with  silk,  completed  her  costume ; 
and  there  she  stood  as  stately  and  stiff  as 
the  figure  of  Queen  Sheba  done  in  wax- 
work, occasionally  fanning  of  herself  with 
a  large  ivory  fan,  or  putting  to  her  sharp 
nose  an  embroidered  pocket-handkerchief 
richly  wrought  and  delicately  scented. 

To  this  the  other  lady  was  as  exquisite 
a  constrast  as  could  possibly  be  met  with. 
She  was  young.  I  doubt  much  she  had 
seen  more  than  sixteen  or  seventeen 
summers.  Her  stature  was  not  above  the 
ordinary,  yet  was  her  figure  so  graceful 
it  looked  as  though  to  add  would  only  be 
to  spoil ;  and  her  complexion  was  of  that 


choice  kind  where  the  red  comes  peeping 
through  the  pure  skin,  as  a  flower  out  of 
the 'snow,  that  gives  to  comeliness  of 
feature  its  rarest  garnishing.  There  was 
in  her  countenance  so  admirable  an  ex- 
pression of  youih  and  innocence,  that  it 
must  have  charmed  the  most  suspicious 
nature.  In  contrast  to  her  companion's 
antiquated  finery,  she  wore  a  simple  gown 
made  close  to  the  body,  with  an  apron 
of  fine  linen  ;  and  her  hair  without  orna- 
ment save  its  being  curiously  knotted  and 
raised  from  the  forehead.  She  stood  with 
her  eyes  modestly  fixed  upon  the  ground  ; 
whilst  the  other  regarded  her  with  a  stern 
and  searching  look. 

"I  marvel  at  thy  exceeding  shameless- 
ness,  Mistress  Varnon  !"  exclaimed  the 
old  gentlewoman  in  a  lone  of  monstrous 
indignation.  "Never,  in  all  my  days, 
saw  I  such  thorough  baseness  of  be-  • 
havior.  Prythee,  dost  think  I  can  tolerate 
these  unmaidenly  doings?  Dost  fancy  I 
will  allow  of  our  family  being  disgraced, 
and  our  name  brought  into  disrepute — 
a  name  that  hath  hitherto  been  of  such 
exceeding  worship,  that  it  might  stand 
second  to  none  in  these  kingdoms  ?  I 
take  pride  in  saying  the  honorableness 
of  the  Varnons  hath  never  been  question- 
ed— the  sons  have  been  heroes  of  valor, 
the  daughters  models  of  discretion  ;  but 
woe  is  me  !  our  house  is  like  to  be  utterly 
put  out  of  its  notable  reputation  by  the 
contumaciousness  of  its  last  and  only  un- 
worthy scion." 

"But,  dear  aunt!"  exclaimed  her  young 
kinswoman  imploringly. 

"  Speak  not  to  me,  Mistress  Varnon," 
replied  the  other  with  a  dignified  wave 
of  her  arm,  and  the  same  formal,  proud, 
and  stern  demeanor.  "  Respect  for  my- 
self and  the  unsullied  name  I  bear,  ma- 
keth  me  desirous  of  disclaiming  all  re- 
lationship with  one  who  hath  exhibited 
such  abominable,  disobedience.  I  know 
not  the  language  which  should  express 
my  absolute  abhorrence  of  thy  crime. 
'Tis  something  so  marvellous  in  a  mem- 
ber of  our  family  that  the  commission 
of  it  hath  moved  me  to  so  excessive  an 
indignation,  that  I  find  it  clean  impossi- 
ble to  express  the  sense  I  hold  it  in. 
How  horrified  my  sainted  grandmother, 
the  abbess  of  St.  Ursula  must  be  could 
she  behold  thy  delinquency !  How  shock- 
ed would  my  great  uncle  the  bishop  be- 
come !  With  what  consternation  would 
it  be  regarded  by  my  illustrious  kinsman 
the  lord-chamberlain !  And  how  in- 
famous would  it  appear  in  the  eyes  of  my 
respected  aunt  the  maid  of  honor !  I  ara 


184 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


thankful  they  have  been  spared  this  in- 
fliction.  They  are  to  be  envied  upon 
whom  the  grave  hath  shut  out  from  their 
view  so  humiliating  a  scene." 

"  But  my  lord  loveth  me  honorably, 
Aunt  Deborah,"  murmured  the  abashed 
maiden. 

"Love  thee,  Mistress  Varnon  !"  cried 
the  old  -gentlewoman,  in  some  sort  of 
astonishment.  "And  what,  thinkestthou, 
is  his  love  compared  with  thy  loyalty  ? 
Hath  not  her  gracious  majesty  forbid  the 
marriage,  and  thinkest  thou  thata  princess 
of  such  immeasurable  knowledge,  immac- 
ulate virtue,  and  unbounded  beneficence, 
knoweth  not  what  is  proper  for  thee  ? 
Wouldst  have  the  audacity  to  dispute  the 
commands  of  thy  lawful  sovereign  ?  My 
hair  standeth  on  end  at  so  traitorous  a 
supposition.  Queen  Elizabeth,  out  of  her 
abundant  grace  of  disposition,  hath  ever 
held  our  family  in  proper  estimation, 
which  she  showeth  in  a  very  laudable 
measure,  in  the  favor  with  which  she 
hath,  for  some  time,  regarded  my  kins- 
man the  Earl  of  Essex ;  and  shall  a 
daughter  of  the  house  she  hath  so  hon- 
ored, ungratefully  disobey  her  royal  com- 
mands ?  Is  it  to  be  believed,  that  of  a 
race  approved  for  their  loyalty,  there 
should  now  come  a  rebel  ?  If  I  had  not 
known  it  as  a  truth,  I  would  have  doubted 
such  wretched  villany  could  have  existed 
amongst  us." 

"  Indeed,  dear  aunt,  I  can  not  help  lov- 
ing my  Lord  Southampton,"  observed 
her  youthful  companion,  in  a  low  sweet 
voice,  "  he  hath  so  noble,  so  admirable  a 
disposition." 

"  Disposition,  quotha  !"  exclaimed  the 
other  with  increased  indignation.  "  Dar- 
est  thou  talk  of  his  disposition  when  thy 
duty  is  concerned  ?  Had  he  twenty  dis- 
positions, thou  shouldst  think  no  more  of 
him  when  such  be  the  will  of  thy  sover- 
eign. It  is,  on  the  face  of  it,  that  thou 
art  obstinate  to  a  degree  that  exceedeth 
all  example.  But  thy  ill-doing  confineth 
not  itself  to  obstinacy.  Ill-hap  is  mine 
to  find  that  a  daughter  of  the  house  of 
Varnon  hath  not  only  so  forgot  her  natu- 
ral obedience,  as  to  set  herself  in  opposi- 
tion to  her  lawful  sovereign,  but  hath 
shown  such  little  regard  for  the  dignity 
of  her  family,  as  to  attempt  to  bribe  a 
serving-man  to  assist  her  in  carrying  on 
a  clandestine  correspondence.  Yes," 
continued  Aunt  Deborah  as  she  slowly 
drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  evidently 
to  the  infinite  consternation  of  her  pretty 
niece.  "  I  have  discovered  all  thy  ex- 
ceeding baseness.  Thou  hast  done  a  deed 


enough  to  draw  thy  ancestors  out  of  their 
tomb's,  in  horror  of  its  very  villany.  But 
I  will  read  what  horrible  treason  thou 
hast  here  set  down,  though  I  doubt  not 
t'will  move  me  to  be  marvellously 
ashamed  of  thy  disgraceful  conduct." 
And  thereupon,  slowly,  and  with  an  air 
of  stern  dignity,  she  first  put  on  her  spec- 
tacles, then  broke  open  and  commenced 
reading  the  letter,  whilst  the  eyes  of  the 
fair  culprit  were  fixed  on  the  floor  more 
intently  than  ever,  with  so  sweet  an  ex- 
pression of  jnnocency,  that  it  seemed  im- 
possible for  any  person  to  gaze  on  her 
face,  and  feel  harshly  toward  her. 

"  « To  my  ever-honored  and  most  dear 
Lord  Henry  Wriothesly,  Earl  of  South- 
ampton.' 

"  Alack,  what  an  atrocious  superscrip- 
tion is  here !"  exclaimed  the  old  gentle- 
woman. "  '  Most  dear  lord  !'  Hadst  thou 
been  married  to  him  a  good  ten  years, 
thou  couldst  not  have  addressed  him 
more  like  a  wife.  But  I  will  proceed. 

" '  I  am  sorely  grieved,  sweetheart, 
that  I  am  debarred  the  exquisite  delight 
of  seeing  thee.' 

"  Did  ever  any  one  read  such  downright 
rebellion  ?  Sorely  grieved  because  her 
majesty  hath  been  graciously  pleased  to 
command  that  my  Lord  Southampton 
have  naught  to  do  with  thee!  I  am  all 
amazed.  '  And  thinking  tbou  art  in  a 
like  unhappy  case — in  hope  of  affording 
thee  the  sweet  comfort  I  so  much  stand 
in  need  of — I  write  to  assure  thee  I  do  love 
thee  so  infinitely,  naught  on  this  earth 
shall  make  it  less.'  Well !  never  met  I 
such  wanton  immodesty !  Why,  what 
sense  of  shame  canst  thou  have  to  tell  a 
man  such  horrid  things  ?  But  where  left 
I  off?  Ah  !— <  make  it  less.'  '  And  all  I 
now  pray  for  is  that  thou  wilt  give  me 
such  covetable  place  in  thy  remembrance 
as,  of  a  surety,  dear  lord  of  my  life,  thou 
hast  in  mine,  till  the  happy  time  come 
round  again  when  I  may  see  thee,  and 
hear  thee,  and  bless  thee,  with  .such  true 
affectionateness  as  would  I  at  this  present 
were  thy  dear  presence  allowed  me.' 

"And  hast  thou  really  the  impiety  to 
pray  for  such  wicked  things  ?"  inquired 
Aunt  Deborah  with  a  look  of  stately  as- 
tonishment, as  she  deliberately  put  away 
the  letter  and  her  spectacles,  and  then 
began  to  fan  herself  with  a  slow  and  dig- 
nified motion.  "Well  may  religious  men 
cry  out  against  the  iniquity  of  the  age. 
Indeed,  the  world  must  have  come  to  a 
sad  pass  when  in  one  so  young  there 
existeth  so  much  disloyalty,  obstinacy, 
immodesty,  and  impiety.  But  to  prevent 


SHAKSPEARE  AlSD   HIS  FRIENDS. 


185 


further  dishonor  to  our  name,  I  shall  see 
that  the  commands  of  her  most  gracious 
majesty  are  properly  obeyed." 

"Dear  aunt!"  murmured  the  offender, 
as  if  almost  afraid  to  speak. 

"  Go  to  thy  virginals,  Mistress  Varnon," 
replied  her  kinswoman  in  a  lofty  manner. 
"Practise  the  last  new  madrigal  I  pro- 
cured thee  of  the  ingenious  Master  Mor- 
ley.  I  will  hold  thee  well  to  thy  studies, 
so  that  thou  shall  have  no  chance  of 
practising  the  evil  the  infamousness  of 
thj  nature  would  set  thee  upon." 

The  abashed  maiden,  probably  glad  to 
escape  from  the  lecture,  moved  toward 
a  corner  of  the  room  where  the  instru- 
ment was  placed,  and  her  aunt  Deborah, 
with  slow  and  stately  steps,  proceeded 
to  a  chair  close  upon  it,  where,  after  a 
solemn  arrangement  of  her  drapery,  with 
a  calm  and  dignified  countenance  she  sat 
herself  down.  Presently  Mistress  Var- 
non commenced  singing  the  first  part  of 
a  madrigal,  which  she  did  with  a  very 
delicate  voice,  accompanying  of  herself 
on  the  virginals,  whilst  her  kinswoman 
sat  by  listening  with  a  most  delectable 
gravity  impressed  upon  her  ancient  fea- 
tures, a  beating  of  the  time  with  her  fan. 
At  this  time  an  old  serving-man,  in  a 
faded  showy  livery,  entered,  and  advanced 
with  an  air  of  respectful  awe  a  little  way 
into  the  chamber.  The  music  ceased,  as 
did  also  the  beating  of  the  time. 

"Well,  Joseph?"  exclaimed  Dame  De- 
borah, sitting  upright  in  her  chair  very 
formal  and  stiff. 

"  An'  it  please  you,  my  lady,"  replied 
the  man,  "there  is  one  waiting  below 
who  calleth  himself  Master  Dulcimer,  a 
teacher  of  music,  as  he  says,  who  de- 
sireth  to  have  speech  with  you,  saying 
that  he  hath  come  at  the  express  desire 
of  my  Lord  Essex." 

"  What  sort  of  man  seemeth  he  ?"  in- 
quired his  mistress. 

"A  very  worshipful  sort  of  man,  an' it 
please  you,  my  lady,"  replied  Joseph, 
"  one  of  wonderful  fine  accommodation 
in  his  apparelling." 

"Let  him  have  entrance,"  said  Aunt 
Deborah  in  her  stateliest  manner  ;  and  at  | 
this  command  the  old  serving-man,  keep- '' 
ing  his  face  very  respectfully  toward  his! 
mistress,  retreated  out  at  the  door.     Di- 
rectly he  had  disappeared  the  old  dame 
began  fidgeting  about   her  dress,  pulling 
out    this   part  and   smoothing  that,  and  | 
looking  to  see   that  nothing  was  out  of! 
order;  and  before  she  had  well  done  this 
the  door  again   opened,  and  thereat  en-  | 
tered  a  stranger.     He  was  a  man  of  a  ; 


very  commendable  stature  and  features 
yet  carried  he  himself  so  stiffly,  and  look- 
ed with  such  a  primness  as  was  singular 
to  see.  In  age  he  must  have  been  no 
youngster,  for  his  face  seemed  wrinkled 
somewhat.  In  dress  he  Was  attired  as  a 
gallant  of  the  old  fashion,  wearing  a 
beard  of  an  orange  tawny  color,  trim- 
med spade-wise,  with  jewels  in  his  ears, 
and  a  love-lock  with  a  silken  rose  at  the 
end  hanging  down  nigh  upon  the  shoul- 
der. The  ruff  was  very  large,  well  stif- 
fened and  bushy  ;  and  the  doublet  of  fine 
cloth,  having  a  capacious  cape  and  Dan- 
ish sleeves,  was  apparently  So  hard  quilt- 
ed that  the  wearer  stood  in  it  like  unto  a 
man  in  armor.  The  gallygaskins  were 
bolstered  up  all  round  the  lower  part  of 
the  body  to  a  preposterous  size  with  a  stuf- 
fing, doubtless  of  wool  and  hair  ;  the  hose 
were  of  woven  silk  wiih  broad  garters  ; 
and  his  feet  were  cased  in  pantofles  of 
such  high  heels  as  bore  him  up  some  two 
or  three  inches  more  than  his  natural 
stature,  and  these  were  ornamented  with 
shoe-roses  that  looked  to  be  of  some  five 
pound  a  piece.  He  wore  a  dagger  at  his 
back,  and  a  rapier,  the  scabbard  whereof 
was  very  prettily  ornamented,  at  his  side. 
His  hat  was  of  a  high  tapering  crown, 
daintily  embroidered  all  over,  and  having 
a  goodly  plume  of  feathers  drooping 
from  it;  and  his  gloves,  as  was  soon 
made  manifest,  were  perfumed  very 
sweetly. 

As  soon  as  Dame  Deborah  observed  the 
entrance  of  her  visiter,  she  rose  from  her 
seat  slowly  and  with  a  monstrous  digni- 
ty ;  seeing  which  Master  Dulcimer  stop- 
ped, with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  with 
a  very  famous  courtesy  bowed  as  low  as 
the  quilting  of  his  doublet  would  allow 
him ;  thereupon  the  old  gentlewoman 
courtesied  to  the  ground  with  exceeding 
deliberation  ;  after  which  he  advanced  in 
a  respectful  manner  some  few  paces  and 
bowed  to  her  with  the  like  profound  cour- 
teousness,  and  then  she  again  courtesied 
to  him  with  the  same  stateliness  of  be- 
havior. All  this  time  each  of  them  re- 
garded the  other  with  a  visage  of  as  per- 
fect a  gravity  as  was  ever  carried  by  one 
at  a  funeral,  taking  no  manner  of  notice 
of  Mistress  Varnon,  who,  having  risen  at 
the  entrance  of  the  stranger,  stood  nigh 
unto  her  seat,  marvelling  in  no  small 
measure  at  the  ridiculousness  of  the  scene 
that  was  being  acted  before  her. 

"  I  have  ventured  to  intrude  myself 
into  your  desirable  presence,  most  honor- 
able lady,"  said  Master  Dulcimer  at  last, 
addressing  Aunt  Deborah  in  a  voice  of 


186 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


infinite  affectation,  "  having  been  moved 
thereto  by  the  report  of  my  worshipful 
friend  and  patron  the  Lord  Essex,  who 
for  a  right  exquisite  taste  in  the  truly 
delectable  science  of  music  hath  not  his 
fellow  anywhere.  Peradventure  it  may 
be  known  unto  your  honorable  ladyship 
that  I  have  some  poor  ability  in  the  wri- 
ting of  madrigals,  and  in  divers  other 
kinds  of  tuneful  compositions,  having, 
besides  great  study  in  the  art  pursued  in 
these  realms  for  a  long  course  of  time, 
travelled  into  Italy  and  in  France,  learn- 
ing as  I  went  of  the  choicest  masters 
those  countries  afforded,  from  the  which 
I  have  but  lately  returned.  It  hath  been 
my  extreme  honor  to  be  in  admirable 
good  favor  with  many  persons  of  wor- 
ship, but  hearing  of  ray  Lord  Essex  that 
your  excellent  ladyship  hath  such  fine 
judgment  in  madrigals  as  is  marvellous 
to  your  friends  and  the  world,  I  hasted 
here  on  the  instant,  desirous  of  all  things 
that  what  my  poor  wit  hath  fashioned 
should  be  found  worthy  of  a  hearing  by 
one  of  such  notable  delicate  taste  in 
these  matters." 

"  I  pray  you  be  seated,  Master  Dulci- 
mer," replied  Aunt  Deborah  with  exceed- 
ing graciousness,  after  listening  in  a  stiff 
attitude  and  with  exceeding  gravity  to 
the  speech  of  the  musician :  at  hearing 
this  request,  he,  with  a  bow  as  profound 
as  ever,  walked  with  stately  steps  to  the 
nearest  chair,  and  put  it  down  close  be- 
side her,  with  another  bow  of  the  like 
sort ;  but  the  old  gentlewoman  remained 
standing  till  her  companion  had  placed 
a  chair  for  himself  over  against  her  own, 
and  then  the  two  looking  upon  each  other 
with  immovable  gravity  sank  gradually 
and  at  the  same  moment  into  their  re- 
spective seats. 

"For  this  courtesy,  noble  madam,  I 
tender  you  my  entire  devotions,''  said 
Master  Dulcimer  respectfully. 

"  I  could  do  no  less  for  one  that  cometh 
with  the  recommendation  of  my  illustri- 
ous kinsman,"  answered  the  other,  hold- 
ing up  her  head  as  high  as  she  could. 
"  But  how  fareth  my  Lord  of  Essex  ?  I 
would  fain  know  something  certain  of  bis 
health  and  well-doing  ;  and  you,  Master. 
Dulcimer,  having  parted  with  him  but 
lately,  must  needs  be  the  fittest  intelli- 
gencer I  could  meet  with.  Time  was,  I 
had  no  need  of  learning  what  was  going 
on  at  court,  I  being  at  that  time  in  some 
honor  there  myself;  but  the  degeneracy 
of  the  age  is  such  as  hath  made  me  pre- 
fer a  life  of  retirement  to  all  the  honors 
the  queen's  majesty  could  confer  on  me. 


I  pray  you,  tell  me  how  fareth  my  noble 
kinsman  ?" 

"Bountifully  as  his  princely  disposition 
deserveth,"  replied  her  companion,  dis- 
playing a  pouncet-box,  the  which  he  oc- 
casionally put  to  his  nose.  "  Indeed,  it 
is  very  much  as  your  ladyship  hath  but 
now  most  justly  remarked.  Things  are 
not  now  as  they  were.  The  times  can  not 
boast  of  such  infinite  choice  accommoda- 
tions as  have  existed  in  my  remembrance. 
Methinks  the  world  is  wearing — nay,  I 
am  in  some  doubts  it  be  not  clean  thread- 
bare. Ah !  what  would  I  give  to  meet 
with  such  musicians  as  I  have  known, 
who  could  sing  their  part  of  a  madrigal 
without  previous  study,  and,  mayhap, 
play  an  accompaniment  at  the  same  time." 

"  Tis  a  rare  accomplishment,  Master 
Dulcimer,"  observed  the  old  dame,  with 
a  conscious  satisfaction  showing  itself  in 
the  very  gravity  of  her  countenance,  "a 
rare  accomplishment,  beyond  all  manner 
of  doubt :  yet  the  great  practice  I  have 
had  from  my  youth  in  singing  and  play- 
ing on  the  virginals,  maketh  it  to  me  a 
thing  of  easy  performance." 

"  Say  you  so,  indeed,  honored  madam !" 
exclaimed  the  other,  with  a  look  of 
pleased  surprise.  "  Then  am  I  fortunate 
above  all  measure.  I  have  searched  far 
and  near  amongst  the  young  gentlewo- 
men of  the  day,  yet  found  I  none  so  ad- 
vanced in  the  exquisite  sweet  art  as  to 
be  capable  of  what  you  have  reported  ot 
yourself." 

"  Ah,  Master  Dulcimer  !"  cried  Aunt 
Deborah,  in  her  usual  tone  and  manner. 
"In  my  time,  girls  were  brought  up  in 
an  honest  fashion,  and  being  ever  of  a 
very  notable  obediencv,  applied  them- 
selves diligently  to  the  doing  of  what  they 
were  set  upon.  What  famous  cloth  of 
tissue  have  I  had  a  hand  in  the  working 
of — ay,  and  goodly  counterpanes  and  cov- 
erlets, and  ail  manner  of  curious  needle- 
work. Then,  in  confectionary  and  in  the 
making  of  wines  and  cordials,  I  was  ex- 
celled by  none ;  and  so  proficient  was  I 
in  my  music  that  there  was  no  three  or 
four  part  song  I  was  afraid  to  join  in. 
Though  I  say  it,  Master  Dulcimer,  'us 
not.  easy  to  meet  with  a  young  gentlewo- 
man so  well  accommodated  as  was  I. 
But  I  marvel  not  at  all  at  it.  The  de- 
generacy of  the  age  is  such  that  no  better 
can  be  expected  than  the  infinite  lack  ol 
excellency  that  distinguished!  thepreseni 
time.  My  dainty  young  madam  now 
must  needs  go  to  Paris  garden  when  she 
should  be  at  her  virginals;  and  careth 
more  to  be  loitering  her  time  away  in  a 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


187 


room  at  the  playhouse,  than  to  be  play- 
ing the  part  of  a  good  huswife  in  her  own 
house." 

"In  truth,  I  do  prefer  that  which  I 
have  seen  in  my  youth  to  aught  that  the 
present  age  affords,"  observed  her  com- 
panion. "  Yet  'S  there  one  gratification 
left  me  for  which  I  am  prodigiously 
thankful.  I  remember  me  the  exceeding 
beauteousness,  the  exquisite  sweet  grace, 
and  the  right  excellent  accomplishments 
of  that  star  of  the  court  of  Queen  Mary, 
Mistress  Deborah  Varnon,  and  to  find  such 
great  skill,  such  marvellous  comeliness, 
and  such  admirable  fine  wit,  still  adorn- 
ing the  world  wherein  I  am  allowed  to 
move,  produce  in  me  so  rare  a  comfort  as 
nothing  else  under  heaven  can  bestow." 

During  this  courteous  speech,  which 
was  delivered  with  a  seriousness  of  coun- 
tenance, and  expression  of  voice,  it  is  im- 
possible to  describe,  Aunt  Deborah  fre- 
quently bent  her  head  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  compliments  she  was  receiv- 
ing, and  fanned  herself  with  an  air  of 
greater  stateliness  than  ever. 

"  Said  you  that  you  had  written  some 
new  madrigals,  Master  Dulcimer?"  in- 
quired the  old  dame,  in  an  indifferent  sort 
of  voice,  as  if  she  cared  not  for  being 
so  talked  of. 

"  Indeed  have  I,"  replied  the  muscian, 
"  and  such  as  divers  of  my  friends  have 
well  commended  ;  but  though  these  are 
persons  of  worship,  and  considered  to  be 
of  a  very  absolute  fine  taste,  I  can  not 
help  being  careless  of  their  opinion  while 
I  lack  the  praise  of  so  exceeding  nice  a 
judge  as  Mistress  Deborah  Varnon." 
Again  that  lady  bowed  her  acknowledg- 
ments. "Such  as  I  have  done  are  for 
four  voices,  whereof  the  first  part  hath, 
by  some  ladies  who  have  essayed  the 
singing  of  it,  been  pronounced  too  diffi- 
cult to  be  sung  without  a  wonderful  deal 
of  study,  and  then,  so  it  hath  been  said 
by  them,  it  shall  chance  not  to  go  so  well 
as  it  ought.  For  mine  own  part,  I  doubt 
much  whether  any  be  so  well  skilled  in 
music  as  to  perform  it  at  sight." 

"  In  the  first  place,  there  is  a  voice 
short,"  said  Dame  Deborah  ;  "  in  the 
next,  you  have  not  your  madrigal  at 
hand,  else  would  I  prove  to  you,  Master 
Dulcimer,  that  there  be  no  difficulties  in 
singing  I  can  not  master." 

"And  have  you  three  voices  at  com- 
mand ?"  inquired  her  companion. 

"  There  is  myself  for  the  first,"  replied 
she ;  "  there  is  my  niece,  whom  I  have 
made  next  in  skill  to  myself,  for  the  sec- 
ond ;  and  the  third  you  can  supply  of  your 


own  ability:  provide  you  a  fourth,  and 
set  your  madrigal  before  me,  I  douvt  not 
it  shall  be  done  justice  to." 

The  musician  appeared  to  reflect  a 
few  moments  with  a  wonderful  thought- 
ful countenance,  and  at  last  said : — 

"  I  know  not  how  it  may  be  brought 
about,  yet  if  it  cuuld  be,  I  should  like  it 
well."  ' 

"  What  mean  you,  Master  Dulcimer  ?" 
inquired  Aunt  Deborah. 

"  There  is  my  boy  waiting  below  with 
with  my  cittern  and  music,"  answered  he. 
"  Now  he  hath  as  proper  a  voice  as  you 
might  wish  to  hear  ;  and  having  been 
long  taught  of  myself,  is  cunning  in  all 
manner  of  singing." 

"  If  he  can  bear  himself  discreetly,  let 
him  join  us,"  observed  his  companion, 
who  seemed  anxious  to  convince  the  mu- 
sician of  her  own  skill  in  minstrelsey. 

"  For  discretion  he  can  not  be  ex- 
celled," replied  the  other;  "but  he  is  of 
a  simple  nature.  Indeed  he  hath  so  won- 
derful a  shyness  with  regard  to  ladies, 
that  he  can  not  bear  to  be  looked  at  in 
the  face  by  any." 

"  Since  that  be  his  humor,  I  will  not 
gaze  on  him  at  all,"  said  Aunt  Deborah. 

"  I  implore  you  not  to  do  so  on  any  ao- 
count,"  added  Master  Dulcimer,  "el?" 
you  will  so  put  him  out,  that  his  voice 
will  leave  him  on  the  sudden." 

"Neither  I  nor  my  niece  shall  regard 
him  in  any  way,  rest  assured,"  answered 
the  old  lady  ;  "  and  now,  if  you  are  for 
the  trial  of  your  madrigal,  I  will  give  or- 
ders that  your  boy  come  here,  and  we 
will  about  it  without  loss  of  time." 

Joseph  was  summoned,  and  command 
ed  to  send  Master  Dulcimer's  boy  to 
them  ;  immediately  after  which  Dame 
Deborah  and  her  visiter  rose  from  their 
seats  at  the  same  moment,  and  she  cour- 
teously giving  him  her  hand,  went  sailing 
proudly  along  in  all  her  finery,  while  he, 
quite  as  stiffly,  walked  at  her  side,  and 
led  her  to  a  seat  before  the  virginals. 

"  I  charge  you,  Mistress  Varnon,  look 
not  at  this  youth  who  is  about  to  join  in 
our  singing,"  said  she,  addressing  her 
niece  with  a  most  profound  gravity ; 
then,  turning  to  her  gallant  companion, 
couriesied  with  a  marvellous  solemnity, 
as  he  bowed  himself  to  the  ground,  and 
then,  with  the  same  deliberate  stateli- 
ness, seated  herself  before  the  instrument. 
This  had  scarce  been  done  when  the  door 
opened,  and  there  entered  a  youth  ham- 
bly  apparelled  in  a  suit  of  Lincoln  gre>?n, 
seemingly  of  a  great  modesty ;  for  lis 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  he 


188 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


carried  his  master's  cittern  and  music  so 
before  him,  that  of  his  face  but  little 
could  be  seen. 

While  Master  Dulcimer  was  tuning  of 
his  cittern,  sitting  down  close  beside 
Aunt  Deborah,  to  whom  he  kept  ad- 
dressing frequent  observations  relating  to 
the  music  he  had  placed  oefore  her,  Mis- 
tress Varnon  was  standing  behind  her 
aunt,  holding  with  one  hand  a  copy  of 
the  same  madrigal,  which  was  also  held 
in  one  hand  by  Master  Dulcimer's  boy, 
(or  man  he  might  be  called  by  his  stature), 
who  stood  at  her  elbow  ;  and  she  appeared 
wondering  much  at  the  oddness  of  such 
a  performance.  All  at  once  she  felt  her 
disengaged  hand  touched  by  her  com- 
panion ;  and  not  being  desirous  of  such  a 
familiarity  from  one  of  so  mean  a  quality 
as  a  musician's' boy,  she  snatched  away 
her  hand  with  some,  indignation.  Pres- 
ently she  felt  it  touched  again,  and  being 
mightily  enraged  at  the  impudency  of 
the  fellow — forgetting  the  injunction  of 
her  kinswoman,  she  turned  round  to  give 
him  a  look  which  should  convince  him 
she  was  not  to  be  so  meddled  with  by 
such  mean  persons;  but  scarce  had  her 
eyes  fallen  on  his  face  when  she  uttered 
a  short  scream,  and  let  go  her  hand  from 
the  music. 

"What  meaneth  this?"  exclaimed 
Dame  Deborah,  turning  quickly  round, 
at  the  same  moment  that  the  boy  moved 
his  face  in  an  opposite  direction,  and 
seemed  to  be  quietly  intent  on  looking 
into  his  part. 

"  Nothing,  aunt,"  replied  Mistress  Var- 
non, endeavoring  to  conceal  her  confu- 
sion. "  That  is — I  only — I  mean  I  felt — 
it  was  but  a  small  matter,  aunt — a  sud- 
den pain.  'Tis  going  off  now." 

"  Let  it  go  off,  and  quickly  then,"  said 
her  kinswoman,- with  exceeding  serious- 
ness ;  "I  marvel  at  your  want  of  dis- 
cretion in  having  sudden  pains  at  such  a 
time.  Attend  to  your  part,  and  put  not 
out  the  boy  with  any  such  follies." 

"  Here  we  again  return  to  the  major 
chord,"  observed  Master  Dulcimer,  draw- 
ing her  attention  back  to  the  madrigal: 
and  she  was  soon  so  occupied  with  listen- 
ing to  his  explanations  that  she  could 
think  of  no  other  matter.  The  boy  was 
once  more  at  the  side  of  Mistress  Varnon, 
and  they  held  the  music  betwixt  them  as 
before.  But  his  impudency  exceedeth  all 
description  ;  he  took  her  hand,  and,  what 
seemeth  equally  unpardonable,  she  al- 
lowed him  to  retain  it.  Nay,  not  only 
did  she  now  exhibit  no  sign  of  indigna- 
tion, but  she  ever  and  anon  smiled  on  him 


as  graciously  as  if  none  could  be  held  in 
such  esteem  of  her.  All  parties  being  at 
last  ready,  they  commenced  singing  of 
the  madrigal,  the  words  of  which  are 
here  written. 

"  Come,  shepherds,  come,  and  whilst  our  lambkins 
play, 

And  every  friend  and  neighbor 
Dance  to  the  pipe  and  tabor, 
We'll  make  sweet  music  with  our  roundelay. 
Come,  shepherds,  come ! 

'•  Hark  !  how  from  out  yon  green  umbrageous  bower 
Rise  tuneful  pastorals 
And  pleasing  madrigals, 
That  fill  with  melody  the  jocund  hour. 

Come,  shepherds,  come  ! 

"  Now,  let  us  rival  them  till  they  take  winy, 
And  round  about  us  throng, 
To  hear  our  sweeter  song, 
As  on  the  daisied  ground  we  sit  and  sing, 

Come,  shepherds,  come ! 

'•  Then,  with  pale  lady's  smocks  and  king  cups  yel- 
low, 

And  [tansies  newly  blown, 
We'll  fashion  forth  a  crown, 
For  him  who  singeth  better  than  his  fellow. 
Come,  shepherds,  corne  !" 

It  so  happened  that  Aunt  Deborah,  not 
liking  to  put  on  her  spectacles  before  so 
perfect  a  gallant,  according  to  her  notion, 
as  seemed  Master  Dulcimer,  was  obliged 
to  keep  her  face  close  to  the  music  ;  and 
so  her  whole  attention  was  taken  uf 
Perchance  it  was  well  it  was  so  ;  for  hac 
she  been  allowed  opportunity  for  noticing 
what  was  going  on  behind  her,  I  doubt 
not  she  would  have  been  greatly  scandal- 
ized. Never  were  appearances  more  de- 
ceptive than  in  Mistress  Varnon  and  the 
musician's  boy.  The  exceeding  inno- 
cency  of  the  one,  and  the  marvellous 
shyness  of  the  other,  must  needs  have 
been  nothing  better  than  a  catch  ;  for, 
during  the  singing  of  the  madrigal,  not 
onlydid  the  one  allow  the  other  to  take 
her  hand,  but  when  he  had  the  presump- 
tion to  raise  it  to  his  lips,  she  cared  not 
•even  to  frown  at  him.  It  may  well  be 
believed  that  they  two  were  somewhat 
heedless  in  their  singing.  In  truth,  they 
did  put  out  the  others  more  than  once,  to 
the  wonderful  vexation  of  Aunt  Deborah  ; 
but  the  old  gentlewoman  went  througb 
her  part  without  halting  in  a  bar;  ana 
though  her  voice  was  none  of  the  strong- 
est, she  sung  with  a  correctness  and  ex- 
pression that  was  somewhat  marvellous 
at  her  time  of  life.  At  the  end,  so  liked 
she  the  madrigal,  or  the  praises  Master 
Dulcimer  did  lavish  on  her  singing,  that 
she  must  needs  have  it  gone  through 
again,  to  the  which  all,  evidently  in  a 
like  humor  with  herself,  cheerfully  ac- 
ceded. Now  must  I  notice  a  fresh  in- 
stance of  most  improper  conduct  of  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


189 


young  pair  standing  behind  ;  for  whilst 
Master  Dulcimer  was  diligently  singing 
and  playing  on  his  cittern,  and  "therefore 
could  not  see  what  his  boy  was  at,  and 
Aunt  Deborah's  countenance  was  close 
upon  the  music,  and  could  have  no  notion 
of  what  her  niece  was  about,  that  very 
boy  who  was  said  to  be  of  so  monstrous 
a  shyness  he  could  not  bear  to  be  looked 
in  the  face  of  any  woman,  had  got  his 
arm  round -the  waist  of  the  lovely  Mis- 
tress Varnon,  singing  away  as  carelessly 
as  you  please,  whilst  she,  with  a  counte- 
nance as  modest  as  an  angel's,  delightedly 
sang  her  part,  and  seemed  in  no  way  dis- 
pleased at  his  abominable  impudency. 
But  of  all  extraordinary  things,  was  the 
contrast  betwixt  the  wonderful  gravity 
and  the  absblute  stateliness  of  Aunt  De- 
borah and  Master  Dulcimer,  with  the 
arch,  handsome,  youthful,  happy  faces 
behind  them. 

After  this  they  did  essay  other  com- 
positions of  the  same  nature,  whereof  the 
greater  part  were  so  singularly  liked  of 
the  old  gentlewoman,  or  else  she  was  so 
well  pleased  with  the  appearance  and 
behavior  of  the  musician,  that  she  must 
needs  show  him  her  garden,  where  they 
stayed  alone  together  some  time,  and 
pressed  him  very  courteously  to  come  as 
oft  as  he  desired  to  her,  and  bring  his 
boy  also  ;  the  which  he  promised  to  do  ; 
and  then — the  boy  taking  his  cittern  and 
music  in  as  humble  and  shy  a  manner  as 
ever  was  seen — with  an  abundance  of  the 
same  respectful  bows  that  marked  his 
entrance,  that  were  duly  acknowledged 
with  a  like  number  of  profound  courtesies 
from  the  lady,  Master  Dulcimer  at  last 
took  his  leave  of  her. 

Scarce  had  they  well  got  out  of  view 
of  the  house,  when  the  boy,  again  drop- 
ping of  his  humility  and  shyness,  burst 
out  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  By  this  hand,  Master  Shakspeare," 
exclaimed  he,  very  merrily,  to  his  associ- 
ate, "  never  saw  I  any  old  woman  so 
thoroughly  deceived." 

"Said  I  not,  my  Lord  Southampton,  I 
would  procure  you  speech  with  your 
mistress  before  the  day  was  over  ?"  in- 
quired the  other,  in  his  natural  voice, 
who,  out  of  all  doubt,  was  no  other  than 
that  most  witty  and  ingenious  gentleman 
just  named. 

"  Indeed  you  did,  and  you  have  well 
kept  your  promise,"  replied  his  com- 
panion ;  "  but  I  must  confess  I  had  huge 
doubts  of  your  success ;  for  who  could 
suspect  for  a  moment  so  perfect  a  trans- 
formation. 0'  my  life  so  exquisite  state- 


ly were  you,  I  more  than  once  found  my- 
self doubting  your  identity." 

"  I  am  a  player,  my  good  lord,"  an- 
swered Master  Shakspeare,  with  a  smile  ; 
"  and  it  is  our  vocation  to  be  the  very 
creatures  of  change.  We  are  kings  or 
beggars,  priests  or  sinners,  as  there  may 
be  occasion.  The  bed  of  Procrustes,  that 
is  said  to  have  stretched  those  who  were 
too  short  for  it,  and  cut  down  such  as 
were  too  long,  had  much  of  the  players' 
art,  for  we  make  all  characters  fit  us 
whether  they  will  or  ho.  As  for  the 
playing  of  a  music-master,  it  can  be  no 
great  matter,  seeing  what  assistance  I 
have  had  from  .mine  esteemed  friend 
Master  Dowland :  nor  can  it  be  surprising 
I  should  so  readily  cozen  the  old  dame, 
when  it  is  remembered  how  much  I 
learned  of  you  of  her  particular  humor." 

"  I  did  more  than  once  fear  we  should 
be  discovered,"  observed  my  Lord  South- 
ampton ;  "  for  sometimes  I  could  scarce 
help  from  laughing  at  seeing  how  pre- 
posterous fine  and  proud  you  looked,  and 
with  what  a  monstrous  gravity  the  an- 
cient gentlewoman  regarded  your  an- 
tiquated gallantries." 

"In  honest  truth  it  was  droll  enough," 
replied  his  companion ;  "  but  that  was 
nothing  to  my  being  obliged  to  listen, 
whilst  in  the  garden  with  her,  to  the  very 
bitterest  abuse  of  one  Will  Shakspeare, 
who,  as  she  said,  was  turning  the  heads 
of  all  the  women  of  the  court  with  his 
abominable  vile  comedies  and  inter- 
ludes." 

"  I'faith  that  was  exceeding  good," 
exclaimed  the  other,  laughing  hearti- 
ly ;  "  but  said  you  not  a  word  in  his 
favor  ?" 

"  Had  he  been  a  drunken  turnspit  he 
could  not  have  received  less  courtesy  at 
my  hands,"  answered  Master  Shakspeare, 
in  the  like  humor ;  and  thus  they  pro- 
ceeded, laughing  and  jesting  at  their  ad- 
venture, till  they  came  to  a  by-lane  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Islington,  where  a 
caroch  was  waiting,  into  which  they 
presently  got,  and  were  speedily  driven 
home  to  their  lodgings. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

And  now  a  wind  as  forward  as  their  spirits 
Sets  their  glad  feet  on  smooth  Guiana's  orean, 
Where  (as  if  each  man  were  an  Orpheus) 
A  world  of  savages  fall  tame  before  them, 
Storing  their  theft-free  treasures  with  gold. 

CHAPMAN. 

On,  on,  you  noblest  English 
Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war  reproof! 


190 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS, 


Fathers  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders. 
Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 
SHAKSPEARE. 


IN  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  the 
city  of  San  Josef^de  Orufio  having  been 
sacked  of  its  valuables  by  the  victors,  who 
found  great  store  of  wealth  in  it,  there 
was  discovered,  in  a  loathsome  dungeon, 
five  of  the  powerfulest  native  lords,  chain- 
ed, and  dying  of  famine,  after  having 
been  cruelly  tortured,  by  the  order  of  Don 
Antonio  de  Berrio,  to  make  them  say 
where  they  had  hid  their  treasure.  These 
were  immediately  liberated,  and  treated 
with  exceeding  attention  by  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh.  As  soon  as  it  was  known  that 
the  power  of  the  Spaniards  had  been 
overthrown  in  that  island,  the  natives 
came  flocking  toward  the  city  in  great 
numbers,  testifying,  in  every  conceivable 
manner,  how  glad  they  were  in  their 
heans  that  the  iron  rule  of  their  oppres- 
sors had  been  put  an  end  to.  Sir  Walter 
got  them  altogether,  as  many  as  were  in 
the  neighborhood,  in  a  large  plain  out- 
side of  the  city,  and  it  was  a  goodly  sight 
to  behold  so  great  a  multitude  of  these 
people,  all  clad  in  divers  colors,  wonder- 
fully discreet  in  their  behavior,  the  most 
of  them  well  limbed,  and  of  comely  faces, 
and  regarding  of  their  deliverers  as  a 
race  from  heaven.  Sir  Walter  got  the 
caciques  about  him,  and  then,  by  means 
of  his  interpreter,  addressed  them  in  a 
famous  speech,  explaining  to  them  that 
he  was  the  servant  of  a  queen  who  was 
the  powerfulest  cacique  in  the  world, 
and  had  under  her  more  great  chiefs  than 
that  island  contained  trees — that  she  had 
the  very  absolutest  hatred  for  all  sorts  of 
oppression,  and  had  sent  him  purposely 
to  free  them  from  the  cruelty  of  the 
Spaniards,  whose  enemy  she  was  on  ac- 
count of  their  treachery  and  tyrannical 
doings.  Then  he  showed  them  a  picture 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  on  the  which  they 
gazed  with  wonderful  veneration,  and 
called  out,  in  their  language,  that  she  was 
the  mightiest  princess  on  the  earth  ;  and 
it  seemed  as  if  they  were  almost  inclined 
to  worship  the  picture,  so  greatly  had  they 
been  moved  at  the  sight  of  it. 

What  he  said  having  been  explained 
to  the  people,  there  presently  arose  such 
shouts  as  was  almost  deafening  to  hear ; 
and  every  one  did  exhibit  his  satisfaction 
in  a  manner  that,  however  strange  it 
iniirht  be  to  some  of  the  English  officers 
and  soldiers,  was  as  sincere  as  any  that 
\va?  ever  seen.  The  Acarawana"  then 
made  a  famous  oration  concerning  of  how 


grateful  were  the  people  of  that  island  at 
finding  that  the  heart  of  the  Great  Spirit 
had  been  turned  toward  them  in  the 
midst  of  the  afflictions  they  were  endur- 
ing at  the  hands  of  their  oppressors,  and 
had  sent  10  their  assistance  a  band  of  his 
choicest  warriors  for  the  overthrowing  of 
their  tyrants.  He  proceeded  at  some 
length,  detailing  many  horrible  cruelties 
his  countrymen  had  suffered  of  the  Span- 
iards out  of  their  desperate  thirst  of  gold, 
till  all  who  understood  were  moved  with 
wrath  and  indignation  against  such  vil- 
lanies  ;  and  it  was  resolved  that  the  city 
should  be  burnt  down  forthwith :  the 
which,  when  the  Indians  came  to  know, 
there  arose  such  rejoicings  amongst 
them  as  was  quite  wonderful  to  behold  ; 
and  at  the  desire  of  Sir  Wa'lter  Raleigh 
they  hastened  to  set  it  on  fire.  In  a  brief 
space  it  was  blazing  away  in  many 
places,  whilst  hundreds  of  the  natives 
danced,  and  sung,  and  shouted  about  the 
burning  building  like  so  many  mad  peo- 
ple. In  the  meanwhile  Sir  Walter  did 
inquire  of  divers  of  the  caciques,  some 
of  whom  were  of  the  main  land,  and 
had  been  planted  in  Trinidad  by  Don 
Antonio,  in  hopes  of  their  destroying  they 
that  were  natural  of  the  island,  such  par- 
ticulars of  Guiana  as  he  thought  they 
could  give  ;  and  they  quickly  made  him 
acquainted  with  all  they  knew. 

Having  liberated  those  of  the  Spaniards 
as  were  of  the  common  sort,  retaining 
only  the  governor  and  his  officers  till 
their  ransom  should  be  paid,  Sir  Waller 
departed  to  his  vessels  accompanied  by 
great  multitudes  of  the  natives,  carrying 
boughs  of  trees,  and  singing  of  his  praises 
as  if  he  were  some  mighty  conqueror. 
When  he  had  returned  to  Puerto  de  los 
Espafioles  he  found  that  two  more  of  his 
ships  had  arrived,  'the  sight  whereof 
pleased  him  mightily,  and  he  made  in- 
stant preparations  for  proceeding  in 
search  of  El  Dorado.  Many  were  the 
plans  that  were  considered  before  one 
was  pitched  upon,  that  was  thought  to  be 
more  practicable  than  the  others  for  the 
purpose  required,  that  had  for  its  object 
the  best  means  of  navigating  the  great 
river  Orinoco,  up  which  they  were  about 
to  proceed  ;  but  it  was  agreed  at  last,  be- 
cause only  small  vessels  could  be  used, 
that  an  old  gallego  boat  should  be  cut 
down  into  a  galley,  in  the  which  he  thrust 
with  himself  nigh  upon  sixty  men,  be- 
side divers  of  his  officers,  his  secretary, 
and  Harry  Daring — in  the  Lion's  Whelp's 
boat  and  wherry  he  had  other  of  his  offi- 
cers and  twenty  men,  in  another  wherry 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


191 


there  were  ten,  and  in  Sir  Walter'.*  own 
barore  ten  also — makinsr  above  a  hundred 
in  all.  These  carried  victual  fora  month, 
and  were  well  armed  every  one  of  them. 

They  rowed  very  famously  from  the 
open  sea  till  they  came  to  a  stream,  being 
the  first  Christians  who  had  ever  ventur- 
ed therein,  and  Sir  Walter  in  remem- 
brance of  his  friend  Master  Spenser  and 
his  poem  of  the  Faery  Queen,  did  call  it 
the  river  of  the  Red  Cross.  Here  they 
spied  three  Indians  in  a  canoe,  and  saw 
divers  others  on  the  banks  of  the  stream, 
which  were  shadowed  by  a  thick  wood, 
grazing  on  them  with  a  singular  curious- 
ness.  Wishing  to  have  speech  with  those 
in  the  canoe,  Raleisrh  2~ave  chase,  and 
having  eight  oars  with  him  was  enabled 
to  overtake  them  before  the  Indians  could 
reach  the  island.  By  means  of  his  in- 
terpreter he  spoke  to  them  of  his  desire 
to  traffic,  and  those  on  the  shore  seeing 
that  no  harm  was  offered  to  their  coun- 
trymen, did  take  heart,  and  straightway 
came  and  trafficked  for  such  things  as  they 
had,  with  a  show  of  such  great  friendli- 
ness that  it  induced  the  interpreter  Fer- 
dinando  to  go  with  his  brother  to  a  vil- 
lage close  at  hand  tp  fetch  some  fruit  and 
make  acquaintance  wilh  the  natives: 
but  when  he  had  there  arrived,  the  lord 
of  the  island  was  for  seizin?  him  and 
putting  him  to  death  because  he  had 
brought  a  strange  nation  into  his  territory 
to  spoil  and  destroy  him,  the  which  when 
the  brothers  saw  they  showed  their  nim- 
blenessof  foot  without  loss  of  time,  and 
were  soon  seen  by  Sir  Walter  and  his 
companions  pursued  by  the  Indians  with 
a  great  cry  and  tumult.  Ferdinando's 
brother  having  most  speed  quickly  made 
for  the  barge,  crying  out  that  his  brother 
was  slain  ;  whereupon  an  old  man  of  the 
Indians  who  was  standing  close  by  was 
laid  hold  of  at  the  command  of  Sir  Walter, 
and  told  that  if  Ferdinando  was  not  let 
free  they  would  cut  off  his  head  :  and 
then  the  man  cried  lustily  to  his  country- 
men to  save  the  interpreter:  but  they 
heeded  him  not  at  all,  for  they  set  a 
hunting  of  him  with  deer-do<rs  with  so 
main  a  cry  that  the  woods  did  echo  with 
the  noise. 

It  Avas  debated  whether  the  adventurers 
should  land  and  by  force  carry  off  Ferdi- 
nando,  but  none  knew  where  he  was  to 
be  found,  or  what  force  the  natives  had 
in  that  island,  so  they  kept  coasting  alone: 
the  shore  in  hope  of  rescuing  him  should 
he  rnnke  his  appearance:  and  it  so  hap- 
pened thai  he  was  presently  seen  to  leap 
out  of  a  tree  where  he  had  taken  refuse, 


and  swam  to  the  barge  more  dead  than 
alive.  Sir  Walter  retained  the  old  Indi- 
an, because  he  was  natural  of  that  place, 
and  was  like  enough  to  know  the  navi- 
gation better  than  any  stranger;  and  it 
was  well  he  did,  for  it  was  soon  discov- 
ered that  Ferdinando  knew  nothing  of 
these  rivers  and  islands,  and  the  old  man 
proved  them  an  admirable  pilot. 

They  rowed  on  among  many  fair  is- 
lands  covered   with     an   abundance    of 
goodly  trees,  and  having  speech  with  the 
na'tives  whenever  they   could  find  occa- 
sion, passing  up  the  river  with  the  flood, 
and  anchoring  during  the  ebb,  when  they 
had  the  ill  hap  to  have  their  galley  ground, 
and  stick  so  fost  she  could  not  be  moved 
anyhow,  which  mad«   many  in  her  fear- 
ful that  they  should  be  forced  to  take  up 
"their  dwellings  in  these  part«af;er  thefash- 
ion  of  the  natives,  who  build  their  houses 
hiorh  up  in  the  midst  of  tall  trees;  but  Harry 
Daring  said  he  doubted  not  there  was  as 
exquisite  fine  fun  tu  be  had  in  trees  as  else- 
where :    however,  after   casting  out   all 
her  ballast,  and  with  a  monstrous  deal  of 
tugging  and  hauling,  they  again  Bother 
afloat.     At  the  fourth  day  they  fell  into 
as  fair  a  river  to  look  on  as  rye  ever  saw, 
which  was  liked  all  the  better  for  having 
but  few  windings ;  hut   when  the  flood 
of  the  sea  left  them,  which  it  did  at  that 
place,  they  were  forced  to  roAV  with  might 
and  main  against  a  violent  current,  every 
one  of  them,  the  gentlemen  taking  it  in 
turns  with    the   mariners    and    soldiers, 
which    they    did  on  being  persuaded  it 
was  but  two  or  three  days'  work.    When 
that   time  had   passed,  the  sun  shining 
fierce  upon  them,  and  the  tall  trees  that 
bordered  the  banks  of  the  river  shutting 
out  the  air,  and  the  current  against  them 
becoming  stronger  every  day, "the  compa- 
nies began  to  despair  ;  but  the  pilot  prom- 
ised them  relief  on  the  next  day,  and  they 
pulled    on   as  vigorously  as  they  could. 
Notwithstanding  this,  many  days  were 
spent  by  them  in  the  same  way,  till  they 
were  driven  to  short  allowance.     At  last 
their  bread  being  nijjh   the  last  morsel, 
bavin?  no  drink  at  all,  and  being  scorch- 
ed and  lirefl  almost  unto  death,  some  did 
begin  to  speak  harshly  of  the  enterprise, 
and  were  for  turning  back  ;  but  Sir  Wal- 
ter talked  to  them  very  reasonably  that  it 
would  be  worse  to  turn  back  than  to  go 
on,   they  having  no  provision  to  look  to 
unless  they  proceeded,  the  which  if  they 
did  they  would  be  sure  to  get  all  they 
wanted  in   a  day  or  two  at  the  utmost"; 
whilst,   should  they  attempt   to  return, 
they  would  either  be  starved  on  the  way, 


192 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


or  escaping  from  thai,  be  laughed  at  of 
the  world  for  going  of  a  fruitless  errand. 

Now  all  of  them,  both  those  in  the 
calley  and  in  the  barge  and  wherries, 
had  no  victual  left,  and  they  would  have 
been  in  very  hard  case  indeed,  but  flocks 
of  birds  of  all  sorts  of  fine  colors,  carna- 
tion, crimson,  orange,  tawney,  and  pur- 
ple, and  some  mixed,  kept  flying  about, 
and  by  shooting  of  as  many  as  they  could, 
the  people  had  wherewith  to  eat  for  some 
days  more.  The  old  Indian,  who  was 
now  the  pilot,  seeing  their  extremity, 
offered  to  take  them  to  a  town  of  the 
Araucas,  where  they  should  find  a  store 
of  all  good  things,  both  for  eating  and  for 
drinking,  but  to  get  to  it  they  must  leave 
the  galley  at  anchor,  she  drawing  too 
much  water  to  proceed  up  that  branch 
of  the  river  along  which  they  must  go; 
and  departing  at  noon  with  the  barge 
and  the  wherries,  he  undertook  to  return 
ere  night  with  plenty  of  bread,  hams, 
fish,  and  abundance  of  the  country  wines, 
for  those  that  tarried  behind.  This  upon 
consideration  Sir  Walter  allowed,  seeing 
that  it  was  the  best  that  could  be  done; 
therefore  taking  with  him  his  secretary, 
two  of  his  captains,  and  sixteen  muske- 
teers, he  was  for  departing  on  the  instant. 
Harry  Daring  did  press  very  much  to  be; 
of  the  party,  but  his  commander  would 
have  him  stay  where  he  was,  for  this 
reason — that  whilst  divers  of  the  compa- 
nies when  *they  were  badliest  off  were 
nigh  upon  sinking  with  despair,  he  would 
keep  them  laughing  as  merrily  as  if  they 
had  naught  to  care  for,  by  telling  of  them 
what  laughable  tricks  he  had  played, 
and  droll  mischiefs  he  had  done,  when 
he  was  apprentice  to  the  barber-chirur- 
geon  in  East  Cheap;  and  Sir  Walter 
thought  that  the  men  would  be  all  the 
more  patient  if  he  tarried  amongst  them; 
therefore,  assuring  them  of  his  speedy 
return  to  their  relief,  he  proceeded  on  his 
way. 

After  six  hours'  hard  rowing,  the  sun 
being  set,  and  no  sign  of  habitation  visi- 
ble— though  the  old  Indian  declared  the 
town  was  so  close  at  hand — they  began 
to  suspect  he  was  betraying  them,  partic- 
ularly as  he  said  that  the  Spaniards  who 
had  escaped  from  Trinidad  were  with 
others  of  their  nation  in  a  village  upon 
the  river.  As  it  grew  toward  night,  and 
still  there  was  no  sign  of  any  place,  Sir 
Walter  did  question  the  pilot  very  close- 
ly ;  but  he  still  kept  saying  it  was  nigh 
at  hand— it  was  this  turning  and  then 
that,  at  the  which  when  they  came  and 
still  finding  no  habitation,  'they  were 


angered ;  and  well  they  might  be,  for 
they  had  rowed  forty  miles  without  bit 
or  sup,  and  were  continually  forced,  worn 
and  weary  as  they  were,  to  cut  with 
their  swords  a  passage  along  the  stream, 
because  the  branches  of  the  trees  did  so 
cover  the  water.  At  last  they  determined 
to  hang  their  pilot ;  but  he  implored  so 
earnestly  for  them  to  go  a  little  further, 
that  they  spared  him  yet  awhile. 

Although  every  one  of  the  jiarty  were 
exceeding  faint  and  vexed  at  the  great 
way  they  had  come  to  so  little  purpose, 
and  of  the  monstrous  labor  they  had  had 
to  get  there,  they  could  not  help  admiring 
the  beauty  of  the  country  on  both  sides 
of  them.  By  Master  Francis  the  sight 
was  enjoyed  more  than  any  other,  be- 
cause of  Sir  Waller's  anxiety  for  his  fol- 
lowers, and  their  care  for  themselves 
which  engrossed  their  thoughts,  but  the 
former  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  beautiful 
scenes  that  lay  before  him,  illumined  by 
the  silvery  moonlight,  till  he  forgot  hun- 
ger, and  thirst,  and  weariness.  ^Besides, 
it  was  a  great  contrast  to  what  Biey  had 
been  passing  for  so  many  miles,  which 
seemed  naught  but  woods  and  prickly 
bushes,  for  what  he  now  saw  were  plains 
of^some  twenty  miles  in  length,  having 
the  grass  short  and  green,  which  was 
marvellous  refreshing  to  the  eye,  with 
here  and  there  groves  of  trees,  as  if  the 
most  wonderful  art  had  been  used  in  the 
planting  of  them,  whilst  as  they  rowed 
along,  the  deer  came  down  feeding  at  the 
water's  side,  as  tamely  as  if  they  had 
been  used  to  a  keeper's  call. 

At  last,  about  an  hour  after  midnight, 
they  saw  a  light  afar  off,  which  they 
made  for  presently,  and  soon  heard  the 
dogs  of  the  village  barking  in  full  chorus. 
Here  they  quickly  arrived,  and  though 
there  were  but  few  people  left  in  it,  the 
cacique  having,  it  was  said,  gone  with 
most  of  his  people  up  the  Orinoco,  to 
trade  for  gold  and  to  buy  women  of  the 
cannibals,  a  dwelling  was  provided  for 
Sir  Walter  and  his  men,  where  all  were 
hospitably  entertained,  and  promised  in 
the  morning  to  have  as  much  of  such 
things  they  required  as  they  could  carry 
with  them.  Raleigh  and  his  companions 
retired  to  rest  themselves  as  soon  as  they 
could,  for  to  sleep  off  the  fatigues  they 
had  endured.  Master  Francis  did  not 
remain  long  before  he  was  in  a  sound 
slumber,  from  the  which  waking  earlier 
than  the  others,  and  not  being  inclined 
to  sleep  again,  he  passed  out  of  thUhouse 
without  waking  any,  being  curious  to  see 
the  place.  Meeting  with  none  as  he 


RHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


193 


Went  on,  for  scarce  any  of  the  natives 
were,  out  of  their  houses,  he  strolled 
along,  much  pleased  with  the  comfort- 
ableness of  the  dwellings,  and  the  ex- 
ceeding pleasantness  of  the  scenery 
around  him,  till  he  came  to  a  grove  of 
'all  trees,  many  bearing  sweet  blossoms, 
and  some  loaded  with  fruit  very  delicate 
to  the  eye.  Numberless  small  birds  were 
up  and  tuning  of  their  merry  pipes  to  a 
pleasant  harmony  ;  and  there  were  others 
of  a  more  brilliant  plumage  who  flew 
about  the  verdant  branches,  making  a 
wonderful  noise  certainly :  yet  was  there 
in  it  a  great  lack  of  music. 

Having  proceeded  some  way,  enticed 
along  by  the  delightfulness  of  what  he 
beheld,  he  was  bending  down  the  more 
closely  to  examine  a  curious  flower  that 
had  struck  his  eye,' growing  nigh  unto 
the  root  of  a  tree,  when  all  of  a  sudden 
he  felt  a  huge  cloak  thrown  over  him,  in 
the  which  his  arms  were  pinioned  so  that 
he  could  not  move  them  in  the  least,  and 
then  being  forcibly  gripped,  he  was  hur- 
ried along,  not  knowing  where  he  was 
going  or  what  he  was  to  be  done  with. 
He  cried  out  as  well  as  he  could,  for  he 
was  so  muffled" up  he  could  scarce  speak: 
but  in  a  moment  he  heard  a  voice  at  his 
elbow,  which,  to  his  great  astonishment 
he  recognised  as  that  of  Padre  Bartolome, 
telling  him  to  hold  his  prate  or  he  should 
have  a  bullet  through  his  head.  He  mar- 
velled at  this  hugely,  because  he  knew 
not  that  he  had  ever  done  him  any  of- 
fence ;  but  hearing  as  he  went  along  the 
voice  of  one  and  then  of  another,  all 
talking  Spanish,  he  surmised  that  he  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  such  Spaniards  as 
had  escaped  from  Trinidad,  and  he  doubt- 
ed not  they  were  going  to  revenge  on  him 
the  overthrow  they  received  at  San  Josef 
de  Oruno. 

Presently  he  felt  himself  lifted  on  a 
horse,  whereon  one  got  up  behind  him 
and  held  him  fast ;  and  directly  after  that 
they  set  a  galloping  as  fast  as  they  could. 
He  could  tell  by  the  noise  that  there  were 
at  least  some  five  or  six  horsemen.  They 
scarce  ever  said  a  word  one  to  another  ; 
but  that  was  nothing  strange,  seeing  that 
they  were  going  at  so  great  a  pace. 
Master  Francis  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  was  to  be  killed,  but  this  in  his 
own  heart  he  cared  but  Jittle  for  of  itself; 
for  he  was  of  a  truly  courageous  dispo- 
sition though  of  a  modest  nature,  and  was 
more  to  be  depended  on  in  such  a  strait 
than  they  who  bear  it  more  bravely  when 
no  danger  is  at  hand.  He  thought  thisj 
life  could  be  but  of  small  value,  since  the 
13 


meanness  of  his  birlh  took  from  him  all 
hope  of  honorable  advancement,  and 
Joanna's  ill  conduct  had  deprived  him  of 
every  reasonable  expectation  of  happi- 
ness. Still  he  could  not  help  thinking 
there  were  those  he  liked  not  the  parting 
with  so  suddenly — to  wit,  such  true  friends 
as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Master  Shaks- 
peare,  and  Harry  Daring,  whom  he  loved 
so  in  his  heart,  that  he  would  give  the 
world  to  see  again  were  it  possible.  Then 
he  took  to  thinking  of  the  manner  of 
death  it  was  most  like  he  should  die.  He 
could  not  bear  that  he  should  be  hanged 
like  any  mean  villain.  And  then  he 
wished  they  had  but  given  him  time  to 
draw  his  rapier,  he  would  on  no  account 
have  allowed  himself  to  be  taken  alive. 
At  last,  considering  that  his  end  was 
drawing  nigh,  he  thought  'twould  be  but 
Christian-like  to  forgive  those  who  had 
done  him  wrong  ;  and  from  his  very  heart 
he  did  forgive  Joanna  the  treachery  she 
had  played  him  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  he 
could  not  but  grieve  that  a  creature  who 
had  appeared  to  him  of  so  superlative  an 
excellence,  should  at  last  take  to  the  do- 
ing of  such  villanies  as  he  believed  she 
had  done. 

At  this  time  his  reflections  were  put  a 
stop  to  by  the  party  coming  to  a  sudden 
halt.  He  was  lifted  from  the  horse  and 
sat  down  on  the  ground  with  his  back 
leaning  against  what  he  thought  was  a 
tree.  By  the  talking  they  made  he  could 
hear  they  did  intend  taking  some  refresh- 
ment, whilst  the  horses  were  allowed  to 
crop  the  herbage  around  them  ere  they 
proceeded  on  their  journey;  but  whilst 
they  were  sitting  of  themselves  down, 
preparing  to  make  what  good  cheer  they 
might,  Master  Francis  heard  all  at  once 
a  great  screaming  and  yelling  close  at 
hand,  and  a  noise  of  missiles  rushing 
through  the  air,  and  afterwards  a  rush  of 
many  persons  toward  him.  At  first,  he 
could  only  marvel  what  it  all  meant;  but 
hearing  the  groans  and  execrations  of  the 
Spaniards,  he  guessed  they  had  been  set 
upon,  and  in  a  moment  after  he  found 
himself  unbound,  with  a  many  armed 
Indians  gazing  upon  him  with  strange 
and  curious  looks.  Taking  of  a  hurried 
glance  around  him,  he  observed  that  all 
the  Spaniards  were  slain  with  arrows  and 
spears,  excepting  only  Padre  Bartolome, 
whom  some  of  the  Indians  were  binding 
with  cords,  and  talking  to  all  at  once  in 
a  monstrous  furious  manner  ;  but,  Master 
Francis,  knowing  not  their  language, 
could  only  guess  they  were  wrath  with 
the  priest,  and  meant  him  some  harm. 


194 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS, 


After  the  same  fashion  behaved  they  not 
to  him  ;  for  they  did  converse  one  to 
another  with  very  wondering  looks,  and 
then  seemed  they  to  put  questions  to  him 
with  more  mildness  than  he  could  have 
expected  of  them.  Thinking  they  were 
desirous  of  knowing  what  he  was,  and 
how  he  came  there,  he  was  for  telling 
them  in  Spanish,  but  he  had  scarce  ut- 
tered a  sentence  when  their  looks  turned' 
to  fury,  and  they  beat  him  with  blows, 
and  bound  him  hand  and  foot,  and  talk- 
ing furious  and  fast,  with  many  signs, 
gave  him  to  understand  they  would  have 
his  life. 

Believing  that  they  took  him  for  a 
Spaniard,  he  then  addressed  them  in 
English,  whereupon  they  again  looked  to 
one  another  as  if  not  knowing  what  to 
think  of  it ;  and  he  strove  by  signs  to 
make  them  understand  he  was  an  enemy 
to  the  Spaniards,  and  had  by  them  been 
surprised  and  taken  prisoner.  Whether 
they  understood  this,  or  were  favorably 
disposed  toward  him  on  account  of  the 
comeliness  of  his  appearance  I  know  not, 
but  certain  it  is  that  after  much  talking 
amongst  themselves,  they  unbound  his 
cords ;  yet  did  they  make  signs  to  him 
the  whilst,  that  ir  he  sought  to  escape 
he  should  be  speared  on  the  instant. 
Presently  they  brought  him  some  singu- 
lar sort  of  roots,  which  seeing  of  an  In- 
dian eat  before  him,  he  took  to  the  tasting 
of,  and  found  it  to  be  such  excellent 
meat,  that  he  eat  plentifully ;  and  then 
they  gave  him  to  drink  wine  of  the  coun- 
try, which  would  have  been  all  the  more 
pleasant  had  there  not  been  such  quantity 
of  pepper  in  it.  Notwithstanding  this, 
he  felt  wonderfully  refreshed  of  the 
victual  he  had  had  ;  and  had  great  hopes 
that  by  their  treating  of  him  so  bounti- 
fully they  bore  him  no  ill  will.  All  this 
while  many  of  them  came  crowding 
round  him,  examining  his  dress  very  cu- 
riously, and  asking  of  him  abundance  of 
questions,  which,  though  he  knew  not 
tlie  meaning  of,  he  would  strive  to  an- 
swer as  he  best  might,  but  always  in 
English,  which  never  failed  to  set  them 
talking  to  one  another  with  such  looks  as 
proved  it  astonished  them  mightily. 

He  saw  not  Padre  Bartolome  again  for 
some  days,  but  being  allowed  his  liberty, 
though  he  was  closely  watched,  he  no- 
ticed that  his  captors  were  some  two  hun- 
dred in  number,  well  armed  with  spears 
and  other  Indian  weapons,  and  appeared 
to  be  returning  i'rom  some  war  expedi- 
tion, but  this  was  no  more  than  his  con- 
jecture, for  he  could  have  no  certain 


knowledge  about  the  matter.  Let  this 
be  as  it  may,  he  journeyed  with  them 
for  the  space  of  many  days  through  great 
plains  and  forests,  and  along  rivers,  and 
over  mountains  and  rocks,  all  so  grand 
and  beautiful,  that  it  appeared  to  him  the 
most  marvellous  sight  he  had  ever  wit- 
nessed :  and  sometimes  he  went  wish 
them  a  hunting  the  deer,  wild  boars,  and 
divers  savage  beasts  natural  to  those 
parts,  the  like  of  which  he  had  never 
seen  before.  •  He  had  wonderful  enter- 
tainment from  the  Indians,  for  they 
feasted  him  with  venison  and  pork,  and 
flesh  of  many  different  birds,  with  roots 
that  made  a  right  admirable  substitute 
for  bread  ;  and  with  plenty  of  wine,  so 
that  he  lacked  nothing.  Indeed,  he 
might  have  been  happy  did  he  not  often 
rind  himself  a  thinking  of  how  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh  might  be  put  to  by  his  ab- 
sence, and  how  Harry  Daring  Would  take 
on  ;  but  as  he  found  that  there  was  no 
help  at  present,  he  did  wisely  determine 
to  make  the  best  of  it  he  could,  and  did 
so  demean  himself  as  to  win  the  good 
will  of  all  about  him. 

At  one  time  whilst  they  were  about  to 
rest  themselves  for  th«  night  upon  an  ex- 
ceeding high  mountain  up  which  they  had 
been  toiling  the  whole  of  the  day,  Master 
Francis  spied  the  Jesuit,  still  in  his  bonds, 
sitting  by  himself  upon  a  block  of  stone, 
and  regarding  him  with  looks  so  gloomy 
and  revengeful,  that  the  young  English- 
man was  quite  moved  at  it.  Master 
Francis  knew  that  he  had  done  him  no 
ill  office,  and  he  could  scarce  think  it  pos- 
sible that  national  prejudice  should  go  so 
far  as  to  become  such  deadly  hatred.  De- 
sirous of  knowing  for  what  cause  the 
other  looked  at  him  so  maliciously  he 
made  up  to  him ;  but  he  had  only  got  to 
within  a  few  paces  of  the  stone  on  which 
the  padre  sat,  when  he  found  himself  laid 
violent  hold  of,  and  dragged  back  by 
those  of  the  Indians  who  had  seen  his  in- 
tention. They  then  looked  frowning  upon 
him,  and  did  threaten  him,  as  he  under- 
stood, if  that  he  ever  essayed  to  speak 
with  the  priest  again,  they  would  as  good 
as  kill  him  for  it.  This  made  him  more 
cautious,  for  it  may  well  be  imagined  he 
had  no  desire  of  getting  his  death  for  pay- 
ing of  any  courtesies  to  one  who  seemed 
as  though  he  would  gladly  be  his  destruc- 
tion. 

They  travelled  on  for  some  time  long- 
er, amidst  an  exceeding  wild  country  till 
they  came  to  a  goodly  city,  wherein  they 
were  welcomed  by  crowds  of  Indians  who 
flocked  put  of  their  houses  to  meet  them 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


195 


with  great  shoutings,  and  clanging  of 
noisy  instruments  —  men,  women,  and 
children,  clad  in  dresses  of  divers  colors. 
At  first  there  were  many  amongst  them 
that  did  regard  Master  Francis  with  most 
sinister  aspects,  reviling  and  jeering  of 
him,  and  seeming  to  triumph  over  him 
as  if  he  were  an  enemy  taken  in  battle  ; 
but  when  something  was  said  to  them  by 
those  he  was  amongst,  they  did  abuse 
him  no  more,  nor  regard  him  in  any  sort 
than  with  a  very  marvellous  curiousness. 
As  for  Padre  Bartolome,  there  could  not 
be  a  question  as  to  their  treatment  of 
him.  They  cast  dirt  on  him  as  he  went; 
they  spat  on  him,  they  screamed,  they 
yelled,  they  danced  for  very  joy;  naught 
could  exceed  the  wonderful  pleasure  they 
seemed  to  find  in  the  sight  of  him.  But 
he  regarded  them  not  at  all.  He  passed 
along  with  his  fine  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
glowing  heavens  with  a  most  pious  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  as  if  his  spirit 
was  in  such  strict  communion  with  his 
Creator  he  could  not  regard  for  a  mo- 
ment the  din  that  was  going  on  around 
him.  His  hands  were  tied  behind  his 
back,  and  he  was  strictly  guarded  ;  yet 
walked  he  with  a  proud  step,  more  like 
that  of  a  conquerer  than  a  captive:  and 
looked  such  resignation  and  hope  as  if  he 
would  needs  appear  like  one  of  the  right 
famous  martyrs  of  old,  who  did  suffer  ex- 
treme persecution  of  the  heathen,  even 
unto  death,  rather  than  give  up  their  faith 
in  the  life  everlasting. 

Nothing  astonished  Master  Francis  so 
much  as  the  wonderful  quantity  of  gold 
that  was  worn  by  the  natives.  They  had 
armlets,  bands  for  the  ankles  and  for  the 
forehead  ;  plates  that  hung  about  the 
joints,  rings  and  chains,  all  solid,  and 
curiously  wrought ;  and  these  shining  in 
the  sun,  had  a  singular  fine  and  brilliant 
effect ;  but  when  he  came  into  the  city 
and  saw  the  insides  of  the  houses,  and 
beheld  the  commonness  of  this  precious 
metal,  for  it  appeared  to  he  made  into 
every  sort  of  thing  that  could  be  named, 
as  if  its  abundance  was  beyond  all  com- 
parison, he  marvelled  ten  times  the  more. 
In  this  place  he  abode  many  days,  being 
well  cared  for,  having  to  eat  all  kinds  of 
fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  that  could  be  pro- 
cured, with  fruit  in  great  plenty  ;  tortoise 
eggs,  which  he  found  to  be  a  very  whole- 
some meat ;  and  wine  of  a  good  sort,  as 
much  as  he  could  drink  of  it:  and  he 
saw  nothing  of  Padre  Bartolome  all  this 
time,  for  the  priest  was  kept  close  in  du- 
rance, having  scanty  fare,  and  usage  of 
the  hardest ;  but  at  last  there  came  a 


command  from  the  king  of  all  these  parts, 
that  the  stranger  should  be  sent  to  the 
imperial  city,  where  he  was,  for  him  to 
see  the  prisoners,  and  judge  how  they 
should  be  disposed  of.  Then  Master  Fran- 
cis and  the  Jesuit  were  straightway  set 
on  two  of  the  horses  taken  of  the  Span- 
iards, and  accompanied  by  a  strong  guard 
to  prevent  escape  ;  and  proceeded  on  their 
journey  to  the  city  of  the  king. 

After  passing  a  great  distance  through 
a  fine  open  country,  rich  with  verdure, 
and  of  a  most  delicate  aspect,  when  a 
many  days  had  elapsed,  they  approached 
a  magnificent  city,  which  was  the  place 
they  were  in  quest  of.  Master  Francis 
could  see,  as  he  came  nigh  unto  it,  that 
it  was  a  famous  large  place  ;  and  noticing 
of  the  vast  numbers  that  were  thronging 
in  its  vicinity,  some  going  and  some  com- 
ing, he  did  judge  that  it  was  well  popu- 
lated. The  first  thing  that  did  give  him 
a  proper  estimation  of  the  wonderful  rich- 
es of  the  city,  was  the  great  gates,  which, 
to  his  exceeding  astonishment,  he  saw 
were  made  of  the  solid  gold,  and  wrought 
in  all  manner  of  beautiful  figures  of  men, 
and  beasts,  and  birds,  and  flowers,  with 
such  extreme  cunning  that  he  marvelled 
as  much  at  the  skilfulness  of  the  work- 
manship as  at  the  costliness  of  the  mate- 
rial. Discoursing  with  one  of  his  guard, 
for  he  had  picked  up  some  little  knowl- 
edge of  the  language,  he  learned  that  the 
riches  of  this  city  was  considered  to  be 
far  beyond  that  of  any  place  in  the  world 
for  there  were  in  it  four-and-twenty  gate* 
of  a  like  fashion  and  fabric  ;  and  t^. 
quantity  of  the  same  precious  mettT 
wrought  up  into  idols,  monuments,  alta 
places,  and  the  like,  was  beyond  all  cal- 
culation. Hearing  this,  and  beholding, 
as  he  proceeded  along  through  the  broad 
thoroughfares,  the  strongest  evidence  that 
what  he  heard  was  no  other  than  the 
truth,  he  did  from  it  imagine  that  he  was 
in  that  right  famous  place  called  El  Hom- 
bre  Dorado,  or  the  Man  of  Gold  ;  of  the 
which  divers  notable  comfcianders  of  the 
Spaniards  had  searched  for  in  vain  ;  and 
for  the  discovery  thereof  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh had  got  together  so  brave  an  expe- 
dition ;  and,  as  imagination  was  strength- 
ened into  certainty  by  his  guides  telling 
him  the  city  was  called  Manoa,  it  did 
create  in  him  a  singular  curiousness  to 
observe,  as  closely  as  was  possible,  this 
wonderful  place. 

As  he  rode  onward  he  could  not  but 
marvel  at  the  sight  of  such  goodly  struc- 
tures, that  seemed  like  unto  palaces,  ah 
the  way  long.  Presently  he  would  come 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


to  some  open  space,  in  the  midst  of  which 
there  was  set  up  a  huge  figure  of  some 
idol,  whereof  he  saw  a  great  many,  all 
wrought  out  of  the  solid  gold,  and  the 
crowds  of  natives  dressed  in  the  costliest 
silks  and  fine  cloths,  some  walking,  and 
some  riding  on  prancing  steeds,  the  har- 
ness of  which  was  covered  over  with 
gold  and  jewels,  were  wonderful  to  look 
upon,  for  the  beauty  and  variety  of  their 
apparelling.  They  seemed,  for  people 
of  so  dark  a  skin,  an  exceeding  handsome 
race  ; — the  women  remarkably  so,  having 
well  disposed  bodies  and  comely  coun- 
tenances ;  eyes  dark  and  penetrating,  and 
hair  very  long  and  black,  the  which,  in 
many  instances,  was  powdered  with  gold 
dust,  that  did  have  a  marvellous  shining 
effect ;  the  most  of  them  wore  gold  ank- 
lets and  armlets,  very  thick,  and  some 
curiously  cut  and  set  in  with  precious 
stones,  and  some  wore  so  many  plates  of 
the  same  metal  that  they  kept  up  a  con- 
stant jingling  as  they  walked  along, 
from  the  pieces  knocking  one  against 
another. 

Master  Francis  was  made  to  halt  at  a 
building  of  wonderful  size  and   stately 
aspect,    story    above    story,   and    tower 
above  tower,  with  figures  upon  them,  all 
of  gold,  stretching  out  over  a  vast  space 
of  ground.     As  he  approached  it  by  one 
of  many  wide  streets  of  goodly  mansions 
that  led  to  where  it  >tood,  quite  apart  in 
an   open    plot   of  ground,   he  observed 
divers  companies  of  armed  Indians,  doubt- 
less soldiers,  led  by  their  lords,  or  caciques, 
arrayed     in     most    sumptuous     fashion, 
marching  wilh  bands  of  warlike  instru- 
ments,   that    made  a    monstrous  clang, 
some  going  and   some  coming  away — 
some  of  horse   and   some    of  foot ;   and 
there  being  a  marvellous  high  flight  of 
steps  all  around,  to  reach  the  gates  of  this 
palace,  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the 
foot  soldiers  ascending  and  descending, 
with  their   spears  glancing  in  the  sun, 
their  feathers  waving  in  the  breeze,  and 
their    draperiesYof   the    very    brightest 
colors,  together  with  the  abundance  of 
gold  ornaments  they  wore,  looking  more 
beauiiful  and  costly  than  the  most  ex- 
treme cunning  with  the  pen  could    de- 
scribe. Having  dismounted,  Master  Fran- 
cis  had   to  ascend    the   steps  with   his 
guard,  which  was  a  wosk  of  some  labor, 
there  being  a  hundred  steps  to  go  up ; 
and  then  passing  along  a  level  way  of 
tine  polished  marble,  which  was  covered 
with  a  crowd  of  Indians,  seemingly  of 
all  sorts  and  conditions,  going  in  and  out, 


le  entered  the  palace  by  one  of  the  maojr 
golden  gates  it  had,  whereof  he  was  told 
here  were  fifty,  all  of  a  like  splendor 
and  massiveness  with  the  one  he  now 
saw,  which  was  indeed  the  most  mag- 
nificent thing  to  see  eye  of  his  ever  be- 
held. 

Here  some  of  those  he  was  with  did 
lave  speech  with  a  chief  of  officer  of  the 
uard,  who  stopped  them ;  and  hearing 
of  their  business,  hurried  them  on,  him- 
ielf  leading  the  way,  telling  them  that 
he  king  was  sitting  in  council  with  his 
wise  men,  and  had  given  orders  that  the 
trangers  should  immediately  on  their 
arrival  be  brought  before  them,  to  be 
done  by  as  they  should  think  fit.  After 
)assing  through  vast  halls  and  long  spa- 
cious passages,  and  up  broad  flights  of 
steps,  meeting  with  a  great  crowd  of  the 
natives,  seeming  to  be  officers,  priests, 
soldiers,  and  the  like,  appearing  to  be 
ntent  upon  some  important  business  or 
another,  they  at  last  arrived  at  an  ante- 
room^ which  was  guarded  on  both  sides 
rows  of  Indians,  with  long  spears 
standing  up  much  higher  than  themselves, 
where  they  waited  till  some  went  to 
announce  their  arrival  to  the  king ;  which 
having  been  done,  after  a  short  delay 
Master  Francis  and  Padre  Bartolome, 
uncovered,  were  allowed  to  advance  into 
the  council  chamber. 

Upon  entering,  the  first  thing  Which  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  Master  Francis 
was  a  splendid  throne,  supported  by  fig- 
ures of  leopards,  wrought  in  solid  gold, 
and  blazing  with  all  manner  of  sapphires, 
carbuncles,  emeralds,  diamonds,  pearls, 
and  divers  other  precious  stones ;  and  on 
it,  upon  cushions  of  embroidered  silk, 
there  sat  a  man  of  a  mild,  yet  majestic 
countenance,  clothed  in  robes  of  the  very 
richest  sort,  and  wearing  beside  the  most 
costly  armlets,  anklets,  and  plates  of  gold 
all  about  him,  and  rings,  and  chains,  and 
rare  gems,  a  tiara  of  the  same  precious 
metal,  set  in  with  diamonds  and  rubies 
of  the  very  largest  and  purest  kind. 
Round  him,  in  a  semicircle,  seated  on 
thrones,  less  elevated,  but  of  almost  equal 
costliness,  were  the  wise  n»?n  of  the 
council,  which  seemed  to  be  to  -has  were 
selected  for  their  great  knowledge,  for 
they  did  appear  to  be  of  a  wonderful 
gravity,  and  were  clothed  in  long  robes 
of  white  cloth  bordered  with  gold.  Padre 
Bartolome  was  desired  to  prostrate  him- 
self immediately  upon  his  entering,  which 
he  did,  with  an  affectation  of  great  rev- 
erence ;  but  Master  Francis  liked  not  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


197 


fceharing  with  such  humility  to  a  mere 
mortal,  and  could  not  be  got  to  do  aught 
save  the  making  of  a  respectful  bow, 
which  it  was  evident  angered  many  in 
that  assembly,  for  some  did  regard  him 
with  stem  and  forbidding  glances, 

An  interpreter  being  present,  who  was 
the  chief  priest,  and  was  one  that  had 
lived  with  the  Spaniards  till  he  was  as 
familiar  with  their  language  as  with  his 
own,  the  padre  was  asked  if  the  other 
white  man,  meaning  Master  Francis,  was 
a  Spaniard,  many  of  the  Indians  having 
asserted  he  talked  a  different  tongue,  and 
was  of  an  entirely  different  nation.  Then 
up  spoke  the  wily  Jesuit,  exceedingly  to 
his  companion's  astonishment,  and  may- 
hap instigated  of  the  devil  to  do  it,  saying, 
that  not  only  was  he  a  Spaniard,  although 
he  spoke  a  foreign  tongue,  wanting  to 
pass  himself  off  as  of  a  different  country, 
but  that  he  was  the  chief  counsellor  of 
the  governor  Don  Antonio  de  Berrio,  and 
had  instigated  him  to  do  those  cruelties 
against  the  Indians  of  which  such  loud 
complaint  had  been  made.  At  the  hear- 
ing of  this,  it  was  easily  seen  that  the 
king  and  all  his  council  were  moved  to  a 
great  wrath.  Master  Francis  was  so 
taken  by  surprise  at  the  hearing  of  so 
atrocious  a  calumny  that  he  knew  not 
what  to  say  or  do;  and,  by  his  judges, 
his  confusion  was  taken  as  a  sign  of 
guilt. 

They  then  examined  the  padre  as  to 
what  were   the  designs  of  himself  and 
party  in  entering  the  territory  of  Guiana, 
and  he  answered  that  he  was  but  a  man  of 
peace,  and  merely  accompanied  the  others 
at  their  request,  to  give  them  such  good 
instruction  as  they  stood  in  need  of;  that  | 
the  command  of  the  party  was  intrusted 
to  his  companion,  and  that  its  object  was 
to  fall  upon  the  Indians  in  some  village 
or  another,  murder  them,  and  take  away  | 
their  gold.     At  this  the  assembly  were  ' 
more   wrath   than    at    first  :    and    when  ' 
Master  Francis  sought  to  deny  what  had  ; 
been   so  falsely  said    of  the  other,  they  I 
would    scarce   hear   him,  and   the   king,  [ 
having   taken    the   opinion  of  his   wise 
men,  did  speak  with  great  bitterness  of  ' 
the  inhuman  cruelties  of  the  Spaniards  j 
in  their  inordinate  search  after  gold,  and  ' 
then  adjudged  Master  Francis  to  be  sac-  ! 
rificed  to  his  gods,  whilst  Padre  Bartolome 
should  be  kept  close  prisoner.     When  the 
priest  heard   this  sentence  he  turned  on  ; 
Lis  companion  a  look  of  fiendish  exulta-  ; 
lion,  which  the  other  returned  only  with  i 
one  o*' wonder  and  pity. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


He  that  is  thy  friend  indeed 

He  will  help  thee  at  thy  need ;         •  '>j 

If  thou  sorrow  he  will  weep, 

If  thou  wake  he  can  not  sleep ; 

Thus  of  ev'ry  grief  in  heart, 

He  with  thee  doth  bear  a  part. 

SHAKSPEABZ 

There  is  no  grief,  no  smart,  no  wo,    • 

That  yet  I  feel  or  after  shall, 
That  from  this  mind  may  make  me  go  ; 

And  whatsoever  me  befall, 
I  do  profess  it  willingly 
To  serve  and  suffer  patiently. 

SIB  THOMAS  WYATT. 

Talbot.  I  mean  to  prove  this  lady's  courtesy. 
Come  hither,  captain !  (whispers.)    You  perceive 

mind  ? 

Captain.  I  do,  my  lord,  and  mean  accordingly. 
SHAKSPEARE. 

UPON  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  rising  in 
the  morning  and  missing  Master  Francis 
he  did  marvel  exceedingly.  v  Every  place 
was  searched  for  him,  and  every  inquiry 
set  on  foot,  but  one  or  two  only  of  the 
natives  had  had  sight  of  him  as  he  was 
walking  toward  the  grove,  and  after  send- 
ing parties  hither  and  thither,  and  finding 
no  trace  of  him,  Sir  Walter  was  obliged 
to  return  to  his  boat,  because  of  those 
who  were  waiting  for  victual.  He  knew 
not  what  to  think.  It  was  not  likely  his 
secretary  should  have  been  devoured  by 
savage  beasts,  because  there  was  none 
known  to  frequent  those  parts,  nor  was  it 
probable  that  he  had  been  set  upon  and 
slain  by  the  Indians,  because  of  their 
hospitable  character,  and  of  the  great  in- 
terest they  showed  when  it  was  made 
known  to  them  one  of  the  white  men  had 
disappeared  from  amongst  them.  No 
man  could  be  more  downcast  at  anything 
than  was  Sir  Walter.  He  offered  great 
rewards — he  spared  neither  trouble  nor 
expense,  but  it  was  all  unavailing ;  and 
on  his  voyage  back  loaded  with  provision 
for  those  of  his  followers  he  had  left  be- 
hind him,  he  could  scarce  speak  a  word. 
In  truth,  he  loved  Master  Francis  as  a 
son  ;  and  his  loss  did  affect  him  more 
than  anythiu?  he  had  ever  endured. 

If  Sir  Walter  was  thus  moved,  how 
much  more  strongly  did  the  intelligence 
of  his  friend's  disappearance  affect  Harry 
Daring.  He  was  like  one  distracted — 
he  did  abuse  all  around  for  a  parcel  of 
pitiful  rogues  and  villains  for  coming  back 
without  bringing  his  true  friend  with 
them;  and  was  for  starting  himself  quite 
alon'e  and  on  the  instant  to  fetch  him 
away  in  spite  of  everything :  but  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  though  he  could  not  but 
pardon  the  intemperance  of  his  language, 
knowing  of  what  disposition  he  was,  and 


198 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 


how  much  he  was  attached  to  the  other, 
would  have  him  go  on  no  account,  be- 
cause he  believed  it  would  be  a  fruitless 
and  a  dangerous  errand  for  him  to  set  out 
on  alone,  and  he  could  not  spare  others 
at  such  a  time;  therefoie  he  was  held 
fast ;  notwithstanding  which  he  spared 
none  with  his  tongue;  for  he  did  rate 
them  all  after  a  fashion  that  must  have 
angered  many  who  knew  not  of  what  sort 
he  was,  and  the  provocation  he  had  had. 
After  a  bit,  finding  that  this  was  of  no 
service,  he  appeared  more  tranquil,  and 
said  naught  to  any  save  the  young  Indian, 
with  whom  he  was  noticed  to  be  frequent- 
ly a  whispering.  His  commander  think- 
ing that  he  was  now  resigned  to  the  loss 
of  his  friend,  took  not  so  much  heed  of 
him,  nor  could  he  well,  for  his  attention 
was  taking  up  with  looking  after  his  own 
and  the  other  boats,  whereof  the  com- 
panies now,  every  one  having  feasted  and 
drunk  to  his  heart's  content,  were  pro- 
ceeding at  a  famous  rate  upon  their 
voyage. 

It  did  so  happen  that  of  a  party  that 
on  the  next  day  landed  from  the  boats  to 
traffic  with  the  natives  of  a  village  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  Harry  Daring  and  the 
Indian  boy  were  of  the  number,  and 
whilst  all  else  were  busily  engaged,  they 
two  slipped  away  unobserved  with  what 
arms  they  had,  and  with  such  things  as 
they  had  got  ready  for  the  occasion  ;  and 
threading  their  way  through  the  thorny 
bushes  that  grew  along  the  water-side, 
and  which  completely  shut  them  out  from 
view,  they  came  at  last  to  where  lay  a 
canoe,  into  the  which  they  got  without 
loss  of  time,  and  commenced  rowing 
away  with  all  their  strength  to  return  the 
way  they  had  come  the  day  previous. 
None  noticed  them,  either  from  the  boats 
or  on  the  land,  their  attention  being  taken 
up  with  the  natives;  and  having  the  tide 
in  their  favor,  they  proceeded  along  very 
famously,  Harry  Daring  in  an  admirable 
humor  at  having  a  chance  of  finding  out 
his  true  friend,  and  the  young  Indian  in 
as  much  delight  with  the  prospect  of  see- 
ing again  his  family,  who  knew  not  what 
had  become  of  him.  Though  these  two 
were  boys,  as  it  might  be  said,  seeing 
that  they  were  each  scarce  above  sixteen 
or  seventeen  years  of  age,  yet  were  they 
strong  aftd  of  wonderful  activity.  The 
young  Indian  was  somewhat  about  the 
tallest  of  the  two,  being  a  youth  of  a 
truly  graceful  figure,  but  Harry  Daring 
was  of  a  thicker  make,  and,  though  he 
had  shot  up  since  he  had  left  England, 
he  looked  nothing  better  than  a  big  boy. 


They  found  in  the  canoe  provision! 
enough  for  their  wants  and  a  plenty  to 
spare,  for  it  had  been  victualled  for  a 
party  of  Indians  who  were  about  going 
upon  a  voyage,  so  that  they  were  enabled, 
yet  not  without  vast  labor  and  pains,  to 
reach  the  village  at  which  Master  Fran- 
cis had  slept  the  morning  he  had  been 
stole  away.  Here,  they  were  entertained 
in  a  like  hospitable  manner  as  their  com- 
panions had  been  ;  and  hearing  from  Har- 
ry's comrade  in  the  adventure,  upon  what 
errand  they  had  come,  every  facility  was 
afforded  them  to  pursue  their  search. 
Whilst  Harry  Daring  was  getting  ready 
such  things  as  he  designed  taking  with 
him  in  the  way  of  victual,  a  woman,  who 
seemed  to  be  natural  of  that  place  from 
her  dress  and  complexion,  did  enter  the 
room  where  he  was,  and  call  aside  his 
companion,  and  they  went  out  together. 
As  many  of  the  natives  had  done  the 
same,  because  he  alone  could  understand 
them,  Harry  did  not  much  notice  it,  but 
went  on  with  what  he  was  a  doing  of. 
After  an  absence  of  nigh  upon  half  an 
hour,  the  young  Indian  came  running 
back  to  him,  seemingly  in  a  wonderful 
great  pleasure  and  surprise. 

"I  have  found  where  him  gone  to, 
Massa  Harry  !"  exclaimed  he,  dancing 
about  for  very  joy  as  it  seemed. 

"Where,  where,  Snowball,  where  ?" 
quickly  asked  Harry  with  extreme  earn- 
estness. "  Let  me  have  sight  of  him  on 
the  instant.  I  be  a  longing  to  behold 
him  again.  Say  where  he  is  or  I  shall 
take  thee  to  be  but  a  sorry  friend,  and 
will  presently  forswear  thy  company." 

"  She  tella  me  all,  Massa  Harry — she 
tella  me  all !"  cried  the  young  Indian. 

"  And  who  is  she — and  what  did  she 
tell  thee  ?"  inquired  the  other. 

"  Not  know  who  she  be,  Massa  Har- 
ry," replied  his  companion.  "She  one 
nobody  know  of.  very  good  woman  for 
all  dat.  What  for  she  come  a  me  ?  She 
tella  me  secret  I  not  tell  you.  What  foi 
she  tella  me  secret !  She  know  where 
Massa  Francis  gone,  and  she  wisha  me 
and  you  go  wid  her  and  take  him  away." 

"  A  brave  wench  ! — a  brave  wench  !' 
exclaimed  Harry  Daring,  overjoyed  at 
the  prospect  of  seeing  his  true  friend. 
"  And  as  for  her  secret,  I  be  not  at  all  cu- 
rious, so  there  can  be  no  fear  of  my  know- 
ing it.  But  where  is  she,  Snowball? 
Can  I  not  see  her?  Can  I  not  have 
speech  with  her?" 

"  No,  Massa  Harry,"  answered  the 
young  Indian.  "What  for  she  say  no? 
She  say  she  no  letta  you  see  her,  'cause 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


199 


in  her  country  no  woman  show  her  face. 
She  say  she  no  have  speech  wid  you, 
'cause  she  no  understanda  what  you  say, 
and  you  no  understauda  what  she  say." 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog !  I  care  not  so 
that  she  show  me  Master  Francis,"  said 
the  other.  "  Is  he  at  any  distance  ?  Can 
I  see  him  within  a  day  or  so  ?" 

"  She  tella  me  he  long,  very  long  way 
off,"  replied  his  companion.  "  She  get 
horse  to  ride  on  ;  and  for  you  and  for  me. 
We  go  very  fast  gallop  ;  by-and-by  stop, 
horse  him  eat  grass,  we  eat  victual. 
When  night  come  hang  hamaca  upon 
tree  in  forest  ;  we  go  sleepa  by  turns. 
Wild  beast  come,  Massa  Harry  shoot  him 
bang,  or  me  run  him  troo  wid  spear  after 
fashion  of  my  couniry.  She  sleeps  very 
much  quiet  all  the  time." 

"I'faith,  'twill  be  exquisite  fine  fun, 
Snowball  ?"  exclaimed  Harry  ;  "  and  I 
don't  care  how  soon  we  set  about  it." 

"  What  for  you  call  me  Snowball, 
Massa  Harry  ?"  asked  the  young  Indian. 
"  My  name  be  Pomarra,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"Hang  Pomarra!"  cried  Harry.  "I 
dislike  everything  that  be  not  honest  Eng- 
lish. Snowball  be  much  the  properest 
name  for  thee,  so  Snowball  thou  canst 
not  help  being." 

A  few  hours  after  what  hath  been  here 
related,  Pomarra,  Harry  Daring,  and  an 
Indian  woman  were  galloping  along  the 
very  road  the  Spaniards  took  when  they 
carried  off  Master  Francis.  The  face  of 
the  female  was  concealed  in  the  folds  of 
a  thin  scarf  or  muffler,  that  allowed  noth- 
ing lo  be  seen  but  the  eyes,  which  seemed 
to  be  of  great  brilliancy.  The  young  In- 
dian was  completely  under  her  guidance, 
and  he  it  was,  when  they  were  at  all  at 
a  loss,  found  out  the  path  the  Spaniards 
had  taken  by  tracking  their  horses'  feet. 
They  passed  the  place  where  these  latter 
had  been  set  upon  by  the  Indians,  which 
they  easily  discovered  by  the  stains  of 
blood,  which  were  yet  fresh  ;  and  then 
proceeded  onward  at  a  good  pace,  only 
halting  to  get  such  refreshment  as  they 
needed. 

At  night  they  slept  in  a  forest  after  the 
following  fashion.  An  hamaca  was  slung 
from  the  branches  of  some  trees,  and  first 
of  all  the  Indian  woman  lay  in  it  and 
went  asleep  for  two  or  three  hours,  whilst 
Harry  Daring  and  Pomarra  kept  watch, 
which  they  did  very  famously,  because 
the  one  would  keep  the  other  awake  by 
'elling  of  him  all  manner  of  laughable 
stories  of  what  tricks  he  had  played  when 
he  was  apprentice  to  the  barber-chirur- 
geon  in  Eastcheap ;  and  then  when  their 


female  companion  had  slept  sufficiently 
she  would  keep  watch  with  the  young 
Indian  whilst  Harry  Daring  slept,  and 
when  he  had  had  enough,  Pomarra  turned 
in  whilst  the  other  two  kept  guard.  One 
night  a  strange  adventure  happened  to 
them,  which  had  like  to  have  put  an  end 
to  their  journey.  Harry  Daring  was  very 
intent  upon  the  telling  of  how  he  had 
pulled  out  the  old  woman's  two  sound 
teeth  instead  of  the  one  aching  one,  and 
the  goodly  rage  she  was  in  when  she 
discovered  it,  when  he  was  stopped  in 
his  narration  by  his  companion's  sudden 
exclamation  of  "  Hist !"  as  he  caught  hold 
of  his  arm.  Harry  then  noticed  that  the 
horses,  which  were  fastened  to  the  tree 
behind  him,  were  plunging,  snorting,  and 
trembling  wonderfully. 

"Wild  beast,  Massa  Harry,"  said  his 
companion  in  a  whisper. 

"  Spear  him  if  I  miss,  Snowball  !" 
whispered  the  other,  as  he  took  hold  of 
a  musket  that  was  leaning  against  a  tree 
at  his  elbow,  and  looked  about  him  to 
notice  where  was  his  enemy.  The  night 
was  clear  and  starlight,  but  the  shadows 
of  the  trees  kept  a  great  portion  of  the 
ground  around  him  in  utter  darkness. 
The  hammock  in  which  slept  the  Indian 
i  woman  was  elevated  two  or  three  feet 
from  the  ground,  between  two  large 
trees,  whereof  the  thick  branches  crossed 
each  other,  and  round  about  were  clumps 
of  bushes,  and  tall  grass,  and  weeds,  much 
of  which  was  enveloped  in  a  deep  shad- 
ow, but  occasionally  illuminated  by  myri- 
ads of  fire-flies. 

"  Now,  Snowball,  dost  see  anything 
of  the  villain  ?"  asked  Harry,  as  with 
Pomarra  close  at  his  elbow,  having  a 
long  sharp  spear  held  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  give  all  his  force  to  it  should  it  be 
required,  he  was  looking  cautiously  about, 
with  his  gun  ready  to  put  to  his  shoulder 
upon  the  first  occasion. 

"  Look   in  de   bush,    Massa  Harry," 

|  whispered  the  young  Indian,  pointing  to 

a  cluft  of  underwood  within  a  few  paces 

of  him.      "  See  him  big  eye  roll  about 

like  ball  of  fire." 

The  horses  were  every  moment  getting 
to  be  more  restless,  showing  that  one 
they  liked  not  was  in  their  neighborhood  ; 
and"  Harry  Daring  looking  in  the  direc- 
tion pointed  out,  and  seeing  something 
move,  knew  it  was  high  time  to  be  doing 
of  something,  so  he  stealthily  crept  a 
pace  or  two  closer,  that  he  might  have 
all  the  better  aim,  and  then  bidding  of 
his  companion  be  ready,  he  raised  his 
piece  very  quietly,  kept  his  eye  on  the 


200 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


barrel  till  it  covered  a  spot  between  the 
two  fiery  balls  that  he  could  just  see 
glaring  at  him  out  of  the  bush,  pulled  the 
trigger  and  fired.  In  the  instant  the  re- 
port was  heard,  every  bush  in  the  neigh- 
borhood was  in  a  stir";  there  was  a  rustle 
of  wings,  with  screaming  noises,  from 
all  the  trees,  and  numberless  figures  that 
were  scarcely  distinguishable  were  ob- 
served stealing  off  as  quickly  as  they 
could.  At  the  same  time  an  animal  of  a 
large  size  made  a  spring  toward  Harry 
Daring,  as  he  was  drawing  of  his  hanger. 

"  This  how  Indian  serve  jaguar,  Massa 
Harry,"  exclaimed  Pomarra  as,  with  a 
quick  spring  toward  the  enraged  animal, 
he  drove  the  spear  into  his  heart  with 
such  a  force  that  the  beast  tumbled  back- 
ward, and  died  without  a  groan. 

"  Bravo !  Snowball,"  cried  Harry,  as 
he  stopped  to  examine  the  jaguar.  "  Me- 
thinks  if  the  villain  had  once  got  hold 
of  us,  we  should  have  fared  but  badly ; 
and  killing  of  such  be  infinite  better  sport 
than  its  killing  of  us.  See  !  I  hit  him  in 
the  head,  I  thought  'twas  scarce  possible 


rescued  by  the  readiness  and  true  valor  of 
Harry  Daring.  The  young  Indian  was 
also  of  great  value  to  them,  for  he  was  a 
complete  child  of  the  woods,  and  when 
their  victual  run  short,  told  them  of  what 
wild  fruits  they  might  eat,  and  what  they 
should  let  alone.  Once  Harry  was  about 
to  poison  himself  by  eating  of  the  coco 
de  mono,  or  monkey's  nut,  which  grew 
in  those  parts,  had  not  the  other  stayed 
him  ;  and  once  he  was  for  sleeping  under 
the  manchinsel-tree,  the  which  would 
have  been  his  death,  had  he  been  allow- 
ed ;  for  Pomarra  told  him  it  was  of  so 
strong  a  nature,  that  to  slumber  beneath 
its  leaves  is  certain  destruction,  and  the 
juice  of  it  corrodeth  the  flesh  like  unto 
vitriol.  He  did  "gather  for  them  the  cas- 
sava root,  which  whet*  eaten  moderately 
makes  excellent  victual,  whether  roasted 
or  boiled  ;  and  he  pointed  out  a  climbing 
plant  called  bejunco,  with  which  having 
well  rubbed  his  arms  up  to  the  elbows, 
he  did  freely  take  up  sundry  venomous 
snakes,  whereof  there  seemed  a  great 
plenty  thereabouts,  and  they  harmed  him 


I  could  have  missed  him.    But  I  must  be  j  none  at  all.     Then  had  they  to  eat  also  as 
after  loading  of  my  piece,  in  case   of  j  much  of  the  flesh  of  many  sorts  of  birds, 

'  deer,  porks,  and  other  animals  they  had  a 
mind  to,  that  Harry  Daring  shot,  and 
then  Pomarra,  by  rubbing  of  two  dry 
sticks  briskly,  did  kindle  a  fire,  and  roast 
after  the  fashion  of  his  country,  as  he 


need.' 

"Ah!  Massa  Harry,  wild  beast  very 
great  plenty  here,"  observed  Pomarra, 
drawing  of  his  spear  from  the  dead  ja- 
guar, as  his  companion  was  loading  his 
musket.  "  All  round  they  come — creep, 
creep  ; — now  you  fire  and  killa  him,  and 
soon  as  you  go  bang,  every  fellow  turn 
him  tail  and  be  off.  What  for  him  turn 
him  tail  ?  'Cause  him  no  like  meddle 
with  Massa  Harry." 

Harry  Daring  soon  returned  to  his 
story ;  but  he  and  his  companion  were 
not  the  only  spectators  of  the  scene  just 
described,  for  at  the  report  of  the  musket, 
the  female  in  the  hamaca  started  up,  and 
stared  at  what  was  going  forward  with 
a  countenance  that  did  express  wonder 
and  alarm.  Her  face  was  uncovered,  and 
though  of  a  dark  complexion,  it  seemed 
to  be  as  comely  as  might  be  seen  any- 
wnere.  The  backs  of  her  young  defend- 
ers being  toward  her,  they  could  see 
naught  of  her  countenance,  and  she  had 
full  opportuniiy  of  noticing  what  they 
were  about.  When  it  was  all  over  she 
lay  down  again,  but  she  slept  not  any 
more  that  night.  Not  so  the  others,  for 
when  their  turns  came,  they  fell  into  as 
sweet  and  profound  a  slumber  as  ever  they 
enjoyed. 

They  proceeded  on  their  way,  meeting 
with  numberless  adventures  of  a  like 
hazardous  nature,  from  which  they  were 


said.  Their  female  companion  also  busy- 
ing herself  in  getting  of  their  meals, 
though  she  talked  not,  save  to  the  young 
Indian,  and  that  was  only  when  he  was 
at  a  distance  from  the  other,  and  would 
show  her  face  on  no  account.  This  Harry 
took  no  heed  of,  for  he  was  one  that  trou- 
bled not  his  head  about  strange  things,  as 
long  as  he  believed  there  was  no  treach- 
ery afoot. 

They  had  exceeding  difficulty  in  pass- 
ing over  a  high  mountain  that  lay  in  their 
path,  for  ofttimes  they  were  obliged  to 
dismount  from  their  horses  and  lead  them 
by  the  bridle,  there  was  such  dangerous 
footing;  hut  none  murmured,  or  were  in 
the  least  fearful,  and  they  continued  to 
make  progress.  As  they  were  descend- 
ing upon  the  other  side  down  a  very  pre- 
cipitous part,  which  had  at  the  bottom  a 
black  and  foaming  torrent,  crossed  by  a 
natural  bridge  of  rock,  so  narrow  it 
seemed  scarce  possible  to  pass  over  it 
the  horse  of  their  female  companion 
slipped  as  she  was  leading  of  it  along, 
and  Pomarra  had  just  time  to  catch  her 
by  the  waist  and  bid  her  let  go  the  bridle, 
when  the  animal,  after  sliding  down  upon 
the  narrow  bridge,  did  plunge  over  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


201 


of  it,  and  was  dashed  from  rock  to 
rock,  till  he  fell  into  the  torrent  beneath. 
All  three  looked  over  the  precipice  after 
him,  and  held  their  breath.  Ii  was  a 
fearful  sight  to  look  upon,  and  few  could 
have  stood  it  unmoved.  The  female 
trembled  ;  even  the  horses  seemed  srnit 
with  a  sudden  fear,  for  they  stood  stiff 
end  still,  as  if  they  were  of  stone,  and 
the  young  Indian  appeared  a  little  dis- 
mayed. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog !"  exclaimed 
Harry  Daring,  breaking  the  silence  which 
ensued.  "What  a  fool  was  he  to  have 
gone  that  way,  when  had  he  but  went  as 
we  wished  him,  he  would  have  received 
no  hurt."  From  this  it  was  evident  the 
accident  had  affected  him  but  little.  At 
las;,  by  dint  of  great  coaxing  and  en- 
couragement, Pomarra  managed  to  get 
his  horse  alon2,  and  the  other  followed. 
The  Indian  woman  went  first,  holding 
of  Pomarra's  hand,  who  in  a  low  voice 
seemed  to  be  a  speaking  to  her  such  corn- 
fort  as  he  thought  necessary,  whilst  wilh 
the  other  hand  he  held  his  horse's  bridle, 
and  conducted  him  carefully  along  the 
dangerous  pathway.  This,  at  last,  after 
a  monstrous  circuitous  fashion,  led  them 
to  the  bottom,  where  the  first  sight  that 
did  present  itself  to  them  was  the  body 
of  an  Indian  hunter  lying  close  upon  that 
of  a  horse  both  dead,  and  evidently,  from 
the  appearance  of  them,  had  been  dashed 
from  the  rocks  above.  There  was  what 
appeared  to  be  a  coil  of  hide  rope,  having 
two  or  three  ball*  affixed  to  ii,  hanging 
.at  the  saddle-bow,  whereof  when  the 
young  Indian  saw  he  seized  upon  wi:h  an 
•exclamation  of  delight,  and  then  took  off 
the  bridle  from  the  dead  horse,  which  he 
threw  over  his  arm.  Pomarra  then 
mounted  his  female  companion  before 
him,  and  they  rode  together  through  a 
sort  of  pass  having  high  mountains  on 
each  side. 

They  emerged  from  this  into  an  open 
plain,  or  at  least  were  about  to  do  so, 
when  they  stopped  of  a  sudden,  for  there 
was  observed  a  scene  the  like  of  which 
hath  not  been  often  met  with.  Three  or 
four  hundred  wild  horses  were  before 
them;  some  grazing  quietly,  some  frisk- 
ing about,  others  chasing  of  and  biting 
at  each  other  in  sport,  all  of  the  most 
beautiful  shapes  eye  ever  beheld,  and  of 
.different  colors.  Pomarra  whispered  to 
his  companion  to  dismount,  which  she 
did  on  the  instant,  and  asked  Harry  Dar- 
ing to  remain  where  he  was  till  he  called 
him,  and  notice  what  he  did,  which  ihe 
other  promised  to  do,  then  taking  nothing 


with  him  but  the  coil  of  rope  already 
described,  he  put  his  steed  into  a  gallop 
and  darted  into  the  plain.  As  he  ap- 
proached, the  wild  horses  left  off  what 
they  were  about,  and  huddled  themselves 
together  in  a  body  with  their  heads  turn- 
ed toward  him  ;  but  when  he  came  wilJj- 
in  a  few  paces  of  them  they  wheeled 
round  quick  as  lightning,  and  every  one 
started  off  at  so  great  a  pace  that  the 
catching  of  any  seemed  quite  out  of  the 
question.  The  ground  trembled  beneath 
their  hoofs,  and  the  sound  they  produced 
as  they  rushed  along  was  like  unto  thun- 
der. The  young  Indian  was  seen  for  a 
few  minates  galloping  after  them  at  the 
top  of  his  speed,  with  the  halter  of  hide 
whirling  round  and  round  above  his  head. 
Suddenly  he  threw  the  end  of  the  rope 
from  him,  and  turned  his  horse  round 
quick.  A  beautiful  jet  black  colt  at  that 
moment  rolled  oVer  and  over  on  the 
ground,  held  fast  by  the  rope  which  had 
been  thrown  over  him,  and  was  twisted 
round  his  body. 

Pomarra  then  beckoned  to  Harry  Dar- 
ing to  come  on,  who  lost  no  time  in 
riding  up  to  the  spot,  having  mounted  the 
Indian  woman  before  him  as  soon  as  his 
companion  had  entered  the  plain,  and  he 
could  just  notice  the  wild  horses  disap- 
pearing at  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  so 
rapid  had  heen  their  pace.  Both  rode  up 
to  the  horse  they  had  captured,  that  lay 
as  if  stunned  by  the  fall  he  had  received. 
In  this  state  the  young  Indian  placed  the 
bridle  on  his  head,  and  then  untwined  the 
cord  from  about  his  limbs.  Presently  he 
rose  from  the  ground,  and  as  he  did  so 
Pomarra  leapt  on  his  back.  No  sooner 
was  the  horse  conscious  of  the  burthen 
then  he  exhibited  the  most  violent  im- 
patience of  it  that  ever  was  seen.  He 
plunged — he  reared — he  kicked,  and  tried 
to  turn  round  and  bite  his  rider  ;  then  he 
would  start  off  rapidly  and  stop  of  a  sud- 
den, all  the  while  with  mane  and  tail 
erect,  and  eyes  terribly  bright,  snorting, 
and  shaking,  and  pawing  of  the  ground 
with  a  wonderful  fierceness;  yet  the 
young  Indian  sat  as  firm  on  his  back  as 
if  he  grew  there.  Certes,  it  was  a  most 
delicate  sight  to  see  the  two :  the  grace- 
ful animal  showing  the  perfect  symmetry 
of  his  shape  in  every  movement,  and  the 
elegant  figure  of  his  rider  displayed  lo 
marvellous  advantage  in  the  simple  tunic 
worn  by  him,  as  his  light  limbs  bent  this 
way  and  that,  according  to  the  motion 
of  the  horse.  Presently  the  latter  started 
off  with  such  extreme  quickness  that  the 
eve  could  scarce  follow  him.  His  feet 


402 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


seemed  not  to  touch  the  ground,  and  era 
many  minutes  had  elapsed  he  had  gone 
clean  out  of  sight. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog  !  the  horse  hath 
run  away  witn  him!"  exclaimed  Harry 
Daring,  who  had  neither  been  a  silent  nor 
an  unadmiring  spectator  of  the  scene. 
"  But  if  it  please  you,  mistress,  to  keep 
your  seat,  I  will  mount  the  other  horse, 
and  we  will  be  after  them."  The  Indian 
woman  said  not  a  word  to  this;  but  as 
if  she  had  some  notion  of  what  was 
meant,  took  the  reins  in  her  hand.  "  Hang 
me  !  if  I  have  not  forgot  she  could  have 
no  speech  of  me,"  continued  he,  and  then 
added  in  some  vexation,  "A  murrain  on 
it !  what  a  pestilent  shame  it  be  every- 
body can  not  speak  honest  English !" 
They  then  rode  on  together  in  silence  for 
a  brief  space.  At  last  they  saw  the  wild 
horse  coming  toward  them  at  a  great 
distance  with  Pomarra  on  his  back  ;  but 
he  returned  not  so  fast  as  he  went.  As 
they  rode  nigher  they  could  not  but  no- 
tice that  the  glossy  coat  of  the  animal 
was  covered  all  over  with  a  white  foam 
that  did  drop  from  his  sides  most  plente- 
ously,  and  his  eyes  looked  as  though  he 
were  monstrously  frightened.  His  great 
spirit  had  been  conquered.  He  now 
paced  along  in  entire  obedience  to  the 
will  of  his  rider. 

After  this  they  were  riding  along  very 
quietly,  only  in  some  doubt  as  to  whether 
they  were  in  the  right  road,  for  they  had 
lost  all  trace  of  those  of  whom  they  had 
been  in  pursuit  for  so  many  days,  when 
Pomarra's  quick  eye  noticed  a  single 
horseman  making  toward  them.  He 
hastily  caught  hold  of  his  spear,  which 
the  Indian  woman  had  been  carrying  for 
him. 

"  Now,  Massa  Harry,  you  see  how  me 
fight  in  my  country,"  said  he  as  he  rode 
off  very  gallantly  in  the  direction  of  the 
approaching  horseman.  Harry  Daring, 
as  soon  as  he  heard  the  word  fight,  was 
for  joining  in  it;  but  seeing  that  there 
was  only  one  enemy,  if  enemy  he  were, 
he  contented  himself  with  quietly  riding 
by  the  side  of  his  companion,  and  watch- 
ing the  combatants.  It  was  seen  that 
the  stranger  was  a  young  Indian,  dressed 
very  splendidly,  as  if  he  were  of  some 
account,  and  he  carried  with  him  no  other 
weapon  than  a  long  spear  like  unto  that 
of  Pomarra.  The  two  rode  on  as  fast  as 
they  might  with  their  weapons  poised  a 
little  above  the  head,  as  if  about  to  throw 
them,  shouting  such  violent  exclamations 
as  were  quite  a  wonder  to  hear.  All  at 
once,  when  within  a  few  paces  of  each 


other,  they  reined  in  their  horses  with 
looks  of  wonder  and  surprise  ;  each  utter- 
ed a  cry  of  exultation  ;  each  cast  his  spear 
into  the  ground ;  each  rode  alongside  of 
the  other ;  and  in  the  next  moment  they 
were  grasping  of  each  other  in  a  close 
and  loving  embrace,  and  uttering  all  sorts 
of  affectionate  cries. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog !  that  be  the 
very  strangest  way  of  fighting  I  ever 
saw  !"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring.  "Dost 
not  think  so,  mistress  ?  Hang  me  !"  he 
added,  when  he  found  he  received  no 
answer.  "I  be  always  forgetting." 

The  two  expected  combatants,  having 
taken  hold  of  their  spears  again,  were 
now  riding  slowly  toward  Harry  and  his 
companion.  Pomarra  talking  as  fast  as 
he  could,  and  seeming  in  a  monstrous  de- 
light, and  the  other  listening  with  ex- 
ceeding earnestness.  As  they  came  nigh- 
er, Harry  noticed  the  wonderful  store  of 
gold  ornaments  the  stranger  had  about 
his  person*  and  the  trappings  of  his 
horse.  He  was  of  a  very  comely  coun- 
tenance, and  of  a  well-disposed  body,  and 
seemed  to  be  nigh  upon  twenty  years  of 
age. 

"  Dis  my  brudder,  Massa  Harry  !"  cried 
Pomarra,  as  he  came  up  to  Harry  Daring. 
"  I  never  tella  you  who  I  was.  What  for 
I  no  tella  you  ?  'Cause  you  people  de- 
spisa  poor  Indian  boy.  What  for  you 
despisa  poor  Indian  boy !  'Cause  him 
skin  be  dark  :  heart  same  color  for  all 
dat.  Me  lika  you  very  much,  Massa 
Harry.  'Cause  you  beat  big  fellar  when 
him  kicka  me  and  pincha  me :  never  for 
get  dat.  Me  now  in  my  own  country. 
Me  poor  Indian  boy  no  longer.  Me  very 
good  friend  to  you.  My  fader  him  king 
of  Guiana ;  my  brudder  tella  me  he  come 
dis  way  with  great  company."  Sure 
enough  a  multitude  of  horsemen  were 
now  observed  in  the  distance  making 
toward  them. 

"Bravo,  Snowball !"  exclaimed  Harry 
Daring  in  great  delight  with  what  he  had 
heard.  "  So  thou  art  a  prince,  eh  ?  I' 
faith !  that  be  droll  enough  too.  But  I 
don't  like  thee  a  bit  the  worse  for't  ;  and 
even  now,  if  I  saw  any  using  of  thee  de- 
spisingly  I  would  cudgel  them  well,  I 
promise  thee." 

It  was  not  more  than  half  an  hour 
after  this  that  Pomarra  had  presented 
Harry  Daring  to  his  father,  in  the  midst 
of  a  splendid  retinue  of  caciques  and 
other  of  his  nobles  who  had  come  out  a 
hunting  ;  and  in  consequence  of  what 
the  young  prince  said,  Harry  was  made 
much  of  by  all.  He  did  also,  in  his  own 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


203 


language,  speak  favorably  of  their  female, 
companion,  whom  the  king  regarded  with 
singular  curiousness,  and  ordered  to  be 
well  cared  for 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Yet  unspoiled 

Guiana,  whose  great  city  Geryon's  sons 
Call  El  Dorado.  MILTON. 

Guiana,  whose  rich  feet  are  mines  of  gold, 
Whose  forehead  knocks  against  the  roof  of  stars, 
Stands  on  her  tiptoes  at  fair  England  looking, 
Kissing  her  hand,  bowing  her  mighty  breast, 
And  every  sign  of  all  submission  making." 

CHAPMAN. 

While  with  a  joyous  smile  she  turns  away 
The  face,  that  map,  that  deep  impression  bears 
Of  hard  misfortune  carved  in  with  tears. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

MASTER  FRANCIS  was  hurried  away 
from  the  council  chamber  into  a  close 
prison,  where  he  was  left  to  solitariness, 
and  his  own  thoughts.  For  some  time 
he  could  do  nothing  but  reflect  upon  the 
rnonstrousaess  with  which  Padre  Bar- 
tolome  had  behaved  to  him.  He  could 
scarce  believe  in  such  thorough  villauy. 
It  seemed  to  him  so  utterly  unnatural 
that  one  man  should  do  such  a  thing  to 
another  who  never  did  him  an  injury. 
Whilst  he  was  in  this  mood  there  came 
to  him  the  chief  priest,  who  had  acted  as 
the  interpreter  before  the  king,  and  he 
intimated  that  he  was  sent  to  prepare  the 
prisoner  for  his  death.  Now  the,  priest 
was  a  famous  punchy  little  old  fellow, 
with  a  head  like  unto  a  ball  of  black 
worsted — nose  had  he  of  such  a  small- 
ness  that  the  least  that  be  said  of  it  must 
the  best  describe  it ;  but  what  he  lacked 
in  nose  he  made  up  in  mouth,  the  lips 
whereof  looked  as  though  they  were  two 
masses  of  black  pudding  squeezed  one 
upon  the  other.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
white  tunic,  that  made  the  very  black- 
ness of  his  skin  all  the  more  apparent, 
and  he  looked  upon  Master  Francis  wiih 
a  sort  of  dignified  pitifulness,  which  at 
any  other  time  the  other  could  not 
but  have  laughed  at. 

"  Child,  thou  art  to  die !"  said  he,  in 
Spanish.  "  But  our  illustrious  monarch, 
out  of  the  absolute  bountifulness  of  his 
nature,  hath  adjudged  thee  a  death  that 
all  might  envy.  Thou  wilt  have  the 
honcr  of  being  made  a  sacrifice  of  to  the 
great  god  ^ingarydunkyhunkyhoonka." 

Master  Francis  had  so  little  opinion  of 
the  honor  intended  him,  and  such  small 
respect  for  the  powerful  deity  just 


named,  as  most  cordially  to  wish  Sin- 
garydunkyhunkyhoonkaata  place  which 
shall  be  nameless. 

"  Child,  thou  art  to  die  !"  repeated  the 
old  fellow  in  a  like  pathetic  tone  and 
manner.  "  But  our  most  pious  monarch, 
out  of  the  exceeding  religiousness  of  his 
disposition,  doth  wish  thee,  before  the 
devouring  flame  consumeth  thy  body 
to  a  cinder,  to  give  up  the  god  of  the 
Christians,  who,  it  be  out  of  all  man- 
ner of  doubt  hath  let  thee  into  this 
misadventure,  and  acknowledge  the  om- 
nipotence of  Singarydunkyhunkyhoonka, 
who,  though  he  hath  but  one  eye,  seeth 
all  our  wants  with  it,  and  though  he  hath 
four-and-^wenty  pairs  of  hands,  hath  all 
of  them  full  of  good  things  he  be  con- 
tinually a  giving  to  they  who  worship 
him."  ' 

"It  is  my  intention  to  die  in  the  reli- 
gion in  the  which  I  was  educated,"  re- 
plied Master  Francis. 

"  Oh,  blind  of  heart!"  exclaimed  the 
priest,  looking  all  sorts  of  horror  and 
consternation.  "Oh,  stubborn  and  stiff- 
necked  !  Prepare  for  the  fire  that  shall 
consume  thee.  Thou  art  a  base  wretch. 
Thou  art  unworthy  to  die  so  honorable  a 
death.  I  would  have  thee  hanged  like  a 
dog."  At  the  saying  of  this  away  started 
the  chief  priest,  pursing  up  his  pudding  lips 
with  a  look  of  infinite  forbiddingness. 

Master  Francis  was  again  left  alone, 
and  remained  so  for  some  few  hours. 
His  reflections,  it  may  well  be  believed, 
were  not  of  the  most  pleasing  character. 
To  be  burnt  alive  was  a  prospect  that 
few  could  contemplate  without  dread, 
but  to  his  susceptible  mind  it  appeared 
with  the  very  terriblest  features  that 
could  be  imagined.  Despite  of  his  great 
fearfulness,  his  thought  were  soon  a  wan- 
dering to  other  subjects.  He  thought 
how  great  a  consolation  it  would  be  at 
such  a  time  could  he  think  commendably 
of  Joanna.  So  difficult  is  it  for  a  sensi- 
tive mind  that  hath  for  any  considerable 
period  conctntrated  its  thoughts  upon 
one  object  with  the  deepest  and  sincerest 
affectionateness  to  regard  it  despisingly 
when  that  object  has  proved  itself  to  be 
of  a  despicable  nature.  An  ingenuous 
disposition,  such  as  was  Master  Francis, 
hath  ever  such  confidence  in  the  appear- 
j  ance  of  truth,  that  however  shocked  he 
j  may  be  at  first  when  he  findeth  out  the 
|  falsehood,  there  ever  remaineth  some 
i  little  doubt  that  things  be  so  bad  as  they 
seem,  or  some  strong  inclination  that  they 
should  be  of  a  better  sort.  He  could  not 
,  help  but  marvel  that  she  had  shown  such 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


signs  of  excellence  as  had  made  him 
worship  her  as  one  of  so  blessed  a  condi- 
tion her  peer  was  not  to  be  met  with  in 
the  whole  world;  hut  such  is  it  ever. 
Many  a  one  mistaketh  gilding  for  gold — 
and  doth  wonder  famously  when  he  find- 
eth  that  all  be  mere  brass,  but  the  show 
of  something  sterling  that  was  put  on  it. 

The  result  of  his  reflections  was,  as  he 
had  already  forgiven  her  the  wrong  she 
had  done  him,  he  felt  he  could  not  die  in 
any  comfort  of  heart  if  he  continued  to 
entertain  against  her  such  feelings  as  lie 
had  so  much  experience  of:  and  then  did 
he  commence  remembering  of  the  many 
wonderful  kindnesses  she  had  done  him, 
till  all  thought  of  her  badness  went 
straightway  out  of  his  mind.  In  this 
mood  he  remained  for  the  whole  of  the 
day.  Food  was  brought  him  of  a  mean 
sort,  but  he  cared  not  for  it.  He  paced 
the  narrow  chamber  in  which  he  was 
confined,  or  sat  himself  down  on  a  bench 
that  was  fixed  there,  passing  of  his  time, 
as  I  have  said,  with  occasional  thinking 
of  such  dear  friends  as  was  evident  he 
should  never  see  again.  So  went  the 
day  and  the  next  something  after  the 
same  sort.  He  could  not  help  upon  an 
occasion  marvelling  at  the  strangeness  of 
what  was  to  come  to  pass — to  wit,  that 
instead  of  his  entering  of  the  right  famous 
El  Dorado,  in  which  he  now  was,  as  one 
of  its  conquerors,  he  should  be  executed 
in  it  as  a  criminal. 

On  the  third  day  the  old  priest  paid 
him  another  visit,  in  the  which  he  stated 
that  the  Padre  Bartolome,  no  watch  hav- 
ing been  put  upon  him,  had  made  his 
escape,  and  nothing  was  known  of  where 
he  had  taken  himself:  whereof  the  con- 
sequence was,  Master  Francis  was  or- 
dered to  prepare  himself  for  immediate 
death,  it  being  feared  that  he  might  give 
them  the  slip  also.  The  old  fellow  again 
essayed  to  make  his  prisoner  a  convert 
unto  the  faith  of  Singarydunkyhunky- 
hoonka,  the  beneficent  deity  with  one 
eye  and  four-and- twenty  pairs  of  hands, 
but  he  got  no  more  success  of  it  than  at 
first,  and  this  did  put  him  in  a  more 
monstrous  passion  than  ever.  Presently 
there  came  certain  other  Indians,  who 
appeared  to  be  officers  of  justice,  and 
they  gave  him  to  understand  he  was  to 
go  with  them.  With  them  he  accord- 
ingly went.  Upon  passing  out  of  his 
prison  into  the  open  air,  he  found  himself 
in  the  midst  of  a  vast  multitude,  who  re- 
ceived him  with  great  outcries,  yet  were 
there  many  amongst  them  who  pitied 
iim  the  death  he  was  to  die  because  of 


his  youth  and  comeliness.  Many  a  kind 
word  was  said  of  him  as  he  passed  along, 
though  he  knew  it  not.  All  that  he  knew 
was  that  he  was  in  the  midst--of  some  vast 
procession  passing  along  the  thorough- 
fares of  a  great  city.  He  could  hear  a 
monstrous  clanging  of  instruments,  and 
the  wild  discordant  singing  of  a  multitude 
of  priests  who  were  around  him ;  long 
files  of  soldiers,  armed  with  prodigious 
spears,  encompassed  him  on  either  side, 
and  at  his  elbow  was  the  old  priest  open- 
ing and  shutting  of  his  ugly  mouth  with 
wonderful  rapidity  in  praise  of  his  om- 
nipotent deity.  Nevertheless,  Master 
Francis  heeded  him  not  at  all — and  soon 
ceased  to  pay  any  great  attention  to 
what  was  going  on  around.  He  walked 
along  with  an  erect  carriage,  and  a  heart 
disturbed  but  little  at  the  contemplation 
of  what  he  was  to  endure,  for  his  mind 
was  fixed  upon  endeavoring  so  to  bear 
himself  in  so  dreadful  a  strait  as  might 
command  the  commendation  of  his  true 
friends,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Master  Shak- 
speare,  and  Harry  Daring,  were  they  pres- 
ent. On  he  went,  with  nothing  that  could 
distinguish  him  from  what  he  was  at 
other  times,  save  a  countenance  some- 
what more  pallid  than  usual.  The 
crowd  increased  as  he  proceeded,  and 
every  part  of  the  neighboring  houses  and 
temples  was  crowded  with  spectators, 
anxious  to  have  sight  of  what  they  be- 
lieved to  be  the  most  cruel  and  crafty  of 
all  the  Spaniards.  Many  came  with  re- 
vengeful feelings,  who  felt  quite  pitifully 
inclined  toward  him  when  they  noticed 
his  mild  and  melancholy  aspect ;  but 
others,  of  a  worse  sort,  in  their  language 
taunted  him  all  the  way  he  went.  At 
last  he  arrived  at  an  open  space  in  the 
city,  where  there  was  a  magnificent 
statue  in  gold  of  a  gigantic  size,  humanly 
shaped,  saving  that  it  had  but  one  eye, 
Whilst  of  hands  it  had  four-and-twenty 
pairs,  each  holding  some  desirable  thing, 
as  if  for  its  worshipper.  Before  it  was 
ever  so  much  wood  piled  up,  at  the  sight 
of  which  Master  Francis  did  give  a 
shudder,  but  as  quickly  as  he  might  he 
shook  off  that  fearfulness,  and  praying 
inwardly  with  fervor,  he  still  advanced. 
A  great  crash  of  the  instruments  was 
made  when  the  procession  came  in  sight 
of  the  idol,  and  the  shouting  of  the  people 
at  the  same  instant  was  so  tremendous, 
that  scarce  ever  cwas  the  like  heard. 
Some  did  kneel  down,  and  some  threw 
themselves  prostrate ;  and  the  priests 
bawled  out  their  discordant  chorus  at  the 
very  top  of  their  voices.  Platforms  had 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


205 


aeen  erected  round  about  the  place,  on 
which  vast  companies  had  congregated 
themselves,  to  have  a  view  of  the  execu- 
tion of  so  notable  a  criminal,  and  all  that 
was  the  greatest  in  so  grand  a  city  as 
Manoa  had  been  drawn  together  about 
thai  spot. 

When  Master  Francis  came  close  upon 
the  wood  which  was  to  burn  him,  he  bad 
to  ascend  a  flight  of  steps  to  bring  him- 
self to  the  top  of  the  pile,  and  as  soon  as 
he  there  appeared,  there  was  presently  a 
vast  cry  of  the  multitude.  Two  men 
ascended  with  him,  and  bound  him  ;  and 
then  also  came  the  old  priest,  mumbling 
away,  as  fast  as  he  could,  the  praises  of 
the  deity  he  worshipped,  in  expectation 
of  making  a  proselyte  of  the  youth  ;  but ! 
the  latter  paid  him  no  sort  of  attention  ; 
and  such  behavior  did  wondrously  en- 
rage the  old  idolater,  who  thundered  all 
manner  of  imprecations  upon  him  for  his 
exceeding  stubbornness.  Master  Francis 
took  no  heed  of  this,  for  he  was  so  intent 
upon  his  own  devotions  that  he  saw 
nothing,  and  heard  nothing — he  remem- 
bered not  where  he  was — he  knew  not 
wherefore  he  was  in  that  place.  The 
priest  descended  from  the  pyre,  and  took 
a  torch  into  his  hand.  Upon  this,  all  the 
priests  began  a  singing  louder  than  ever; 
and  the  multitude  fell  down  upon  their 
knees  before  the  great  idol,  and  the  in- 
struments struck  up  a  clang  that  would 
have  set  anybody's  teeth  on  edge.  The 
chief  priest  then  put  fire  to  the  wood, 
which  began  to  blaze  presently  ;  but  as  he 
was  a  doing  it,  there  was  a  monstrous 
busding  behind  him.  The  multitude 
were  stirred  in  one  particular  part,  and 
some  voices  kept  crying  out  very  lustily. 
All  strained  their  eyes  to  see ;  but  few 
could  make  out  what  it  all  meant. 

"  Hullo,  old  pudding  chaps,  get  out  of 
this  !"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring,  suddenly 
forcing  his  way  to  the  pyre  in  a  moustrous 
eagerness,  and  giving  the  priest  such  a 
shove  that  it  sent  him  a  staggering  along  j 
till  he  fell  upon  his  back,  distending  of 
his  ugly  mouth  at  so  rude  a  salutation, 
and  staring  till  his  eyes  seemed  ready  to 
start  out  of  his  head.  At  the  sight  of 
such  an  affront  offered  to  their  chief 
priest,  the  whole  multitude  seemed  mov- 
ed to  a  marvellous  indignation,and  the  sol- 
diers were  rushing  forward  to  take  the  of- 
fender prisoner.  He  spying  where  Master 
Francis  was,  cried  out,  "  By  Gog  and  Ma- 
gog, he  must  be  nigh  burning  to  death  !" 
then  began  kicking  aside  the  burning 
wood,  and  clambering  up  the  steps.  In 
a  minute,  drawing  of  his  hanger,  he  had 


cut  the  cords  that  bound  his  friend,  and, 
with  one  arm  supporting  him  by  hold- 
ing of  him  tightly  round  the  waist,  with 
the  other  he  menaced,  with  his  hanger, 
the  soldiers,  priests,  and  others  of  the  In^ 
dians,  Who  were  hastening  toward  the 
spot,  determined  that  their  beloved  idol 
should  not  be  cheated  of  his  sacrifice. 

"  Come  on,  ye  worsted  knaves,  and 
I'll  stick  ye  like  so  many  black  beetles  on 
a  skewer !"  exclaimed  Harry,  as  despite 
of  the  numbers  against  him,  he  was  seek- 
ing to  force  a  passage  from  the  blazing 
pyre.  It  seemed  as  if  he  was  like  to  fare 
badly  ;  for  he  was  so  surrounded  by  ene- 
mies that  it  did  not  appear  as  if  he  could 
cut  his  way  through  them ;  and  the  fire  was 
flaming  around  him  so  famously  that  it 
looked  as  if  he  would  be  burnt  to  a  cin- 
der ere  he  should  have  time  to  get  Mas- 
ter Francis  away.  In  the  midst  of  it, 
however,  there  was  suddenly  a  shouting 
of  the  people  greater  than  before;  and 
presently  the  king  of  Guiana,  accompa-- 
nied  by  his  two  sons,  and  a  splendid  ret" 
inue  of  caciques,  all  on  horseback,  and 
attended  by  a  numerous  guard  of  soldiers, 
made  their  appearance.  Harry  Daring 
and  the  royal  party  had  set  out  from  the 
palace  at  the  same  time,  but  his  impa- 
tience to  rescue  his  friend  was  so  great 
he  soon  outstripped  them,  and  pressed 
through  the  crowd,  and  conducted  him- 
self as  hath  been  described. 

It  be  scarce  necessary  to  add  that  the 
omnipotent  Singarydunkyhunkyhoonka, 
with  one  eye  and  four-and-twenty  pairs 
of  hands,  was  deprived  of  his  destined  vic- 
tim ;  whereof,  at  first,  the  Indians  showed 
wonderful  discontent,  especially  those  of 
the  more  religious  sort.  But  it  having 
been  made  known  to  them  that  this  cruel 
Spaniard  who  had  done  their  people  so 
much  wrong,  was  no  Spaniard  at  all,  but 
one  of  a  nation  who  was  a  determined 
enemy  to  the  whole  Spanish  race ; — that 
amongst  them  the  youngest  son  of  the 
king,  who  had  disappeared  unaccounta- 
bly the  year  before,  had  been  residing, 
they  having  taken  him  away,  and  now 
restored  him  to  his  family,  their  disap- 
pointment was  turned  into  gratification  ; 
and  on  their  return  with  the  king's  party 
to  the  palace,  they  greeted  Master  Fran- 
cis and  Harry  Daring  with  such  piercing 
cries  of  commendation,  as  they  could 
hardly  have  given  had  they  been  the 
very  chiefest  and  most  prized  of  their 
countrymen.  The  former  rode  between 
his  friend  and  the  young  prince  Pomarra. 
and  Harry,  as  he  went  along,  described 
to  the  other  how  he  and  "  Snowball" — 


206 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


for  he  would  call  him  by  no  other  name 
— goi  away  i'rom  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
and  the  companies,  and  under  the  gui- 
dance of  an  Indian  woman  who  had  ob- 
tained knowledge  of  the  direction  in 
which  Master  Francis  had  been  carried 
off,  started  in  pursuit  of  him  ;  and  how 
Snowball  met  with  his  brother  in  one  he 
was  about  to  give  battle  to  ;  and  how  the 
latter  turned  out  to  be  no  other  than  a 
son  of  the  very  king  who  had  got  Mas- 
ter Francis  close  prisoner ;  and  how,  find- 
ing the  execution  about  to  take  place, 
Snowball  did  disabuse  his  father's  mind 
of  the  monstrous  lies  which  that  wretch- 
ed caitiff  Padre  Bartolome  had  told  ;  and 
how,  by  telling  the  king  that  Master 
Francis  was  of  a  great  nation  who  were 
enemies  unto  the  Spaniards,  and  had 
come  on  purpose,  with  others,  to  drive 
the  Spaniards  out  of  the  Indian  territory, 
he  immediately  gave  orders  to  stop  the 
sacrifice,  and  did  himself  proceed  to  the 
place,  with  all  his  principal  nobles,  on 
purpose  to  see  his  commands  properly 
executed. 

"  But  what  hath  become  of  your  female 
companion  ?"  inquired  Master  Francis. 
"  Is  she  one  of  this  goodly  company  ?" 

"  Snowball  knoweth  more  about  her 
than  I  do,"  replied  Harry  ;  "  for  she  not 
being  able  to  speak  honest  English,  I  could 
have  no  speech  with  her,  which  I  took  in 
rather  hard  case,  I  promise  you,  for  see- 
ing of  the  interest  she  showed  in  you,  I 
was  ever  a  wanting  to  discourse  to  her 
of  your  excellent  parts,  that  she  might 
affect  you  as  much  as  I  did  ;  but  Snow- 
ball, as  it  seemed  to  me,  being  of  her 
tongue,  she  talked  only  with  him,  and 
he,  therefore,  be  the  properest  person  to 
tell  you  all  about  her."  Here  Harry 
Daring  turned  to  the  young  prince  and 
said,  "  Tell  Master  Francis  what  you 
know  of  that  female  Snowball  who  trav- 
elled with  us  to  this  place." 

"I  tella  you  but  little,''  said  Prince  Po- 
inarra.  "  What  for  I  tella  you  but  little  ? 
'Cause  what  she  tella  me,  she  bid  me  no 
say  again.  She  very  much  love  you, 
Massa  Francis." 

"  Love  me  !"  exclaimed  the  other,  with 
unaffected  astonishment.  "  How  can  that 
be  possible  1  I  have  not  had  speech  of 
any  of  the  Indian  women,  and  have  scarce 
been  seen  of  one." 

"She  very  much  love  you  for  all  dat," 
replied  the  young  prince.  "She  travel 
nil  de  way — sometimes  get  little  victual 
—  sometimes  get  little  sleep.  Wild 
beast  come — she  no  care.  What  for  she  no 
care  ?  'Cause  she  love  you  very  much.'' 


"  By  God  and  Magog,  if  I  didn't  think 
she  did  affect  you  in  some  measure," 
cried  Harry  Daring ;  "  for  it  stands  to 
reason  no  pretty  wench  would  venture 
herself  so  far  in  strange  company,  and 
amid  perils  few  Women  Would  like  to  even 
look  on,  in  search  of  the  best  man  that 
ever  wore  a  head,  had  she  not  a  mon- 
strous liking  for  him.  But  it  showeth 
her  good  sense  marvellously,  to  cast,  her 
eye  where  she  did  ;  for  she  knoweth  right 
well  she  might  look  amongst  the  whole 
nation  of  Snowballs  in  despair  of  finding 
any  one  like  unto  Master  Francis." 

"Well,  let  it  be  as  it  may,  I  can  not 
help  but  be  grateful,"  observed  Master 
Francis.  "Where  is  she?  Where  shall 
I  see  her?" 

"She  no  see  you,"  replied  the  prince  ; 
"  she  come  all  dis  way  to  save  you ;  but 
now  you  safe,  she  love  you  no  more,  and 
no  see  you  at  all." 

"Hang  me  if  that  be  not  the  strangest 
way  of  loving  I  ever  heard  of,"  exclaimed 
Harry  Daring.  "  What !  not  see  him  ? 
Not  see  Master  Francis  after  she  hath 
suffered  so  much  to  come  butanigh  him? 
She  meaneth  nothing  of  the  sort,  I'll  be 
bound  for't." 

"  At  least  it  be  exceeding  strange  of 
her,"  remarked  Master  Francis.  "I  know 
not  what  to  make  on't;  but  I  should  like 
infinitely  to  see  her,  to  say  how  much  I 
feel  myself  beholden  to  her  for  the  good 
offices  she  hath  done  me." 

"You  no  see  her  for  all  dat,"  replied 
the  young  prince.  At  this  Master  Fran- 
cis marvelled  greatly ;  but  as  they  now 
had  arrived  at  the  palace,  all  thought  of 
the  subject  was  for  a  time  put  out  of  his 
head.  A  short  time  after  he  had  alight- 
ed, he  and  Harry  Daring  had  audience  of 
the  king,  who  sat  surrounded  by  the  chief- 
estof  his  nobles,  and  having  his  two  sons 
on  each  side  of  him,  all  dressed  with  ex- 
traordinary magnificence.  Pomarra  acted 
as  interpreter.  The  business  began  by 
the  king  expressing  of  his  regret  that  any 
of  so  great  a  nation  as  the  English,  of 
whom  he  had  heard  from  his  son  such 
accounts  as  made  him  anxious  to  be  in 
friendly  relation  with  them,  should  have 
received  any  treatment  they  liked  not  of 
any  of  his  subjects  ;  but  for  what  Master 
Francis  had  suffered,  none  were  to  blame 
but  the  Jesuit  by  whose  testimony  the 
former  had  been  condemned,  as  the  very 
cruelest  of  all  the  Spaniards,  of -whom 
his  people  throughout  Guiana  had  en- 
dured such  torture  and  tyranny  as  was 
never  before  heard  of  in  those  parts.  He 
begged  that,  as  it  was  a  mistake,  Master 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


207 


Francis  would  treat  if  as  such,  and  allow 
him,  in  such  way  as  he  thought  fit,  to 
make  him  amends. 

Then  Master  Francis,  thoug  ^  he  was 
a  little  out  of  countenance  at  first,  at 
speaking  before  so  many,  spoke  up  fa- 
mously, declaring  the  great  design  of  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  in  favor  of  the  Indians  to 
abolish  the  oppressions  of  the  Spaniards 
over  them,  and  that  he  had  come  out  of 
his  own  country  with  a  fine  expedition 
of  many  ships  and  a  great  force  of  men, 
with  the  sanction  of  his  illustrious  sov- 
ereign, to  do  what  services  he  could 
to  the  natives  of  Guiana,  and  to  all  the 
Indians  on.  that  part  of  the  continent ; 
that  he  had  already  driven  the  Spaniards 
out  of  Trinidad,  and  done  good  service  to 
the  Indians  there;  and  if  he  had  not  re- 
turned, by  this  time  was  venturing  in  his 
boats  along  the  Orinoco,  seeking  for  that 
right  famous  city,  called  of  the  Spaniards 
El  Dorado.  Master  Francis  then  de- 
scribed how  he  had  been  entrapped  by 
Padre  Bartolome  and  his  companions,  and 
carried  off;  and  how  the  Indians  had  set 
upon  the  Spaniards  and  killed  them  all 
save  the  Jesuit,  and  what  had  since  taken 
place.  With  regard  to  himself,  he  re- 
quested only  that  such  conveniences 
might  be  allowed  him,  as  would  enable 
him  to  rejoin  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  as 
speedily  as  was  possible  ;  but  of  other  sort 
of  favor  wanted  he  none. 

At  this  the  whole  court  was  moved  to 
i  sudden  admiration,  as  might  be  noticed 
by  their  looks,  and  one  of  the  king's  chief- 
est  counsellors  said,  that  intelligence  had 
been  received  that  many  boats  full  of  white 
men  were  now  returning  toward  the  sea, 
after  having  visited  divers  towns  and  villa- 
ges, and  trafficked  with  the  natives,  and  be- 
haved unto  them  with  exceeding  friend- 
liness. After  him  the  king  spoke  again, 
and  said  tfyat  an  escort  should  be  got 
ready  without  delay,  for  the  purpose  of 
attending  the  two  young  Englishmen, 
with  a  proper  show  of  respect,  to  such 
place  as  they  were  like  to  meet  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh  ;  but  that  he  could  in  no 
way  allow  them  to  be  quit  of  him  without 
exhibiting  some  mark  of  his  esteem  for 
their  country,  and  admiration  of  them- 
selves. He  then  turned  to  Harry  Dar* 
ing,  and  expressed  himself  with  won- 
derful commendation  of  his  conduct  tow- 
ard his  son,  whereof  he  had  been  made 
acquainted  by  Pomarra  ;  and  said,  that 
if  he  would  stay  in  Guiana,  and  en- 
ter into  his  service,  he  would  raise  him 
to  rank  with  the  highest  of  the  ca- 
ciques, and  when  he  came  to  be  a  man, 


give  him  his  own  daughter  in  mar- 
riage. 

"What !  leave  my  true  friend,  Master 
Francis!"  exclaimed  Harry,  as  soon  as 
what  had  been  said  had  been  interpreted 
to  him.  "  Nay,  that  will  I  never  do.  It 
be  the  part  of  the  most  villanous  knave 
that  lives,  to  forsake  his  friend  for  his 
own  profit ;  and  I  be  none  such,  I  prom- 
ise you.  By  Gog  and  Magog,  I  should 
be  a  right  scurvy  fellow,  if,  after  ventur- 
ing myself  so  far  into  foreign  parts  for  the 
love  of  him,  merely  because  that  I  could 
better  my  fortune  by  staying  here,  I  should 
leave  him  to  find  his  way  back  as  he  best 
might." 

"  Think  not  of  me,  Harry  :  I  shall  be 
well  cared  for,  depend  on't,"  observed 
Master  Francis,  kindly  to  him.  "If  that 
your  inclination  lead  you  to  stay  here,  I 
doubt  not  at  all  you  will  quickly  arrive  at 
that  greatness  your  courageous  humor 
deserveth.  1  should  be  loath  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  your  advancement  at  so  prom- 
ising a  time.  Consider  of  what  the  king 
hath  told  you,  and  do  what  is  most  pleas- 
ing to  you." 

"1  will  never  consider  of  it,"  cried 
Harry  determinedly,  "  if  the  consider- 
ing of  it  lead  to  the  parting  of  me  from 
you.  What  dost  think  I  could  marry  one 
of  these,  and  mayhap  in  time  to  come 
have  ever  so  many  little  Snowballs  round 
about  rne,  and  I  get  not  a  sight  of  you 
the  whilst  ?  I  say  again,  if  it  be  to  my 
profit  ever  so,  I  will  have  none  of  it. 
Should  it  please  you  to  stay  here,  I  doubt 
not  of  your  arriving' at  such  eminence  as 
you  be  most  fit  for ;  and  there  be  nothing 
I  should  like  so  much  as  being  under  your 
command.  It  be  not  the  part  of  a  faith- 
ful esquire  to  think  of  being  a  greater 
man  than  the  knight  he  serveth.  I  would 
as  lief  cut  off  my  hand  as  think  of  such  a 
thing.  Remain  here,  I  pray  you,  if  you 
would  have  me  stay  in  these  outlandish 
parts." 

"  That  can  not  be,  Harry,"  replied 
Master  Francis.  "  My  duly  to  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh  requireth  me  to  hasten  to 
him  with  all  despatch." 

"And -my  duty  to  you  requireth  I 
s-hould  be  wherever  you  are, "said  Harry 
Daring ;  then  addressing  himself  unto  the 
kins  who,  with  all  his  court,  were  mar- 
velling at  what  the  two  were  talking  of, 
he  added,  "an  it  please  your  mightiness, 
lean  in  no  way  be  brought  to  live  in  these 
parts,  though  I  think  it  be  exceeding  kind 
of  you  to  make  me  so  fair  an  offer  ;  but 
Snowball  here  will  tell  you  that  Master 
Francis  is  my  true  friend,  than  whom 


208 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


there  liveth  not  on  this  earth  one  of  a 
better  nature,  and  I  should  be  prouder  in 
being  his  humble  follower,  whether  he 
meet  with  good  or  ill  hap  in  the  world, 
than  I  should  feel  in  being  king  of  all 
this  goodly  country.  If  it  please  you,  my 
lord,  what  I  have  done  in  the  way  of 
friendship  to  Snowball  here,  whilst  we 
were  in  the  Lion's  Whelp,  I  would  have 
done  to  any  other  whom  I  saw  despising- 
ly  used,  and  I  never  cared  to  be  thanked 
for  it ;  but  if  that  you  must  needs  be 
generous,  though  I  would  have  naught 
for  myself,  I  should  be  right  glad  to  see 
you  shower  your  gifts  upon  my  true 
friend,  Master  Francis,  who  be  one  of  so 
noble  a  sort,  nothing  can  be  too  good  for 
him  you  can  enrich  him  with." 

"  Harry,  Harry,  you  must  not  say  such 
fine  things  of  me  !"  exclaimed  the  other. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog,  if  there  be  any 
here  that  will  gainsay  it,  I  would  as  lief 
give  them  a  cut  over  the  pate  as  look  at 
them,"  replied  Harry  with  a  sincere  earn- 
estness. This  being  interpreted  to  the 
king  and  his  court,  they  did  marvel  ex- 
ceedingly at  the  friendliness  of  the  one 
for  the  other,  and  the  king  spoke  much 
in  praise  of  them  both,  and  not  being  able 
to  prevail  on  either  to  stay,  he  dismissed 
them  with  great  store  of  presents  sufficient 
to  enrich  them  for  life. 

They  stayed  only  a  day  or  two  whilst 
preparations  were  made  for  their  de- 
parture, the  time  whereof  they  passed  in 
seeing  whatever  was  most  notable  in  El 
Dorado,  which  they  found  to  exceed  all 
that  had  been  said  of  it  in  splendor  and 
costliness.  Master  Francis  essayed  many 
times  to  have  speech  with  the  Indian 
woman,  who  had  ventured  herself  so  far 
for  his  rescue ;  for  not  only  was  he  curious 
to  see  her,  but  could  not  help  being  grate- 
ful to  her  for  doing  him  such  great  kind- 
ness. Yet  though  he  oft  inquired  where 
she  might  be  met  with,  he  never  could 
get  sight  of  her,  which  put  him  into  a 
strange  sort  of  wondering  ;  he  knew  not 
what  it  could  mean.  At  last  they  started 
with  a  famous  cavalcade,  all  having  horses 
of  the  choicest  breed,  curiously  caparison- 
ed, save  those  of  meaner  «ort  who  formed 
the  guard,  the  king  L  -elf  being  of  the 
company  some  portion  of  the  way,  and 
then  parting  with  the  two  young  English- 
men with  such  exceeding  courteousness 
that  ,\  looker-on  might  h~/e  supposed 
they  were  persons  of  quality  and  power 
above  all  men,  instead  '  *"  being,  as  they 
were,  of  no  quality  or  influence  what- 
soever. 

Prince  Pomarra  had  the  command  of 


the  escort  after  the  king  had  departed  { 
and  a  famous  sight  it  was  to  see  that 
goodly  company  ascending  and  descend- 
ing the  mountains,  or  forcing  their  way 
through  the  forests,  and  galloping  along 
the  valleys  to  the  number  of  several  hun- 
dreds, each  with  a-long  spear  in  his  hand, 
a  bow  slung  across  his  shoulder,  and  a 
quiver  of  arrows  at  his  back,  and  the 
prince  at  their  head  between  Master  Fran- 
cis and  Harry  Daring,  on  the  very  wild 
horse  he  had  caught  in  the  plain ;  now 
so  covered  over  with  costly  trappings  and 
ornaments  of  gold,  and  so  quietly  beha- 
ving of  himself,  as  scarce  to  be  recognised 
for  what  he  was ;  nor  seemed  the  rider 
to  bear  any  likeness  unto  the  despised 
Indian  boy  that  was  aboard  of  the  Lion's 
Whelp  ;  for  he  was  robed  as  became  his 
station,  very  gorgeous  with  gold  and 
jewels,  and  a  dainty  plume  of  feathers  of 
the  very  brightest  colors  waved  upon  his 
head.  His  spear  he  held  in  his  hand  like 
unto  the  others,  and  like  unto  them  did 
he  carry  his  bow  and  his  arrows.  A 
handsomer  figure  could  scarce  be  seen  of 
an  Indian  youth  ;  and  one  who  bore  him- 
self more  gallantly  it  would  be  the  very 
difficultest  thing  possible  to  meet  with 
anywhere. 

Of  what  befell  these  as  they  journeyed 
it  might  seem  tedious  to  relate,  seeing 
that  nothing  very  striking  occurred,  save 
only  in  one  thing.  Master  Francis,  once 
on  a  time,  not  many  days  after  they  had 
set  out,  noticed  to  his  exceeding  surprise, 
that  a  female  was  of  their  company.  She 
was  not  dressed  at  all  like  unto  the  In- 
dian woman  who  had  led  Harry  Daring 
and  the  young  prince  to  his  rescue ;  for 
the  habiliments  of  this  female  were  of  the 
richest  materials,  jus  if  she  were  of  the 
highest  rank  amongst  them,  whilst  the 
other  was  attired  as  one  of  the  very  hum- 
blest sort.  Her  face  was  hid  in  a  muffler 
as  had  been  the  other's;  and  in  the  hasty 
glance  he  had  of  it,  for  he  came  on  her 
suddenly  as  she  was  riding  along  talking 
to  Pomarra,  he  could  only  notice  her 
eyes,  which  she  had  left  uncovered,  but 
turned  from  him  the  instant  he  appeared. 
On  his  coming  up  both  seemed  wondrous 
confused  ;  and  he  thinking  that  it  was  a 
love  affair  betwixt  them,  which  they 
wished  should  be  secret,  he  put  some 
trifling  question  to  the  young  prince,  and 
galloped  off  to  the  head  of  the  escort, 
fancying  that  he  should  make  but  indiffer- 
ent company  if  he  remained. 

More  than  once  as  they  proceeded  on 
their  journey,  upon  a  sudden  turning  of 
his  gaze  in  that  direction,  he  observed 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


209 


Let  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  singular 
earnestness,  which  seemed  strange,  see- 
ing that  he  had  never  spoke  and  scarce 
looked  at  her  ;  but  believing  from  seeing 
of  Prince  Pomarra  frequently  at  her  side, 
and  noting  that  she  talked  to  no  other, 
that  his  first  idea  of  them  was  true,  he 
..nought  only  she  regarded  him  with  such 
curiousness  as  might  be  natural  to  one 
of  her  nation  at  the  sight  of  a  white  man, 
and  took  no  further  heed  of  her  looks. 
It  so  happened  that  Harry  Daring  saw 
her,  and  would  have  it  at  first  it  was  the 
same  he  had  travelled  with  ;  but  finding 
that  she  noticed  him  not  at  all,  and  ob- 
serving how  differently  she  was  dressed, 
he  came  to  the  opinion  that  it  was  an- 
other, and  said  as  much  to  Master  Fran- 
cis when  they  spoke  on  the  subject.  They 
were  now  nigh  unto  the  end  of  their  jour- 
ney, for  as  they  passed  along  they  had 
speech  with  sundry  Indians,  from  whom 
they  got  intelligence  that  the  white  men 
were  proceeding  down  to  the  sea,  and 
were  but  a  few  miles  in  advance  of  them ; 
and  this  put  Harry  Daring  and  Master 
Francis  in  high  spirits.  They  talked  to 
one  another  of  how  delighted  they  should 
be  to  see  again  Sir  Walter  and  the  rest. 

"Methinks  he  will  be  famously  wrath 
with  me  for  giving  him  the  slip,"  ob- 
served Harry. 

"  That  he  can  never  be  when  he  know- 
eth,  as  he  shall,  all  that  thou  hast  done 
to  bring  me  back  to  him, "replied  Master 
Francis. 

"Let  it  be  as  it  may  I  care  not  so  that 

I  am  with  thee,"  added  the  other.     "  But 

art  not  glad  we  be  returning  to  England  ?" 

"The  idea  of  it  pleaseth  me  I   must 

own,"  answered  his  companion. 

"What  exquisite  fine  fun  I  shall  have 
when  I  get  there!"  said  Harry  Daring. 
"Methinks  old  Lather  would  be  puzzled 
to  know  me  I  be  so  altered.  I  wonder 
whether  he  goeth  on  with  his  Latin  as 
of  old  ?  Doubtless  he  would  be  in  a 
thundering  humor  at  the  sight  of  me,  I 
did  play  him  so  famous  a  trick  before  I 
left.  Wouldn't  big  Jack  o'  the  Turnstile 
and  the  rest  of  them  marvel  could  they 
see  me  now,  riding  on  a  fine  horse,  and 
decked  out  in  such  famous  trim  as  the 
king  gave  unto  us!  When  I  get  me  to 
Eastcheap  I  shall  not  fail  to  call  on 
neighbor  Sarsnet,  to  inquire  of  him  and 
of  old  Dame  Margery  what  hath  become 
of  that  slippery  jade  Joanna." 

"For  what  object?"  inquired  Master 
Francis. 

"I  should  like  monstrously  to  know 
the  rights  on't,"  replied  the  other.     "I 
14 


told  thee  she  was  no  good  long  before  she 
proved  herself  such,  for  she  could  not  be 
otherwise,  using  thee  as  she  did.  But 
let  her  go  hang! — thou  wilt  find  her  bet- 
ters anywhere.  For  mine  own  part,  I 
have  no  patience  with  a  wench  who 
showeth  such  extreme  cunning  over  such 
thorough  baseness.*' 

"It  be  a  thousand  pities  she  hath  be- 
haved herself  so  ill,"  observed  his  com- 
panion, with  great  seriousness  of  manner. 
"  I  can  love  her  no  more  ;  but  I  have 
heartily  forgiven  her  the  wrong  she  hath 
done  me,  and  sincerely  hope  that  she 
may  be  as  happy  as  her  heart  can  de- 
sire." 

Master  Francis  had  scarce  said  these 
words  when  he  turned  round  suddenly 
upon  hearing  of  two  or  three  hysterical 
sounds  at  his  elbow.  They  came  from 
the  Indian  woman,  who  he  knew  had  for 
some  time  been  ridine  at  his  side.  She 
seemed  about  to  fall  from  her  horse,  and 
would  have  done  so  had  he  not  leaned 
over  and  caught  her  in  his  arms.  The 
horses  were  stopped  on  the  instant,  and 
that  of  Master  Francis  being  brought  as 
close  as  Was  possible  unto  hers,  he  was 
enabled  to  hold  her  in  a  more  convenient 
position,  having  he-r  head  resting  upon 
his  shoulder.  He  sent  some  of  the  guard 
forward  to  the  young  prince,  who  was 
far  in  advance  of  them,  to  give  him  no- 
tice of  what  had  taken  place;  but  be- 
lieving her  to  be  in  a  swoon  as  she 
seemed,  and  that  the  best  thing  that 
could  be  done  for  her  was  to  let  her  have 
as  much  air  as  could  be  got,  he  presently- 
fell  to  undoing  of  her  muffler,  which  was 
tied  about  her  face.  An  exclamation  of 
surprise  and  wonder  burst  from  the  lips 
of  Master  Francis  and  Harry  Daring  at 
one  and  the  same  moment.  It  was  the 
face  of  no  Indian  woman  that  they  gazed 
upon.  It  was  the  mercer's  daughter  of 
Eastcheap ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Eacn  scene  of  many  colored  life  he  drew, 
Exhausted  worlds  and  then  imagined  new. 

JOHNSON 

Whom  she  lifted  up  into  a  throne 

Of  high  renown.  SACKVILLB 

It  is  the  mind  that  maketh  good  or  ill, 
That  makes  a  wretch,  or  happy,  rich,  or  poor, 
For  some  that  have  abundance  at  their  will 
Have  not  enough  but  want  in  greatest  store, 
Another  that  hath  little  asks  for  more, 
But  in  that  little  is  both  rich  and  wise. 

SPEXSIB 


aio 


SHAKSPEARE  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


Divine  Philosophy ! 

Not  harsh  andtrabbed  as  dull  fools  believe, 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute. 

•«'.  SlUKSPBARE. 

Now  must  I  make  such  srmends  t<?  the 
courteous  reader  for  keeping  him  away 
so  long  from  the  chiefest  person  in  this 
my  story  as  mav  hold  him  in  good  humor 
until  he  cometh  to  the  end  of  the  narra- 
tioq,  for  doubtless  some  may  think  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  hath  not  been  well  used 
of  me,  inasmuch  as  so  much  less  hath 
lately  been  said  of  him  than  of  others, 
but  it  be  beyond  all  matiner  of  contradic- 
tion that  aught  of  great  goodness  should 
be  used  sparingly,  else  shall  it  be  straight 
lessened  in  value.  'Things  that  lack  rare- 
ness be  seldom  esteemed  by  any  man ; 
and  Master  Shakspeare  being  possessed 
of  excellence  of  so  rare  a  sort,  methinks 
my  thrusting  of  him  inio  these  pages 
less  oft  than  those  of  less  note  shall 
make  him  all  the  more  liked  of  such  who 
know  how  to  prize  such  extreme  worthi- 
ness. Albeit,  though  of  this  conceit,  yet 
here  must  I  say  this  much— to  wit,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  did  bring  out  his  play 
called  "  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor," 
that  was  so  much  approved  of  by  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  all  her  court  upon  its  read- 
ing, at  which  time  her  majesty  with  a 
fine  company  of  courtiers  did  honor  the 
playhouse  with  her  presence,  and  seemed 
to  relish  the  acting  of  it  marvellously 
and  it  met  with  wonderful  success,  as  its 
singular  merit  well  deserved.  To  mark 
the  sense  the  queen's  majesty  had  of  him, 
his  vast  genius,  and  great  honesty  of 
heart,  the  next  day  she  sent  him  a  purse 
of  money  with  a  commendable  message. 
After  this  he  sat  to  the  writing  of  other 
plays,  whereof  many  were  relished  of  the 
town  in  a  like  manner,  and  these,  to- 
gether with  what  he  derived  from  his 
playing,  brought  him  in  such  gains,  as 
gave  him  no  fear  of  the  future,  and  en- 
abled him  to  send  loving  tokens  to  his 
relations  very  frequently,  and  to  invite 
his  brother  Edmund  from  Stratford  to 
become  a  player  with  him  in  London. 

His  reputation  continuing  so  to  increase, 
he  was  much  sought  after  by  many  no- 
blemen and  persons  of  worship,  who  took 
nuge  delight  in  his  society  for  the  deli- 
cacy of  bis  wit  and  the  honorableness  of 
his  behavior.  He  was  held  in  such  re- 
quest of  them,  that  no  name  was  so  oft  or 
famously  spoken  of;  and  amongst  the 
iray  gallants. of  the  time,  not  to  have  been 
in  company  with  Master  Shakspeare  ar- 
gued a  want  of  distinction  that  was  con- 
sidered of  all  an  infinite  disparagement. 


Of  those  who  esteemed  him  most  wa» 
there  none  so  true  a  friend  as  my  Lord  of 
Southampton, -for  be  seemed  not  only 
never  to  tire  in  doing  him  good  service 
but  the  more  he  did  for  him  in  the  wa;, 
of  friendliness,  the  more  appeared  he  in- 
clined to  da  Indeed,  he  was  such  a  pa- 
tron as  poet  hath  been  seldom  blessed 
with,  but  this  also  may  be  said,  he  met 
with  such  a  poet  as  patron  never  had. 
About  this  time  Master  Shakspeare  took 
also  to  the  writing  of  poems,  whereof 
one  was  of  the  subject  of  Venus  and 
Adonis,  and  the  other  the  Rape  of  Lu- 
crece,  and  both  were  very  movingly  writ, 
and  full  of  right  delicate  fancies.  They 
were  dedicated  by  him  unto  his  excellent 
good  friend  and  patron,  in  token  of  what 
respect  he  held  him  in,  and  in  grateful 
remembrance  of  my  lord's  manifold  good 
offices. 

It  so  fell  out  that  Master  Shakspeare, 
though  he  had  some  share  in  the  play- 
house at  the  Blackfriars  before  this,  as 
well  as  that  of  the  Globe  at  theBankside, 
had  been  exceeding  anxious  to  have 
greater  share  in  them  ;  yet  lacked  he  the 
means  to  do  it  with,  for  it  required  no 
small  sum.  He  had  saved  up  but  little, 
and  could  scarce  expect,  saved  he  ever 
so,  to  get  for  some  years  to  come  as  much 
as  he  needed.  This  told  he  to  none,  for 
he  was  not  of  a  nature  to  solicit  a  favor, 
though  few  writers  of  his  time  stood  much 
upon  ceremony  in  that  respect.  His 
friend  Master  Burbage  knew  of  it  only, 
and  it  was  like  enough  he  should  have 
more  knowledge  of  his  affairs  than  any 
other,  because  of  their  being  such  con- 
stant associates,  sharers  of  the  same 
property,  and  fellow-players ;  and  from  its 
being  equally  the  desire  of  one  as  of  the 
other  that  Master  Shakspeare  should 
have  a  greater  interest  in  the  playhouse 
than  what  he  had.  For  such  purpose  the 
latter  was  eager  to  increase  his  gains  as 
fast  as  he  might  that  he  should  the  soon- 
er realise  his  wish,  therefore  brought  he 
out  as  many  plays  as  he  could,  together 
with  the  poems  that  have  already  been 
mentioned. 

About  this  time  Master  Shakspeare 
was  in  a  large  room  in  the  playhouse  at 
the  Blackfriars,  that  served  as  a  ward- 
robe. It  had  shelves  and  presses  in  it  as 
many  as  it  could  hold,  and  pins  against 
the  wainscot,  on  which  were  placed  a 
wonderful  variety  of  different  dresses, 
such  as  might  be  worn  of  the  players  in 
their  different  plays.  There  were  the 
robes  of  the  Ottomite  and  the  Venetian, 
the  swarthy  Moor  and  the  gay  Italian,  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


211 


ancient  Greek  and  Roman,  and  others  of 
modem  date,  as  well  foreign  as  English, 
together  with  divers  suits  of  armor, 
weapons  of  sundry  sorts,  hats,  caps, 
cloaks,  doublets,  jerkins,  and  boots,  seem- 
ingly out  of  all  number.  The  room  was 
so  crowded  with  such  motley  gear  that 
there  was  scarce  space  for  one  to  sit ;  yet 
had  Master  Shakspeare  found  himself  a 
seat,  he  being  in  the  habit  of  using  this 
chamber  as  a  dressing-room  ;  and  there 
sat  he  in  a  deep  arm-chair,  resting  of 
himself,  as  if  after  some  labor  he  had 
undergone,  or  considering  of  some  matter 
he  was  intent  upon.  He  was  dressed  in 
what  appeared  to  be  a  complete  suit  of 
armor,  having  his  vizor  up,  and  what 
could  be  seen  of  his  face  looked  exceed- 
ing pale  and  ghostlike,  but  doubtless  that 
was  from  some  white  stuff  he  had  put  on 
to  make  it  so.  He  was  leaning  back  in 
his  seat,  with  his  legs  stretched  out  before 
him,  resting  of  his  elbow  upon  an  old 
table,  upon  which  there  was  seen  a  ra- 
pier and  a  hat,  some  papers,  with  pen 
and  ink,  a  silver  goblet  with  a  flask  of 
wine  at  the  side  of  it,  and  two  or  three 
books.  There  was  a  log  blazing  on  the 
fire-dogs  nearly  opposite  to  him,  which 
cast  a  cheerful  light  over  the  room. 

Whilst  he  was  sitting  as  he  was,  there 
was  ever  and  anon  heard  a  voice  shouting 
out  famously,  which  beyond  all  manner 
of  doubt  could  belong  to  none  other  than 
Gib  the  call-boy  ;  and  at  other  times  there 
was  heard  a  noise  like  unto  a  great  clap- 
ping of  hands.  Once  the  latter  sounds 
were  of  so  great  a  loudness,  it  roused 
Master  Shakspeare  from  his  thoughtful- 
ness,  and  he  jumped  up  of  a  sudden  with 
a  smile  upon  his  face,  that  showed  he 
found  some  satisfaction  in  them.  Then 
he  took  off  his  helmet,  and  such  portion 
cf  his  armor  as  encased  the  upper  part  of 
his  body  and  arms ;  and  going  to  an  ewer 
and  basin  that  stood  in  a  corner,  fell  to 
washing  of  his  face,  humming  of  a  merry 
tune  all  the  while,  which  was  only  inter- 
rupted by  the  splashing  of  his  mouih 
with  the  water.  As  he  was  finishing  of 
his  lavation  he  broke  out  into  the  follow- 
ing pleasant  song: — 

"  Go,  happy  youth,  and  loudly  swear 
That  with  thy  Love  none  can  compare  ; 
And  vow  to  own  her  angel  hand, 
Will  make  Ihee  proudest  of  the  land. 
Thou  hast  her  hand.     'Though  that  be  true. 
I  asked  not  for  a  cudgel  too  ; 
And  though  my  own  my  angtl  be, 
She  now  doth  play  the  devil  with  me.' 

'  Alack  !  Alack  !  and  well-a-day  !' 

I  heard  a  hapless  husband  say, 

•  Bachelors  all  be  not  too  bold, 

Tis  better  go  hang  than  marry  a  scold.' 


"  Go,  happy  yonth,  and  swear  once  mote,       f-il* 
Thy  Love  all  Loves  be  far  before. 
1  Troth  1  another  wife  have  got, 
•Who  never  rateth  me  one  jot.' 
A  month  passed  by— the  honey-moon— 
The  doting  husband  changed  his  tune  ;  » 

'  O  hapless  wight '.  my  wife,'  cried  h*,1- 
'  Loves  others  quite  as  well  as  me  !*   ~   ,   •-. 

'Alack!  Alack  !  and  well-a-day !' 
I  heard  a  hapless  husband  say, 
'  Bachelors  all  be  not  betrayed, 
Tis  better  go  hang  than  marry  a  jade.' 

"  Go,  happy  youth,  and  swear  at  last 
That  all  thy  travail  now  is  passed. 
'  I'fiiit ii  'tis  true.    My  wooing  thrives — 
I've  found  the-very  hest  of  wives.' 
Another  month  went  by — again 
I  heard  the  horn  mad  fool  complain. 
She  doth  not  scold— she  doth  not  roam- 
But  drinketh  me  out  of  house  and  home.' 

'  Alack  !  Alack  !  and  weil-a-day  !1 
I  heard  a  happy  widower  say  ; — 
1  Bachelors  all — seek  ye  no  thrall, 
'Tis  better  go  hang  than  marry  at  all.' " 

This  sung  he  with  such  a  happy  careless- 
ness, it  was  plain  he  had  not  much  to 
fret  him ;  but  scarce  had  he  finished  it 
when  he  heard  some  one  whom  he  knew 
on  the  instant,  coming  toward  the  door, 
whistling  of  the  tune  of  "  Green  Sleeves." 
Not  being  in  a  state  to  be  seen  of  any, 
for  that  he  was  but  half-dressed,  he  pres- 
ently hied  to  the  door  and  bolted  it  inside. 

"  Ope  the  door,  Will !"  cried  Master 
Burbage  from  without,  knocking  at  it 
briskly.  "  Ope  the  door,  I  prythee." 

"  Tarry  awhile,  Dick,"  replied  Master 
Shakspeare,  "I  can  not  let  thee  in  For 
some  minutes." 

"Nay,  why  should  I  tarry?"  inquired 
the  other,  "did  I  not  hear  thee  singing 
like  a  very  swan?  Haste  and  ope  the 
door,  for  I  must  have  speech  with  thee." 

"Tarry  awhile,  Dick,  I  tell  thee  again," 
said  his  companion  with  more  emphasis 
than  at  first.  "  I  can  let  thee  in  now  on  no 
account." 

"  Oh  thou  villain  !"  exclaimed  he  OB 
the  outside  in  his  customary  jocular  man- 
ner. "I  see  through  thy  tricks  now 
Thou  art  not  the  bird  to  be  ever  a  singing 
to  thyself.  Thou  hast  got  some  pretty 
wench  with  thee — a  murrain  on  thee  for 
thy  slyness." 

"  Thou  art  out  in  thy  reckoning  this 
time,  good  Dick,  depend  on't,"  observed 
Master  Shakspeare  laughingly. 

"By  this  hand  I  do  not  believe  thee," 
cried  Master  Burbage.  "  It  be  plain 
from  thy  singing  so  like  unto  a  swan, 
and  thy  not  opening  the  door  to  me,  that 
thou  art  playing  at  Jupiter  and  Leda 
after  thine  own  fashion.  Oh,  I  be  so 
monstrously  shocked!  I  be  afraid  my 
innocency  will  so  suffer  by  keeping  of  thy 
villanous  company,  I  shall  soon  get  me  a 


212 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


bad  character.  Dost  not  know  that  evil 
communications  corrupt  good  morals,  and 
be  hanged  to  thee  ?" 

"  Thy  good  morals,  Dick  !"  exclaimed 
the  other  in  the  like  bantering  way. 
"Under  what  bushel  hast  thou  hid  so 
goodly  a  rushlight  ?  Thy  good  morals! 
Diogenes  with  his  lanlhorn  might  have 
met  with  an  honest  man,  but  if  h,e  spied 
thy  good  morals  searched  he  ever  so 
close,  he  must  needs  be  blest  with  mar- 
vellous fine  eyesight." 

"  Out  oa  thee  for  a  reprobate  !".  cried 
his  companion.  "  Thou  dost  slander  the 
modestest  nature  that  breathes." 

"Then  alack  for  modesty!"  repKed 
Master  Shakspeare.  "But  I  tell  thee 
what  it  is,  Dick" — I  am  stripped  to  the 
buff,  therefore  be  as  patient  as  thou  canst 
for  a  minute  or  so." 

"  I  do  hugely  suspect  thee,"  said  Mas- 
ter Burbage.  "  Thou  art  not  the  first  I 
have  met  in  a  buff  jerkin,  therefore  is 
there  no  occasion  to  make  that  a  hinder- 
ance."  Notwithstanding  of  what  he  said, 
his  friend  opened  not  the  door  till  he  was 
ready. 

"  I'faith  thou  lookest  marvellous  well 
considering  that  thou  hast  just  'given  up 
the  ghost,' "  observed  Master  Burbage  up- 
on his  entering.  "  Be  thy  intent  wicked  or 
charitable,  oh,  representative  of  the  maj- 
esty of  buried  Denmark  !  But  I  will  see 
with  mine  own  eyes  whether  thou  hast 
not  been  cozening  of  me."  Upon  this, 
whilst  Master  Shakspeare  could  not  but 
laugh,  the  other  began  to  look  about  him 
with  a  monstrous  earnestness,  rummaging 
of  every  place,  spying  into  the  drawers 
and  presses,  and  under  the  tables  and 
chairs. 

"  Mayhap  thou  hast  conjured  her  into 
the  bottle,"  observed  he  very  seriously, 
as  he  first  took  a  look  into  the  flask,  and 
then  poured  out  some  of  the  wine  into 
the  goblet.  "  Well,  if  she  be  as  good  as 
this, "continued  he,  upon  drinking  off  the 
liquor,  "  then  is  she  the  very  excellentest 
woman  I  ever  came  anigh.  I'faith,  she 
can  not  help  being  a  wench  after  mine 
own  heart.  I  drink  to  her  better  acquain- 
tance." And  thereupon  he  drunk  off 
another  draught  of  the  wine. 

"But  how  hath  Hamlet  gone  off  to- 
day?" inquired  Master  Shakspeare,  as 
soon  as  he  could  put  on  him  a  serious  face. 

'VNaught  could  go  better,"  replied  his 
companion.  "  I  was  in  front  best  part  of 
the  time,  and  famously  did  I  notice  thy 
admirable  performance;  I  tell  thee  truly, 
Will,  thou  art  the  only  ghost  I  would 
care  to  look  on  a  second  time." 


"  I  believe  thee  there,  Dick,"  said  the 
other  with  a  laugh.  "  Nay,  'tis  probable 
enough  thou  wouldst  much  rather  turn 
thy  back  on  a  ghost  than  look  on  it  at 
all. 

"  I  will  acknowledge  to  thee,  I  like  not 
holding  acquaintance  with  any,"  said 
Master  Burbage. 

"And  yet  they  be  not  unsocial,"  ob- 
served Master  Shakspeare  with  as  much 
gravity  as  he  could  assume.  "For  I 
doubt  not  at  all,  that  not  only  on  its  first 
appearance  would  one  shake  thy  hand, 
but  shake  thy  body  for  thee  into  the 
bargain." 

"By  this  light,  that  be  not  so  bad!" 
exclaimed  his  companion,  laughing  heart- 
ily. "But  methinks  thy  wit  be  like  unto 
a  steel  breastplate — the  brighter  it  be- 
cometh  the  oftener  it  be  used." 

"  And  that-  be  none  so  bad,"  replied  his 
friend.  "But  how  didst  like  the  playing 
of  Taylor  ?" 

"  He  playeth  the  character  of  Hamlet 
so  well,  that,  as  far  as  my  judgment  goeth, 
none  living  cart  come  up  with  him,"  said 
the  other. 

"  I  do  assure  thee,  I  took  huge  pains  in 
the  teaching  of  him,"  observed  Master 
Shakspeare,  as  he  was  fastening  his 
doublet. 

"  That  is  manifest  enough,"  answered 
Master  Burbage^  "  And  he  hath  profited 
well.  It  was  my  good  hap  to  be  in  a 
room  with  my  Lord  of  Southampton 
whilst  noticing  of  the  play,  and  he  was 
quite  rapt  in  it  as  it  were,  and  greatly 
commended  Master  Taylor.  But  of  thy 
playing  of  the  ghost  he  seemed  to  like 
most  of  all,  for  he  said  there  was  so 
awful  a  fearl'ulness  in  thy  doing  of  it, 
'twas  quite  moving  to  'look  on  ;  which 
methinks  is  nothing  more  than  the  truth. 
We  then  fell  to  discoursing  of  thy  many 
singular  excellences,  and  I  do  assure  thee 
he  spoke  right  eloquently  in  thy  praise. 
He  mentioned  the  exceeding  fine  pleas- 
ure he  had  lately  derived  from  the  peru- 
sing of  thy  most  sweet  poems,  which 
thou  hast  properly  dedicated  to  him,  for 
of  all  true  friends  I  do  believe  him  to  be 
the  truest, — and  spoke  of  his  great  desire 
to  do  thee  such  service  as  might  be  most 
lasting.  He  asked  of  me  concerning  of 
thy  circumstances,  and  pressed  much  to 
know  whether  thou  didst  lack  anything 
he  could  obtain  for  thee.  Upon  this  re- 
quest of  his,  I  presently  told  him  how 
anxious  wen  thou  to  purchase  a  greater 
share  in  the  playhouse  than  what  thou 
hast  already." 

"Thou    shouldst  not  hare   told   him 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


213 


that,  Dick,"  said  Master  S4iakspeare,  with 
some  earnestness. 

"  And  why  not,  Will  ?"  inquired  Mas- 
ter Burbage. 

"  In  truth,  I  like  not  seeming  to  want 
aught  of  any,"  replied  the  other. 

"Seeming  to  want  fiddlestick,"  ex- 
claimed his  companion.  "  Thou  axt  too 
scrupulous  by  far.  Dost  think  I  would 
stand  upon  my  punctilios  with  one  in- 
clined to  do  me  a  kindness?  I  be  no 
such  a  wittol,  I  promise  tliee.  But  to 
proceed  with  my  narration.  My  lord  did 
inquire  very  particularly  what  sum  was 
required — the  value  of  the  property — the 
advantages  to  be  gained  by  a  purchase 
of  such  a  share  of  it,  and  the  like  sensible 
quesiions ;  to  all  of  which,  thou  mayest 
depend  on  it,  I  gave  right  sensible  an- 
swers." 

"I  would  thou  hadst  never  spoke  on  the 
matter,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare, 
very  seriously. 

"  Out  on  thee  for  an  ungrateful  var- 
let !"  cried  Master  Burbage.  "  Well,  af- 
ter this,  my  lord  left  me,  courteously  bid- 
ding of  me  good  day,  and  I,  as  soon  as  I 
might,  posted  to  thee,  to  Jet  thee  know 
how  good  a  friend  thou  hast  in  him  ;  for 
I  be  quite  certain,  though  he  gave  me  no 
hint  of  a  promise  that  he  hath  most  lib- 
eral intentions  toward  thee." 

"  I  have  seen  few  of  so  generous  a  na- 
ture," said  the  other.  "  Yet  can  I  never 
bring  my  mind  to  take  advantage  of  it, 
nevertheless" 

"  Here  cometh  Gib's  heavy  foot — may- 
hap he  hath  a  message  for  one  or  other  of 
us,"  observed  his  companion,  interrupting 
him,  and  sure  enough  a  footstep  was  heard 
of  the  very  clumsiest  sort  approaching  the 
door — then  there  came  a  knock  at  it,  and 
admittance  being  granted,  certes  Gib,  the 
call-boy,  made  his  appearance,  looking 
in  no  way  altered  from  what  he  was 
when  the  courteous  reader  had  sight  of 
him  last,  being  just  as  bandy  in  the  legs, 
as  monstrous  in  the  mouth,  as  squinting 
in  the  eyes,  as  carroty  in  the  hair,  as 
awkward  in  his  manner,  and  as  clumsy 
in  his  shape  as  ever. 

"  Here  be  a  letter  for  Master  Shak- 
speare," said  he,  and  straightway  Master 
Shakspeare  took  it  from  his  hand. 

"Well,  Chanticleer!"  exclaimed  Mas- 
ter Burbage,  hilling  of  the  boy  a  slap  on 
the  back  which  nearly  sent  him  off  his 
legs.  "  Thou  didst  play  thy  part  fa- 
mously." 

"  Methinks,  for  ihe  playing  of  the  cock 
in  Hamlet,  there  be  few  so  apt,"  replied 
ihe  call-boy,  looking  exceeding  dignified. 


"Thou  art  too  moaest  by  half,"  said 
Master  Burbage  with  a  wondrous  grav- 
ity. "Th6u  art  sure  to  be  <  cock  of  the 
walk'  wherever  thou  goest.  I'faith,  thou 
deserveth  to  be  the  king  of  the  cocks  and 
of  the  hens  too,  thou  hast  such  a  superla- 
tive talent  for  crowing." 

"  Dost  think  so,  indeed !"  cried  Gib, 
grinning  with  such  delight  it  did  stretch 
his  monstrous  mouth  from  ear  to  ear. 
"  Perchance,  if  such  be  your  opinion,  you 
will  advance  me  in  the  profession  of 
which  you  have  said  so  oft  I  am  like  to 
be  so  great  an  ornament  ?" 

"  0'  my  word  there  would  be  no  such 
an  ornament  amongst  us,"  remarked  the 
other,  looking  upon  the  uncomely  figure 
before  him  with  all  the  seriousness  he 
could  put  on.  "But  stick  id  the  cock,  I 
prythee,  for  in  the  playing  of  that  thou 
hast  not  thy  peer ;  yet  would  I  venture  to 
assert  that,  shouldst  thou  make  an  essay 
in  any  other  part,  there  would  be  none 
like  unto  thee  in  the  performance  of  it." 

"Doth  any  person  wait?"  inquired 
Master  Shakspeare,  after  reading  of  the 
letter,  whilst  the  two  were  talking. 

"  None,  an'  it  please  you,"  replied  the 
boy.  "It  was  my  Lord  Southampton 
who  gave  it  to  me,  as  I  was  showing  of 
Will  Peppercorn  the  way  I  would  play 
Romeo,  were  I  let."  At  this  the  two 
players  looked  at  each  other  very  partic- 
ularly, with  something  of  an  inclination 
to  laugh:  "and  my  lord  bade  me  carry  it 
to  Master  Shakspeare,"  continued  he ; 
"  and  was  so  civil  as  to  give  me  a  silver 
groat;  and  then,  merely  requesting  of  me 
not  to  delay  in  the  delivery  of  the  letter, 
he  took  himself  out  of  the  playhouse." 

"Having  done  what  was  required  of 
thee,  we  will  now  dispense  with  thy 
company,"  said  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Get  thee  gone,  good  Cock,"  ex- 
claimed Master  Burbage,  lifting  up  his 
foot,  and  lending  him  such  a  kick  of  the 
breech,  as  he  was  a  turning  round,  that 
sent  him.  as  it  were,  flying  through  the 
open  door. 

"Nay,  hurt  him  not,  I  prythee,"  cried 
Master  Shakspeare,  upon  seeing  the  rapid 
disappearance  of  the  call-boy,  though  he 
could  not  help  laughing. 

"  O'  my  life,  I  do  believe  he  hath  no 
more  feeling  in  him  than  a  stone,"  replied 
the  other,  who  was  very  merry  upon  it. 
i  "  1  doubt  not,  if  he  were  handsomely 
paid,  he  would  allow  himself  to  be  kicked 
!  from  this  world  to  the  next.  He  liketh 
.nothing  so  well.  I  have  seen  him  re- 
joice at  having  a  cuff  from  any  of  us; 
;  and  a  kick  appeareth  to  delight  him  be- 


214 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  i'itlEEDS. 


vond  all  measure.  But  what  sayeth  my 
Lord  Southampton  ?" 

"Thou  shall  hear,"  replied  his  com- 
panion, and  without  further  preamble 
read  the  following : — 

"<  WORTHY  MASTER  SHAKSPEARE:  To 
say  aught  of  the  delicate  pleasure  I  have 
received  from  that  marvellous  sweet 
poem  you  have  done  my  poor  name  the 
honor  of  dedicating  unto  me,  I  can  not 
at  this  present,  as  I  lack  time  to  ex- 
press all  that  I  feel :  and  to  do  less  than 
that,  were  not  to  do  you  justice.  Rest 
you  satisfied,  then,  that  though  I  be  si- 
lent on  the  matter,  I  am  eloquent  enough 
at  heart :  for  well  can  I  appreciate  such 
things,  and  exceeding  glad  shall  I  be  to 
prove  how  well  I  think  of  them.  On  the 
receipt  of  this,  please  you  to  come  to  me 
at  my  dwelling,  for  I  am  desirous  you 
should  do  me  a  favor,  the  granting  of 
which  will  be  to  my  extreme  gratifica- 
tion. "<H.  W.'" 

"  0'  my  life  he  be  but  a  scurvy  fellow 
after  all,"  exclaimed  Master  Burbage, 
jumping  up  from  the  table  on  which  he 
had  sal  himself,  and  seeming  in  a  won- 
derful vexation.  "Instead  of  acting  the 
true  friend  by  thee,  with  such  handsome- 
ness as  he  might  do,  without  hurt  to  him, 
he  contenteth  himself  with  asking  a  fa- 
vor of  thee.  A  fig  for  such  patrons,  say 
I:  there  be  too  many  of  this  sort,.  Won- 
drous fine  fellows  are  they  all,  who  are 
exceeding  bountiful  with  their  praise, 
which  costeth  nothing ;  but  when  there 
shall  come  a  fine  occasion  for  showing 
lhargenerousness  of  soul  which  one  that 
hath  the  power  should  always  show  to 
him  he  assumeth  to  be  the  patron  to, 
they  slink  away,  and  will  do  nothing." 

"Thou  dost  grossly  abuse  him,  I  will 
be  bound  for't,"  said  Master  Shakspeare, 
warmly.  "  I  do  not  think  there  breathes 
a  better,  a  truer,  or  gentler  heart,  than  is 
my  Lord  of  Southampton.  I  see  nothing 
in  the  letter  but  the  kindly  disposition  I 
have  ever  known  in  him." 

"Kindly  fig's  end!"  cried  the  other, 
seemingly  in  no  very  pleasant  mood; 
"  talk  not  to  me  of  kindly  dispositions, 
that  be  shown  in  naught  but  mere  words. 
I  have  no  patience  with  such." 

"  Notwithstanding  of  which,  I  shall 
haste  to  my  lord's  without  loss  of  time," 
observed  his  companion.  "  Whatever 
favor  it  may  be  that  lean  confer,  he  may 
depend  on  receiving,  and  right  glad  shall 
I  be  of  the  opportunity  of  doing  it." 
And  thereupon  he  proceeded  to  make 
himself  ready  to  go  out. 


«'  Then  thou  deservest  all  thon  wilt 
get  for  thy  pains,"  said  Master  Burbage. 
"Depend  on't,  he  intendeth  only  to  suck 
thy  brains  for  thee,  which  having  done 
to  an  absolute  sufficiency — a  murrain  on 
him  ! — he  will  be  monstrous  prodigal  in 
his  compliments,  but  as  for  putting  of 
his  hand  in  his  purse,  he  would  as  soon 
meddle  with  the  plague." 

"  I  want  not  his  purse,"  Jeplied  Master 
Shakspeare;  "so  he  need  never  put  his 
hand  there  for  me:  but  of  his  willing- 
ness to  serve  me,  I  am  well  convinced. 
Wilt  go  with  me  ?"  he  added,  as  he  was 
making  for  the  door. 

"  Nay  I  am  bound  for  the  very  pretti- 
est woman  that  lives."  observed  his  com- 
panion, seemingly  putting  of  his  dress 
in  the  very  properest  order,  as  he  stood 
before  a  large  mirror  nigh  unto  the  fire. 
"  Oh  !  she  hath  such  a  delicate  waist, 
and  so  dainty  an  ankle — such  lustrous 
eyes — so  ruby  a  lip — so" — - 

"Another  Joanna?"  here  interrupted 
Master  Shakspeare. 

"Hang  Joanna!"  exclaimed  Master 
Burbage,  with  extreme  asperity,  and 
quickly  followed  his  friend,  who  had 
gone  laughing  out  of  the  room. 

Master  Shakspeare  made  the  best  of 
his  way  to  the  Lord  Southampton's, 
pleased  in  his  heart  that  he  had  it  in  his 
power  to  oblige  one  for  whom  he  eatr r- 
tained  so  perfect  a  respect.  He  found 
him  in  his  study — an  elegant  chamber  of 
moderate  dimensions,  well  furnished 
with  books,  together  with  some  few  pic- 
tures. He  was  sitting  before  a  pleasant 
fire,  having  wine,  and  fruit,  and  some 
choice  cakes  on  a  table  beside  him,  and 
was  reading  of  a  book  by  its  light,  the 
time  being  toward  the  dusk  of  the  after- 
noon, a  little  too  early  for  candles. 

"Welcome,Master  Shakspeare,"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  soon  as  the  other  entered  the 
room,  quickly  putting  of  his  book  down, 
and  rising  to  shake  him  by  the  hand. 
"Sit  you  down,  and  partake  of  such 
cheer  as  I  can  give  you." 

"  With  all  mine  heart,  rny  good  lord," 
replied  his  companion,  cheerfully  com- 
plying with  my  lord's  request ;  and  they 
presently,  with  exceeding  sociableness, 
fell  to  drinking  of  wine,  and  eating  of 
the  delicacies  upon  the  table,  seasoning 
them  with  such  friendly  converse  as  was 
like  to  pass  on  such  an  occasion  between 
two  so  well  inclined  to  each  other. 
There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  expres- 
sion on  the  features  of  the  young  noble- 
man, for  never  was  benevolence  so  ap- 
parent in  a  human  face;  and  the  fine. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


215 


open,  manly  countenance  of  Master 
Shakspeare,  whereon  was  writ  a  free 
heart  and  a  noble  mind,  was  not  less  wor- 
thy of  admiration. 

"I  have  been  reading  of  your  truly  de- 
lectable poem,"  observed  my  lord,  as  he 
pointed  to  the  book  on  the  table.  "  In- 
deed, I  can  not  help  but  be  a  looking 
into  it  at  whatever  time  I  can  find  the 
leisure." 

"  I  hope  you  have  gathered  some  en- 
tertainment from  it,  be  it  of  ever  so  slight 
a  kind,"  answered  the  other,  with  that 
real  modesty  which  can  only  be  found  in 
the  rarest  natures  ;  "  for  it  would  be  a  dis- 
couraging thing  to  me  to  know  that  the 
courteousuess  which  led  you  to  the  peru- 
sal of  my  book,  came  to  an  unprofitable 
ending." 

"  There  can  be  no  fear  of  that,  on  mine 
honor,"  said  my  Lord  Southampton,  kind- 
ly. "  Indeed,  I  have  found  excess  of  en- 
tertainment rather  than  the  lack  of  it. 
In  your  plays  I  have  ever  met  with  poe- 
try of  the  very  choicest,  wherein  it  was 
difficult  to  say  whether  the  dhought  or  the 
expressing  of  it  was  the  most  admirable. 
But  such  things  came  as  flowers  met  with 
in  a  journey.  They  grew,  as  it  were,  on 
the  road-side  of  the  play ;  and  he  who 
kept  on  his  way  could  scarce  fail  of  see- 
ing and  delighting  in  them ;  and  they 
enticed  him  forward  at  every  step.  The 
Rape  of  Lucrece  must  be  considered  in 
no  other  light  than  an  entire  garden,  laid 
out  with  such  prodigality  of  flowers,  that 
there  be  scarce  any  getting  on  at  all,  one 
is  so  continually  forced  to  stop  and  admire 
this  and  the  other." 

"Methinks  'twould  be  afiVjtation  in 
me  were  I  to  deny  I  find  pleasure  in  your 
commendation,"  remarked  Master  Shak- 
gpeare.  "  Indeed,  I  would  venture  to  as- 
sert that  he  whopretendeth  to  a  careless- 
ness of  praise,  be  worthy  of  no  praise  at 
all.  I  write,  as  all  must  write  who  have 
any  true  talent  for  it — in  hope  that  what 
I  have  done  shall  be  considered  of  some 
merit.  That  you  commend  it,  is  at  least 
a  proof  of  some  kindliness  on  your  part, 
the  which  can  not  but  give  me  exceed- 
ing gratification,  for  I  am  assured  you 
would  not  show  so  honorable  a  feeling 
unless  you  thought  there  was  such  wor- 
thiness in  me  as  might  warrant  it.  As 
to  the  judgment  you  evince  in  this  your 
opinion  of  my  poor  performance,  it  doth 
not  become  me  to  speak,  for  every  one 
is  but  too  well  satisfied  with  the  judg- 
ment that  be  satisfied  with  him." 

"  Mayhap  my  judgment  is  but  of  small 
value,"  said  his  companion,  "  but  at  least 


it  hath  the  recommendation  of  being  sin- 
cere." 

"  There  are  few  whose  opinion  I  should 
be  more  inclined  to  bow  to  on  ordinary 
topics,"  remarked  his  companion  ;  "  yet 
in  this,  methinks,  the  friendship  you  have 
distinguished  me  with  hath  given  you 
partial  eyes." 

"  That  can  not  be,  worthy  Master 
Shakspeare,"  replied  my  lord.  "  Every 
j  one  who  knoweth  what  true  merit  is,  can 
j  not  fail  of  seeing  it  in  this  your  exquisite 
poem  ;  and  there  can  be  no  partiality  in 
approving  of  that  which  none  but  the 
most  ignorant  or  the  most  envious  could 
fail  of  commending.  '  However,  let  that 
pass  for  the  present.  The  wine  standeth 
unnoticed  before  you.  I  am  fearful  you 
make  but  poor  cheer." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  good  lord,"  answered 
Master  Shakspeare,  refilling  of  his  glass. 
"  But  it  seemeth  to  me  I  should  show  an 
infinite  lack  of  understanding  were  I  to 
make  poor  cheer  when  the  cheer  hath 
been  so  bountifully  provided."  Then  for 
a  few  minutes  both  appeared  to  be  intent 
upon  enjoying  of  the  good  things  within 
their  reach,  saying  little,  save  remarks  of 
no  moment  relating  to  them. 

"  Mis-tress  Varnon  hath  acquainted  me 
with  a  strange  secret,"  observed  the 
young  nobleman,  with  a  smile. 

"  Hath  she,  indeed  ?"'  answered  the 
other.  "  I  doubt  not  it  was  of  a  pleasing 
kind  ;  for  a  pretty  woman's  secret  is 
usually  well  worth  knowing." 

"  That  is  as   you  may  think  it,"  said 

his    patron,    still    looking    exceedingly 

amused.      "But  this  is  it:  whilst  you 

were  in  the  garden -with  Dame  Deborah, 

the  last  time  we  were  at  Islington,  and, 

'  as  of  old,  had  left  us  two  to  such  sweet 

1  delights  as  I  can  never  be  too  grateful  for, 

the  loving  creature  told  me  that  her  aunt 

spoke  of  nothing  but  Master  Dulcimer — 

was  ever  praising  his  looks,  his  dress,  his 

1  manners,  his  music — his  everything  he- 

!  longing  to  him,  with  so  absolute  an  ear- 

|  nestness  as  was  a  marvel  to  behold — that 

1  she  was  melancholy  and  restless  when 

|  he  was  away,  and  seemed  as  if  she  en- 

!  joyed  nothing  so  much  as  the  sunshine 

of  his  presence — in  short" —         « 

"  Nay,  the  conclusion  is  manifest,  my 
good    lord,"   exclaimed   his  companion, 
I  laughing  very  heartily,  in  the  which  the 
'<  young  nobleman  joined.      "  My  vanity  is 
;  infinitely  tickled,     So,  her  stately  lady- 
ship loveth   me  ?     I'faith,  'tis  as  ridicu- 
j  lous  a  thing  as  ever  happened.    Mayhap, 
if  she  were  forty  years  younger,  I  would 
;  be   well  content:  wnether  my  teeth   be 


216 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


tender  or  my  stomach  be  over  dainty,  'tis 
hard  to  say,  but  I  doubt  not  she  would 
now  prove  so  preposterously  tough  a 
morsel,  I  should  be  forced  to  leave  jlhe 
dish  ere  it  had  well  been  tasted/' 

Both  continued  to  laugh  and  jest  on 
the  subject  very  merrily,  for  some  min- 
utes. 

"  Meant  you  not,  in  your  note,*'  con- 
tinued Master  Shakspeare,  "  there  was 
some  good  office  I  could  do  you  ?  Believe 
me,  I  shall  be  right  glad  to  set  about  it." 
"  'Tis  a  favor  I  would  have  at  your 
hands,"  replied  my  Lord  Southampton. 
"  Indeed,  I  shall  be  wondrously  vexed  if 
you  refuse  me." 

"  Think  not  of  such  a  thing,  I  pray 
you,"  observed  the  other  quickly.  "Be 
assured  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  wil- 
lingly do  to  give  you  pleasure,  so  that  it 
be  but  in  my  power  to  perform." 

"  'Tis  a  simple  thing  enough,"  said  his 
companion.  "  It  hath  come  to  my  knowl- 
edge that  you  are  exceeding  desirous  of 
purchasing  a  greater  share  in  your  play- 
house than  what  you  already  possess. 
Have  I  been  told  truly  ?" 

"  I  have  such  intention,  without  doubt," 
replied  Master  Shakspeare, "  but  it  is  one 
I  mean  not  to  put  in  execution  for  some 
time  to  come." 

"  Think  you  it  would  be  much  to  your 
advancement?"  inquired  my  lord. 
"  Greatly,"  said  the  other. 
Then  the  favor  I  would  ask  of  you  is 
this : — I  have  a  thousand  pounds  of  mine 
own,  doing  of  no  good  in  the  world.  Will 
it  please  you  to  apply  it  to  the  purpose 
you  have  mentioned?" 

"My  lord,  I" • 

"  I  will  hear  of  no  objections,  Master 
Shakspeare,"  said  he.  "Mayhap,  if  you 
take  it  not,  I  may  be  tempted  to  apply  it 
to  some  bad  end  ;  and  you  shall  do  me  a 
great  injury  by  having  refused  to  give  it 
a  more  honorable  occupation.  Whilst  it 
lieth  idle  in  my  hands  it  can  afford  me 
no  pleasure,  but  rather  will  be  to  me  a 
source  of  disquiet  ;  now  when  I  know  it 
hath  gone  for  so  good  a  purpose  as  the 
advantage  of  a  worthy  man,  I  can  not 
help  being  infinitely  content." 

"  Bdieve  me,  it  can  not  be,"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspeare,  who  appeared  so 
taken  by  surprise  he  scarce  knew  what  to 
eay. 

"Believe  me,  it  must  be!"  cried  my 
lord,  more  earnestly.  "  I  have  set  my 
heart  upon  it.  I  will  not  hear  of  a  de- 
nial." 

"  Indeed,  you  must  excuse  me  in  this, 
my  lord." 


"I  will  hear  of  no  excuses.  Beside, 
you  have  already  averred  there  was  noth- 
ing you  would  not  willingly  do  ,to  give 
me  pleasure.  I  hold  you  to  it,  Master 
Shakspeare." 

"  My  good  lord,  it  is  so  extraordinary 
large  a  sum." 

"  All  the  better — it  shall  do  you  the 
more  benefit." 

"'Twill  be  a  rank  abusing  of  your 
good  nature — nay,  take  it  not  uncivil  of 
me"- — 

"I  do  take  it  monstrous  uncivil  of  you, 
Master  Shakspeare,  that  you  should 
make  any  demur  in  doing  me  this  favor. 
There  can  be  no  pleasure  so  great  as  that 
you  will  afford  me  by  your  compliance." 
"  Then  let  it  be  but  a  hundred  pounds, 
I  pray  you,  my  lord." 

"  I  will  not  abate  you  a  single  groat  of 
the  thousand." 

"I  do  assure  you  I  can  not  bring  my- 
self  to  accept  it,  for  I  know  not  at  what 
time  I  shall  be  able  to  pay  you." 

"  Talk  not  of  paying,  else  shall  I  be 
angry  presently.  I  tell  you,  Master 
Shakspeare,  I  have  received  such  infinite 
pleasure  from  the  wondrous  excellences 
of  your  genius  that  twenty  times  the  sum 
I  have  mentioned  would  not  have  pur- 
chased. Shall  1  receive  advantage  and 
give  none  ?  I  pray  you  no  more  denials. 
I  have  set  my  heart  upon  it,  and  it  must 
be." 

At  this  moment  there  entered  a  serving- 
man,  announcing  my  lord  of  Essex  and 
Master  Francis  Bacon,  to  whom  his  mas- 
ter gave  orders  for  their  instant  admit- 
tance. 

"  I  wih  se'nd  a  trusty  messenger  to  youi 
lodgings  viith  the  money  to-morrow  ' 
morning,  Master  Shakspeare,"  said  my 
Lord  Southampton,  as  he  in  the  very 
friendliest  manner  possible  took  his  com 
panion  by  the  hand,  which  he  cordially 
shook,  his  youthful  face  beaming  with 
benevolence  all  the  while.  "  And  ] 
sincerely  trust  it  may  be  the  foundation 
of  a  fortune  worthy  of  your  high  deserts 
Hush  ! — say  not  a  word  !"  he  exclaimed 
seeing  the  other  was  about  to  speak. 
"  My  friends  approach  ;  and  I  would  not 
have  this  breathed  to  any." 

Master  Shakspeare  was  silenced  ;  but 
he  reflected  all  the  more.  "  And  this  is 
the  man,"  thought  he,  "  of  whom  Bur- 
bage  spoke  so  slightingly  !  Why,  what 
a  princely  heart  he  hath!  O'  my  life! 
if  I  can  not  help  myself  of  profiting  by 
his  munificence,  I  will  do  my  best  to 
prove  it  hath  not  been  misapplied."  And 
so  went  he  on,  so  lost  in  admiration  cf 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


217 


the  other's  noble  conduct,  as  not  to  per- 
ceive he  was  the  object  of  very  attentive 
observation  by  a  stranger  who  had  entered 
the  room,  and,  whilst  the  two  lords  were 
conversing  very  earnestly,  yet  in  a  low 
voice,  as  if  on  some  important  matter,  at 
the  further  end  of  it,  and  the  serving-man 
was  putting  a  fresh  log  on  the  fire,  and 
some  clean  glasses  on  the  table,  he, 
drawn  to  him  probably  by  that  appear- 
ance of  superior  intelligence  in  his  counte- 
nance which  none  could  look  on  without 
affection  or  reverence,  came  as  close  as 
he  might,  and  sat  himself  down  the  more 
nearly  to  observe  him.  This  was  no 
other  than  Master  Francis  Bacon,  then 
coming  into  some  note  for  his  great  learn- 
ing, and  afterward  so  highly  esteemed 
as  the  very  chiefest  philosopher  of  his 
time. 

He  was  dressed  in  no  way  distinguish- 
able from  other  young  lawyers,  wearing 
a  doublet  of  a  sober  color:  indeed,  his 
whole  apparelling  was  a  complete  con- 
trast unto  the  gorgeous  splendor  of  my 
lord  of  Essex,  who  affected  to  outdo  all  in 
costliness  of  dress.  Master  Bacon  was 
rather  of  a  comely  countenance;  of  a 
gravity  that  was  more  pleasing  than  se- 
vere, having  a  mouth  of  some  tendency 
to  mirth,  a  thoughtful  brow,  eyes  clear 
and  bright,  and  a  beard  well  trimmed. 
He  seemed  rather  younger  than  Master 
Shakspeare  ;  but  they  appeared,  as  near 
as  might  be  of  a  like  height.  There 
then  were  the  two  finest  intellects  of  the 
age  met  together  for  the  first  time.  Each 
had  heard  of  the  other;  and  what  each 
had  heard  was  sufficient  to  make  him 
desirous  of  knowing  as  much  more  as  he 
could. 

Master  Shakspeare  had  not  been  but 
a  very  few  seconds  reflecting  upon  his 
patron's  bountiful  behavior  to  him,  when 
he  started  up  of  a  sudden,  as  if  conscious 
he  had  committed  some  rudeness  in  not 
paying  more  respect  to  my  Lord  South- 
ampton's guests,  and  seeing  of  Master 
Bacon  regarding  of  him  so  attentively,  he 
straightway,  with  a  courteousness  that 
did  become  none  so  well  as  he,  expressed 
how  glad  he  was  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance. To  this  the  other  replied  to  a  -like 
purpose  ;  and  they  presently  fell  to  con- 
versing one  with  another  with  as  much 
freedom  as  if  they  were  acquaintances 
of  long  standing.  Yet  was  there  a  mark- 
ed difference  betwixt  the  two  in  their 
manner.  Master  Shakspeare  was  open 
and  cordial,  like  a  man  who  is  at  home 
with  the  world  after  much  knowledge 
of  it — he  was  perfectly  at  his  ease;  butj 


Master  Bacon,  thougn  not  so  much  so  as 
at  first,  looked  to  be  in  a  sort  of  constraint. 
Whether  he  held  the  other  in  such  respect 
as  made  him  more  reserved  in  his  com- 
pany than  he  was  likely  to  be  in  any 
other,  or  whether  his  deep  study  of  books 
had  given  him  not  sufficient  opportunity 
for  acquiring  that  graceful  confidence 
which  social  intercourse  alone  confers,  or 
whether  his  pursuit  of  the  law  had  crea- 
ted in  him  a  suspiciousness  of  any  man's 
intentions  till  their  excellence  was  proved, 
I  can  not  take  upon  me  to  determine  ;  but 
certes  he  was  in  some  degree  formal  and 
sententious. 

The  two  lords  still  kept  at  the  further 
end  of  the  room,  conversing  with  much 
earnestness  of  look  and  manner,  and  in 
so  low  a  voice  it  was  plain  they  had  got 
hold  of  a  matter  of  deep  interest  to  talk 
about.  But  of  this  took  the  others  no 
notice.  Indeed  they  were  so  taken  up 
with  their  own  conversation,  as  not  to  be 
able  to  heed  what  else  was  going  on. 

"  I  have  heard  wonderful  commenda- 
tion of  your  familiarity  with  the  pro- 
foundest  things,"  observed  Master  Shak- 
speare. "Of  such  learning  know  I  just 
enough  to  make  me  inclined  for  a  more 
perfect  knowledge.  Will  it  please  you, 
Master  Bacon,  to  give  your  opinion  of  the 
schools  of  philosophy  possessed  by  the 
Greeks,  that  I  may  know,  from  one  so 
qualified  to  judge,  which  may  be  the  de- 
sirablest  of  them  all?" 

"I  am  but  indifferently  learned  in  such 
matters,  believe  me,  Master  Shakspeare," 
replied  Master  Bacon. 

"  Nay,  you  undervalue  yourself  I  am 
assured,"  said  the  other. 

"Indeed,  it  is  as  I  say,"  answered  bis 
companion.  "Yet  of  what  small  knowl- 
edge I  may  possess  will  I  put  you  in  pos- 
session ;  for  I  hold  that  he  who  hath 
learning,  be  it  ever  so  little,  and  holdeth 
it  back  from  they  who  have  less,  is  as 
unprofitable  a  man  as  the  most  ignorant 
that  lives." 

"That  be  a  sure  thing,"  said  our  illus- 
trious poet.  "  0'  my  life  !  I  have  no  pa- 
tience with  such  as  do  cuddle  up  in  their 
brains  whatever  they  know,  whereof 
others  be  ignorant,  and  are  so  obstinately 
intent  upon  the  enlightening  of  none,  that 
they  allow  of  their  secrets  being  buried 
wiih  them.  Such  exceeding  selfishness 
ought  never  to  be  tolerated.  There  have 
been  divers  alchymists  who,  at  least,  so  it 
be  said  of  them,  acquired  famous  insight 
into  the  transmutation  of  metals,  the  vir- 
tues of  all  mannerof  waters,  plants,  earths, 
and  the  like  ;  yet  have  they  kept  such 


818 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


things  a  mystery  from  their  fellow-men, 
and  their  great  discoveries,  if  discoveries 
they  were,  were  of  as  little  advantage  to 
mankind  as  if  the  finders  of  them  had 
never  been  born.  For  mine  own  part,  1 
think  that  knowledge  is  a  sort  of  money, 
which  if  it  be  hoarded  up  by  one  of  these 
misers,  and  none  know  where  it  is  secre- 
ted, and  may  not  lay  hand  on  it  when  they 
want,  it  shall  be  as  good  as  nothing  to 
them  ;  whJst  the  more  that  share  in  the 
riches  of  learning,  the  less  shall  there  be 
of  those  ignorant  'poor  folk,  whose  pover- 
ty of  knowledge  it  is  the  chief  business 
of  philosophy  to  relieve." 

"  Well  said,  Master  Shakspeare!"  ex- 
claimed the  other  with  some  earnestness, 
for  he  was  pleased  at  hearing  of  senti- 
ments so  akin  to  his  own.  "  Philosophy 
is  indeed  that  right  admirable  legislation 
which  provideth  for  the  poor  of  all  coun- 
tries and  condilions — the  halt,  the  lame, 
and  the  blind  ;  and  insistelh  that  every 
man  who  hath  the  means  shall  con- 
tribute, according  to  his  ability,  to  the 
wants  of  his  fellows.  To  describe  to  you 
the  different  philosophical  schools  that 
have  existed  among  the  Greeks,  methinks 
is  a  labor  for  which  I  have  not  anything 
like  sufficient  leisure  before  me.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  it  is  in  philosophy  like  unto 
what  it  is  in  religion  throughout  the 
world ;  there  be  a  wonderful  number  of 
roads  and  by-paths,  some  more  direct 
than  others,  and  a  few  that  go  every- 
where but  in  the  right  way  ;  but  the 
right  way  is  always  to  be  found  by  those 
who  will  sufficiently  search  for  it.  As 
for  a  distinct  system  of  philosophy,  any- 
thing of  the  sort  can  scarce  be  said  to 
have  existed  before  the  time  of  Socrates ; 
for  though  it  be  said  Thales  founded  the 
Ionic,  and  Pythagoras  the  Italic  schools, 
one  might  with  as  much  show  of  truth 
call  the  proverbs  of  Solomon,  or  the  fa- 
bles of  JEsop,  a  system,  as  consider  that 
what  the  two  preceding  have  said, 
which  was  naught  but  some  few  precepts 
or  apophthegms  relating  unto  morals  and 
politics,  should  have  such  a  name. 

"  It  may  certainly  be  said  that  Socrates 
founded  no  complete  theory  of  ethics, 
but  he  left  such  materials  as  went  a  fair 
way  toward  it.  He  was  the  first  phi- 
losopher who  taught  the  sublime  truth — 
to  wit:  that  the  principles  of  virtue  are 
the  laws  of  God,  and  that  none  may  de- 
part from  such  principles  without  suffer- 
ing for  it  in  some  way  or  other.  Plato 
staled  that  virtue  could  in  no  way  be 
taught,  but  could  only  come  as  an  ema- 
nation from  the  Divine  Spirit  Aristotle', 


Who  was  a  disciple  of  Plato,  ana  the 
founder  of  the  peripatetics,  taught  that 
virtue  is  either  of  the  theory  or  of  the 
practice — the  one  being  a  proper  exer- 
cise of  the  understanding,  the  other  the 
pursuit  of  excellence ;  and  that  there 
are  no  such  pleasures  as  those  which  do 
proceed  from  virtuous  actions;  and  that 
happiness  is  either  contemplative — such 
as  may  be  derived  from  the  pursuit  ot 
wisdom — or  active,  such  as  may  be  gath- 
ered from  external  conduct  conformable 
to  virtue  ;  that  the  latter  is  inferior  to  the 
former,  because  the  understanding  is  the 
chiefest  part  of  our  nature,  and  the  aims 
to  which  it  should  be  directed  are  of  the 
noblest  kind  ;  but  that  for  a  state  of  per- 
fect felicity  both  are  necessary." 

"  Doubtless  this  teaching  of  Aristotle 
cometh  nigh  unto  the  right  way,"  ob- 
served Master  Shakspeare.  "  It  seeraeth 
to  me  a  very  proper  teaching.  Before  I 
knew  aught  of  Aristotle,  it  did  always 
appear  in  ray  mind,  much  the  same  as 
you  have  said  of  his  doctrines.  I  thought 
the  first  object  of  existence  was  to  live 
virtuously — that  virtue  was  the  doing 
well  unto  others — and  that  happiness  was 
that  state  of  pleasurableness  which  must 
be  the  result  of  such  well-doing.  As  for 
what  he  hath  said  of  the  understanding 
being  the  chiefest  part  of  our  nature,  and 
the  pleasures  it  affords  being  the  choicest 
of  all  enjoyments,  methinks  none  would 
dispute  it.  But  proceed,  I  pray  you :  I 
should  be  loath  to  lose  a  particle  of  such 
excellent  discourse." 

"There  was  another  sect  produced  by 
the  school  of  Socrates,  called  cynics," 
said  Master  Bacon.  "  The  most  celebra- 
ted of  these  were  Antistbenes  and  Di- 
ogenes, and  they  taught  that  virtue  was 
the  only  wisdom,  and  he  alone  deserved 
to  be  called  virtuous  who  could  stifle  his 
natural  sympathies,  and  live  in  a  thorough 
carelessness  of  the  comforts  and  refine- 
ments of  life,  most  of  which  they  regard- 
ed as  things  that  ought  not  to  be  allowed, 
because  their  influence  tended  to  prevent 
that  austerity  wherein  they  supposed 
virtue  exclusively  existed." 

"I'll  have  none  of  them!"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspeare.  "  If  men  are  to 
have  no  sympathy  one  for  another,  naught 
can  result  but  entire  selfishness  in  all ; 
and  if  the  refinements  of  life  are  not  to 
be  tolerated,  all  that  is  elegant  in  science 
and  graceful  in  art, — in  fact,  all  that 
must  be  most  humanizing  in  intellect  are 
clean  lost  to  us,  and  we  must  needs  de- 
generate into  mere  brutes.  It  might  as 
well  be  said,  a  green  gooseberry  is  more 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


219 


desirable  than  a  ripe  one,  as  that  an  aus- 
tere and  crabbed  cynic  can  be  a  better 
limn  than  one  of  so  ripe  and  sweetly-dis- 
posed a  nature  that  he  alloweth  his  in- 
tellect to  exalt  his  humanity,  whilst  his 
humanity  liberalizes  his  intellect." 

"  The  next  of  the  more  celebrated  sects 
of  Greek  philosophers  were  styled  stoics," 
continued  the  other.  "  Amongst  divers 
things,  they  maintained  that  nature  im- 
pelleth  every  man  to  the  pursuit  of  what- 
ever appeareth  to  him  to  be  good,  and 
that  as  all  animals  derive  pleasure  from 
those  things  which  be  suited  to  them, 
which  nature  leadeth  them  to  discover 
and  enjoy,  every  one  who  seeth  clearly 
into  what  is  good,  will  presently  take  to 
conforming  to  nature  in  all  his  actions." 

"  That  seemeth  plausible  enough,"  ob- 
served his  companion.  "  Yet  methinks 
it  should  have  its  limitations.  To  follow 
nature  under  every  circumstance  might 
lead  to  the  hurt  of  some  other,  and  a 
pleasure  purchased  by  an  injury  should 
be  eschewed  of  all  honest  minds;  but  to 
follow  nature  with  justice  to  yourself  and 
others,  to  my  thinking,  be  to  follow  the 
very  properest  guide  that  shall  be  met 
with  anywhere." 

"On  that  point  say  I  nothing  at  this 
moment,"  said  our  distinguished  philoso- 
pher. "When  the  time  cometh  for 
speaking,  believe  me,  I  intend  not  to  be 
dumb.  But  return  we  to  the  stoics.  Their 
idea  of  happiness  is  to  this  effect — that 
no  external  thing  can  affect  the  happiness 
of  any  man — that  pain,  because  it  be- 
longeth  not  to  the  mind,  is  no  evil — and 
that  a  virtuous  man  must  be  happy  in  all 
manner  of  torment,  for  that  virtue  is  no 
other  than  happiness." 

"  Nay,  I  can  not  hold  with  them  there  !" 
cried  Master  Shakspeare.  "  Indeed,  it 
seemeth  to  me  clean  contrary  to  common 
sense.  Any  one  who  doth  observe  at  all, 
knoweth  that  a  man's  happiness  is  almost 
ever  in  the  power  of  circumstances — 
any  one  who  knoweth  what  pain  is,  must 
feel  convinced  it  be  an  evil — and  as  for 
what  they  have  said  of  virtue  being  hap- 
piness, it  hath  no  truth  in  it,  for  there  are 
few  so  ignorant  who  know  not  that  the 
misconduct  of  others,  let  alone  numberless 
other  causes,  may  make  the  most  virtuous 
person  that  breathes,  in  a  state  of  mon- 
strous unhappiness." 

"Then  comes  the  Cyrenaic  school, 
with  Aristippus  for  its  founder,  and  Dem- 
ocritus  and  Protagorus  for  its  chiefest 
supporters,"  continued  .Master  Bacon, 
without  seeming  to  heed  what  the  other 
had  said.  "  They  preached  that  the  dis- j 


tinction  between  virtue  and  vice  is  nothing 
more  than  arbitrary — that  no  one  thing 
can  be  sacred  or  profane,  just  or  unjust, 
but  as  it  shall  be  agreeable  or  contrary  to 
established  laws  and  customs,  for  that 
what  is  considered  lawful  to-day,  human 
authority  may  make  improper  to-morrow ; 
and  that  present  pleasure  is  the  sovereign 
good  of  man." 

•"  O'  my  life,  those  doctrines  be  more 
preposterous  than  the  other  !"  exclaimed 
his  companion.  "  The  true  distinction 
between  virtue  and  vice  must  needs  be 
immutable.  Men's  ideas  of  them  may 
alter,  but  the  qualities  themselves  never 
change — at  least  so  it  seemeth  to  me. 
For  instance,  if  a  man  do  whatsoever 
good  lieth  in  its  power,  and  committeth 
no  wrong  to  any  in  the  doing  of  it,  he 
can  not  but  live  virtuously,  no  matter 
what  may  be  the  laws  or  customs  where 
he  dwelleth ;  and  if  he  do  the  reverse  of 
this  he  must  live  viciously  under  any  cir- 
cumstances or  laws  whatever.  But  what 
other  system  had  these  Greeks  1" 

"  Among  others  they  had  the  system 
of  Epicurus,  which  was  in  excellent  re- 
pute of  them,"  replied  Master  Bacon. 
"He  taught  that  the  ultimate  good  is 
happiness,  which  is  a  state  in  which  man 
may  be  said  to  exist,  when  he  enjoyeth 
as  many  good  things,  and  endureth  ns 
few  evils  as  may  be  possible  to  /be  met 
with  in  human  life.  He  calleth  pleasure 
good,  and  pain  evil,  which  be  not  only 
good  and  evil  in  their  own  natures,  but 
must  be  taken  as  the  measure  of  whatso- 
ever is  good  or  evil  in  every  object  of  de- 
sire or  aversion,  because  we  expect  pleas- 
ure, in  pursuing  of  one,  and  apprehend 
pain  in  avoiding  the  other.  He  maintain- 
eth  also,  that  any  pleasure  which  pre- 
venteth  the  enjoyment  of  a  greater  pleas- 
ure, or  produceth  a  greater  pain,  i$  to  be 
eschewed  ;  whilst  that  pain  which  r»- 
moveih  a  greater  pain  or  procureth  a 
greater  pleasure,  is  to  be  endured.  He 
elsewhere  proveth  that  temperance  in  the 
enjoyment  of  pleasure  is  no  other  than  a 
state  of  virtue,  and  that  virtuous  conduct 
steadily  pursued,  produceth  the  greatest 
quantity  of  happiness  human  nature  hath 
the  capability  to  enjoy.  These  maxims, 
with  sundry  others  of  a  like  sort,  with 
wonderful  force  of  argument  he  putteth 
together  and  buiJdeth  into  a  system." 

"And  a  right  famous  system  it  must 
needs  have  been,"  exclaimed  Master 
Shakspeare.  "  That  happiness  is  the 
real  aim  of  existence,  surely  none  can 
doubt,  and  that  the  enjoyment  of  pleasure 
produceth  the  possession  of  happiness 


220 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


seemeth  to  me  as  little  questionable  ;  but 
methinks  that  there  is  greater  happiness 
in  the  pleasure  we  afford  to  others  than 
there  can  he  in  that  which  the  individual 
enjoyoih  exclusively,  and  were  I  inclined 
to  set  others  in  the  pursuit  of  the  greatest 
felicity,  I  would  say,  go  and  create  the 
pleasure  of  as  many  as  you  may,  without 
injustice  to  yourself  or  any.  But  as  these 
systems  of  philosophy  appear  but  so 
many  different  ideas  of  virtue,  and  of  the 
distinctions  between  good  and  evil,  and 
their  natural  results,  happiness,  and  mis- 
ery, I  pray  you,  Master  Bacon,  let  me 
know  what  may  be  your  opinion  of  these 
matters." 

What  Master  Bacon's  opinion  was  I 
can  not  here  relate,  as  just  at  that  moment 
the  two  lords  left  that  part  of  the  room 
where  they  had  been  staying,  and  came 
to  the  table,  where,  after  a  stately  greet- 
ing from  my  Lord  of  Essex  to  Master 
Shakspeare,  the  four  did  sit  down  and 
partake  of  the  cheer  that  was  before 
them  ;  but  this  omission  can  be  no  loss  to 
the  courteous  reader,  for  if  he  turn  to  the 
many  commendable  volumes  of  excellent 
philosophy  Master  Bacon  hath  writ,  he 
shall  behold  his  opinions  clothed  with 
such  fine  arguments  as  I  despair  of  being 
master  of. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Don  Pedro.    By  my  troth,  a  pleasant  spirited  lady. 

Leonato.  There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element 
in  her,  my  lord  :  she  is  never  sad  but  when  she 
sleeps  ;  and  not  even  sad  then  :  for  I  have  hoard 
my  daughter  say,  she  hath  often  dreamed  of  unhap- 
piness,  aud  waked  herself  with  laughing. 

Don  Pedro.  She  can  not  bear  to  hear  tell  of  a 
husband. 

Leonato.  O,  by  no  means :  she  mocks  all  her 
woers  out  of  suit. 

^  SHAKSPEARE. 

Fair  angel  of  perfection,  immortality 
Shall  raise  thy  name  up  to' an  adoration  ; 
Court  every  rich  opinion  of  true  merit, 
And  saint  it  in  the  calendar  of  virtue. 

FOBD. 

"  WHY  dost  take  on  so,  Bess  ?"  asked 
the  merry  Alice,  as  she  sat  with  her  cous- 
in in  a  fair  chamber  looking  out  into  the 
open  country  at  their  house  in  Sherborne. 
"By  my  troth,  thou  art  but  little  credit 
to  womanhood.  I  will  give  thee  up.  I 
will  forswear  all  relationship  to  thee  if 
thou  continues!  to  mope  after  this  fashion. 
Well,  if  ever  I  be  caught  fretting  after 
any  man-animal,  the  world  must  needs 
be  as  good  as  at  an  end.  I  would  as 
soon  think  of  taking  to  the  making  of 
simples  for  consumptive  puppies.  Nay, 


o'  my  life,  I  would  sooner  begin  the  dig1- 
jing  of  my  own  grave  with  a  pap-spoon." 
"  How  thou  dost  talk,  Alice !"  ex- 
claimed Dame  Elizabeth,  who  seemed 
ndeed  exceeding  sad  at  heart*  as  she  sat 
with  her  cousin  working  of  some  tapes- 
try, whilst  a  beautiful  little  boy,  doubtless 
ler  own,  was  riding  a  cock-horse  round 
the  room  upon  an  old  sword  in  its  scab- 
jard,  with  such  shouting  and  gladness  of 
ook  as  showed  it  was  wonderful  pleas- 
ant  sport  to  him.  -"  Thou  knowest  he 
lath  been  gone  away  so  long  a  time  I 
can  not  but  doubt  of  his  safety." 

"Nay,  he  be  safe  enough,  I'll  warrant 
dim  !"  replied  the  other  laughingly.  "  He 
knoweth  that  if  he  were  to  get  any  hurt 
and  so  vex  thee  I  would  as  good  as  do  for 
him.  But  these  husbands  be  marvellously 
inclined  to  take  care  of  themselves — took 
they  as  much  heed  of  their  wives  now, 
there  should  be  no  falling  out  betwixt 
them.  What  a  monstrous  difference  lieth 
in  lovers  and  husbands!  There  is  no 
more  likelihood  in  the  two,  than  may  be 
found  in  a  sparrow  and  a  cod-fish.  The 
one  is  always  a  chirruping,  and  billing, 
ami  hopping  about  one,  as  pleased  as 
ever  he  can  be — the  other  layeth  his  length 
where  he  may,  careth  as  much  for  his 
wife  as  if  she  were  a  stone,  and  if  he 
approach  her  at  any  time,  seemeth  like 
a  very  fish  out  of  water.  By  my  troth, 
methinks  the  difference  betwixt  wooing 
and  wedlock  be  a  difference  indeed." 

"  I  have  not  found  it  so,"  observed  her 
companion.  "Walter  hath  been  ever 
the  same  to  me.  I  do  so  wish  he  would 
come  back  !  Alack !  I  can  not  but  be 
wretched,  when  day  after  day  passeth 
by  and  bringeth  me  no  tidings  of  him. 
Surely  it  is  better  to  know  the  worst  than 
to  live  in  this  state  of  uncertainty." 

"I  tell  thee  thou  hast  no  worst  to 
know,"  answered  Alice,  and  then  turning 
to  the  boy,  who  was  shouting  lustily,  she 
cried,  "Walter!  if  ihou  makest  not  less 
noise  on  the  instant,  I  will  kiss  thee  with- 
in an  inch  of  thy  life."  The  child  stop- 
ped a  moment  in  his  course,  turned  his 
laughing  face  toward  his  pretty  kinswo- 
man, shook  his  curly  head  with  a  famous 
archness,  and  proceeded  on  his  way  shout- 
ing more  loudly  than  ever.  "Ah,  that  is 
so  like  all  man-animals,  be  they  big  or 
little," continued  Alice.  "For  a  contrary 
humor  there  is  not  their  like  in  this  world. 
Dost  believe  it,  Bess,  that  once  upon  a 
time  one  of  these  would  needs  be  after 
caressing  of  me,  for  truly  some  are  of  so 
monstrous  an  impudency  it  can  scarce  be 
guessed  what  they  would  be  about;  but 


SHAKSP.EARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


221 


I  pretty  .sharply  gave  him  to  know  I  would 
put  up  with  no  such  thing,  and  threatened 
him  with  all  manner  of  dreadful  punish- 
ments made  he  but  the  slightest  attempt  at 
it.  And  what  dost  think  the  villain  did  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  know  not,"  replied  her  cousin. 

"•  He  kissed  me  on  the  instant  I'^cried 
her  merry  companign,  with  a  voice  and 
look  of  such  extreme  solemnity,  that  the 
other  could  not  but  smile. 

"  And  what  saidst  thou  to  that,"  in* 
quired  Dame  Elizabeth. 

"What  said  I?"  exclaimed  Alice, 
seemingly  in  a  great  astonishment.  "By 
my  troth,  my  breath  was  clean  taken 
away  at  so  horrid  a  villany — I  could  say 
naught :  but  worse  cometh  to  be  told  ;  for 
ere  I  could  recover  myself,  the  caitiff  was 
for  doing  of  it  again.  At  that  moment  I 
fetched  him  so  absolute  a  box  on  the  ear, 
that  ever  since  then  he  can  no  more  hear 
on  that  side  of  his  head  than  can  a  dead 
pig  whistle  a  coranto."  Here  both  jumped 
up  quickly  from  their  work,  the  boy  in 
running  round  the  room  having  tripped 
and  fallen  heavily  on  his  head,  and  Dame 
Elizabeth,  with  a  face  marvellously  pale, 
hastened  to  pick  him  up. 

"  Be  in  no  sort  of  fear,  Bess,"  said  Al- 
ice consolingly,  as  the  other  took  the 
child  into  her  lap  as  she  stood  by,  "he 
can  not  be  hurt  at  so  little  a  fall." 

"But  he  is  hurt,  Alice,"  replied  the 
mother,  regarding  the  motionless  child 
with  a  wild  sort  of  fearfulness  ;  "  he 
moveth  not  a  limb,  and  his  little  lips 
have  no  color  in  them." 

"  There  !"  exclaimed  her  cousin,  as  she 
noticed  that  he  moved  his  arms  up  to  his 
head  and  opened  his  eyes,  looking  as  if 
in  some  way  frightened,  "  I  told  thee  his 
hurt  could  not  be  much." 

"Oh,  there  hath  gone  a  weight  off  my 
heart  which  was  nigh  pressing  me  to  the 
earth, "said  the  other  with  much  earnest- 
ness, as  she  caught  the  child  to  her 
breast,  and  then  kissed  him  over  and 
over  again  with  as  true  a  love  as  ever 
woman  showed.  Upon  examining  of  him 
carefully,  it  was  seen  he  had  been  but  a 
little  stunned,  and  could  have  received 
but  a  slight  bruise  or  so,  for  he  presently 
went  to  sleep  in  his  mother's  lap,  never 
crying  in  the  least,  as  if  he  had  been 
none  the  worse  for  his  tumble. 

This  had  scarce  been  done  before  there 
entered  at  the  door  Sir  Nicholas  Throck- 
morton,  with  as  much  mirth  in  his  face 
as  ought  to  content  any  honest  man,  and 
with  this  there  was  a  sort  of  mystery,  as 
if  he  was  upon  some  trick  or  another  that 
required  secresy  in  bringing  it  about. 


"They  are  come,  Alice,"  exclaimed 
he  in  a  low  voice,  and  seemingly  with  a 
monstrous  disposition  to  laugh  outright. 

"Who  are  come,  uncle?"  inquired  she. 

"  Why,  thy  lovers,  wench,  to  be  sure !' 
cried  the  old  knight,  bursting  out  into  a 
famous  chuckle.  "Stephen  hath  much 
ado  to  keep  them  in  their  chambers,  they 
be  so  furious  to  have  sight  of  thee." 

"Oh,  I  did  forget,"  said  Alice  laugh- 
ingly, "  I  promised  my  lovers  that  this 
day  I  would  give  them  an  answer ;  and 
so  hither  have  they  come,  each  one, 
doubtless,  fully  convinced  he  shall  be 
chosen  of  all  the  rest.  Now  will  I  show 
them  such  sport  as  they  have  no  notion 
of." 

"  A  mad  wench  !  a  mad  wench  !"  en- 
claimed  Sir  Nicholas,  giving  free  vent 
to  his  mirth.  "  Thou  wilt  be  the  death 
of  me  some  of  these  days,  thou  wilt,  thou 
pretty  rogue." 

Now,  I  tell  thee  what,  good  uncle," 
observed  his  merry  kinswoman  unto  him, 
"if  thou  hast  a  mind  to  see  what  sport  t 
will  make  of  them" 

"That  wish  I  of  all  things,"  cried  the 
old  knight,  interrupting  her  quickly,  "  for 
in  truth  it  seemeth  such  excellent  fooling 
I  would  miss  it  on  no  account." 

"Then  get  thee  to  the  dining-room  and 
hide  behind  the  arras,"  replied  Alice. 

"  That  will  I  straight,"  answered  he, 
and  was  going  out  chuckling  mightily  at 
the  thought  of  what  fine  pastime  he 
should  have. 

"  I  will  be  -with  thee  anon,"  continued 
the  light-hearted  girl.  "But  make  no 
noise,  else  shall  thou  spoil  all  presently." 

"  Trust  me  no  mouse  nigh  unto  a  cat 
shall  show  greater  quietness."  Then  out 
he  went,  and  made  haste  to  the  room  she 
had  said. 

"  Wilt  go  and  see  how  I  will  use  these 
lovers  of  mine  ?"  inquired  Alice  of  her 
cousin. 

"Prythee  ask  me  not,"  replied  the 
other,  in  some  sorrowfulness  of  heart ; 
"  I  be  in  no  humor  for  such  scenes.  Be- 
sides, the  boy  demandeth  all  my  care  :  I 
am  not  sure  yet  he  hath  escaped  hurt." 

"  Indeed  he  hath,  Bess— there  can  be 
no  doubt  on't,"  said  her  cousin,  more  seri- 
ously ;  "  but  let  it  be  as  thou  wilt.  I 
must  see  these  man-animals,  now  they 
are  come  here  ;  but  as  suon  as  I  have  got 
rid  of  them  I  will  hurry  back  to  thee. 
So  tarry  awhile,  dear  Bess,  and  put  a  bet- 
ter heart  on  it.  I  am  certain  sure  he  will 
return  soon,  and  then  will  he  win  the 
queen's  favor,  and  everything  will  be  as 
thou  wouldst  have  it" 


322 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Dame  Elizabeth  only  sighed  in  reply  to 
this,  and  Alice,  kissing  of  her  eheek  af- 
fectionately, hurried  out  of  the  room.  At 
the  bottom  qf  the  stairs  she  met  with 
Stephen  Shortcake,  who  was  evidently, 
by  the  waggish  expression  of  his  coun- 
tenance, one  of  the  conspirators.  To 
him  she  whispered  something,  and  then 
entered  the  dining-ropm.  There  was  a 
large  arm-chair  on  each  side  of  the  fire, 
and  into  one  of  these  she  presently  sat, 
with  a  monstrous  demure  face,  looking 
exceeding  dignified  and  sedate. 

"  Prythee  breathe  not  so  hard,  uncle," 
said  she,  in  a  whisper  ;  "  thou  wilt  mar 
all  else."* 

"  Nay,  I  will  scarce  breathe  at  all — but 
hush !  here  cometh  one,"  replied  Sir 
Nicholas,  popping  of  his  head  out  of  the 
arras  behind  her,  and  as  quickly  popping 
it  back  again  ;  for  at  that  moment  Stephen 
Shortcake  opened  the  door  and  announced 
my  Lord  Wiseacre :  and  sure  enough  my 
lord  made  his  appearance,  with  a  face  as 
formal  and  severe  as  ever  ;  and  making 
of  a  low  bow,  walked  up  to  the  now  sol- 
emn Alice  with  a  gravity  of  deportment 
that  might  have  become  his- great-grand- 
fa  iher's  ghost. 

"How  fareth  it  with  you,  Mistress 
Alice  ?"  inquired  he,  exceeding  seriously 
and  took  hold  of  her  hand  with  the  air  of 
a  doctor  about  to  feel  her  pulse.  "  Be  it 
the  cold  breezes  that  make  you  look  so 
bloomingly  ?  Truly  is  it  said,  it  be  an  ill 
wind  that  bloweth  nobody  good." 

"  Methinks  what  you  have  said  is  in- 
disputable," replied  Alice,  very  gravely ; 
"and  that  which  can  not  be  doubted 
must  needs  be  true." 

"  Indeed,  and  so  it  be,"  observed  my 
lord,  with  a  look  of  wonderful  sagacity, 
as  if  it  was  a  truth  he  was-  not  before 
aware  of.  "It  doth  give  me  exceeding 
pleasure  to  hear  you  talk  so  profoundly  ; 
hut  understanding  delighteth  better  than 
all  things,  and  a  wise  woman  is  more 
precious  than  gold." 

"  Believe  me,  I  affect  not  the  vanities 
of  youth,"  said  she,  in  a  gravity  of  tone 
and  manner  that  did  almost  exceed  his. 
"  I  have  done  with  such  frivolities.  There 
is  a  time  for  all  things.  I  mean  now  to 
devote  myself  to  the  acquiring  of  what  I 
think  must  precious  in  this  world  ;  for  is 
it  not  said,  '  Wisdom  is  better  than  house 
or  land  «'  " 

"  That  is  it  out  of  all  manner  of  doubt," 
answered  the  young  nobleman.  "Wis- 
dom is  a  thing  that— that  is  to  say,  wis- 
dom is — in  short,  it  be  beyond  all  contra- 
diction that  wisdom  is  better  than  house 


or  land,  as  you  have  justly  remarked. 
But  there  shall  be  no  wisdom  without 
experience,  and  therefore  if  you  lack  ex- 
perience, it  be  plain  you  can  not  have 
wisdom.  Now  this  experience  have  I, 
in  some  measure.  I  make  no  boast  of  it, 
Mistress  Alice ;  yet  do  I  say  I  have  as 
much  experience  as  any  man  of  my 
inches.  And  this  be  the  reason.  Expe- 
rience ever  came  to  me  naturally,  and 
with  little  trouble  in  the  learning  of  it. 
It  hath  grown  with  my  growth,  and 
strengthened  with  my  strength.  I  have 
lived  upon  it  from  my  youth  upward. 
Indeed, .though  I  be  in  no  manner  given 
to  boasting,  I  may  assert  no  man  that 
hath  lived  as  I  have,  hath  more  experi- 
ence than  have  I." 

"In  good  truth  be  you  so  experienced 
as  that,  my  lord  ?"  inquired  his  fair  com- 
panion, in  a  seeming  astonishment  and 
admiration.  "  What  a  marvellous  share 
of  wisdom,  then,  must  be  yours  !" 

"Mayhap  I  am  better  off  than  many 
in  that  particular," replied  he;  "  but, as  I 
have  said,  it  is  not  in  my  nature  to  boast. 
'Brag's a  good  dog,  but  Holdfast's  a  bet- 
ter.' " 

"Is  the  moon  made  of  green  cheese, 
my  lord  ?"  asked  she,  very  innocently. 

"There  hath  been  some  dispute  about 
it,"  answered  my  lord,  looking  as  he 
thought  monstrous  philosophical.  "  For 
mine  own  part,  I  doubt  it.  It  seemcth 
to  me,  that  were  it  a  cheese,  there  should 
be  mice  at  it  presently ;  for  it  be  in  the 
disposition  of  these  animals  to  have  an 
appetite  for  cheese  ;  and  did  they  ever 
get  to  the  nibbling  of  it,  it  standeth  to 
reason  that  before  this  the  moon  would 
have  been  clean  nibbled  away." 

"Indeed,  and  so  it  would  !V  exclaimed 
Alice,  with  great  earnestness.  "  Yet  is 
it  exceeding  strange  I  saw  it  not  in  that 
light  before :  however,  we  are  never  too 
old  to  learn.  Now  doth  it  strike  me  how 
wonderful  is  your  wisdom  !  It  be  impos- 
sible after  this  to  doubt  you  have  the 
great  experience  you  spoke  of." 

"  That  have  I,  you  may  depend  on," 
replied  the  other,  evidently  excellently 
well  satisfied  with  the  commendation  he 
was  receiving.  "Therefore  am  I  the 
best  fitted  of  all  your  suitors  to  take  you 
to  wife.  Should  you  give  me  the  answer 
I  have  now  come  for,  and  which  our  sim- 
ilarity in  disposition  inclineth  me  to  ex- 
pect you  will,  you  can  not  help  leading  a 
very  pleasant  life  with  me  :  for  is  it  not 
written,  '  A  wise  son  maketh  a  glad 
father.'  " 

"How  infinitely  you  talk  to  the  pur- 


3HAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


223 


pose !"  exclaimed  his  fair  companion, 
more  gravely  than  ever.  "By  my  troth, 
ihe  woman  that  gaineth  yoo  wili'gain  a 
treasure  indeed." 

•'Dost  think  so,  sweet  Alice,"  inquired 
my  lord,  with  a  look  of  such  thorough 
satisfaction  as  defieth  all  description. 

"How  can  I  do  otherwise  ?"  answered 
she.  "  Have  you  not  acquired  such  su- 
perlative experience,  there  be  no  doubt- 
ing of  your  infinite  wisdom  ?" 

"  Then  wilt  wed  with  me,  fair  Alice  ?" 
asked  he. 

"  That  dependeth  very  much  upon 
circumstances,"  replied  his  companion. 
"  You  know  well  I  can  not  abide  such 
men  as  are  not  of  a  ripe  age,  and  of  the 
very  gravest  discretion.  As  for  yourself, 
rny  lord,  you  seem  as  nigh  unto  that 
which  I  would  have,  as  I  have  yet  seen. 
You  look  of  a  very  absolute  old  age 
enough,  only  I  would  rather  you  had  a 
sufficiency  of  gray  hairs." 

"By  this  hand,  I  will  Wear  me  a  gray 
periwig,  if  you  will  like  me  the  better 
f'ur't  !"  exclaimed  the  oiher  with  extreme 
urgency. 

"  Then  had  you  a  fair  stock  of  wrinkles, 
doubtless  you  would  be  more  to  my  taste," 
said  she. 

"  Wrinkles  will  I  have  iu  plenty,  after 
we  are  married,  sweet  Alice,"  he  replied, 
with  a  like  fervor. 

"  Mayhap,  if  you  had  lost  your  teeth, 
I  could  the  more  affect  you.  It  seemeth 
strange  to  me  you  should  have  such  mar- 
vellous wisdom  and  yet  have  so  many 
leeth.  Methinks  such  experience  as  you 
possess,  should  have  never  a  tooth  in  his 
head." 

"  la  truth,  fair  Alice,  I  have  that  ex- 
perience in  spite  of  my  teeth.  Indeed, 
between  ourselves,  I  expect  not  they  will 
last  long,  for  one  or  oilier  of  them,  be 
ever  troubling  me  with  the  must  pestilent 
aching,  tooth  ever  gave." 

"  Of  what  age  are  you,  my  lord  ?"  in- 
quired she. 

"I  look  much  younger  than  I  arn,"  re- 
plied he,  hesitating  awhile  io  say  of  what 
age  he  might  call  himself.  "  Yet,  though 
I  look  it  not,  depend  on't,  I  am  just  upon 
thirty." 

"  Just  upon  thirty — only  just  upon 
thirty  said  you!"  exclaimed  Alice-,  as  if 
in  a  great  astonishment. 

"  Nay,  I  mis-lake — nigh  upon  forty,  I 
meant,"  answered  he  quickly. 

"No  more  than  nigh  upon  forty?" 
cried  Alice  in  a  greater  wonder  than  be- 
fore. 

"Indeed,  I  scarce  know  exactly  mine 


own  age,"  replied  my  lord,  as  if  in  some 
perplexity.  "But  I  doubt  not  at  all,  I 
can  not  be  far  short  of  fifty.'' 

"Oh,  I  am  ruined  and  undone  !", ex- 
claimed his  fair  companion,  looking  ut- 
terly disappointed.  "I  have  been  de- 
ceived in  you,  my  lord.  Never  was  poor 
woman  so  cozened  before."  The  young 
nobleman  seemed  as  though  he  knew  not 
what  to  make  of  it.  "  0'  my  life,  I  took 
you  for  threescore  and  ten  at  least,"  con- 
tinued she.  "Your  excessive  gravity 
only  accordeth  with  that  time  of  life. 
Men  at  fifty  be  but  mere  boys.  They 
can  not  have  the  great  experience  you 
boast  of.  I  will  not  put  up  with  one  so 
young.  I  will  have  none  of  you.  I  pray 
you,  never  let  me  have  sight  of  you 
again  !" 

At  (he  hearing  of  this,  the  face  of  my 
lord  got  like  unto  that  of  a  fat  man  seen 
upside  down  in  the  bowl  of  a  spoon,  it 
became  of  so  marvellous  a  length,  and 
of  so  singular  a  gravity.  He  seemed  at 
first  inclined  to  speak,  but,  as  if  seeing 
it  would  be  all  to  no  purpose,  he  present- 
ly stalked  out  of  the  room  as  solemn  as  a 
judge. 

"Oh,  thou  mad  wench!"  exclaimed 
Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton,  showing  his 
head  from  behind  the  arras,  and  laughing 
as  if  his  sides  would  crack. 

"  Hide   thee,  good  uncle  !"  cried   the 
merry  Alice.     "  Here  be  another  of  them 
coming."     The  old  knijjhi  concealed  him- 
self as  quick  as  he  could,  and  as  soon  af- 
ter as  might  be,  the  door  opened,  and 
Stephen  entered  ushering  in  Dr.  Bashful. 
The  young  divine,  afier  making  of  an 
awkward   bow  to  his  fuir  mistress,  who 
courtesied  to  him,  and  then  sat  down  very 
demurely,  advanced  seemingly  in  some 
sort  of  trepidation,  to  a  chair  at  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  fireplace  and  sat  him- 
self on  the  edge  of  it,  putting  of  his  hat 
and  stick  on  the  floor  by  the  side  of  him. 
He  spoke  never  a  word,  but  looked  around 
the  room  seemingly  examining  of  every- 
thing  in    it    with    extreme    curiousness. 
His  jra/e  next  fill  upon  his  companion, 
|  but  finding  that  she  was  looking  at  him, 
in  a  moment  his  eyes   were  fixed  upon 
the  floor,  and  his  face  became  of  such  a 
redness  it  was  a  marvel    to  see.     In  a 
minute  or  two  he  gave  a  sigh  so  profound, 
it  did  appear  to  have  come  from  the  very 
bottom  of  his  heart,  then,  as  if  aware  of 
I  what  he  had  done,  hiscomplexion  became 
',  of  a  deeper  crimson  than  ever.     All  this 
I  time  he  removed  not  his  eyes  from  the 
j  floor.     Presently  he  coughed  a  little,  like 
!  one  who  is  about  to  speak.     Alice  thoughr 


?  -.  - 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


he  had  summoned  up  sufficient  resolution 
to  ask  of  her  whether  she  would  have  him 
or  not.  Mayhap  he  would  as  soon  have 
asked  her  to  hang- him.  Though  he  had 
come  for  that  purpose,  it  was  the  last 
thing  he  could  jiave  brought  himself  to  do. 
After  a  bit  he  coughed  again. 

"Now  'ris  coming,"  thought  she. 

."  "Tis  a  fine  day,  Mistress  Alice,"  ob- 
served he,  still  keeping  of  his  look  upon 
the  floor. 

"  That  is  it  beyond  doubt,"  answered 
she,  as  gravely  as  she  could. 

"Indeed,  methinks,  it  be  A  very  fine 
day,  Mistress  Alice,"  said  the  other. 

"Indeed,  methinks  so  too,"  -replied 
Alice. 

"Dost  not  think  to-day  be  a  finer  day 
than  yesterday  ?"  inquired  Dr.  Bashful, 
with  an  infinite  earnestness. 

"  It  hath  something  of  the  appearance 
of  it,"  answered  his  fair  companion. 

"  That  it  hath  certainly,"  said  he.  To 
this  she  replied  not,  having  no  answer  to 
make;  and  there  consequently  ensued  a 
pause  of  some  minutes,  that  the  young 
divine  employed  in  considering  of  what 
he  should  say  next.  It,  was  plain,  upon 
the  fineness  of  the  day  nothing  more-could 
be  added.  Should  he  speak  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  country  ?  or  rather  make 
some  observation  upon  Master  Shak- 
speare's  last  play?  or  inquire  after  .her 
health  ?  or  ask  her  opinion  of  the  sermon 
he  had  just  published?  He  hesitated — 
and  knew  not  what  to  be  about.  What 
he  had  said  had  made  him  a  little  more 
at  his  ease,  but  the  silence  w,as  becoming 
irksome.  He  began  to  wonder  whether 
she  was  looking  at  him,  and  the  very 
imagination  of  such  a  thing  brought  the 
color  into  his  cheek  again.  Then  he 
thought  he  would  take  a  look  at  her. 
But  such  was  more  easy  to  be  thought 
than  done.  He  remained  some  moments 
before  he  could  bring  his  mind  to  it.  At 
last,  raising  of  his  eyes  from  the  floor,  he 
turned  them  to  the  corner  of  the  room 
the  farthest  from  her,  and  with  a  sort  of 
trembling  in  his  limbs,  praying,  in  his 
heart,  she  might  be  looking  another  way, 
he  glanced  slowly  round  the  room  toward 
the  place  where  she  sat,  to  his  incon- 
ceivable confusion  she  was  looking  at 
him,  and  what  he  liked  worse  than  all, 
there  was  a  twinkling  in  her  eyes  that 
made  him  exceeding  uneasy,  added  to 
which,  she  was  holding  her  handkerchief 
to  her  mouth  in  what  he  thought  a  mon- 
strous suspicious  fashion. 

In  a  moment  his  look  was  fixed  upon 
the  floor  as  if  it  was  nailed  there,  and  his 


face  was  as  fine  a  crimson  as  was  ever 
seen.  Was  she  laughing  at  him  ?  thought 
he.  His  seat  felt  marvellously  uncom- 
fortable. He  changed  his  position,  and 
in  a  minute  or  so  altered  it  again,  yet  felt 
he  none  the  easier.  Presently  he  heard 
sounds  which  had  a  wonderful  resem- 
blance to  a  suppressed  tittering.  At  this 
he  was  more  uneasy  than  before.  He 
would  have  given  anything  to  have  been 
anywhere  but  where  he  was  ;  and,  if  he 
could  have  done  it,  he  would  on  the  in- 
stant have  taken  himself  off  nevejr  to  have 
come  near  the  place  again  :  but  it  seem- 
ed to  him  as  if  he  were  chained  to  his 
seat.  During  this  time  his  face  felt  like 
the  fireiteside  him,  and  be  could  no  more 
have  taken  his  eyes  from  the  flqor  than 
ventured  to  fly.  To  his  horror  the  titter- 
ing became  louder,  and  all  at  once  he 
could  plainly  distinguish  that  there  was 
some  person  behind  the  arras  striving  to 
smother  his  laughter,  in  which  it  was 
evident  he  succeeded  not  at  all.  The 
knowledge  that  he  was  brought  there 
only  to  be  laughed  at,  gave  Dr.  Bashful 
something  of  a  preternatural  desperation, 
so  seizing  of  his  hat  and  stick,  with  a 
face  that  eeemed  like  to  scorch  his  ruff, 
it  looked  so  burning,  and  with  eyes  that 
glanced  half  angry  and  half  frightened, 
scarce  daring  to  look  anywhere,  as  quick 
as  he  could,  and  without  opening  of  his 
mouth,  he  darted  out  of  the  rooru. 

"  Oh,  these  man-animals  !  what  goodly 
fools  they  be,"  exclaimed  Alice,  now 
giving  free  vent  to  her  mirth. 

"  Thou  wilt  be  the  death  of  me !"  cried 
her  kinsman,  holding  of  his  sides  and 
laughing  right  heartily. 

"Back  good  uncle  to  your  hiding," 
said  she  in  a  whisper.  "  Here  cometh 
Stephen  with  another  of  the  lost  sheep." 
And  sure  enough  scarce  had  Sir  Nicholas 
concealed  himself,  when  Stephen  Short- 
cake ushered  in  Ma«'er  Aniseed.  He 
was  not  in  such  fine  feather  as  he  was 
wont,  for  in  .truth  the  expense  he  had 
been  at  in  keeping  the  company  of  gay 
gallants  who  only  cared  for  him  as  long 
as  they  could  fleece  him  at  play  or  bor- 
row his  money,  which,  with  a  remarkable 
regularity  they  ever  forgot  to  return,  had 
so  wasted  the  fortune  the  old  miser  had 
left  him,  that  he  saw  nothing  but  a  return 
to  the  catching  of  rats  unless  he  married 
the  heiress  he  had  been  so  long  in  quest 
of.  He  knew  that  the  result  of  his  pres- 
ent interview  would  seal  his  fate,  and  he 
came  with  the  determination  of  exercising 
all  his  powers  of  pleasing  to  obtain  the  so 
much  desired  end. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


225 


ff  Ah,  what  ecstasy  is  mine !"  exclaimed 
he,  as  ho  advanced  toward  her  with  a 
mincing  face  and  a  lackadaisical  air. 
"Heresitteth  my  arbitress  throned  like 
some  famous  goddess  of  old  in  supremest 
elysium,  and  I,  of  all  her  manifold  wor- 
shippers, alone  Allowed  to  gaze  my  soul 
away  upon  her  very  infinite  beauty,  and 
find  a  new  existence  in  her  most  absolute 
sweet  speech.  In  truth,  I  do  feel  as 
much  delight  as  a  rat  escaped  from  a 
trap."  And  thereupon,  he  took  her  hand 
very  tenderly,  and  looked  in  her  face  as 
though  he  were  about  to  die. 

"Ah,  Master  Aniseed,  methinks  you 
do  but  flatter,"  observed  Alice,  somewhat 
coyly,  as  it  were. 

"Nay,  by  this  light  I  do  not,  delectable 
fair  creature!"  cried  he,  with  a  marvel- 
lous deal  of  affectionateness.  "  Believe 
me,  I  flatter  none;  and,  least  of  all,  could 
do  so  unto  one  whose  incomparable  deli- 
cate charms  putteth  all  flattery  at  defi- 
ance. Speak,  then,  dainty  sweet  Alice  ! 
speak  my  doom — am  I  to  be  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  extremest  felicity  which  ap- 
pertaineih  to  this  terraqueous  globe,  or 
be  thrust  down  in  such  intolerable  misery 
as  hath  never  been  known  out  of  Tarta- 
rus." 

"  Is  your  family  of  any  note,  Master 
Aniseed  ?"  inquired  she,  with  as  much 
seriousness  as  she  could  put  on.  At  this 
he  seemed  a  little  confused,  for  he  ex- 
pected not  such  a  question. 

"  Indeed,  some  have  been  exceeding 
notable,"  replied  he,  at  last ;  doubtless, 
at  that  time  remembering  that  his  grand- 
father had  been  a  knight  of  the  post  of 
great  celebrity. 

"Said  you  not  the  Aniseeds  came  in 
with  William  the  Conqueror?"  asked  his 
fair  companion. 

"  0'  my  life,  I  can  not  but  think  they 
came  in  a  long  time  before,''  answered 
the  other ;  although  he  knew  nothing 
particular  of  his  family  beyond  the  hang- 
ing of  his  grandfather  at  Tyburn,  for  a 
robbery  on  Gad's  Hill,  which,  as  may  be 
supposed,  he  liked  not  to  tell  of.  "But 
why  speak  of  this  matter.  I  pride  not 
myself  on  my  genealogy,  believe  me ;  I 
care  only  fur  the  incommunicable  rapture 
I  seek  in  the  gaining  of  the  incomparable 
fair  Alice.  Surely  it  seemeth  in  some 
sort  a  strange  lack  of  affection  in  you  to 
question  me  on  a  matter  so  unimportant, 
a i  a  moment  so  critical  to  my  exquisite 
sweet  hopes." 

"Nay,  it  showeth  no  lack  ot  affection, 
Master  Aniseed,  as  I  will  prove  to  you 
anon,"  replied  Alice,  evidently  forcing  of 
15 


a  serious  look  upon  her  laughing  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Wilt  prove  your  affection,  heavenliest 
creature?"  exclaimed  Master  Aniseed, 
sinking  on  one  knee. 

"  That  will  I,  beyond  the  possibility 
of  doubt, "answered  she.  "It  hath  come 
to  my  uncle's  ears  that  you  are  not  what 
you  have  given  out ;  and  he  hath  it 
from  such  authority  as  hath  proved  it  to 
his  satisfaction." 

"  Ha !"  cried  he,  looking  amazing  con- 
fused. 

"  It  hath  been  said,"  continued  Alice, 
"  that  instead  of  being  one  of  an  ancient 
family,  as  you  have  said,  that  came  in 
with  William  the  Conqueror,  or  a  long 
time  before,  many  of  whom  have  been 
exceeding  notable,  you  are  nothing  better 
than  the  son  of  a  pitiful  poor  rat-catcher, 
and  have  yourself  lived  by  the  catching 
of  rats,  till  a  miserly  kinsman  left  you 
his  property,  and  you  thought  of  passing 
yourself  off  far  a  gentleman  born.  Now, 
although  the  catching  of  rats  be  doubt- 
less an  honorable  occupation,  my  uncle 
is  in  a  very  tearing  rage  with  you,  for  not 
having  let  him  know  you  had  aught  to 
do  with  it;  and  mayhap  it  shall  be 
thought  notable  enough  to  have  one's 
grandfather  hanged  for  the  cutting  of  a 
purse,  yet  my  uncle  is  in  a  monstrous 
ugly  humor  with  you  for  keeping  him  in 
ignorance  you  had  any  such  in  your  fam- 
ily. Whereof  the  consequence  is,  that 
he  hath  ordered  two  of  our  serving-men, 
with  cudgels  as  thick  as  is  my  arm,  to 
wait  for  you  upon  your  leaving  this  room, 
and  not  to  leave  you  till  they  have  broke 
every  bone  of  your  body." 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  oh,  Lord  !"  exclaimed  the 
now  terrified  rat-catcher,  after  having 
listened  to  Alice's  statement  with  a  coun- 
tenance expressive  of  the  absolutest  alarm 
that  ever  was  witnessed.  "  Oh,  Mistress 
Alice !"  continued  he,  now  dropping  on 
both  his  knees,  seemingly  to  implore  her 
clemency,  "  save  me  from  these  villanous 
serving-men  !  Everything  you  have  said 
be  as  true  as  that  rats  will  not  be  caught 
if  they  can  help  it.  Save  me,  I  pray 
you,  Mistress  Alice !" 

"  They  have  cudgels  as  thick  as  my 
arm,  I  tell  you,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  where  can  I  hide  me  !"  he  cried, 
looking  about  him  in  a  terrible  frantic 
manner. 

"  I  heard  him  tell  them  to  be  particu- 
lar in  not  leaving  a  bone  unbroke  in  your 
whole  body,"  replied  Alice. 

"Alack,  I  shall  be  clean  murdered' 
How  shall  I  escape  ?  I  pray  you,  assist 


226 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


me,  or  these  bloody-minded  villains  of 
serving-men  will  be  the  death  of  me." 

"Canst  get  up  the  chimney?"  asked 
his  fair  companion. 

"  Nay,  the  fire  would  scorch  me  to  a 
cinder  presently,"  answered  he,  in  an  in- 
finite moving  Voice.  "  Is  there  no  closet 
I  can  creep  into  ?"  And  then  he  ran 
about  the  room  distractedly,  poking  of 
his  head  here  and  there  to  see  where  he 
could  hide  himself. 

No,  Master  Aniseed,  there  is  no  place 
of  any  kind  where  'twould  be  safe  to  con- 
ceal yourself  in,"  observed  the  other. 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  oh,  Lord !  If  ever  I  get 
myself  out  of  this  with  a  whole  skin,  I 
will  straightway  give  up  playing  of  the 
gentleman,  and  take  again  to  the  catch- 
ing of  rats.  Oh,  how  can  I  escape  ?" 

"  Canst  jump  out  of  this  window  ?"  in- 
quired Alice,  throwing  open  a  window 
that  looked  into  the  park. 

"  "Tis  a  fearful  height!"  replied  he, 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  distance  that  lay 
between  the  room  and  the  ground,  which 
was  some  ten  or  twelve  feet.  "  I  must 
needs  break  my  neck  if  I  attempt  it.'' 

"  Alack  !  there  is  my  uncle's  voice  !" 
cried  she.  "I  hear  him  nigh  the  door, 
urging  the  serving-men  to  enter  the  room 
and  seize  on  you."  Alice  had  scarce  said 
the  words  when  Master  Aniseed,  without 
venturing  of  another  word,  jumped  him- 
self out  of  the  window,  and  finding  him- 
self unhurt  when  he  got  to  the  ground, 
he  sat  off  at  such  a  tearing  pace  that  he 
was  soon  far  enough  out  of  sight. 

"  Oh,  Alice  !  Alice  !  what  a  mad  wench 
thou  art!"  exclaimed  her  uncle,  at  her 
elbow,  looking  as  if  he  had  found  won- 
derful amusement  in  what  he  had  heard. 
•'But  how  didst  come  to  find  this  out?" 

"  That  it  matters  not  you  should  learn, 
good  uncle,"  replied  she  shutting  down 
the  window  with  an  exceeding  arch  look. 
"  But  haste  back  to  your  hiding ;  there  is 
another  yet  to  come,  who  is  the  goodli- 
est fool  of  all  the  lot,  and  methinks  I 
hear  him  approaching."  Sir  Nicholas 
made  two  or  three  hasty  strides  and  re- 
treated to  the  arras.  The  door  opening 
at  this  time,  Stephen  announced  Sir  Nar- 
cissus Wrinkles.  "Ha  !"  cried  he  lusti- 
ly, hitting  of  his  hand  against  his  leg,  as 
soon  as  he  stood  within  the  door,  "  by 
Cerberus  and  his  three  heads,  you  look 
lovelier  than  ever  I  saw  you.  But  my 
young  blood  will  not  allow  "me  to  stay  at 
this  distance  when  so  tempting  an  object 
can  be  approached  as  closely  as  may  be." 
And  straightway  flinging  of  his  hat  in  a 
chair,  he  gave  a  short,  quick  run,  like 


unto  a  cow's  gallop,  was  at  her  side  in  3 
moment,  and  instantly  took  her  hand  very 
gallantly,  with  a  look  so  marvellously 
tender  she  was  obliged  to  turn  her  head 
on  one  side — she  could  not  look  upon  him 
seriously. 

"  By  Erebus  and  gloomy  Styx !"  he 
continued, "  my  heart  be  overflowing  with 
extreme  love  for  you,  exquisite  Mistress 
Alice !  By  day  you  do  engross  my 
thoughts,  and  by  night  all  my  dreams  be 
of  you  and  of  none  other.  My  youth  is 
wasted  away  in  sighs.  I  shall  grow  old 
before  I  can  well  call  myself  a  man.  In 
truth,  my  delicate  sweet  creature,  if  I  am 
not  this  day  made  as  blessed  as  I  expect 
to  be,  I  can  not  be  long  for  this  world.  I 
must  needs  die  in  my  prime,  like  a  bud 
stricken  with  the  worm." 

"  How  is  your  sciatica  ?"  inquired  Alice 
in  some  sort  of  earnestness. 

"Eh?  what  sayest?"  asked  Sir  Nar- 
cissus, looking  as  if  he  was  striving  to 
appear  not  to  understand  the  question. 

"  How  is  your  sciatica,  Sir  Narcissus  ?" 
repeated  his  merry  companion  still  with 
a  famous  gravity. 

"Sciatica?  sciatica?  what  sciatica,  I 
pray  you  ?"  inquired  the  old  knight,  red- 
dening a  little  in  the  face,  for  all  his 
seeming  to  be  unconcerned. 

"I  did  hear  you  were  lately  laid  up 
with  the  sciatica  very  badly,"  replied  she. 

"  A  good  jest !  By  Castor  and  Pollux, 
an  excellent  good  jest !"  cried  Sir  Narcis- 
sus laughing,  as  if  he  really  had  some- 
thing to  laugh  about,  "  an  excellent  good 
jest  indeed.  The  sciatica  !  I  have  the 
sciatica  !  At  my  time  of  life  too!  Well, 
it  be  infinitely  droll."  Then  he  laughed 
again  more  famously  than  at  first.  "  Now 
it  is  well  known  that  for  a  strong  back 
and  loins  there  is  scarce  my  match  to  be 
found.  There,  Mistress  Alice — is  that  a 
back  for  the  sciatica  ?"  And  thereupon 
he  turned  his  back  upon  her,  which  was 
certainly  of  a  more  than  ordinary  breadth. 
"I  should  like  to  see  the  sciatica  which 
could  touch  such  a  back  as  that." 

"  Methinks  of  late  you  have  shown 
yourself  monstrously  afraid  of  stooping,' 
observed  Alice,  still  keeping  on  an  ex- 
ceeding seriousness. 

"  7  afraid  of  stooping !"  cried  the  old 
knight  in  a  seeming  wonder.  "  By  Apollc 
and  all  the  Nine,  better  and  better  !  Why, 
it  can  be  scarce  a  week  since,  for  a  tri- 
fling wager  with  a  few  youths  about  mine 
own  age,  I  did  gather  up  a  hundred 
stones  planted  a  yard  apart,  and  stooped 
and  picked  up  every  one  separately,  and 
did  place  it  in  a  basket  nigh  unto  the 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


227 


first  Nothing  but  the  marvellous  fine 
back  I  have  could  have  stood  such  infi- 
nite stooping." 

At  this  moment  Alice  dropped  her 
pocket-handkerchief  on  the  floor  as  if  it 
was  an  accident.  Sir  Narcissus  Wrink- 
les presently  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  but 
he  had  bent  his  body  but  a  little  way  be- 
fore he  suddenly  drew  himself  up  again, 
putting  both  his  hands  to  his  back,  and 
making  a  face  as  if  he  had  swallowed 
vinegar  by  mistake  for  wine. 

"  My  handkerchief,  Sir  Narcissus,"  said 
his  waggish  companion  as  gravely  as  she 
could. 

The  old  gallant  stooped  again,  bend- 
ing himself  very  slowly,  and  evidently 
with  extremes!  difficulty  and  pain,  and 
got  his  hand  within  a  few  inches  of 
the  handkerchief,  when  with  a  long- 
drawn  ''  whew !"  he  drew  himself  up 
more  quickly  than  before,  showing  of  a 
face  that  outglowed  the  poppy  in  red- 
ness, and  distorted  into  an  expression  so 
painful,  it  was  moving  to  look  at  it. 

"I  marvel  you  should  keep  me  wait- 
ing, Sir  Narcissus !"  exclaimed  Alice,  as 
it  seemed  a  little  out  of  temper,  though  if 
was  apparent  in  the  corners  of  her  eyes  she 
was  in  as  fine  a  humor  as  ever  she  was. 

"  Believe  me,  I  have  the  terriblest 
stitch  in  my  side,  Mistress  Alice" 

"  Are  you  sure  it  be  not  the  sciatica?" 
inquired  she,  interrupting  of  him  with  a 
wonderful  seriousness. 

"  By  Pluto,  that  be  utterly  impossible  !" 
exclaimed  he  in  a  great  urgency.  "  The 
sciatica  troubleth  only  old  men,  and  the 
stitch  attacketh  none  but  the  stronger  and 
more  youthful  sort." 

"  Well,  if  it  be  not  the  sciatica,  get  me 
my  handkerchief,  I  pray  you,"  said  Alice. 

Sir  Narcissus  once  more  stooped  down, 
but  more  slowly  than  ever,  and  doubtless 
with  an  infinite  share  of  suffering.  It 
was  evident  he  was  straining  famously, 
bending  of  his  back  and  stretching  out 
his  arm  to  reach  what  he  sought  to  have 
hold  of.  There  it  lay,  within  an  inch  or 
two  of  his  fingers,  and  for  the  soul  of 
him  he  found  he  could  not  bend  his  back 
another  inch.  It  appeared  to  him  as  if  a 
river  of  molten  brass  was  rushing  into 
his  head,  and  a  thousand  imps  of  dark- 
ness were  amusing  themselves  by  stick- 
ing red-hot  skewers  into  his  loins.  Feel- 
ing that  to  endure  this  another  minute  was 
beyond  the  power  of  human  forbearance, 
and  believing  that  if  he  failed  in  picking 
up  the  handkerchief  the  truth  would  be 
known,  and  he  should  lose  his  mistress, 
he  summoned  up  all  his  remaining  strengh  j 


into  one  great  effort,  and  made  a  sudden 
dart  at  the  object  he  was  so  desirous  of 
gaining.  That  he  grasped  it  firm  is  most 
true,  but  alack  !  he  lost  his  balance,  and 
the  next  moment  lay  his  length  upon  the 
floor. 

"  Why,  Sir  Narcissus  !  methinks  you 
have  had  a  cruel  tumble !"  exclaimed 
Alice,  doing  all  she  could  to  restrain  her 
mirth. 

"  Nay,  it  be  only  the  slipping  of  my 
foot,"  replied  the  old  knight,  striving  to 
take  it  very  indifferently.  Sir  Narcissus 
by  means  of  his  hands  raised  himself 
upon  his  knees,  and  then  began  earnestly 
attempting  to  get  upon  his  feet,  but  the 
first  essay  he  made  down  went  he  upon 
his  hands  and  knees  again  with  some- 
thing very  like  a  groan. 

"  Oh,  I  have  the  cursedest  stitch  in  my 
side  that" 

"  To  me  it  looketh  exceeding  like  the 
sciatica,"  observed  his  merry  companion. 

"  A  thousand  furies !"  cried  the  old 
knight  in  some  vexation.  "  I  tell  you, 
Mistress  Alice,  the  sciatica  troubleth  old 
men  only.  It  can  have  naught  to  do  with 
us  youth." 

"  Well,  get  you  up  quickly  then,"  said 
she  as  seriously  as  she  might.  "  Yet  it 
seemeth  marvellous  strange  to  me,  that 
one  who  hath  so  lately  stooped  to  pick 
up  a  hundred  stones  can  n'ot  now  do  so 
easy  a  thing  as  pick  up  himself." 

"  Nay  if  it  were  not  for  this  villanous 
stitch,  I  would  have  been  up  on  the  in- 
stant," replied  he,  and  then  he  began 
again  seeking  to  raise  him.  For  all  that  he 
seemed  to  take  such  wondrous  pains  to 
succeed  in  what  he  was  about,  down  he 
came  the  moment  he  sought  to  get  foot- 
ing on  the  floor.  He  tried  once  more, 
with  more  care  than  at  first,  and  again 
he  tumbled.  At  this  he  swore  most  ve- 
hemently by  divers  pagan  names,  and 
recommenced  his  labor  with  all  the  vigor 
he  was  master  of,  and  down  came  he 
again  with  such  force  it  seemed  enough 
to  knock  the  breath  out  of  his  body. 

"  Said  you  not  a  moment  since,  that 
for  a  strong  back  and  loins  there  was  not 
your  match  to  be  found  ?"  inquired  Alice, 
as  innocently  as  you  please.  The  OjUes- 
tion  appeared  to  have  put  Sir  Narcissus 
in  a  perfect  fury,  and  he  commenced  so 
desperate  a  scramble  to  get  his  footing 
that  he  was  like  unto  a  madman.  No 
sooner  did  he  tumble  than  he  essayed  to 
rise ;  the  instant  he  thought  himself  on 
his  legs  down  tumbled  he  on  his  hands  ; 
and  there  he  continued  puffing,  and  groan- 
ing, and  sighing,  and  swearing,  till  he 


228 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


heard  such  sounds  as  made  him  desist  of 
a  sudden.  He  turned  himself  round,  and 
to  his  extreme  confusion  he  beheld  his 
fair  mistress  laughing  at  him  to  her  heart's 
content ;  and  her  uncle  close  at  hand 
twisting  of  himself  about  with  so  exces- 
sive a  mirth  thai  the  tears  did  rua  down 
his  cheeks.  Certes,  if  there  ever  was  a 
sight  to  laugh  at  in  this  world,  Sir  Nar- 
cissus Wrinkles,  as  he  then  sat  on  the 
floor,  was  of  that  sort.  In  his  furious 
scrambling  he  had  knocked  his  periwig 
on  one  side,  which  gave  to  his  face, 
which  was  of  a  very  fiery  color,  so  lu- 
dicrous an  expression,  that  the  rage  he 
was  in  only  made  the  more  laughable. 

"  Oh  !  these  man-animals  !"  cried  Alice, 
seemingly  half  choked  with  excess  of 
mirth. 

"  Alack,  Sir  Narcissus  !"  exclaimed  Sir 
Nicholas;  but  what  more  he  would  have 
said  was  stifled  in  a  fit  of  laughter.  The 
old  gallant  uttered  not  a  word,  nor  moved 
from  his  position  ;  but  looked  on  the  two 
with  a  countenance  so  exquisitely  foolish, 
that  the  gravest  could  scarce  have  gazed 
on  it  unmoved. 

•'  Now,  Sir  Narcissus,  what  think  you 
of  yourselfl"  said  his  fair  companion, 
endeavoring  to  recover  her  gravity.  "  Is 
it  not  most  preposterous  in  you,  at  your 
time  of  life,  to  affect  the  gallant,  and 
seek  to  pass  yourself  off  for  one  scarce- 
ly arrived  at  years  of  discretion  ?  You 
must  needs  be  my  husband,  forsooth, 
when  you  are  nigh  old  enough  to  be  my 
grandfather  ;  you  would  attempt  making 
love  when  you  ought  to  be  saying  of  your 
prayers.  You  would  swear  you  were 
monstrous  strong,  and  of  so  fine  a  consti- 
tution, the  like  was  never  met  with,  when 
you  can  not  stoop  without  tumbling, 
and  have  so  confirmed  a  sciatica,  you 
can  not  raise  yourself  from  the  floor  strive 
you  ever  so.  By  my  troth,  I  thought  nol 
there  were  such  old  fools  in  the  world  ! 
But  I  beg  I  may  see  no  more  of  you.  1 
would  as  soon  wed  a  superannuated  bab- 
oon as  take  for  my  husband  so  monstrous  a 
piece  of  folly  as  yourself.  Fare  you  well, 
Sir  Narcissus,  and  be  sure  not  to  stoop' 

Here  she  was  stopped  in  her  speech 

for  the  old  gallant  had,  since  she  spoke 
began  to  make  so  ridiculous  a  face,  which 
grew  more  ludicrous  every  minute,  thai 
she  could  gaze  on  him  no  longer,  anc 
hurried  out  of  the  room  in  a  violent  fit  01 
laughter. 

Leaving  Sir  Narcissus  to  be  lifted  up 
by  Stephen  and  Sir  Nicholas,  which  was 
done  without  his  saying  ever  a  word,  he 
was  so  crest-fallen  he  scarce  attempted 


0  breathe  till  he  got  out  of  the  house,  the 
:ourteous  reader  must  follow  the  merry 
Alice  to  the  chamber  in  which  she  had 

eft  Dame  Elizabeth.     There  she  found 
ler,  with  the  boy  still  asleep  in  her  arms, 
and  with  tears  straggling  upon  her  deli- 
ate  countenance. 

"  O'my  life,  Bess,  it  be  exceeding  un- 
und  of  thee  to  fret  in  this  way,  ex- 
claimed her  cousin,  as  she  hurried  to  her, 
wiped  away  her  tears,  and  affectionately 
iissed  her  cheek.  "  I  tell  thee  he  will  re- 
turn anon:  there  can  not  be  a  doubt  of  it." 

"  I  feel  assured  some  harm  hath  hap- 
pened to  him,  else  would  he  have  been 
here  long  since,"  replied  the  fond  wife, 
very  dolefully. 

'•  Believe  it  on  no  account,  dear  Bess,'* 
said  the  other,  "  it  be  the  very  falsest, 
wretchedest  stuff  that  ever  was  thought 
of:  it  doth  not  deserve  credit  of  any.  I 
would  not  put  trust  in  it,  were  it  ever  so. 
The  rather  believe  that  he  is  speeding 
back,  after  having  met  with  wonderful 
success  in  his  expedition,  and  that  he 
careth  for  naught  so  much  as  the  sight  of 
his  dear  sweet  excellent  good  wife." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so,  Alice,"  ex- 
claimed her  companion,  with  a  profound 
sigh. 

"And  why  not  think  so?"  inquired  her 
merry  cousin.  "  Methinks  it  be  far  better 
thinking  than  the  other.  For  mine  own 
part,  I  would  be  hanged  before  I  would 
allow  of  such  paltry  poor  thoughts  to  fret 
me  as  thou  hast.  It  can  not  be  other  than 

1  say,  so  no  more  of  this  moping.    Be 
happy  as  I  am.     I  tell  thee  what,  Bess, 
I  have  got  rid  of  all  my  lovers,  and  they 
were  every  one  of  them  so   excellently 
well  served  of  me,  sight  of  any  of  them 
shall  I  never  see  again,  I  will  be  bound 
for  it.     Oh  !  it  was  such   exquisite  fine 
sport !     I  will  tell  thee  how  famously  I 
managed."    Here  the  promised  narration 
was  completely  put  a  stop  to,  by  Dame 
Elizabeth  giving  a  loud  scream,  which 
awoke  the  child  out  of  its  sleep,  and  her 
countenance  became  all  at  once  lighted 
Op  by  a  wonderful  exultation. 

"  Bess  !  Bess !"  cried  Alice,  looking 
upon  her  in  some  alarm,  "what  aileth 
thee?" 

"  'Tis  his  voice !''  exclaimed  the  other, 
gasping  so  for  breath  she  could  scarce 
speak  the  words. 

"  0'  my  life  thou  art  crazed,"  replied 
her  cousin  ;  "  there  is  no  voice  of  any 
kind  as  I  can  hear." 

"  Oh  !  I  would  swear  to  it,"  cried  the 
devoted  wife,  with  a  very  touching  em- 
phasis ;  "  there  can  not  be  such  another. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


229 


Here,  take  the  boy.  I  will  see.  I  can 
}ot  tarry  here  a  moment  longer." 

"  Bese  !  Bess!  if  thou  goest  on  at  this 
rate,  thou  wilt  break  my  heart,"  cried 
Alice,  who  was  fully  convinced  her  com- 
panion was  distracted.  "  Whose  voice 
dost  fancy  thou  hearest  ?" 

"  His  that  I  love  better  than  all  voices 
in  the  world,"  said  Dame  Elizabeth,  fer- 
vently, as  she  stood  up  with  her  boy  in 
her  arms.  "  'Tis Walter!  'tis  he  beyond 
all  doubt.  I  hear  him  in  the  hall,  greet- 
ing Stephen  and  my  uncle." 

"  Methinks  I  do  hear  something  now," 
observed  her  cousin  ;  "  but  be  calm,  dear 
Bess.  If  'tis  he,  he  will  be  here  on  the 
instant." 

The  words  had  scarce  been  said,  when 
a  quick  footstep  was  heard,  and  in  an- 
other moment  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was 
locked  within  the  embraces  of  his  wife 
and  child. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Didst  thou  but  know  the  inly  touch  of  love, 
Thou  wouldst  as  soon  go  kindle  (Ire  with  snow, 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Alas  !  the  snow,  black  shall  it  be  and  scalding. 
The  sea  waterless,  and  fish  upon  the  mountain, 
The  Thames  shall  back  return  into  his  fountain, 
And  where  he  rose,  the  sun  shall  take  lodging, 
Ere  I  in  this  find  peace  or  quietness. 

SIR  THOMAS  WYATT. 

My  suit  is, 

That  you  would  quit  your  shoulders  of  a  burthen, 
Under  whose  ponderous  weight  you  wilfully 
Have  too  long  groaned — to  cast  those  fetters  off 
With  which,  with  your  own  hands,  you  chain  your 
freedom.  MASSINOKK. 

"'Tis  exceeding  strange,  this  story  of 
Joanna,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare, 
as  he  sat  in  his  lodging,  with  Master 
Francis,  opposite  a  famous  fire.  "  I 
scarce  know  what  to  think  of  her:  but 
how  behaved  she  upon  the  discovery  of 
herself?" 

"  More  strangely  than  ever,"  replied 
Master  Francis.  "  When  she  recovered 
consciousness,  I  had  got  her  off  her  horse, 
and  she  was  reclining  in  my  arms,  as  I 
stood  upon  the  ground;  and  the  moment 
she  found  she  was  known,  she  tore  her- 
self from  me,  with  an  appearance  of  ex- 
treme confusion,  and  as  it  did  appear  to 
me,  in  some  sort  of  horror.  Upon  this  I 
did  n<e  no  lack  of  entreaty  she  would  be 
calm,  and  allow  of  my  showing  her  such 
attentions  as  my  affection  for  her  prompt- 
ed ;  fur  in  truth  the  knowledge  that  it 
was  to  her  I  was  indebted  for  my  deliv- 
erance from  being  made  a  sacrifice  to  the 


Indian  idol,  put  every  feeling  of  resent- 
ment against  her  out  of  my  heart,  and  I 
could  on  the  instant  have  loved  her  as 
madly  as  ever.  But  when  I  attempted 
to  approach  her,  she  put  up  her  hands, 
and  averted  her  face,  and  begged  of  me  not 
to  come  nigh  her,  with  so  wonderful  an 
earnestness,  that  I  was  quite  moved  at  it. 
Still  imagining  only  that  she  did  this  on 
account  of  the  attempt  on  my  life,  to 
show  how  ashamed  and  horrified  she 
was  with  herself  for  the  acting  of  so 
monstrous  a  thing,  I  assured  her  I  was 
willing  to  forget  all  that  was  past ;  and 
believing  from  what  she  had  lately  done, 
that  I  had  misjudged  her,  I  told  her,  if 
she  would  allow  of  it,  my  future  conduct 
should  prove  the  sincerity  of  my  affec- 
tion. 1  was  approaching  to  take  her 
hand,  when,  as  if  in  a  very  monstrous 
alarm,  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  me, 
and  implored  me  not  to  touch  her.  I 
knew  not  what  to  make  of  it ;  and  whilst 
I  hesitated,  she,  in  the  same  wild  man- 
ner, seeming  as  if  she  knew  not  what 
she  was  saying,  prayed  1  would  not  come 
nigh  her,  or  seek  to  have  speech  with  her 
till  the  morrow,  when  she  would  ac- 
quaint me  with  all  I  had  a  mind  to 
know.  Seeing  the  dreadful  state  of  ex- 
citement she  was  in,  and  that  to  persist 
in  my  intentions  would  only  the  more  in- 
crease it,  I  agreed  to  what  she  said,  and 
on  leaving  her  to  the  care  of  the  young 
prince,  I  presently  mounted  my  horse, 
and  rode  forward  at  the  head  of  the  es- 
cort, leaving  the  others  to  follow. 

"  Most  religiously  did  I  keep  my  prom- 
ise ;  for  I  never  so  much  as  looked  tow- 
ard where  she  was  the  whole  of  the  day, 
but  rode  along  marvelling  at  her  conduct 
more  and  more  every  minute,  and  think- 
ing of  what  she  must  have  suffered  in 
travelling  so  far  for  my  rescue,  and  won- 
dering and  imagining  till  I  got  myself 
into  a  complete  perplexity.  Toward  the 
evening  we  arrived  at  the  very  village 
nigh  which  I  had  been  kidnapped  by 
that  villanous  Padre  Bartolome.  We 
were  as  well  entertained  of  the  natives  as 
formerly,  and  as  soon  as  I  could  I  took 
myself  off  to  rest;  but  sleep  got  I  none 
all  the  night  for  thinking  of  Joanna,  and 
from  the  very  absolute  impatience  I  was 
in  to  see  her,  and  hear  the  explanation 
she  had  promised  me.  In  the  morning, 
as  soon  as  might  be,  I  hied  me  to  Pomar- 
ra,  that  he  might  get  me  speech  of  her. 
Upon  inquiry,  1  heard  to  my  exceeding 
trouble  and  astonishment,  she  had  gone 
from  the  village,  and  that  I  must  never 
expect  to  meet  with  her  again." 


230 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Left  she  no  message  ?"  inquired  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare. 

"Indeed  did  she,"  replied  his  com- 
panion. "  Her  message  was  that  'twould 
be  useless  my  attempting  to  follow,  or 
make  any  inquiry  after  her,  as  it  was  her 
determination  never  to  see  me  again  ;  and 
though  she  wished  me  every  blessing  that 
this  world  could  give,  she  assured  me 
that  nothing  was  so  like  to  secure  my 
happiness  as  the  complete  forgetting  that 
there  ever  existed  so  miserable  a  creature 
as  was  herself." 

"  That  is  marvellous  strange  !"  exclaim- 
ed the  other,  and  he  seemed  to  be  con- 
sidering the  matter  very  intently. 

"I  questioned  the  young  prince  and 
Harry  Daring,  what  they  knew  of  her," 
continued  Master  Francis.  "From  the 
former  I  found  that  she  had  told  him  how 
much  I  was  in  her  regard  when  she 
sought  his  assistance  to  go  in  search  of 
me,  at  which  time  she  had  begged  his 
secresy,  the  which  he  kept  with  all  possi- 
ble caution  up  to  the  last  moment ;  but 
Harry  had  never  had  the  slightest  sus- 
picion that  she  was  any  other  than  an 
Indian  woman,  till  I  took  the  muffler 
from  about  her  face,  though  he  could  not 
help  believing,  from  her  ready  seeking 
of  such  perils  as  they  encountered  in  their 
journey,  that  she  had  a  wonderful  liking 
for  me/' 

"  And  you  know  not  how  she  got  into 
the  country  ?"  inquired  Master  Shak- 
speare. 

"  Not  a  word  of  it,"  replied  his  com- 
panion. "  That  morning,  hearing'  that 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  had  been  the  day  be- 
fore at  a  village  a  few  miles  above  where 
we  were,  I,  thinking  my  duty  to  my 
patron  ought  to  be  the  first  consideration, 
took  measures  for  my  immediate  depar- 
ture, and  parting  with  Pomarra  with 
great  regret,  because  of  his  many  com- 
mendable qualities,  and  the  exceeding 
generousness  of  his  behavior,  I  and  Harry 
Daring  got  into  a  canoe  with  two  strong 
Indians  and  such  things  as  we  had  given 
us  of  the  king  of  Guiana,  and  a  famous 
plenty  of  victual  of  all  kinds,  and  rowed 
down  the  stream  till  we  came  into  the 
great  bed  of  the  Orinoco.  There  we  had 
scarce  got  when,  to  our  wonderful  con- 
tentment, we  observed  the  barges  and  the 
wherries  all  lying  pretty  close  unto  each 
other,  approaching  us  at  a  fair  rate.  That 
Sir  Walter  was  glad  of  our  coming,  whom 
he  had  long  given  up  for  lost,  is  to  say 
too  little.  No  father  seemed  so  pleased 
at  the  return  of  a  dear  son  after  the  ab- 
sence of  many  years ;  and  so  little  diffi- 


culty had  I  in  making Hariy's  peace  with 
him  for  his  desertion,  that  ne  was  taken 
into  greater  favor,  and  promoted  to  a  much 
higher  rank  than  what  he  had  held. 
When  we  got  to  our  ships,  I  was  so  con- 
stantly with  Sir  Walter,  he  asking  of  me 
what  I  had  seen,  and  telling  me  what  had 
befell  him  since  we  parted,  and  I  writing 
at  his  dictation  whatsoever  he  thought 
necessary  for  the  goodly  work  concern- 
ing of  the  expedition  that  is  now  about 
to  be  published,  I  had  but  little  time  to 
think  of  Joanna,  and  when  that  I  did 
think,  I  got  myself  into  so  strange  a  per- 
plexity, that  methinks,  for  all  the  good 
I  had  of  it,  I  had  as  well  let  it  alone." 

"  Hast  never  heard  or  seen  aught  of  her 
since  ?"  inquired  Master  Shakspeare. 

"Never,"  replied  the  other.  "  I  know 
not  where  she  is  or  what  hath  become 
of  her.  What  dost  think  of  it,  Master 
Shakspeare  ?  I  would  be  loath  to  con- 
demn her  without  good  warrant,  seeing 
that  she  hath  ventured  so  much  for  my 
safety  ;  but  there  hath  been  such  a  strange- 
ness in  her  proceedings  that  I  like  it  not, 
however  grateful  I  may  be  for  the  peril 
she  hath  undergone  for  my  sa-ke." 

"Her  behavior  is  involved  in  some 
mystery,  certainly,"  replied  his  compan- 
ion, with  such  concern  in  his  countenance 
as  showed  he  had  his  young  friend's  in- 
terest at  heart  in  what  he  was  saying,  yet 
wished  to  make  the  matter  appear  better 
than  he  thought  it  was,  knowing  of  the 
extreme  sensitiveness  of  the  other's  na- 
ture. "  From  what  I  have  seen  and 
heard  of  her,  I  can  in  no  way  be  brought 
to  approve  of  her  conduct.  Perchance 
there  shall  be  found  such  reason  for  it, 
as  may  give  it  a  different  coloring  to  what 
it  hath  possessed  in  my  mind.  I  hope  it 
may.  It  appeareth  to  me  that  she  is  of 
a  disposition  that  delighteth  in  violent 
extremes,  and  one  that  no  man  could  be 
happy  with  for  long.  In  this  is  there  no 
sense  of  justice  either  for  herself,  or  for 
any  other  ;  and  that  nature  can  not  be  of 
any  real  goodness  where  such  a  sen-e  be 
absent.  As  for  her  perilous  journey  in 
search  of  you,  and  many  other  things  you 
have  told  me  of,  done  previously  by  her, 
they  doubtless  exhibit  a  greatness  of  soul 
which  might  counterbalance  much  be- 
havior of  a  meaner  quality ;  yet,  as  it  is 
evident  she  desireth  you  to  forget  her,  for 
which  it  be  reasonable  enough  to  imagine 
she  hath  some  sufficient  cause,  I  would 
advise  you  to  think  of  her  no  more.  In 
my  mind,  it  is  much  the  properest  thing 
you  can  do." 

"Ah,  Master  Shakspeare  !  I  would  i 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


231 


were    the    easiest!"    exclaimed    Master 
Francis. 

"  Of  its  difficulty  am  I  well  convinced," 
added  the  other.  "  When  the  heart  haih 
fixed  itself  upon  one,  and  hath  for  any 
length  of  time  lived  in  the  express  con- 
viction that  the  one  so  loved  is  the  chief- 
est  of  all  for  excellence,  it  be  in  no  sort  an 
easy  matter  to  throw  off  all  thought  and 
feeling  upon  the  subject.  Yet  where  it 
must  be  evident  upon  the  very  slightest 
consideration  that  no  good  can  come  of 
any  further  affection,  or  there  be  no 
longer  cause  for  such  honorable  opinion, 
methinks  it  is  the  part  of  every  wise  man 
to  endeavor  to  free  himself  from  the  do- 
minion  of  such  unprofitable  impressions. 
Occupation,  perhaps,  more  than  any  other 
thing,  tendeth  to  this  end.  I  am  glad  to 
find,  notwithstanding  your  labors  for  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  you  have  used  such  op- 
portunity as  you  had  for  Avooing  of  the 
Muses.  I  know  your  talents  to  be  of  no 
ordinary  kind  ;  and  I  do  anticipate  from 
the  play  you  have  brought  me  for  my 
opinion,  such  gratification  as  I  have  not 
received  from  the  perusal  of  any." 

"  I  am  fearful  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed," observed  Master  Francis  mod- 
estly. "It  is  true  I  have  taken  what 
pains  I  could  with  it;  but  after  reading 
or  seeing  of  any  of  your  productions, 
what  I  was  about  seemed  to  them  of  so 
poor  a  character,  that  I  left  off  more  than 
once  in  despair  of  ever  doing  anything 
that  would  be  fit  to  be  seen  by  you.  To- 
day it  did  strike  me  there  could  be  no 
harm  in  letting  you  have  sight  of  it — 
knowing  the  wonderful  liberality  of  your 
nature — therefore  carried  I  the  manu- 
script in  my  hand  with  me." 

"  I  am  heartily  arlad  you  have  done  so, 
and  will  lose  no  time  in  its  examination," 
replied  Master  Shakspeare,  and  then 
added  he  in  a  manner  that  showed  he 
felt  great  concern  in  what  he  said — "Ex- 
cuse me  if  I  be  trespassing,  but  I  have 
an  exceeding  desire  to  know  whether  you  ! 
have  yet  learned  anything  authentic  con- 
cerning of  your  father?" 

"  I  know  no  more  than  I  have  told  you 
of,"  answered  his  companion.     "  I  have 
long  wished  to  have  speech  with  Hold- 
fast, or  at  least  to  know  in  what  circum- 
stances he  is,  for  it  be  like  enough  I  might ! 
now  do  him  some  service;  yet  save  his' 
being  a  preacher  among  the  puritans,  and  ! 
doth  occasionally  hold  forth  in  Moorfields.  I 
I  have  heard  naught  of  him  to  this  day." 

"I  can  not  but  applaud  your  desire  to 
better  him,  if  bettering  he  wants,"  ob- 
served the  other.  "  Yet  must  I  say,  he 


deservelh  but  little  at  your  hands.  It  is 
plain  enough  he  hath  deserted  you  most 
infamously,  and  that  he  at  all  troubleth 
his  head  ahout  you,  I  can  not  believe." 

"  No  matter,  Master  Shakspeare  !"  ex- 
claimed Master  Francis.  "Though  he 
hath  been  no  father  to  me,  methinks  that 
should  not  release  me  from  being  a  son 
to  him  ;  beside,  if  he  be  conscientious  in 
the  opinions  he  hath  embraced,  he  may 
have  become  a  good  man — such  as  would 
be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  own  as  a  parent. 
Mayhap  though,  he  would  be  all  the 
more  inclined  to  think  it  a  disgrace  to 
own  me  as  a  child." 

"Nay,  it  must  be  impossible  for  any 
man,  were  his  rank  of  the  highest,  to 
feel  disparagement  in  acknowledging  one 
of  your  merit,"  replied  Master  Shak- 
speare affectionately.  "I  know  not  the 
father  who  ought  not  to  be  proud  of  such 
a  son." 

"  'Tis  your  infinite  kindness  that  lead- 
eth  you  to  say  so,"  observed  his  young 
friend  with  a  heartfelt  look  of  thankful- 
ness. 

"  0'  my  life,  I  would  be  right  glad  in- 
deed, and  proud  too,  were  you"  son  of 
mine,"  cried  the  other. 

"And  what  pride  would  be  mine  to 
boast  of  such  a  father !"  exclaimed  Mas- 
ter Francis  with  marvellous  earnestness. 
"Indeed,  Master  Shakspeare,  I  know 
not  whether  it  be  a  weakness  or  what  it 
be,  but. I  have  grown  up  in  the  belief 
that  I  was  of  honorable  birth.  What 
little  I  knew  of  my  parentage,  fixed  in 
me  from  mine  infancy  a  kope  that  the 
mystery  which  enveloped  my  father's 
name  would  one  day  or  other  be  cleared 
to  my  own  satisfaction  and  my  mother's 
credit,  and  that  I  should  then  obtain  such 
a  name  and  station  as  might  content  my 
ambition.  I  can  not  help  it,  but  it  hum- 
bleth  me  to  the  very  dust,  to  think  that 
my  father  hath  been  but  a  paltry  cheater, 

and  my  mother  a" He  was  stopped 

in  his  speech  by  a  sort  of  choking  which 
made  him  unable  to  finish  his  sentence, 
and  his  face  became  strangely  pale  and 
distressed. 

"Heed  it  not,  Master  Francis,  I  pray 
you,"  said  his  companion  as  he  went  up 
to  him  and  kindly  took  him  by  the  hand, 
laying  of  his  other  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
whilst  he  stooped  over  him.  "  Though 
they  who  seek  the  reputation  of  the 
world  must  usually  search  after  it  with 
such  helps  as  the  world  affordeth,  his 
fame  be  much  the  most  lasting  and  the 
most  worthy  that  hath  had  no  other  help 
to  gain  it  by  than  his  own  merit.  There 


232 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


are  many  persons  of  worship  in  the  place 
of  my  birth  who,  because  of  their  high 
lineage  and  great  possessions,  have  hith- 
erto looked  down  upon  me  who  have 
none.  Now  it  hath  ever  been  my  hope  to 
make  my  writings  of  such  a  sort,  that  in 
the  after  time,  the  small  town  of  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon,  shall  be  considered  of  the 
learned  to  have  such  greatness  as  the 
greatest  cities  could  not  boast  of,  whilst 
itspersonsofworshipshall  beheldofnoac- 
count,  and  I,  whose  humbleness  they  have 
despised  so  much,  shall  be  thought  the 
source  from  which  all  that  giveth  honor 
to  the  place  shall  How.  Try  you,  Master 
Francis,  to  have  some  such  a  hope,  and 
I  doubt  not  in  the  least,  you  will  presently 
care  no  more  about  your  lineage  than 
do  I." 

"I  should  not  care  so  much  as  I  do," 
added  Master  Francis,  "  were  it  not  for 
thinking  that  they  among  whom  I  now 
associate  on  a  footing  of  equality,  may 
sometime  or  other  find  out  the  meanness 
of  my  birth,  and  then  treat  me  with 
indignity  for  presuming  to  mingle  with 
those  above  me,  and  for  seeking  to  be 
thought  of  some  note  when  I  was  but 
little  better  than  an  impostor." 

Here  the  conversation  was  broken  in 
upon  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Harry 
Daring  entering  at  the  door,  seeming, 
from  the  laughing  face  he  had,  fresh  from 
some  mischief.  Certes,  there  was  now 
a  wonderful  alteration  in  him  from  what 
he  was  when  he  was  apprentice  to  the 
barber-chirurgeon  in  Eastcheap.  Though 
he  could  not  be  called  a  man,  he  had 
grown  from  the  boy  to  be  a  youth  coming 
nigh  unto  manhood — albeit  he  had  no 
beard  as  yet.  Still  was  he  more  than  a 
head  shorter  than  Master  Francis,  who 
for  gravity  of  deportment  and  elegance 
of  manner,  was  more  a  contrast  to  him 
than  otherwise.  For  all  this  hisfree-heart- 
edness  and  his  fearless  look  were  the  more 
pleasant  for  a  spice  of  roguery  that  might 
oft  be  observed  in  it,  which  made  him 
quickly  liked  of  all  who  met  with  him. 
His  countenance,  from  constant  exposure 
to  the  sun  in  a  hot  climate,  had  become 
almost  as  brown  as  a  berry,  and  for 
strength  of  limb,  it  looked  not  as  if  he 
were  soon  likely  to  meet  with  his  match. 
He  was  clothed  in  a  handsome  doublet 
with  a  rapier  at  his  side  :  with  other  of 
the  appurtenances  of  a  gentleman,  and  a 
hat  and  feather  worn  saucily  on  one  side 
of  his  head. 

"  Oh,  Master  Francis,  I  have  had  such 
exquisite  fine  fun  !*'  exclaimed  he,  cast- 
ing his  hat  on  one  side  aud  making  him- 


self quite  at  home  by  drawing  of  a  chair 
near  the  fire,  on  which  he  sat  himself 
down,  chafing  of  his  hands  and  looking 
in  a  famous  merry  humor. 

"What  fun  hast  had,  Harry?"  in- 
quired Master  Shakspeare,  who  took  a 
huge  delight  in  him. 

"  Oh,  the  very  capitalest  fun  that  ever 
was,"  replied  Harry. 

"Prythee  let  us  know  of  it,"  said  the 
other. 

"  That  will  I  and  gladly,  Master  Shak- 
speare. You  must  know  then,  I  started 
off  this  forenoon  from  Durham  house  in- 
tent upon  calling  on  some  of  my  old  ac- 
quaintances to  show  they  were  still  re- 
membered of  me.  Well,  I  made  straight 
for  Eastcheap,  and  entered  the  well- 
known  shop  where  I  was  apprentice  as  I 
have  told  you,  and  there  I  beheld  every- 
thing as  if  I  had  but  left  it  yesterday, 
with  old  Lather  in  it  looking  as  pensive 
as  ever,  holding  of  a  disputation  with 
Master  Tickletoby  the  schoolmaster,  up- 
on the  merits  of  one  Holdfast,  a  famous 
preacher  among  the  puritans,  as  I  under- 
stand from  them." 

"Ah!  Didst  say  Holdfast,  Harry?" 
inquired  Master  Francis  earnestly.  "  Dost 
know  where  he  may  be  met  with  ?" 

"  No,  not  of  mine  own  knowledge ; 
but  I  doubt  not  it  may  easily  be  found," 
replied  Harry  Daring. 

"  It  shall  be  inquired  into  anon,  Master 
Francis,  be  assured  of  it,"  said  Master 
Shakspeare.  "But  proceed,  Harry."  At 
this  Master  Francis  seemed  satisfied,  and 
Harry  continued  his  narration. 

"Master  Tickeltoby  thinking  me  to  be 
a  stranger,  presently  took  his  leave ;  but 
not  before  he  had,  with  an  abundance  of 
thanks  for  my  courtesy,  accepted  an  invi- 
tation to  dine  with  me  at  twelve  o'  the 
clock,  at  the  Mitre  tavern  in  Fleet  street. 
Then  sat  I  down  in  the  old  arm-chair, 
and  requested  of  old  Lather  in  the  court- 
liest phrase  I  could  think  of,  because  I 
wished  not  to  be  known  of  him,  to  do  his 
barber's  office  in  the  cutting  and  dressing 
of  my  hair.  He  appeared  not  to  have 
the  slightest  suspicion  as  to  who  he  had 
got  hold  of,  but  evidently  imagined  me 
to  be  a  new  customer,  and  was  striving 
his  best  to  make  me  pleased  with  him.  It 
would  have  done  your  heart  good,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  to  have  seen  the  absolute 
gravity  with  which  I  sat  at  my  ease 
whilst  he  attended  to  me  with  as  much 
formality  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  the  al- 
dermen, ever  and  anon  treating  me  with 
some  of  the  choicest  of  his  Latin  phrases, 
with  which  he  favored  me  with  a  trans- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


233 


.ation  that  was,  I  will  be  bound  for't,  as 
tnuch  unlike  the  original  as  his  extreme 
ignorance  of  the  matter  could  make  it. 
To  this  I  usually  replied  as  gravely  as 
you  please,  with  some  fine  Latin  of  my 
own  making,  to  the  which  I  appended 
such  a  translation  as  I  thought  fit  to  give  ; 
and  it  was  right  famous  sport  to  hear 
how  the  old  barber  did  commend  my 
scholarship.*' 

"  I  doubt  not  it  was  droll  enough," 
observed  Master  Shakspeare,  looking 
amused  at  the  idea  of  it. 

"  Then  he  fell  to  telling  me  the  news," 
continued  Harry  Daring.  "And  a  fa- 
mous intelligencer  he  proved  himself. 
What  dost  think  he  told  me,  Master 
Francis  ?"  inquired  he,  seeming  as  though 
he  could  scarce  ask  the  question  for 
laughing. 

"  Indeed,  I  can  not  tell,  Harry,"  replied 
his  friend. 

"  He  said  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  had 
returned  from  his  adventure  in  search  of 
the  famous  El  Dorado,"  added  the  other. 
"  And  that  he  knew  for  certain,  for  that 
a  creditable  friend  of  his  had  had  speech 
with  divers  of  the  sailors,  that  besides  Sir 
Walter  bringing  home  so  much  gold  the 
ships  were  like  to  have  been  sunk  by  the 
weight  of  it,  and  conquering  such  a  mul- 
titude of  kingdoms  there  was  no  naming 
of  them  all  in  a  summer's  day,  he  had 
mat  with  a  strange  people  that  had  two 
heads,  one  upon  each  shoulder,  so  conve- 
niently placed  that  every  one  man  among 
them  could  see  before  and  behind  him  at 
the  same  moment  of  time,  and  some  of 
these  he  had  brought  with  him  to  show 
the  queen's  majesty,  together  with  two 
mermaids  that  could  play  marvellously 
well  on  the  cittern — a  real  basilisk  that 
killed  people  by  looking  at  them — sun- 
dry parrots  as  big  as  a  Michaelmas  goose, 
that  could  speak  several  languages;  and 
a  monstrous  kind  of  nondescript  that  was 
half  a  crocodile  and  half  a  monkey,  and 
was  covered  over  with  quills  full  of  dead- 
liest poison,  that  it  would  discharge 
against  all  such  as  provoked  it,  and  was 
of  so  ravenous  a  nature  that  it  would  eat 
a  man  at  a  meal." 

"Truly, a  horrid  monster  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspeare  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  listened  to  him  as  seriously  as  I 
could,"  continued  Harry,  "  and  a  famous 
job  it  was  to  keep  my  countenance  ;  for 
he  did  lay  such  stress  upon  the  credible- 
ness  of  the  person  who  had  told  him  these 
wondrous  tales,  that  I  had  much  ado  not 
to  laugh  in  his  face.  However,  I  not  only 
managed  to  hear  it  all  out  with  a  gravity 


equal  to  his  own,  but  at  the  conclusion 
of  it  I  assured  him  I  had  no  doubt  of 
its  truth,  for  I  had  heard  much  the  same 
from  another  quarter — a  person  of  the 
strictest  integrity,  who  was  of  the  expe- 
dition, and  he  moreover  stated  that  in  his 
travels  far  into  the  interior  of  that  won- 
derful continent,  he  fell  in  with  a  nation 
who  were  all  barber-chirurgeons — divers 
of  the  boys  being  found  pricking  of  cab- 
bage-leaves, by  way  of  learning  to  breathe 
a  vein — others  wrenching  the  teeth  out 
of  some  jaw  that  did  belong  to  a  calf's 
head  they  had  cooked  for  dinner,  to  be 
for  them  a  lesson  in  the  extracting  of 
teeth—  some  were  seen  curling  of  old 
mops,  and  others  shaving  of  dead  pigs' 
faces,  which  were  to  afford  them  a  proper 
familiarity  with  the  offices  of  barbering : 
and  then  the  men  were  engaged  as  brisk 
as  so  many  bees  in  trimming  of  each  oth- 
er's beards,  drawing  of  each  other's  teeth, 
breathing  of  each  other's  veins,  and  curl- 
ing, and  shaving,  and  physicking  of  each 
other  after  a  fashion  that  was  a  marvel 
to  look  upon.  Oh,  Master  Shakspeare!" 
exclaimed  the  young  rogue,  joining  heart- 
ily in  the  laugh  of  his  companions,  "  nev- 
er saw  you  a  face  in  all  your  days  so 
astonished  as  looked  that  of  Master 
Lather  upon  the  hearing  of  what  I  had 
said." 

"  Methinks  he  had  good  cause  for  it," 
observed  Master  Francis. 

"His  spectacles  seemed  ready  to  hop 
off  his  nose  with  sheer  wonder,"  contin- 
ued Harry,  "  and  mayhap  had  they  done 
so  they  would  have  taken  themselves 
down  his  throat,  his  mouth  stood  so  invi- 
tingly open.  'That  exceedeth  in  strange- 
ness aught  that  hath  been  told  me,  hon- 
orable sir !'  exelaimed  he  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak.  'But,  as  Cicero  hath  it, 
"  Vox  populi,  vox  Dei," — which,  as  it 
must  be  known  to  you,  meaneth,  "  won- 
ders will  never  cease."'  True,  Master 
Barber,  I  replied ;  and  is  it  not  writ  in 
Aristotle, '  hopped  kicketi  corum  hie  haec 
hoc  cum  tickle  me,' — that  is  to  say, 
'  when  barbers  live  at  peace  with  each 
other  the  world  shall  stand  still  to  look  at 
the  marvel.'  '  Ay — I  remember  that  pas- 
sage well,'  exclaimed  he, '  I  have  read  it 
in  Aristotle  scores  of  times.' "  Here 
again  the  mirth  was  loud  and  general. 
Indeed  it  could  scarce  be  otherwise,  Har- 
ry Daring  did  take  off  his  old  master  after 
so  droll  a  fashion. 

"  After  that  I  began  to  talk  of  appren- 
tices," added  he,  "  and  innocently  enough 
inquired  of  him  whether  he  had  any. 
Then  he  replied  he  bad  one,  an  excel- 


334 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS'. 


lent  quiet  lad,  who  was  out  on  an  errand, 
whom  he  liked  the  more  for  that  he  was 
of  so  different  a  sort  to  one  he  had  before 
had,  who  was  ever  a  doing  of  some  vile 
mischief  or  another,  that  he  became  quite 
the  plague  of  the  neighborhood.  Upon 
further  questioning  of  him,  he  in  the  most 
pathetic  mutiner  possible  described  what 
he  and  others  had  suffered  by  what  he 
styled  my  pestilent  humor,  dwelling  most 
of  all  upon  the  villanous  trick  I  had  done 
him  before  I  quitted  his  dwelling,  of  mix- 
ing his  pharmaceutical  preparations  of 
the  most  opposite  natures,  so  that  on  ex- 
amination of  them  it  did  puzzle  his  wits 
to  find  out  what  he  had  hold  of;  and 
placing  of  a  shelf  of  gallipots  so  insecure, 
that  on  his  going  to  take  one  they  all 
tumbled  down  on  him,  and  not  only  broke 
themselves,  but  broke  his  head  into  the 
bargain." 

"  That  was  too  bad  of  you,  Harry,"  ob- 
served Master  Shakspeare  somewhat  re- 
provingly. 

"  So  think  I."  said  Master  Francis. 

"  And  so  thought  I,"  replied  Harry 
Daring,  with  more  seriousness  than  he 
had  hitherto  used.  "  Though  I  took  it 
to  be  good  sport  at  the  time  it  was  done, 
being  exceeding  thoughtless  and  mis- 
chievous, it  oft  struck  me  after,  it  was  a 
great  injustice;  for,  to  say  the  truth  of 
him,  old  Lather  had  never  been  a  bad 
master  to  me;  arid  it  was  because  I  felt 
I  owed  him  amends  for  my  many  mis- 
chiefs, I  had  then  paid  him  a  visit. 
Thereupon  I  began  telling  of  him  that 
in  my  travels  I  had  fallen  in  with  this 
once  mad  apprentice  of  his,  whose  con- 
science allowed  him  not  to  rest  easy  be- 
cause of  the  wild  pranks  he  had  played 
upon  a  kind  and  worthy  master,  and  that 
from  a  desire  to  remove  the  loss  Master 
Lather  had  suffered  on  account  of  them, 
he  had  sent  by  me  a  purse  of  twenty  gold 
pieces ;  which  I  then  and  there  put  into 
his  hand.  At  the  sight  of  this,  and  at 
what  I  had  said,  the  old  man  looked  as 
though  he  could  scarce  believe  his  eyes 
and  ears.  He  stared  at  the  purse,  and 
then  at  me,  and  then  at  the  purse  again  ; 
and  then  broke  out  into  such  commenda- 
tion of  me,  vowing  that  for  all  my  con- 
tinual tricks  he  had  ever  loved  me  as  a 
son,  that  my  heart  was  touched,  and  I 
presently  declared  to  him  who  I  was. 
This  made  him  so  beside  himself  with  joy 
and  affectionateness,  that  in  hugging  me 
in  his  arms  he  burned  my  ear  with  the 
curling  irons,  till  I  cried  so  lustily  he 
jumped  away  from  me  in  a  complete 
flight.  The  end  of  it  was,  before  I  left 


him  I  made  him  promise  to  dine  with  me 
at  the  Mitre." 

"  That  was  well  done  you,  Harry," 
exclaimed  Master  Shakspeare,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  wonderfully  pleased  at  what 
he  had  heard. 

"  Indeed  it  was,"  added  Master  Francis 
with  the  like  cordiality.  "  But  notwith- 
standing of  Harry's  reckless  mischiefs,  I 
would  have  vouched  for  the  goodness  of 
his  heart  at  any  time." 

"  It  be  wondrous  kind  of  you  to  say 
that,  Master  Francis,"  replied  Harry 
Daring.  "  But  the  very  truth  is,  I  never 
took  any  consideration  of  what  I  did  ; 
and  if  it  promised  to  afford  sport,  I  could 
not  fancy  there  could  be  harm  in  it.  How- 
ever, to  return  unto  my  story.  I  crossed 
from  old  Lather's  over  to  Geoffrey  Sars- 
net's.  Instead  of  finding  the  jolly  mercer 
passing  of  his  jokes  with  his  own  ready 
laugh  amongst  three  or  four  customers, 
as  of  old,  there  was  he,  sadly  reduced  in 
flesh,  marching  up  and  down  the  shop, 
wringing  of  his  hands,  looking  as  dismal 
as  a  dainty  gallant  in  a  shower  of  rain, 
and  swearing  he  was  about  to  end  his 
days  in  the  compter.  He  quickly  told 
me  of  his  troubles,  saying  how  his  daugh- 
ter had  deprived  him  of  his  chiefest  cus- 
tomers by  her  undutiful  reaving  of  the 
house,  and  hinting  that  the  ruining  of 
herself  would  have  been  no  great  matter, 
but  to  ruin  her  father  was  most  unnatural 
and  devilish.  Having  put  him  in  a  better 
humor  by  purchasing  of  him  a  few  things 
I  required,  and  letting  him  know  who  I 
was,  I  made  him  also  promise  to  dine 
with  me  at  the  Mitre.  I  then  started  off 
after  some  of  my  old  cronies.  Peter  Per- 
riwinkle,  our  neighbor  the  chandler's  ap- 

Erentice,  I  found  making  of  farthing  rush- 
ghts  down  in  the  cellar;  and  when  he 
first  caught  sight  of  me  in  my  fine  apparel, 
he  was  so  wonder-struck  he  let  all  the 
rushes  fall  into  the  tallow.  I  got  a  holy- 
day  for  him  without  much  to  do,  and  bid- 
ding him  put  on  his  Sunday  jerkin,  I  told 
him  to  be  sure  to  be  at  the  tavern  by 
twelve,  which  he  readily  promised.  Then 
posted  I  to  long-legged  Tom,  the  tailor's 
son  round  the  comer,  upon  whom  I  came 
whilst  he  was  being  whapped  by  his 
father  for  ill-stitching  of  a  doublet.  Nev- 
ertheless, I  soon  managed  to  make  peace 
betwixt  them,  and  was  promised  Tom's 
attendance  at  the  dinner.  After  that  I 
hied  me  to  big  Jack  o'  the  Turnstile, 
whom  after  some  painstaking  I  found 
sadly  out  at  heart,  and  out  at  the  elbows 
too,  because  of  his  parents  having  latel) 
died  ejid  left  him  to  shift  for  himself  as 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


235 


he  best  could — which  in  truth  seemed  to 
me  to  be  of  the  worst  kind  of  shifting. 
As  soon  as  I  heard  his  pitiful  story,  I 
took  him  to  a  shop  where  clothes  were 
to  be  had  ready  made,  and  had  him  fitted 
with  a  buckram  suit,  in  the  which  he 
looked  to  be  so  taken  with  himself  I 
thought  I  should  never  have  got  him 
away  from  the  glass." 

"Be  he  so  much  a  Narcissus,  then  ?" 
inquired  Master  Shakspeare  laughingly. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog,  he  was  as  ugly 
a  fellow  to  look  upon  as  you  may  meet 
wilh  anywhere,"  replied  Harry.  "  He 
was  pimple-nosed,  wall-eyed,  and  bull- 
headed,  and  had  a  twist  in  his  mouth  that 
was  as  good  as  a  joke  to  laugh  at.  It 
may  be  supposed  I  had  but  small  diffi- 
culty in  persuading  him  to  dine  with  me, 
seeing  that  for  some  time  past  he  had  been 
made  to  forget  that  such  things  as  dinners 
had  ever  been  invented.  Coming  back  I 
spied  a  wretched  old  fellow  clothed  in 
rags  picking  up  some  sticks  in  the  road. 
I  made  up  to  him  and  gave  him  alms.  On 
his  turning  round  to  thank  me,who  should 
it  turn  out  to  be  but  Gregory  Vellum." 

'•  Is  he  so  much  in  want  ?"  asked  Mas- 
ter Francis. 

"  Nay,  he  be  in  no  want  at  all,"  an- 
swered Harry.  "  On  my  making  myself 
known  to  him,  he  made  a  pathetic  lamen- 
tation upon  the  extravagance  of  people 
leaving  such  fine  pieces  of  wood  to  rot  in 
the  streets,  and  straightway  put  the  sticks 
in  one  pocket,  and  the  money  I  had  given 
him  in  another.  Thinking  to  have  some 
sport,  I  did  invite  him  also  to  the  tavern, 
of  the  which  he  eagerly  availed  himself." 

"  Asked  he  not  after  me  ?"  inquired  his 
nephew. 

"  Not  one  word,"  replied  Harry,  "  his 
speech  was  all  a  lamentation  upon  his 
own  poverty — that  I  and  many  others 
know  to  be  nothing  better  than  a  sham. 
Well,  from  him  I  went  straight  to  the 
Mitre,  where  there  was  a  drawer  of  my 
acquaintance,  and  him  I  ordered  to  get 
ready  as  famous  a  dinner  as  the  house 
could  afford,  which  was  done  to  the  in- 
finite satisfaction  of  all  I  had  invited,  not 
one  of  whom  failed  to  attend.  It  did 
amuse  me  famously  to  notice  the  atten- 
tions paid  to  me  by  Master  Tickletoby, 
whom  old  Lather  had  informed  who  I 
was,  as  they  came  along.  He  seemed 
striving,  by  his  commendations,  to  make 
me  forget  he  had  given  me  the  birch  so  I 
oft.  However,  there  I  sat,  king  of  the  j 
feast,  making  every  one  enjoy  himself  to  | 
his  heart's  content.  Old  Lather  could  ! 
eat  but  little,  he  was  so  pleased.  Geof-  • 


frey  Sarsnet  seemed  to  forget  he  was  so 
nigh  to  the  compter.  Gregory  Vellum 
ate  as  if  he  meant  to  put  provision  in  him 
for  a  month,  notwithstanding  which  I 
spied  him,  when  he  thought  none  were 
looking,  stuffing  what  he  could  in  his 
pocket,  to  serve  for  another  meal.  Big 
Jack  o'  the  Turnstile,  long-legged  Tom, 
the  tailor's  son  round  the  corner,  and 
Peter  Perriwinkle,  our  neighbor  the 
chandler's  apprentice,  rarely  opened  their 
mouths  save  to  put  something  in  them. 
Indeed,  they  looked  wonderfully  shy- 
But  when  the  wine  had  been  on  the  table 
a  sufficient  time  (and  though  I  took  but 
little  myself,  I  caused  it  to  be  drunk  of 
others  without  stint),  they  three  were  the 
noisiest  of  the  whole  lot.  The  jolly 
mercer  now  became  as  jolly  as  ever,  and 
had  his  jest  as  ready  as  any,  and  his 
laugh  the  loudest  of  all.  From  joking 
they  soon  proceeded  to  singing.  At  first 
it  did  require  some  pressing  to  get  a  song 
out  of  either,  but  before  long  every  one 
was  shouting  of  some  ditty  at  the  top  of 
his  voice.  Still  I  made  the  wine  flow 
down  their  throats  as  brisk  as  it  could. 
At  last  there  was  a  scene  which  for  ex- 
quisite fine  fun  beateth  all  I  ever  met." 

"By  your  description  of  it,  it  must 
have  been  a  droll  company,  indeed,  Har- 
ry," observed  Master  Shakspeare. 

"But  the  best  comes  to  be  told,"  said 
Harry  Daring,  laughing  so  he  could  scarce 
get  on.  "  There  sat  Master  Tickletoby, 
bol  t  upright  in  his  chair,  staring  at  me  as 
though  he  thought  I  was  a  ghost.  Geof- 
frey Sarsnet  was  snoring  by  the  side  of 
him  ;  Big  Jack  o'  the  Turnstile  was  for 
drubbing  Peter  Perriwinkle  because  he 
would  not  allow  that  the  son  of  a  black- 
smith was  a  better  gentleman  than  a 
chandler's  apprentice  ;  but  on  his  getting 
up  to  have  at  him,  he  measured  his 
length  on  the  floor,  from  which  he  made 
no  effort  to  rise.  Long-legged  Tom  was 
crying  like  a  babe,  and  must  needs  think 
of  going  home  to  his  mother ;  but  on 
making  for  the  door  he  stumbled  over 
Big  Jack  o'  the  Turnstile,  and  there  he 
lay,  unable  to  move;  and  Peter  Perri- 
winkle, hastening  to  pick  him  up,  in  a 
trice  was  as  badly  off  as  the  others.  Old 
Lather  knelt  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
saying  of  his  prayers  over  a  basin,  and 
Gregory  Vellum  was  singing  of  the  hun- 
dredth psalm  whilst  draining  of  an  empty 
bottle  under  the  table." 

"O'my  life,  a  ridiculous  scene!"  ex- 
claimed Master  Shakspeare,  who  had 
been  famously  amused  by  Harry's  descrip- 
tion of  it,  as  was  also  Master  Francis. 


236 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Then  paying  ni  the  drawer,  I  took 
myself  off,"  continued  the  other,  "  and 
laughed  right  heartily  the  whole  way  I 
came  here,  thinking  of  what  sport  I  had 
had  with  those  I  had  left  behind  me. 
Indeed,  had  you  caught  sight  of  Big 
Jack  o'  the  Turnstile,  in  his  fine  buckram 
suit,  looking  as  though  he  thought  him- 
self a  lord,  you  would  not  have  forgot  it 
in  a  hurry,  I  promise  you.  Then  he 
would  commend  the  wine  as  being  the 
best  he  had  ever  tasted  ;  which  was  true 
enough,  for  of  such  drink  hitherto  had 
he  known  about  as  much  as  doth  a  blind 
puppy  of  daylight." 

"  In  truth,  Harry,  I  would  have  given 
something  to  have  been  of  the  party," 
observed  Master  Shakspeare.  "  But  I 
must  now  have  you  both  with  me  to  the 
playhouse,"  he  added,  as  he  rose  from  his 
seat.  His  companions  jumped  up  im- 
mediately, and  in  a  few  minutes  they 
were  proceeding  together  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  playhouse  in  the  Blackfriars. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Ye  have  no  cause  to  fear — be  bolde, 
For  ye  may  here  lie  uncontrouled. 
And  ye  in  this  have  good  avauntage, 
For  lyeng  is  your  comen  usage. 

JOHN  HETWOOD. 

Be  of  your  patron's  mind  whate'erhe  says, 
Sleep  very  much,  think  little,  and  talk  less  ; 
Mind  neither  good  nor  bad,  nor  right  nor  wrong, 
But  eat  your  pudding,  fool,  and  hold  your  tongue. 

PRIOR. 

Noble  friend, 

You  bind  me  ever  to  you  :  this  shall  stand 
As  the  firm  seal  annexed  to  my  hand. 

WBBSTEB. 

IT  was  some  few  weeks  after  the  con- 
versation related  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
Sir  Robert  Cecil  satin  the  armory  at  Bur- 
leigh  house,  intent  upon  the  perusing  of 
a  goodly  quarto  volume.  There  sat  a 
devilish  sneer  upon  his  countenance  the 
whilst  he  turned  over  the  pages,  as  if  he 
saw  in  them  naught  but  matter  for  to  be 
despised  ;  and  as  he  proceeded,  he  read 
not  as  a  student  who  hath  any  liking  for 
his  subject,  and  goeth  through  it  regular- 
ly, but  as  one  who  dippeth  into  a  book 
only  to  find  something  he  might  cavil  at, 
and  careth  not  to  know  more  of  it.  In 
this  mood,  and  in  this  employment  was 
he,  when  the  door  opened  and  in  walked 
my  Lord  Henry  Howard. 

"  Ever  at  study !"  exclaimed  he,  as, 
upon  closing  of  the  door  carefully,  he  ad- 
vanced cheerfully  toward  him.  "Me- 
thinks,  one  so  learned  in  the  natures  of 


men,  need  care  but  little  for  the  learning 
of  books." 

"I  am  but  looking  into  this  precious 
work  of  Raleigh's,"  replied  Sir  Robert, 
somewhat  contemptuously. 

"Ha!"  cried  the  other,  with  a  like 
feeling.  "What  hath  this  right  famous 
discoverer  of  nothing,  to  say  for  himself? 
Hath  he  described  all  the  fine  kingdoms 
he  meant  to  have  conquered,  had  he  been 
allowed,  or  spoke  of  the  wondrous  riches 
he  would  have  brought  home  had  they 
fallen  in  his  way  ?" 

"  Pfaith  you  are  not  far  off,"  answered 
Cecil.  "  Tlie  book,  as  much  as  I  have 
seen  of  it,  is  filled  with  nothing  better 
than  marvellous  descriptions.  Here  you 
may  meet  with  an  exceeding  tempting 
account  of  some  famous  rich  city — there 
whole  pages  concerning  of  an  open  coun- 
try that  beateth  everything  for  fruitful- 
ness — a  little  further,  gold  and  jewels  lie 
thick  as  blackberries  in  a  hedge — by-and- 
by,  you  shall  come  to  a  plentiful  lot  of 
monsters,  and  in  the  next  place,  count- 
less multitudes  of  Indians,  all  sick  to 
have  the  queen  of  England  for  their 
ruler." 

"  But  what  hath  he  done?"  asked  my 
lord,  sarcastically. 

"Why,  he  hath  spent  all  his  money,'* 
replied  Sir  Robert,  and  thereupon  both 
laughed  heartily.  "  The  book  seemeth 
to  me  to  have  been  writ  for  the  purpose 
of  bolstering  up  his  reputation  at  court, 
and  to  induce  others,  by  its  alluring  rep- 
resentations, to  embark  with  him  in  an- 
other adventure  to  the  same  place." 

"As  for  his  reputation  at  court,"  ob- 
served his  companion,  "  the  result  of  this 
expedition  hath  done  for  him  in  that 
quarter.  I  have  just  left  a  circle  of  thosa 
that  have  most  constant  access  to  the 
queen,  and  rarely  have  I  heard  any  one 
so  mauled  as  was  this  once-powerful  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh.  To  be  called  a  brag- 
gart, an  imposter,  a  mere  adventurer,  and 
a  writer  of  the  very  impudentest  fables, 
be  the  smallest  part  of  what  they  said 
of  him.  It  is  evident  enough  her  majes- 
ty holdeth  him  now  in  wonderful  small 
respect.  As  I  have  heard,  she  doth 
scarcely  notice  his  many  cunning  at- 
tempts to  get  himself  again  in  to  her  good 
graces." 

"  'Tis  plain  he  would  give  his  ears  to 
be  in  favor  again,"  said  the  other;  "he 
hath  here  writ  a  pitiful  dedication  to  my 
lord  admiral  and  myself,  because  we  con- 
tributed somewhat  more  largely  than 
others  to  his  adventure.  Little  kuoweth 
he  how  much  the  queen  had  to  do  in  it. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


237 


As  I  told  you,  he  now  taketh  me  to  be 
the  powerfnlest  friend  he  hath,  and  would 
willingly  move  me  to  exercise  my  in- 
fluence in  his  behalf,  to  get  him  again  to 
court.  This  would  I  willingly  do,  seeing 
my  own  interest  in  it,  but  at  present  it  is 
scarce  practicable  ;  for  my  Lord  Essex 
hath  got  such  exceeding  power  with  her 
majesty,  she  careth  not  for  Raleigh's 
presence,  and  there  are  many  about  her 
who,  thinking  to  be  in  favor  with  her  fa- 
vorite, miss  no  opportunity  of  speaking 
in  disparagement  of  his  rival." 

"  To  say  the  truth,  my  Lord  Essex  hath 
become  so  pestilent  proud,  there  be  no 
bearing  with  him,"  observed  the  Lord 
Howard.  "Disliked  I  Raleigh  less  for 
assuming  so  much  of  the  oracle,  I  would 
willingly  assist  in  putting  down  the 
other." 

"  That  anon,"  replied  Cecil  significant- 
ly ;  "  he  seemeth  to  hold  me  of  but  little 
account,  yet  have  I  managed  so  with  the 
queen,  that  she  could  not  do  without  me 
if  she  would  ;  and  I  doubt  not,  before 
long,  she  will  give  me  such  a  place  of 
trust  as  may  in  some  measure  reward  me 
for  my  painstaking." 

"  I'faith  that  be  good  news— but  how 
didst  manage  it  ?"  inquired  his  com- 
panion. 

"I  made  myself  useful  to  her,"  said 
Sir  Robert.  "  By  means  of  my  agents 
abroad  I  gave  her  intelligence  of  what 
was  going  on,  before  she  could  have  a 
notion  of  it  from  any  other  quarter ;  and 
this  made  her  well  pleased  with  me,  for 
she  delighteth  above  all  things  to  astonish 
her  ministers  by  seeming  to  know  more 
than  they  do,  and  thereby  make  them  the 
more  on  the  alert  to  get  knowledge  of 
such  things.  And  then  I  have  been  ever 
ready  to  do  her  bidding  in  matters  in 
which  she  could  not  safely  have  trusted 
others.  I  have  gone  on  secret  messages 
— I  have  ridden  hard  and  fast  on  long 
journeys — I  have  endured  fatigue  of  body 
and  trouble  of  mind — ventured  into  peril, 
and  suffered  contumely,  with  as  much 
apparent  cheerfulness  of  heart,  as  if  I 
took  wonderful  pleasure  in  it:  and  all  to 
obtain  the  queen's  confidence." 

"  I  heard  say  a  short  time  since  you 
were  gone  on  a  special  mission  from  her 
majesty  to  the  famous  Dr.  Dee,"  remark- 
ed the  other;  "some  said  it  Was  that  the 
cunning  man  might  consult  the  stars  as 
to  whether  it  was  propitious  to  attack  the 
Spaniards;  others  knew  for  certain  you 
were  sent  by  the  queen's  command  to 
know  if  it  would  be  safe  for  her  to  be  let 
blood ;  and  a  few  would  have  it,  that  it 


being  well  known  he  had  discovered  the 
philosopher's  stone,  her  majesty  was 
monstrous  eager  to  have  the  use  of  it." 

"They  knew  but  little  of  the  matter," 
replied  Cecil.  "The  truth  is,  although 
her  majesty  hath  had  great  faith  in  the 
knowledge  of  this  wonderful  astrologer 
and  alchymist  ever  since  she  commenced 
her  reign,  when  she  had  him  consult  the 
stars  for  a  propitious  day'  for  her  corona- 
tion, his  greatest  value  lieth  in  his  excel- 
lence as  a  secret  intelligencer." 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  my  lord,  in  some 
surprise,  "doth  the  old  conjuror  play  the 
spy  ?" 

"None  so  well,"  answered  his  com- 
panion; "his  reputation  for  hermetical 
learning  giveth  him  great  facilities  for 
acquiring  information  wherever  he  goeth  ; 
and  this  he  turned  to  good  account  in  his 
visit  to  the  court  of  Maximilian — during 
his  travels  in  Germany — while  he  stayed 
with  the  palatine  of  Siradia,  the  king  of 
Bohemia,  and  a  certain  rich  noble  of  his, 
to  all  of  whom  the  fame  of  his  skill  in 
the  transmutation  of  metals,  the  drawing 
of  horoscopes,  the  conversations  with 
spirits,  and  other  of  the  like  marvels, 
recommended  him  ;  and  without  exciting 
of  the  slightest  suspicion,  he  was  enabled 
to  send  such  intelligence  to  the  queen  of 
what  was  being  done  in  these  parts,  as 
was  of  infinite  service  to  the  state,  and 
proved  of  considerable  advantage  to  hhn- 
self.  Somewhat  in  acknowledgment  of 
his  scholarship,  which  out  of  all  doubt 
was  more  than  the  ordinary,  and  some- 
what to  show  the  queen's  appreciation 
of  his  services,  which  are  considered  to 
be  of  the  chiefest  importance,  he  hath 
lately  been  appointed  warden  of  Man- 
chester college;  and  it  is  there  I  have 
been,  by  her  majesty's  order,  to  have 
his  opinion  on  how  stand  the  stars  af- 
fected toward  the  French  king's  govern- 
ment." 

"  How  mean  you  to  work  upon  Ra- 
leigh ?"  inquired  the  Lord  Howard. 

"  'Twould  be  impolitic  at  present  to 
move  for  his  return  to  court,"  replied 
Cecil.  "I  have  a  surer  plan.  I  find  that 
the  queen  is  bent  upon  some  expedition 
against  the  Spaniards  which  was  sug- 
gested to  her  some  years  since  by  Raleigh, 
from  the  which  it  is  not  probable  Essex 
will  be  kept — indeed,  I  know  he  is  ex- 
ceeding eager  for  it; — and  Raleigh' of 
course  will  be  among  the  commanders, 
for  the  queen  well  knoweth  his  value  on 
such  an  occasion,  and,  in  spite  of  any 
prejudice  she  might  have  against  him, 
or  favor  for  his  rival,  would  see  that  be 


838 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


nad  his  proper  place,  well  aware  how 
much  it  would  tend  to  her  advantage. 
Now  it  may  either  happen  in  this  way — 
Essex,  by  his  notorious  rashness,  may 
have  the  hap  to  get  knocked  on  the  head, 
and  so  I  get  rid  of  him;  or  Raleigh,  by 
his  superior  knowledge  and  discretion  in 
warlike  matters,  may  get  such  fame  over 
the  other,  that  the  queen  could  not  avoid 
having  him  again  in  favor.  The  latter 
taketh  me  to  be  the  best  friend  he  hath, 
as  I  expected  ;  and  whilst  I  raise  no  sus- 
picions of  my  real  intentions,  I  doubt  not 
of  being  able  to  lead  him  as  I  please,  till 
such  time  as  I  may  think  it  profitablest 
to  get  rid  of  him.  But  the  extreme 
haughtiness  of  Essex  maketh  it  impossi- 
ble fur  me  to  have  any  firm  hold  of  him 
by  seeking  to  appear  his  friend  ;  therefore 
there  can  be  no  way  so  certain  of  produ- 
cing his  downfall,  as  allowing  it  to  come 
of  his  own  rashness  in  battle,  or  by  the 
natural  hastiness  of  his  temper,  that  will 
exhibit  itself  in  some  way  offensive  to 
the  queen,  if  Raleigh  be  taken  much 
notice  of  by  her." 

"  An  excellent  good  plan,"  exclaimed 
his  companion  ;  "  but  how,  if,  during  their 
voyage  together,  they  become  great 
friends  ?" 

"  I  have  made  them  too  jealous  of  each 
other  for  that,"  replied  Cecil :  "  beside 
which  I  would  take  care  Essex  had  round 
him  such  persons  as  should,  with  as  much 
subtleness  as  might  be  possible,  excite 
and  foster  in  him,  who  is  easily  worked 
upon,  an  enmity  of  the  other." 

Thus  these  two  crafty  men  proceeded. 
Cecil,  whose  great  cunning  was  not  to 
be  equalled,  developing  his  plans  to  my 
Lord  Howard,  who  was  at  all  times  his 
willing  agent  and  thorough  parasite  ;  and 
both  determined  to  pursue  those  plans 
with  no  other  object  than  the  advance- 
ment of  their  own  interests.  After  some 
further  parley  upon  the  like  confidential 
matters,  the  Lord  Howard  took  his  leave, 
to  go  on  a  message  to  the  Lady  Howard 
of  Walden.  He  had  scarce  gone  when 
a  serving-man  announced  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  and  Master  Francis. 

"Ha!"  cried  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  rising 
quickly. from  his  seat,  and  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  extreme  cordiality,  hurrying 
toward  Sir  Walter  to  welcome  him. 
"  Of  all  men  living,  you  are  he  I  most 
wished  to  have  sight  of.  I  knew  not 
you  were  in  London,  else  would  I  have 
called  at  Durham  house.  Be  seated,  I 
pray  you." 

"I  arrived  but  last  night,"  said  Sir 
Walter,  with  a  like  friendliness  of  man- 


ner, but  with  much  more  sincerity  of 
heart;  and  then  added,  drawing  his  at- 
tention to  his  companion — "  allow  me  tc 
present  to  you  my  friend  and  secretary 
Master  Francis,  whose  worthiness  I  think 
of  so  highly,  that  I  would  fain  have  oth- 
ers prize  it  as  much  as  myself." 

"  Master  Francis,  believe  me  I  am  in- 
finitely  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance," 
observed  Cecil,  seemingly  with  an  earnest 
courtesy.  One  so  famously  commended 
from  so  truly  excellent  a  source,  must 
needs  deserve  all  my  regard  ;  and  I  shall 
feel  hurt  if  you  do  not  make  use  of  my 
poor  influence,  if  that  it  can  advantage 
you  in  any  way." 

"  I  thank  you  heartily,  Sir  Robert," 
replied  Master  Francis,  modestly. 

"You  see,"  cried  Cecil  to  Sir  Walter, 
pointing  to  the  open  book  on  the  table, 
"I  have  been  feasting  my  mind  on  your 
right  admirable  work." 

"  Like  you  the  matter  of  it  ?"  inquired 
Raleigh. 

"I  like  it  so  thoroughly  that,  in  its 
perusal,  I  have  been  bound,  to  the  com- 
plete forgetting  of  the  most  pressing 
things,"  answered  the  other.  "  Indeed, 
never  read  I  anything  I  was  so  charmed 
with.  It  containeth  the  very  wonderful- 
est  accounts  that  ever  were  writ;  and 
proveth,  beyond  all  I  have  known  of  you, 
your  perfect  fitness,  above  any,  as  a  com- 
mander and  discoverer  of  strange  coun- 
tries. Methinks  we  have  a  Columbus 
now ;  and  I  shall  not  rest  satisfied  till  I 
see  you  acknowledged  as  such.  0'  my 
life,  it  putteth  me  to  the  fret  to  see  the 
envy  of  base  minds,  that  be  ever  busy  in 
undervaluing  of  your  merit." 

"If  they  find  any  pleasure  in  it,  let 
them,"  replied  Sir  "Walter.  "I  heed 
them  not.  Nay,  I  look  upon  it  as  a  sort 
of  justice,  knowing  there  be  some  who 
praise  me  greatly  beyond  my  merits,  that 
there  should  be  others  who  will  allow 
me  no  merit  at  all." 

"  But  then  to  hear  the  things  that  be 
said  of  you  by  such  persons  maketh  me 
clean  out  of  all  patience,"  added  Sir 
Robert. 

"  0  a  fig's  end  for  them  !"  cried  Raleigh 
contemptuously.  "If  any  say  aught 
against  me  to  my  face  my  mouth  shall 
reply  ;  but  if  they  must  needs  mutter  their 
slanders  at  my  tail,  I  will  answer  in  such 
fashion  as  be  good  enough  for  them." 

"Ah!  'tis  but  fitting  they  should  be 
despised  of  you,"  observed  the  other. 

"Doth  the  queen  stand  in  any  way 
better  affected  toward  me,  think  you?" 
asked  Sir  Walter. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


239 


"I  have  lacked  nothing  in  zeal,  de- 
pend on't,"  answered  Cecil.  "Indeed,  I 
have  more  than  once  done  some  hurt  to 
myself  in  becoming  your  advocate ;  yet 
that  I  cared  not  for.  What  grievelh  me 
so  much  is  to  see  my  hone,st  pains  come 
to  naught  because  of  the  shameful  jeal- 
ousy of  some,  who  being  in  favor  at 
court,  are  ever  prejudicing  the  queen 
against  you,  out  of  fear  you  should  come 
and  supplant  them." 

"Who  are  these  you  allude  to?"  in- 
quired Raleigh.  "  If  they  be  worthy  of 
any  notice  from  me,  I  will  presently  let 
them  know  what  I  think  of  them." 

"Nay,  I  will  name  none,"  replied  Sir 
Robert.  "  I  like  not  being  a  breeder  of 
mischief.  1  would  rather  assist  in  making 
Vuu  friends  with  all  than  foes  with  any. 
I  doubt  not  that  before  any  very  long 
time,  despite  of  the  malice  of  your  many 
enemies,  I  shall  succeed  in  my  constant 
endeavors  to  get  you  placed  in  such  near- 
ness to  her  majesty  as  your  superiority  in 
all  gallant  accomplishments,  and  your 
unrivalled  experience  in  war  and  state 
affairs  deserve/' 

"I  am  infinitely  bound  to  you  for  the 
many  great  kindnesses  you  have  done 
me,"  said  Sir  Walter  earnestly.  "I 
should  certainly  feel  more  than  ordinary 
satisfaction  in  returning  to  the  place  I 
held  at  court,  were  it  only  to  prove  to  you 
how  grateful  a  sense  I  have  of  your  ex- 
treme friendliness." 

"  Mention  it  not,  Sir  Walter,  I  beg  of 
you,"  answered  the  other  with  an  affec- 
lation  of  marvellous  disinterestedness. 
"  What  1  have  done  hath  been  from  love 
of  your  notable  fine  qualities  of  heart 
and  mind."  Then  turning  to  Master 
Francis,  who  was  examining  a  curious 
piece  of  armor,  he  added — "  Dost  not 
think  that  suit  of  chainmail  exceeding 
singular,  Master  Francis  ?" 

"Truly,  it  doth  seem  of  a  most  curious 
fabric,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  he. 

"  It  belonged  to  a  famous  gallant  war- 
rior," continued  Cecil.  "His  great  bra  ve- 
ry and  his  wonderful  knowledge  attracted 
general  attention,  and  he  was  so  much 
prized  that  he  became  the  particular  as- 
sociate of  the  prince  he  served,  and  of  his 
chiefest  nobles.  Although  his  many  ex- 
cellencies made  him  every  man's  praise, 
none  knew  for  certain  of  what  family  he 
was,  and  as  he  had  ever  kept  a  mysieri- 
ous  silence  on  the  matter,  it  was  supposed 
of  some  he  was  related  to  one  who  had 
drawn  odium  on  his  name  by  treason-or 
sacrilege.  All  believed  him  to  be  of  high 
birth,  because  of  the  princely  manner  in 


which  he  bore  himself,  and  the  equality 
with  which  he  appeared  to  associate  with 
the  priiice  and  his  nobles;  but  upon  its 
being  discovered  that  he  was  nothing  bel- 
ter than  the  base-born  offspring  of  an  iu- 
trigue  between  two  vulgar  persons,  the 
scorn  and  contempt  with  which  he  was 
immediately  treated  eve-i  by  the  very 
lowest  man-at-arms,  was  such  as  his 
proud  spirit  could  not  endure,  and  he 
presently  made  away  with  himself-  with 
his  own  dagger." 

Master  Francis  heard  this  account  with 
the  very  deepest  interest,  which  increased 
as  it  proceeded.     He  tried  to  look  indif- 
ferent,   knowing   that   the   gaze  of    the 
!  speaker  was  upon  him  ;  but   the  sudden 
I  burning   of  his   cheeks,    and    the   quick 
flashing  of  his  eyes,  would  have  betrayed 
j  him  to  the  most  unobservant  spectator. 
I  He  felt  convinced  Sir  Robert  Cecil  knew 
|  his   history,  and   made  up  the  story  he 
;  had  told  only  to  remind  him  of  his  dis- 
j  grace;  and  this  conviction  made  him  feel 
I  more  ashamed  of  himself  every  moment. 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  saw  the  confusion  of 
his  secretary,  and  knew  the  cause  of  it, 
and  drew  off  the  attention   of  Cecil  as 
quickly  as  he  could  by  inquiring  the  his- 
tory of  some  other  piece  of  armor,  and 
then  kept  him  in  talk  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  room  till  Master  Francis  had  recov- 
ered  himself.     Soon    afterward,    to  his 
secretary's  extreme  comfort,  Sir  Walter 
took  his  leave. 

Cecil  was  again  alone.  A  sinile  of 
peculiar  satisfaction  was  visible  upon  his 
features  as  he  sat  for  some  minutes  appa- 
rently absorbed  in  thought.  His  quick 
eye  had  noticed  the  change  of  counte- 
nance in  Master  Francis,  and  he  in  a  mo- 
ment had  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  the 
truih  ;  but  he  soon  dismissed  the  subject 
as  one  unworthy  of  his  consideration. 
His  thoughts  were  now  fixed  upon  mat- 
ters of  far  more  moment  to  him,  which 
were  no  other  than  the  different  intrigues 
in  which  he  was  engaged  for  the  obtain- 
ing of  political  power  for  himself,  that 
now,  after  so  much  patient  plotting, 
seemed  about  coming  to  a  successful  issue. 
Whilst  he  was  thus  engaged,  he  heard 
a  tapping  on  the  wainscot,  that  made  him 
hurry  tc  the  sliding,  panel  elsewhere  de- 
scribed ;  upon  opening  of  which  there 
entered  no  other  than  my  Lady  Howard 
of  Walden,  closely  wrapped  in  a  dainty 
cloak,  with  a  close  hat  and  muffler. 

"This  is  wondrous  kind  of  you!"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Robert,  now  casting  aside 
the  absorbed  politician  for  the  devoted 
lover,  as  he  led  the  lady  to  a  seat. 


240 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  I  doubt  you  deserve  I  should  have 
such  regard  for  you  as  to  take  this  step," 
replied  she  with  an  air  of  wonderful  se- 
riousness, as  if  she  was  in  no  way  satis- 
fied with  what  she  was  about. 

"  0'  my  life,  adorable  sweet  creature  ! 
— you  speak  but  too  truly  !"  cried  Cecil, 
gazing  upon  her  with  most  enamored  eyes. 
"What  high  desert  would  suffice  for  so 
inestimable  a  thing  as  a  proof  of  affec- 
tion from  one  of  so  delicate  a  beauty  as 
my  Lady  Howard — the  admiration  of  the 
whole  court  of  England — the  envy  of  her 
own  sex,  the  delight  of  the  other,  and  the 
object  of  tbe  very  fondest  idolatry  to  him 
who  is  allowed  the  supreme  felicity  of 
calling  himself  the  humblest  of  her 
slaves." 

"  Fie  on  you,  for  a  flatterer  !"  exclaim- 
ed her  now  smiling  ladyship. 

"  Never  was  truer  word  spoke,"  replied 
her  lover,  lowering  his  arm  from  her 
shoulder,  where  it  had  rested  a  moment 
since,  to  her  waist,  which  it  presently 
encircled,  as  he  knelt  down  on  one  knee 
before  her,  and  with  his  other  hand  took 
one  of  hers  and  passionately  pressed  it 
to  his  lips.  "  By  this  fair  hand  !  woman 
have  I  never  seen  in  any  way  fit  to  be 
compared  with  you.  For  indeed,  where 
else  shall  I  meet  with  eyes  of  so  lustrous 
a  fire — the  glance  whereof  melteth  one's 
very  heart  away  in  gazing?" 

"  Methinks  you  shall  easily  find  some 
of  a  brighter  kind,"  said  his  fair  com- 
panion, looking  upon  him  with  all  the 
brilliancy  her  eyes  pos&essed. 

"Be  sure  nature  hath  formed  none 
such,"  answered  the  other ;  then,  having 
both  arms  round  her  waist,  he  added  with 
increased  fervor — ;"  And  where  shall  I 
find  me  a  form  of  such  exquisite  propor- 
tions as  this  I  hold  in  my  loving  embrace  ? 
Oh  !  what  rapture  is  mine  thus  to  press  to 
my  most  devoted  heart  a  creature  whose 
every  limb  hath  such  perfect  grace  in  it 
that  angels  might  be  drawn  from  Heaven 
but  to  have  sight  of  her  perfections." 

"  Nay,  in  good  truth  you  can  not  think 
so,"  replied  she,  smiling  upon  him  in 
such  a  manner  as  showed  she  took  huge 
delight  in  what  he  had  said. 

"  I  swear  it !"  exclaimed  Cecil  very  fer- 
vently, and  then  raising  of  himself  gradu- 
ally, he  continued  Avith  more  fondness 
than  ever— "And  where  shall  I  meet 
with  lips  so  deliciously  smiling,  and  of  so 
tempting  a  ruddiness,  that  he  who  look- 
eth  on  them  unmoved  must  needs  be  lit- 
tle better  than  a  stone.  Indeed,  there  is 
in  them  so  powerful  an  attraction  that ! 
with  an  influence  it  be  impossible  to  re-  j 


sist,  I  find  mine  own  drawn  toward  them 
— ay,  even  upon  them  !" — •— 

"O*  my  word  now,  Sir  Robert! — this 
must  not  be  !"  cried  his  fair  companion, 
looking  to  be  somewhat  offended  at  the 
liberty  he  was  taking. 

"  Dear — sweet— excellent  Lady  How- 
ard !"— 

"  Nay,  I  can  not  allow  it !" 

"Most  charming — most  admirable  of 
women  !" 

"  Have  done  ! — or  I  shall  be  vexed  with 
you  presently." 

11  Believe  me  it  be  nothing  but  the  ex- 
cess of  my  passion  that  no  reason  can 
chain,  no  consideration  destroy.  I  love 
you,  beautiful  Lady  Howard  ! — and  whilst 
I  gaze  on  such  incomparable  charms  as 
those  I  press  within  my  eager  embrace, 
I  find  exquisite  cause  for  all  I  can  say  or 
do.  It  could  never  be  meant  that  such  a 
paragon  of  womanly  grace  should  be  the 
monopoly  of  one  who  hath  no  proper  ap- 
preciation of  your  value.  'Twould  be  the 
grossest  injustice  ever  thought  of  were  it 
allowed.  Throw  not  away  so  precious  a 
gift  as  yourself  in  such  a  manner  I  im- 
plore you.  I  who  long  have  worshipped 
you — I  who  have  sighed  in  secret  for  you 
year  after  year — who  live  but  in  your 
presence — who  think  of  naught,  care  for 
naught,  and  wish  for  naught  but  your 
own  dear  self— I  best  deserve  you.  There- 
lore,  it  be  but  in  common  justice,  you 
should  make  the  treasure  mine." 

"Indeed,  I  must  not  suffer  any  such  a 
thing,"  replied  her  ladyship:  neverthe- 
less she  did  suffer  it.  It  may  to  some  seem 
strange  that  a  man  like  Sir  Robert  Ce- 
cil, of  exceeding  unprepossessing  appear- 
ance, dwarfish  in  stature,  and  noted  for 
no  gallant  accomplishments,  should  play 
the  lover  successfully  with  so  attractive 
a  woman  as  my  Lady  Howard  of  Wai- 
den.  But  he  had  so  beguiling  a  tongue 
that  an  angel  might  have  been  deceived 
by  him  ;  and  it  is  a  known  fact  that  there 
be  some  women  of  so  base  a  nature  (of 
which  sort  was  her  ladyship  out  of  all 
doubt),  that  with  them  the  fame  of  hon- 
orable deeds,  a  true  heart,  or  a  mind 
gifted  with  the  rarest  knowledge,  would 
have  no  chance ;  whilst  a  wily  tongue 
that  would  sufficiently  flatter  their  self- 
love,  no  matter  how  crooked  the  body,  or 
how  evil  the  disposition  with  which  it 
was  accompanied,  would  win  any  such 
with  little  trouble.  The  Lady  Howard 
had  managed  to  conceal  an  intriguing 
nature  under  a  vast  affectation  of  prudery 
so  well,  that  she  was  not  suspected  of 
any ;  and  by  her  husband  she  was  looked 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


241 


Upon  as  the  only  truly  virtuous  woman 
of  his  acquaintance.  He  was  much  older 
than  herself,  yet  was  he  ever  playing  the 
gallant  of  some  pretty  woman,  all  the 
While  living  in  a  monsirous  fear  that  his 
wife  should  get  knowledge  of  it.  She 
and  Cecil  had  been  much  together  of 
late.  Each  knew  the  usefulness  of  the 
other :  each  was  equally  ambitious  and 
unprincipled.  The  one  played  the  lover 
to  get  the  queen^s  confidante  in  his  pow- 
er ;  and  the  Lady  Howard  saw  her  own 
advantage  in  having  as  her  slave  a  man 
evidently  so  bent  upon  raising  himself  to 
greatness  as  was  Sir  Robert  Cecil. 

These  two  were  very  lovingly  engaged 
when  all  at  once  the  lady  jumped  up  in 
seeming  great  alarm.  "  That  is  my  hus- 
band's voice  !"  exclaimed  she.  "  Let  me 
out  quickly  !  I  would  not  have  him  see 
me  here  for  worlds." 

"There  is  no  time  to  get  out  at  the 
panel,  as  I  hear  him  approaching  the 
door.  Hide  behind  here,  I  pray  you/' 

The  Lady  Howard  had  just  time  to  get 
concealed  behind  the  figure  of  a  man  in 
armor  that  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
when  the  door  opened  and  in  walked  her 
husband,  as  Cecil  was  very  fervently 
wishing  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  Red 
sea. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure !" 
cried  Sir  Robert  with  a  famous  cordiali- 
ty, as  the  other  with  the  gait  of  a  dan- 
cing monkey  came  smirking  toward  him. 

"By  this  hand  !  I  thought  I  should  take 
you  by  surprise,"  replied  my  Lord  How- 
ard of  Walden  affectedly.  "  I'faith  ! — I 
am  ever  surprising  of  my  friends  that  be 
the  truth.  But  I  have  come,  having  a 
secret  of  marvellous  importance,  which  I 
can  not  rest  without  telling  you  of." 

"I  feel  infinitely  honored  by  the  confi- 
dence you  would  place  in  me,"  replied 
Cecil. 

"  But  mind  you  say  to  none  the  slight- 
est breath  of  that  I  mean  to  acquaint  you 
with,"  said  my  .ord  with  a  monstrous 
earnestness. 

"  Of  that  be  well  assured,  Lord  Thom- 
as," answered  his  companion. 

"  It  be  such  a  secret  as  I  should  not 
like  to  have  known  of  any,"  continued  the 
other.  "  But  I  would  as  soon  die  as  my 
wife  should  know  of  it." 

Sir  Robert  Cecil  had  much  difficulty 
to  restrain  from  smiling,  knowing,  as  he 
did,  that  the  Lady  Howard  was  so  close 
to  her  husband  she  could  hear  every 
whisper  he  uttered  ;  and  that  therefore 
the  secret,  whatever  it  might  be  about, 
and  he  knew  of  what  character  it  was 
16 


most  like  to  be,  could  not  help  being 
known  by  her  the  moment  it  was  said. 

"  The  fact  is,  these  women  will  be  my 
ruin,"  added  the  Lord  Howard  with  a 
truly  wonderful  complacency.  "  For  mine 
own  part,  I  know  not  why  it  is,  for  I  see 
not  I  am  a  properer  man  than  others,  but 
I  am  ever  a  finding  of  some  pretty  wo- 
man desperately  in  love  with  me,  and  I 
can  not  help  being  like  to  get  myself  into 
some  scrape  with  my  wife,  who  is  one 
of  so  rigid  a  virtue  she  can  not  abide  the 
thought  of  anything  unlawful.  Indeed,  I 
believe  her  to  be  the  very  purest  wife 
that  breathes." 

"  You  have  much  occasion  to  congrat- 
ulate yourself,  my  good  lord,"  observed 
Sir  Robert. 

"  Ay,  that  have  I,"  said  her  husband. 
"But  what  am  I  to  do?  These  women 
no  sooner  have  sight  of  me  than  they 
straightway  get  furiously  enamored. 
Mayhap,  if  I  should  appear  indifferent 
to  the  many  tokens  they  afford  me  of 
their  attachment,  they  would  go  upon 
violent  courses ;  and  I  should  have  their 
deaths  upon  my  conscience,  which  I  as- 
sure you,  would' make  me  infinitely  mis- 
erable all  my  days/' 

"Doubtless,  to  occasion  the  death  of  a 
fair  creature  is  by  no  means  a  pleasant 
source  of  after  reflection,"  remarked  Cecil 
with  an  excellent  gravity. 

"  I  could  never  exist  with  it,"  replied 
my  Lord  Howard.  "  In  honest  truth,  I 
am  of  so  mild  a  heart,  that  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  pretty  woman  being  in  any  sort 
of  suffering  for  me,  maketh  me  as  pitiful 
as  a  child.  So  if  any  love  me,  I  must 
needs  love  them  in  return.  Methinks  I 
could  do  no  less  without  the  very  abso- 
lutest  cruelty.  What  think  you?" 

"  It  be  a  delicate  matter  to  pronounce 
judgment  on,"  answered  his  companion. 
"  Yet,  being  possessed  of  so  incompara- 
ble a  wife,  it  seemeth  to  me  an  injustice 
to  her,  that  you  should  seek  the  love  of 
any  other/1 

"  That  is  the  very  devil  of  it,"  exclaim- 
ed my  lord.  "  Yet,  if  you  will  believe 
me,  seek  I  the  love  of  none.  Do  what 
I  may  they  be  ever  after  me.  For  my 
lady's  sake  I  would  fain  avoid  them  if  I 
could  ;  but  the  more  attempts  I  make  to 
be  true  to  her,  the  more  violently  do  they 
persevere  in  their  affections  toward  me. 
Never  was  man  so  besieged.  Go  where 
I  will,  I  meet  them.  I  can  turn  no  way 
without  finding  some  fair  dame  furiously 
intent  upon  loving  me  whether  I  will  or 
no.  O'  my  life,  it  be  the  difficultest  thing 
possible  to  keep  ray  Lady  Howard  igno- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


rant  of  these  matters.  By  this  light,  1 
Know  not  what  she  would  do  came  she  to 
get  acquainted  with  any  part  of  what  I 
have  told  you." 

At  that  moment  Cecil  observed  her 
ladyship  peeping  from  behind  jhe  figure 
of  the  man  in  armor  which  was  now  at 
the  back  of  her  husband,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance  was  a  mixture 
of  exceeding  curiosity  and  anger.  What 
to  do  he  scarce  knew,  for  he  expected 
something  would  happen  ;  but  knowing 
that  such  women  are  never  at  a  loss  un- 
der the  most  embarrassing  circumstan- 
ces, he  left  the  management  of  the  matter 
to  her. 

"  But  now  for  the  secret  I  would  you 
should  know  of,"  continued  my  Lord 
Howard  of  Walden,  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tery, as  he  drew  Sir  Robert  closer  to  the 
corner  of  the  room  where  his  wife  stood 
concealed.  "I  beg  of  you  keep  a  strict 
silence.  Should  you  drop  a  hint  of  it  to 
another,  mayhap  it  would  come  to  my 
lady's  ears,  who  hath  such  extreme  horror 
of  unlawful  love,  there  be  no  knowing 
what  mischief  it  might  do,  she  would  be 
so  shocked." 

"  Unless  you  tell  it  her  yourself,  Lord 
Thomas,  be  sure  she  can  never  hear  of 
it,"  replied  his  companion. 

"  I  tell  it  her  !"  exclaimed  her  husband 
in  a  famous  astonishment.  "I  would  no 
more  dare  breathe  a  syllable  of  it  to  her 
than  fly.  She  is  so  marvellous  chaste  a 
wife  that  were  she  but  to  suspect  of  such  a 
thing,  I  doubt  not  she  would  have  no 
more  to  do  with  me ;  and  then  the  queen 
coming  to  know  of  it,  with  whom  she 
is  wonderfully  familiar,  I  should  not  be 
able  to  show  my  face  at  court.  So  I  im- 
plore you,  be  cautious.  By  this  hand,  I 
would  not  repose  this  confidence  in  you, 
but  that  I  do  believe  you  to  be  of  so  trust- 
worthy a  disposition,  there  is  nothing  you 
would  rather  not  do  than  that  I  should 
receive  hurt  at  your  hands." 

"  Indeed,  you  but  do  me  justice,  my 
lord,"  answered  the  other  with  his  usual 
affectation  of  sincerity.  "  It  will  ever  be 
my  happiness  to  serve  you  in  any  way 
in  which  my  poor  ability  lieth  ;  and  from 
the  admiration  I  can  not  but  entertain  for 
my  Lady  Howard,  in  consequence  of  the 
wonderful  goodness  of  her  nature,  in  any- 
thing in  which  she  is  concerned,  you  may 
always  count  upon  my  instant  good  offices 
— out  of  very  absolute  affection  I  assure 
you." 

"  No\v,  that  be  exceeding  kind  of  you !" 
cried  my  lord,  shaking  his  supposed  friend 
by  the  hand  very  cordially.  "  It  doth  my  | 


heart  good  to  meet  such  friendship.  I 
would  do  you  such  another  turn  at  any 
time." 

"I  doubt  it  not,  I  doubt  it  not,  my 
lord,"  replied  Cecil,  returning  the  other's 
shake  of  the  hand  with  infinite  earnest- 
ness. 

"  But  about  this  secret,"  continued  his 
companion,  dropping  his  voice  a  little, 
and  assuming  a  greater  mysteriousness 
than  ever.  "You  must  know  there  hath 
lately  come  on  a  visit  to  my  wife,  as 
sweet  a  young  creature  as  eye  ever  beheld. 
To  describe  to  you  her  charms  of  feature 
and  person,  could  I  never  with  any  justice. 
In  honest  truth,  her  comeliness  is  of  such 
a  sort  that  none  could  gaze  on  without 
loving.  By  this  light,  I  tried  all  I  could 
not  to  be  enamored  with  her.  I  would 
scarce  look  at  her.  I  avoided  being  left 
alone  with  her  at  any  time.  I  gave  her 
such  a  lack  of  civil  speech  as  must  have 
offended  any  other.  Yet  it  was  easy  to 
see  from  the  beginning  she  had  taken  a 
desperate  liking  to  me.  She  possesse'h 
the  most  moving  eyes  woman  ever  had  ; 
and  these  she  should  fix  on  me  for  such  a 
length  of  time,  and  with  such  an  extreme 
tenderness,  I  could  not  help  knowing  what 
her  thoughts  were  about.  Still  was  I 
mightily  circumspect  in  my  behavior. 
Finding  this  of  no  avail,  she  would,  ever 
and  anon,  fetch  such  woful  sighs  as  were 
quite  pitiful  to  hear ;  and  give  me  such 
sly  glances  as  would  have  set  any  man  in 
a  flame.  However,  I  kept  thinking  of 
my  lady,  and  regarded  her  with  as  little 
attention  as  was  possible.  Afterward  she 
took  to  showing  me  the  lovingest  passages 
out  of  Master  Shakspeare's  most  sweet 
poem,  the  Rape  of  Lucrece,  and  asked 
me,  with  a  look  that  shot  a  thousand 
arrows  into  my  heart  and  liver,  if  I  did 
not  believe  them  to  be  monstrous  delicate- 
ly writ.  I  must  confess,  at  this  I  began 
to  be  somewhat  moved.  By  this  hand, 
there  can  be  no  man  living  who  could 
read  of  such  things  pointed  out  to  him  by 
a  sweet  young  creature,  and  remain  in- 
different. I  could  not  help  acknowledg- 
ing, with  some  emphasis,  that  they  were 
writ  with  a  very  infinite  delicacy.  There- 
upon she  smiled  on  me  after  so  loving  a 
fashion,  that  my  heart  could  not  avoid 
dissolving  of  itself  away  like  a  lump  of 
sugar  in  a  cup  of  wine.  The  next  time 
I  handed  her  to  dinner  she  squeezed  my 
hand.  0'  my  life,  she  did  squeeze  it  so 
tenderly  I  was  forced  into  doing  of  the 
same ;  I  could  no  more  help  it  than  I 
could  help  any  other  thing  that  I  must 
needs  do;  for,  to  say  the  truth,  she  hath 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


243 


ihe  plumpest,  delicatest  hand  I  ever  held  ; 
and  no  mortal  man  could  have  his  fingers 
pressed  by  such  a  sweet  young  creature 
and  feel  it  not. 

"  Still  I  tried  not  to  love  her.  By  this 
light,  the  more  I  tried  the  less  I  suc- 
ceeded !  There  was  she,  day  after  day, 
giving  me  the  lovingest  looks,  the  touch- 
ingest  sighs,  and  the  movingest  squeezes 
of  the  hand,  that  ever  were  known.  I 
did  all  that  could  have  been  expected  of 
me.  But  to  hold  out  with  an  indifference 
of  such  things  was  more  than  I  could 
have  done  had  I  been  as  virtuous  as  a 
pickled  herring.  My  humanity  would 
endure  it  no  longer.  I  straightway  fell 
to  loving  her  as  famously  as  I  might.  My 
heart  is  now  filled  with  her  night  and  day. 
I  know  that  she  is  enamored  of  me  to 
that  extent  she  can  not  eat,  drink,  or 
sleep,  with  any  comfort ;  and  I,  having 
knowledge  of  this,  can  not  but  be  in  the 
like  way  affected.  All  that  troubleth  me 
is  the  fear  that  my  Lady  Howard  should 
suspect  me.  I  am  in  a  constant  alarm 
at  the  thought  of  it.  It  be  beyond  all 
manner  of  doubt  that  she  is  the  very  vir- 
tuousest  of  wives  ;  yet,  betwixt  you  and 
I,  when  she  hath  been  put  out  at  all,  she 
hath  a  look  with  her  of  so  terrible  a  sort, 
that — oh  Lord  !"  exclaimed  he,  breaking 
off  on  a  sudden  in  his  narration,  and 
starting  back  in  as  complete  a  fright  as 
ever  was  seen  ;  for,  to  his  utter  confusion, 
there  stood  his  wife  before  him ;  and,  as 
if  to  show  he  had  in  no  way  exaggerated 
the  terribleness  of  her  looks,  she  had  fixed 
on  him  a  gaze  so  threatening,  gloomy, 
and  indignant,  as  must  have  made  her 
appear  to  him  a  very  Medusa. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Now,  gentlemen,  I  go 
To  turn  an  actor  and  a  humorist. 

BEN  JONSO.V. 

Then  to  the  well-trod  stag*  anon, 

If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on  ; 

Or  sweetest  Shakspeare,  Fancy's  child, 

Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild.    MILTON. 

Seeing  too  much  sadness  hath  congealed  your  blood, 
And  melancholy  is  the  nurse  of  phrensy, 
Therefore,  they  thought  it  good  you  hear  a  play, 
And  frame  your  mind  to  mirth  and  merriment," 
Which  bars  a  thousand  harms,  and  lengthens  life. 
SHAKSPEARE. 

"  COME,  Master  Francis!  Prythee  let 
us  tarry  no  longer !  Master  Shakspeare 
bade  me  tell  you  to  be  sure  to  be  at  the 
playhouse  early,  as  there  was  a  new 
play,  which  he  wished  you  to  see  from 
thebe-rinning." 


"  I  shall  be  ready  on  the  instant,  Har- 
ry." 

The  two  young  friends  were  in  a  room 
fitted  up  as  a  library,  that  stood  in  a  tur- 
ret of  Durham  house,  looking  over  upon 
the  river,  and  Harry  was  leaning  out  of 
the  casement,  taking  note  of  what  sort 
of  persons  were  upon  the  water,  on  whom 
he  would  make  all  sorts  of  droll  remarks, 
and  occasionally  turning  of  himself  round 
to  hurry  his  companion,  who  was  now 
fastening  on  his  rapier.  In  a  few  min- 
utes they  were  both  speeding  together  in 
the  direction  of  the  playhouse  in  the 
Blackfriars.  There  was  a  marked  dif- 
ference between  the  two  young  men. 
Harry  Daring  was  full  of  spirits,  talking 
and  laughing  as  he  went,  as  if  he  cared 
for  nothing  in  the  world ;  but  Master 
Francis  looked  with  as  absolute  a  melan- 
choly as  ever  was  seen  in  him,  and  took 
heed  of  nothing  that  was  said  of  the 
other,  or  of  any  one  thing  or  person  that 
he  passed.  In  truth,  what  had  been  told 
him  by  Sir  Robert  Cecil  had  made  a 
wonderful  impression  on  his  sensitive  na- 
ture, and  had  created  in  him  with  in- 
creased force  those  humiliating  feelings 
regarding  his  birth  that  had  ofttimes  be- 
fore made  him  so  miserable  at  heart 
He  fancied  that  it  had  been  said  by  de- 
sign, but  this  was  merely  the  result  of 
the  state  of  suspiciousness  and  fear  in 
which  he  felt  when  any  allusion  was 
made  to  this  distressing  subject ;  and 
which  made  him  conjure  up  all  manner 
of  evils,  when  he  thought  it  possible  his 
fine  acquaintances  might  find  out  that  he 
was  of  such  low  origin.  He  had  long  since 
entertained  a  desire  to  see  his  reputed 
father,  but  now  he  was  determined  on  it. 
It  appeared  to  him  that  if  this  Holdfast 
was  a  good  man,  and  would  not  be 
ashamed  to  acknowledge  him  as  a  son, 
he  should  be  enabled  to  care  the  less  for 
the  contumely  of  those  to  whom  he  had 
used  to  look  as  the  conferrers  of  that  hon- 
orable reputation  he  had  been  so  am- 
bitious to  acquire. 

In  these  different  moods  Master  Francis 
and  Harry  Daring  entered  the  playhouse, 
and  took  their  seats  in  one  of  the  rooms. 
The  lower  part  of  the  playhouse  was 
nearly  full,  the  scaffolding  quite,  and  that 
in  which  the  more  genteel  sort  of  the 
audience  sat,  was  rapidly  receiving  com- 
pany. The  opening  and  shutting  of  the 
doors  as  the  people  were  let  in,  and  the 
hum  of  those  who  were  talking  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  house,  were  the  chief 
sounds  that  were  heard.  Harry  amused 
himself  before  the  play  began  by  noticing 


244 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


the  great  variety  of  hats  and  caps  which 
were  worn  by  those  beneath  him  ;  and 
certes  there  seemed  to  be  some  of  every 
kind  and  shape  under  the  sun.  Master 
Francis  was  still  engaged  in  pursuing  of 
his  melancholy  thoughts,  when  alt  at 
once  he  was  roused  from  his  reflections 
by  a  sudden  uncovering  of  heads  and  a 
great  cry  of,  "  The  queen  !  the  queen  !" 
and  true  enough,  upon  looking  opposite 
to  him,  he  noticed  Queen  Elizabeth,  clad 
in  such  splendor  as  he  had  not  seen  her 
in  before,  with  a  famous  throng  of  lords 
and  ladies  entering  one  of  the  rooms, 
which  was  hung  very  richly  with  em- 
broidered velvet.  Before  she  took  her 
seat,  she  came  forward  and  courtesied 
several  times,  with  a  dignity  and  becom- 
ingness  that  did  win  her  all  sorts  of  com- 
mendations from  those  of  her  loving  sub- 
jects who  could  get  a  sight  of  her.  Upon 
the  subsiding  of  the  tumult  one  of  the 
players  came  forward  and  spoke  the  pro- 
logue, which  was  well  received,  and  then 
the  curtain  which  divided  the  stage  from 
the  groundlings,  slowly  rose.  All  in  the 
house  presently  directed  their  entire  at- 
tentions to  the  players. 

Master  Francis  now,  for  the  first  time, 
felt  some  sort  of  interest  in  what  he 
came  to  see.  He  had  not  the  slightest 
knowledge  of  the  subject  of  the  new  play, 
or  by  whom  it  had  been  writ,  but  as  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  had  been  so  particular  in 
wishing  him  to  see  it  the  first  time  it  was 
played,  he  had  no  doubt  it  would  be 
found  of  some  merit.  At  the  beginning 
he  could  hear  but  indistinctly  what  was 
said  on  the  stage,  which  he  noticed  as 
having  been  fresh  strewed  with  rushes, 
but  on  something  reaching  his  ear  he 
listened  more  attentively. 

"No!  Surely  it  can  not  be!"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  his  face  became  so  flushed, 
and  then  so  pale,  and  he  looked  so  won- 
der-siruck,  and  felt  such  a  quick  beating 
at  his  heart,  as  he  had  before  had  no 
experience  of. 

"  Eh  ?  What  can  not  be,  Master  Fran- 
cis ?"  inquired  his  friend. 

"Nothing — Harry,  nothing,"  replied 
the  other,  as  well  as  he  could,  for  he  felt 
as  though  he  could  scarce  breathe. 

"  Silence,  fellow !"  cried  my  Lord  Dim- 
ple, who  was  in  the  same  room  with 
him. 

"Dost  call  my  friend  'fellow'?"  asked 
Harry  Daring,  turning  sharp  round  upon 
the  last  speaker ;  but  my  Lord  Dimple 
answered  not.  Mayhap  he  liked  not  the 
resolute  look  of  the  youth  who  questioned 
him.  Master  Francis  pulled  Harry  by 


the  sleeve,  who,  though  he  seemed  won* 
derfully  inclined  for  a  quarrel,  presently 
turned  his  attention  to  the  stage.  As  for 
Master  Francis,  he  seemed  as  though  he 
could  not  sit  still  a  moment.  Now  he 
was  bending  forward  to  see  the  players, 
and  anon  throwing  himself  back  in  his 
seat  with  a  flushed  countenance  and  anx- 
ious look  that  showed  he  took  in  the  play 
a  deeper  interest  than  common.  When- 
ever there  was  any  applause  from  the 
audience  he  appeared  more  moved  than 
ever ;  yet  his  eyes  brightened  up  famously 
all  the  time  as  if  he  was  as  well  pleased 
as  any.  Sometimes  when  no  approbation 
was  exhibited  his  cheek  grew  pale,  and 
his  whole  appearance  exceeding  uneasy  ; 
but  directly  there  was  any  clapping  of 
hands  his  color  came  as  vividly  as  before, 
and  there  was  an  extraordinary  excite- 
ment in  his  look. 

The  subject  of  the  new  play  was  "  The 
Right  Tragical  Story  of  Hypatia."  It 
may  not  be  known  to  all  that  in  the  early 
part  of  the  fifth  century  there  lived  a  lady 
of  wonderful  virtue,  beauty,  and  learning, 
who  was  the  daughter  of  the  mathema- 
tician Theon  of  Alexandria  ;  and  was  of 
so  gifted  a  mind  that  she  presided  over 
the  school  of  Platonic  philosophy  taught 
in  that  city,  with  such  marvellous  ability 
that  she  drew  crowds  of  scholars,  philos- 
ophers, and  statesmen,  from  all  parts,  to 
hear  her  lectures ;  and  was  the  chief 
adviser  in  matters  of  importance  of  Ores- 
tes, the  governor  of  Alexandria,  by  whom 
she  was  held  in  the  very  greatest  estima- 
tion. Now  the  patriarch  of  the  city, 
Cyril — or,  as  he  hath  been  since  called 
by  many  who  were  about  as  little  worthy 
of  the  title  as  he,  St.  Cyril — was  an  arro- 
gant, turbulent,  and  bigoted  priest,  who, 
surrounded  by  a  mob  of  worthless  monks, 
as  furious  and  fanatic  as  himself,  was 
ever  creating  of  some  disturbance  by 
aiming  ,at  the  destruction  of  all  such  who 
would  dare  to  worship  God  after  any 
fashion  save  what  he  would  allow;  and 
he,  envious  of  the  superior  reputation  of 
the  wise  and  beautiful  Hypatia,  and  sus- 
pecting that  she  influenced  the  governor 
in  his  behavior  to  him — seeing  that  Ores- 
tes would  not  tolerate  his  mischievous 
conduct — caused  Peter,  a  preacher,  to- 
gether with  a  party  of  his  clergy,  whom 
he  had  infuriated  against  her,  every  one 
of  whom  were  priests  of  the  devil  rather 
than  of  God,  to  seize  her  as  she  walked 
along  the  streets,  which  they  did  like  so 
many  enraged  demons,  then  dragging  her 
into  a  neighboring  church  with  violent 
outcries  and  fierce  execrations,  they  strip- 


***. 
n 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


245 


p«d  her  to  tne  skin,  when  having  satiated 
their  eyes  upon  the  beauties  of  her  person, 
they  tore  her  limb  from  limb,  carried  the 
mangled  body  in  horrid  triumph  through 
the  city  ;  and  at  last  made  them  a  famous 
bonfire,  and  therein  had  her  consumed  to 
ashes. 

A  very  moving  play  was  made  out  of 
this  doleful  tragedy,  and  the  players 
seemed  intent  upon  exerting  themselves 
as  much  as  was  possible,  that  it  might  be 
well  liked  of  the  audience.  Burbage 
played  the  part  of  St.  Cyril,  and  got 
abundance  of  applause  for  the  wonderful 
striking  picture  he  did  give  of  this  priestly 
Richard  the  Third.  Lowing  was  exceed- 
ingly dignified  as  Orestes,  the  governor. 
Demetrius,  a  young  philosopher,  in  love 
with  Hypatia,  was  very  admirably  played 
by  Taylor:  and  other  of  the  players  had 
parts  allotted  to  them  in  which  they 
could  best  display  their  particular  skilfuf- 
ness.  There  Avas  one  part,  though  of  but 
minor  importance  in  the  tragedy,  that 
did  require  no  ordinary  ability  in  the  per- 
formance of  it,  which  was  the  character 
of  Cleon,  the  father  of  Hypatia,  and  he 
found  so  able  a  representative  in  Master 
Shakspeare  that  nothing  could  exceed 
the  admiration  with  which  it  was  looked 
on  by  the  spectators.  In  fact,  though 
each  player  seemed  doing  of  his  besi,  none 
could  have  put  his  whole  heart  into  what 
he  was  about  as  did  Master  Shakspeare. 

Master  Francis  only  appeared  to  get 
the  more  excited  as  the  play  proceeded. 
He  took  a  hasty  glance  around  him,  and 
observed  every  part  of  the  playhouse 
thronged  with  persons,  all  of  whom,  from 
the  queen's  majesty  to  the  very  humblest 
serving-man  who  had  treated  himself 
with  standing  room  upon  the  scaffold, 
looked  absorbed  in  the  progress  of  the 
play.  At  this  his  heart  beat  more  quickly 
than  before,  and  he  leaned  himself  back 
in  his  seat  with  a  countenance  in  a  con- 
stant flush,  marked  with  a  continual  anx- 
iety and  fearfulness. 

"Harry!"  whispered  he  at  last. 

"Nay,  prythee  speak  noi  to  me,"  re- 
plied his  friend  with  some  little  impa- 
tience, "  this  be  the  capitalest  play  I  ever 
saw,  and  I  be  so  taken  up  with  it  I  can 
have  no  ear  for  anything  else."' 

This  rebuff,  instead  of  offending  him 
as  it  might  have  done  others,  appeared 
the  rather  to  please  him  much,  for  he 
smiled  in  such  a  sort  as  showed  he  found 
some  saiisfaclion  in  it.  Presently  the 
curtain  fell  to  mark  the  close  of  the  act. 
"Now,  Master  Francis,  what  would  you 
«ri;L  me  ?"  said  the  other. 


"  This  is  my  play,  Harry,"  whispered 
his  companion.  He  spoke  in  the  lowest 
voice  he  could,  for  though  he  thought 
'twould  be  a  pleasure  for  his  friend  to 
know  this,  he  could  not  bear  that  any  of 
the  strangers  around  him  should  have 
suspicion  of  it. 

"Your  play,  Master  Francis?  Said 
you  your  play  though,  indeed  ?"  asked 
Harry  Daring,  his  honest  face  in  a  won- 
drous exultation. 

"  Speak  not  so  loud,"  replied  the  other, 
in  so  little  a  voice  he  could  scarce  be 
heard.  "  This  is  the  very  play  I  did 
take  to  Master  Shakspeare  for  his  peru- 
sal the  day  you  treated  my  uncle  and 
others  at  the  Mitre ;  and  he  hath  got  it 
acted  by  the  players  without  letting  me 
know  anything  of  the  matter,  thinking 
for  to  surprise  me  when  I  should  see  it 
played."- 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog,  what  excellent 
good  news  !''  cried  Harry,  seemingly  in 
as  great  a  delight  as  he  could  be.  "I 
did  like  it  infinitely  when  I  knew  not  by 
whom  it  was  writ,  but  now  I  like  it  a 
thousand  times  better  than  ever." 

After  this  nothing  could  exceed  the  in- 
terest which  Harry  took  in  the  progress 
of  the  play,  save  the  zeal  with  which  he 
applauded  such  passages  as  met  with  the 
approbation  of  the  audience.  What  Mas- 
ter Francis  had  said  of  it  was  true.  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  on  its  perusal  by  him,  saw 
of  what  merit  it  was,  and  after  revising  it 
with  great  care,  he  had  read  it  to  the 
chiefest  of  his  brother-players,  by  whom 
it  was  so  liked  they  would  have  it  brought 
out  as  quickly  as  was  possible  :  thereupon 
he  gave  to  each  the  playing  of  such  char- 
acters as  he  knew  best  suited  their  abili- 
ties, taking  to  himself  one  of  less  import- 
ance, which  he  studied  with  all  the  care 
he  was  master  of;  and  took  such  pains 
that  all  should  be  perfect  in  their  parts 
as  he  had  never  done  even  for  plays  of 
his  own :  then,  when  everything  was 
ready,  he  did  prevail  on  his  patron,  the 
Lord  Southampton,  through  his  influence 
with  my  Lord  Essex,  to  get  the  queen  to 
come  to  the  playhouse  the  first  time  it  was 
played,  knowing  this  would  be  the  means 
of  procuring  for  it  as  favorable  an  audi- 
ence as  play  could  have  ;  after  which, 
bavin  a:  kept  Master  Francis  in  entire 
ignorance  of  the  matter,  he  sent  for  him 
in  the  manner  as  hath  been  described. 

It  has  been  shown  how  desirous  Master 
Francis  was  none  should  know  he  was 
the  writer  of  the  play.  Indeed,  he  had 
ever  been  of  so  modest  a  nature  that  he 
liked  not  at  all  being  made  the  gaze  or 


246 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


the  talk  of  those  around  him,  and  although 
the  greater  intercourse  with  society  he  had 
had  oflate  years  had  taken  from  him  much 
of  his  natural  shyness,  the  situation  in 
which  he  found  himself  placed,  made  him 
now  painfully  anxious  to  escape  observa- 
tion. With  these  feelings,  it  can  be  no 
difficult  matter  to  imagine  what  he  ex- 
perienced when  he  heard,  at  the  close  of 
the  fourth  act,  a  famous  fat  old  dame 
who,  with  a  daughter  as  fat  as  herself, 
sat  close  to  him,  inquire  of  Harry  Daring, 
if  he  knew  by  whom  the  play  was  writ. 

"  Ay,  that  do  I,  mistress,"  replied  Har- 
ry quickly  ;  "  it  be  writ  by  my  true  friend, 
Master  Francis  here,  who  for  an  honest 
heart  hath  not  his  match  anywhere." 

Master  Francis  heard  not  what  follow- 
ed. He  felt  as  if  he  would  have  given 
everything  he  possessed  to  get  out  of  the 
playhouse,  but  he  was  well  aWare  that 
if  he  attempted  to  move,  all  eyes  would 
be  upon  him,  so  there  he  sat  in  a  state  of 
confusion  impossible  to  be  described, 
knowing  but  too  well,  that  not  only  were 
the  eyes  of  the  portly  dame  and  her 
portly  daughter  fixed  wonderingly  upon 
him,  but  that  every  one  in  the  room  was 
whispering  remarks  concerning  his  being 
the  writer  of  the  play.  Even  my  Lord 
Dimple  was  heard  to  tell  another  lord  who 
was  beside  him,  who  was  now  his  true 
friend  in  place  of  my  Lord  Simple,  with 
whom  he  had  lately  had  a  dreadful  quarrel 
because  the  other  would  have  it  he  was 
the  truer  friend  of  the  two,  that  he  thought 
the  play  must  be  a  good  play  if,  when  it 
came  to  the  end,  no  fault  should  be  found 
in  it.  To  take  off  his  attention  from 
these,  Master  Francis  turned  to  look  at 
the  spectators  before  and  around  him.  In 
a  moment  he  drew  back  his  head  with 
more  confusion  than  ever.  It  seemed  to 
him,  by  the  hasty  glance  he  took,  as  if 
every  eye  in  the  playhouse  was  directed 
toward  the  place  where  he  sat.  In  his 
mind  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  it  was 
generally  known  he  was  the  writer  of  the 
play,  and  his  sense  of  shame  became 
every  moment  more  overpowering  at  find- 
ing of  himself  put  forward  with  a  'con- 
spicuousness  he  had  ever  such  dread  of. 
In  this  belief  he  had  somewhat  deceived 
himself.  As  he  leaned  forward  to  gaze 
on  the  players,  his  youthful  handsome 
face  had  attracted  some  attention,  which, 
from  the  singular  way  in  which  he  beha- 
ved, his  restlessness,  the  ever-varying  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance,  and  the  mark- 
ed anxiety  he  exhibited,  soon  increased, 
and  at  last  became  so  general,  that  during 
the  interval  between  the  acts,  he  was  the 


subject  of  observation  of  nearly  all  who 
could  get  sight  of  him. 

The  last  act  having  the  deepest  inter- 
est in  it  soon  took  off  from  him  the  notice 
of  the  spectators.  He  then  found  he 
could  look  up  without  being  observed  of 
any,  and  could  not  help  feeling  wonder- 
fully gratified  at  the  sight  of  so  noble  a 
company — the  queen  —  her  court — the 
many  beautiful  dames,  and  proud  gallants 
that  filled  the  rooms  around  him — the 
throng  of  groundlings  beneath,  and  the 
crowd  of  those  above,  all  with  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  stage,  and  ears  so  attentive  to 
what  was  being  said  by  the  players,  that 
you  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  As 
the  play  proceeded  toward  its  conclusion 
a  more  powerful  feeling  influenced  him 
and  quickly  took  possession  of  his  nature. 
This  was  a  fear  that  the  spectators  might 
not  like  the  catastrophe.  As  yet  no  dis- 
approbation had  been  shown.  The  ap- 
plause was  right  hearty  on  numberless 
occasions,  and  seemed  to  increase  the 
more  at  every  scene.  The  players  seeing 
that  their  exertions  were  probably  appre- 
ciated, now  took  all  the  more  pains  with 
what  they  did,  striving  what  they  could 
that  the  play  should  be  well  liked  to  the 
end  ;  but  Master  Francis,  seeing  how 
strongly  the  feelings  of  the  spectators 
were  excited,  as  the  tragedy  approached 
its  termination,  had  so  overpowering  a 
dread  that  the  ending  would  disappoint 
the  general  expectations  of  it,  that  at  last 
he  could  gaze  no  more  upon  the  stage,  but 
sat  himself  as  far  back  as  he  could,  trem- 
bling with  the  most  fearful  anxiousness ; 
and  his  heart  beating  with  such  marvel- 
lous quickness  as  made  it  quite  distres- 
sing. The  crisis  came.  He  could  only 
hear,  beside  the  voices  of  the  players, 
the  half-stifled  sobs  of  some  fair  creature 
in  whom  the  deep  tragic  interest  of  the 
conclusion  was  exciting  her  powerfulest 
sympathies.  All  else  in  the  house  seem- 
ed as  silent  as  the  grave.  He  felt  as  if  he 
could  scarce  breathe.  The  play  had 
ended.  For  a  second  or  two  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  sobbing  of  several;  when, 
all  at  once,  as  if  by  a  general  impulse, 
there  burst  forth  such  a  torrent  of  tumult- 
uous applause  as  seemed  like  to  shake 
the  playhouse  to  its  very  foundations. 

"  Ah,  Master  Francis,  this  be  a  play 
indeed !"  exclaimed  Harry  Daring,  clap- 
ping of  his  hands  as  if  he  would  never 
have  done,  with  the  tears  running  down 
his  cheeks  in  a  very  shower.  Master 
Francis  could  not  have  uttered  a  word  if 
it  had  been  to  save  his  life.  He  felt  proud 
and  happy:  so  happy  it  seemed  as  though 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


247 


naught  of  what  had  plagued  him  so  long, 
had  now  power  to  hurt  him  in  the  slight- 
est— so  happy,  he  could  think  of  no  one 
thing  but  the  infinite  gratification  he  en- 
joyed in  finding  his  play  so  liked  of  such 
a  noble  company.  Alack,  his  happiness 
lasted  not  long.  Upon  raising  his  eyes, 
in  the  room  opposite  to  him,  which,  he 
had  heard  my  Lord  Dimple  tell  his  friend, 
contained  the  French  ambassador  and  a 
party  of  foreign  gentlemen  and  ladies,  he 
beheld  no  other  than  Padre  Bartolome 
dressed  in  a  very  courtier-like  fashion, 
and  close  behind  him  gazing  intently  on 
Master  Francis,  sat  the  beautiful  Joanna. 
He  would  have  hurried  toward  her  on 
the  instant,  but  seeing  her  in  company 
with  such  a  thorough  villain  as  he  felt 
convinced  the  Jesuit  must  be  from  the 
baseness  of  his  behavior  to  him,  made 
him  pause  some  minutes,  the  which  lime 
he  employed  in  perplexing  thoughts  of 
how  she  got  acquainted  with  him,  and 
in  wondering  if  they  had  knowledge  of 
each  other  whilst  he  was  with  the  ex- 
pedition in  Guiana.  Upon  again  looking 
up  he  noticed  that  the  room  was  empty 
of  all  its  company. 

"Come,  Master  Francis!  the  queen 
hath  gone,  so  methinks  we  had  best  fol- 
low," here  exclaimed  Harry  Daring,  who, 
unnoticed  by  his  friend,  had  hitherto  been 
commending  of  the  play  to  the  portly 
dame  and  her  daughter.  "  I  warrant  me 
you  are  monstrous  glad  at  heart  now  be- 
cause of  your  play  succeeding  so  well.  I 
can  only  say,  never  felt  I  such  delight  as 
I  have  this  day." 

His  companion  replied  not,  but  he  was 
anything  but  glad  at  heart.  An  uneasi- 
ness upon  the  subject  of  Joanna's  myste- 
rious behavior,  had  taken  away  all  the 
pleasurable  feelings  he  had  enjoyed  but 
a  short  while  since.  However,  making 
a  violent  effort,  he  accompanied  Harry 
Daring  out  of  the  room,  and  made  direct 
for  that  part  of  the  playhouse  where  he 
expected  to  meet  Master  Shakspeare,  for 
he  could  not  think  of  leaving  the  place 
without  thanking  him  for  the  pains-ta- 
king and  loving  kindness  he  had  shown 
in  performing  of  his  play.  He  had  scarce 
put  his  foot  upon  the  stage  when  he  was 
met  by  his  old  acquaintance  Gib,  the 
call-boy,  who,  as  soon  as  he  recognised 
in  the  handsome  gallant  before  him,  the 
youth  whom  he  had  been  so  desirous 
should  "  do  the  women,"  shuffled  round 
him,  scratching  of  his  head,  with  his 
eyes  staring  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  and  his 
mouth  extending  of  itself  to  its  greatest 
dimensions. 


"  Hullo,  Beauty  !"  exclaimed  Harry, 
laughingly,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of 
the  call-boy,  "did  your  mother  feed  you 
with  the  fire-shovel  ?" 

At  this  moment  Master  Shakspeare 
came  up,  and  gave  very  cordial  greetings 
to  both  the  young  men.  Master  Francis, 
though  he  sought  his  friend  with  the  ex- 
press intention  of  expressing  his  grati- 
tude, now  found  he  could  not  say  a  word. 
All  that  he  could  do  was  to  press  the 
hand  he  held  in  his  own,  and  look  the 
infinite  thankfulness  he  felt  ;  and  this 
appeared  to  be  as  well  understood  of  the 
other  as  if  he  had  said  all  it  was  possible 
for  him  to  say.  Master  Shakspeare  hur- 
ried him  along,  saying  that  some  friends 
of  his  were  waiting  for  him — Harry  Dar- 
ing following,  till  they  entered  a  goodly 
room  filled  with  a  worshipful  company, 
like  unto  that  previously  described  in  the 
chamber  of  the  actors  at  the  Globe  play- 
house, on  the  Bankside. 

"  My  masters !"  exclaimed  Master  Shak- 
speare, addressing  them,  as  soon  as  he 
had  come  in,  "  I  have  brought  you  here 
one   to  whom   you  owe  great  store  of 
thankfulness  for  the  absolute   gratifica- 
tion received  of  you  to-day  from  the  play- 
ing of  that  most  sweet,  very  moving,  and 
admirably-writ  piece  of  tragedy,  upon  the 
doleful  history  of  Hypatia,  that  hath  been 
I  so  well  liked  of  the  queen's  majesty  and 
|  a  noble  concourse  of  spectators.     Of  the 
|  excellent  fine  genius  this  play  showeth, 
[  methinks  it  be  scarce  necessary  for  me 
to  speak.     I  doubt  not  all  here  are  as 
willing  and  as  able  to  do  it  justice  as  am 
I.    What  further  I  would  say  is,  that  the 
!  writer  thereof,  to  my  certain  knowledge 
!  of  him,  is  of  as  courteous,  as  modest,  and 
'  as  sweet  a  disposition  as  ever  it  hath  been 
;  my  good  fortune  to  meet." 

Master  Francis  had  but  an  imperfect 
[knowledge  of  what  took  place  after  this. 
!  The  handsome  manner  in  which  Master 
Shakspeare  had  spoke  of  him  before  so 
many  of  the  chiefest  wits  and  gallantest 
spirits  of  the  age,  had  so  bewildered  him 
he  could  make  no  reply  to  the  fine  com- 
pliments and  hearty  congratulations  of 
those  who  came  thronging  round,  seem- 
ingly anxious  to  show  their  commenda- 
tion of  a  writer  in  such  repute  of  so  nota- 
ble a  critic.  His  shamefacedness  though 
won  him  such  good  opinion  of  many,  as 
he  could  never  have  gained  by  the  com- 
pletest  impudency  that  ever  was  exhibit- 
ed. Master  Shakspeare  behaved  through- 
out with  so  entire  a  friendliness  as  was 
truly  delightful  to  look  on  ;  answering 
for  the  youth  when  there  was  any  neces- 


248 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


sitjr,  just  the  exact  sentiments  he  felt  at 
his  heart ;  and  with  pleasant  jests,  and 
kindly  assurances,  seeking  all  he  could  to 
make  the  other  feel  at  his  ease.  It  so 
happened  Master  Francis  had  managed 
to  bring  himself  to  some  sort  of  compo- 
sure when  a  new  source  of  disquietude 
appeared.  This  was  no  other  than  my 
Lord  Southampton  coming  in  all  haste 
into  the  room,  saying  the  queen  was  so 
taken  with  the  new  play  she  would  have 
the  writer  present  himself  before  her 
without  delay  at  her  palace  at  White- 
hall. Of  those  who  heard  this  intelli- 
gence, there  were  none  so  well  pleased 
as  Master  Shakspeare  and  Harry  Daring, 
the  latter  of  whom  expressed  his  gratifi- 
cation in  no  measured  language,  with  a 
perfect  carelessness  of  the  persons  of 
worship  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 

Master  Francis,  placing  himself  under 
the  guidance  of  my  Lord  Southampton, 
started  off  for  the  palace.  It  is  not  to  be 
denied  that  his  thoughts  now  took  some- 
what of  that  ambitious  turn»he  had  once 
so  loved  to  indulge  himself  with.  But  as 
the  wind  is  impelled,  so  it  will  go.  The 
knowledge  that  the  queen  had  so  liked 
his  play  as  to  send  for  him,  was  a  suffi- 
cient basis  for  the  most  famous  dreams 
of  honorable  advancement,  to  the  entire 
Ibrgetfulness  of  all  other  things;  and  on 
he  went,  building  up  his  hopes  higher 
than  ever  he  had  done.  Nor  was  the 
conversation  of  his  companion  at  all 
likely  to  make  him  less  sanguine.  The 
latter  had  heard  from  Master  Shakspeare 
such  accounts  of  his  young  friend  as  in- 
terested him  greatly  in  the  success  of  his 
play ;  and  the  little  he  had  seen  of  him, 
in  conjunction  with  the  singular  fine  tal- 
ent the  play  exhibited,  so  increased  that 
favorable  impression  that  he  would  glad- 
ly have  done  whatever  lay  in  his  power 
to  serve  him.  What  he  said  by  degrees 
wrought  in  the  other  such  confidence  that, 
when  he  entered  the  presence-chamber, 
he  was  more  at  his  ease  than  he  ex- 
pected to  be. 

Her  majesty  stood  in  the  centre  of  a 
brilliant  circle,  the  most  conspicuous  of 
whom  were  my  Lord  Essex,  dressed  very 
gorgeously,  and  looking  as  if  he  were 
Icing  of  them  all;  my  Lady  Howard  of 
Walden  and  her  lord,  with  whom,  after 
a  great  to-do,  on  the  part  of  Sir  Robert 
Cecil,  whom  he  ever  after  regarded  as  the 
honestest  nature  that  ever  lived,  she  was 
reconciled  :  Lady  Blanche  Somerset,  and 
many  ladies  of  her  court ;  my  Lord  Henry 
Howard,  my  Lord  Bumble,  and  divers 
other  nobles  and  gallants.  Mv  Lord 


Southampton  pressed  forward,  and  with  a 
very  famous  courtesy  introduced  his  young 
companion  to  the  queen's  notice.  It  was 
evident  that  Master  Francis's  well-dis- 
posed features  and  elegant  figure,  set  off 
to  the  fairest  advantage  by  a  dress  that 
was  at  once  simple. and  gentlemanly, 
created  for  him  a  favorable  impression 
amongst  all  there.  Some  of  the  ladies 
whispered  their  commendations  to  one 
another,  the  gentlemen  stared  in  some 
sort  of  curiosity,  and  Queen  Elizabeth, 
who  had  a  notable  liking  for  men  of  a 
proper  stature  and  comeliness,  could  not 
help  gazing  admiringly  on  the  handsome 
youth  before  her.  He  stood  with  a  very 
natural  modesty  at  some  little  distance, 
i  his  heart  beating  high,  and  his  pale 
i  thoughtful  face  a  little  more  flushed  than 
ordinary. 

"  This  play  of  yours,  young  sir,  hath 
pleased  us  mightily,"  observed  the  queen 
at  last,  in  her  most  condescending  man- 
ner. "  Out  of  all  doubt  it  is  a  marvellous 
proper  play.  You  seem  scarce  of  ripe 
age  enough  for  a  play-writer  ;  and  for  a 
play  so  well  writ,  disclosing  of  so  excel- 
I  lent  a  judgment,  it  seemeth  strange  in- 
deed it  should  be  writ  by  you.  Hast  writ 
other  plays  ?" 

"  Others  have  I  writ,  please  your  maj- 
esty ;  but  this  be  the  first  I  have  had  the 
good  hap  to  get  played,"  replied  Master 
Francis,  in  a  wonderful  delight  at  hearing 
of  such  pleasant  words  from  so  honora- 
ble a  source. 

"And  who  is  he  that  hath  writ  so  ad- 
mirable a  play  ?"  inquired  her  majesty ; 
"  as  yet  we  know  naught  of  the  writer, 
save  that  we  see  him." 

"I  am  the  secretary  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  please  your  majesty."  At  this 
acknowledgment  there  was  a  dead  si- 
lence, and  many  of  the  courtiers  thought, 
however  clever  Master  Francis  might  be 
as  a  writer  of  plays,  he  lacked  judgment 
wofully  in  saying  he  was  in  any  way 
connected  with  a  disgraced  favorite.  My 
Lord  Essex  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Methinks  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  is  ex- 
ceeding fortunate  in  having  such  a  ser- 
vant," observed  he. 

"  Had  he  showed  as  much  wit  in  other 
matters  as  he  hath  in  the  choice  of  a  sec- 
retary, mayhap  there  would  be  but  little 
fault  to  find  in  him,"  added  the  queen. 
To  an  observation  so  shrewd  the  courtiers 
thought  no  reply  could  be  made.  Her 
majesty  then  turning  to  Master  Francis 
said,  "We  asked  you  not  of  what  office 
you  held,  but  of  what  name  you  were." 
This  was  a  question  he  seemed  perfectly 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


249 


unprepared  for.  Since  his  remembrance 
he  had  been  called  "Master  Francis," 
by  some,  because  he  was  a  gentleman- 
like youth,  by, others,  because  such  they 
had  heard  him  styled.  Not  knowing  of 
his  father's  name,  he  had  himself  used 
no  surname.  He  liked  not  to  call  him- 
self of  the  same  name  with  his  mother, 
fearing  it  might  injure  her  reputation ; 
and  after  he  had  heard  of  Holdfast's  re- 
lationship to  him,  he  had  as  little  liking 
for  his  name,  knowing  it  was  that  of  a 
paltry  cheater  ;  so  "  Master  Francis"  he 
had  still  remained. 

"  We  wait  your  answer,"  observed  the 
queen,  somewhat  impatiently,  for  she 
would  put  up  with  no  dallying. 

"lam  called  Master  Francis,  please 
your  majesty,"  replied  he,  in  some  con- 
fusion. 

"  Master  Francis,  is  it  ?"  observed  his 
interrogator,  sharply  ;  "  but  hast  no  other 
naroe  than  Master  Francis?  Of  what 
name  was  your  father  called  ?" 

Master  Francis  hesitated  whether  to 
say  Holdfast  or  Vellum.  He  dreaded 
telling  a  lie,  and  he  liked  not  speaking 
the  truth.  He  got  more  embarrassed 
every  moment,  and  knowing  that  the 
eyes  of  the  whole  assembly  were  fixed 
upon  him,  only  increased  his  uneasiness. 
The  queen  looked  as  if  she  was  displeased 
at  his  delay  in  answering  of  her  questions. 

"  Odds  pittikins  !"  exclaimed  her  maj- 
esty, "  by  the  backwardness  of  your  re- 
plies we  are  inclined  to  think,  with  the 
old  proverb,  that  it  be  a  wise  child  who 
knoweth  his  own  father."  The  laugh 
which  followed  this  remark  of  the  queen's 
did  increase  Master  Francis's  confusion 
to  such  an  extent,  he  scarce  knew  what 
to  do  or  say. 

"  Dost  keep  the  queen  of  England  wait- 
ing for  an  answer,  sirrah  ?"  angrily  asked 
Elizabeth.  "  We  asked  of  you  the  name 
of  your  lather.  Who  was  he  ?" 

"I  believe  his  name  was  Holdfast," 
*  Hammered  out  Master  Francis ;  who  now 
felt  he  would  be  glad  enough  had  he 
never  entered  the  place. 

"  You  believe  his  name  was  Holdfast !" 
exclaimed  the  queen,  with  marked  em- 
phasis, and  then  added,  with  her  face  in 
a  sudden  flush  of  indignation,  and  her 
voice  expressing  all  the  bitterness  of  scorn 
and  disdain.  "  But  we  now  see  the  cause 
of  your  so  delaying  us  an  answer.  You 
must  needs  be  the  offspring  of  some  low 
intrigue  ;  and  we  wonder  at  your  villan- 
ous  impudency  in  entering  our  presence. 
Get  you  gone,  sirrah  !  This  be  no  place 
for  the  encouragement  of  bastards." 


Master  Francis  felt  at  that  moment  as 
if  all  the  blood  in  his  body  had  rushed 
into  his  face.  His  heart  throbbed  so  he 
was  obliged  to  gasp  for  breath.  His 
throat  seemed  as  if  tightened  with  a  cord, 
and  his  temples  were  as  though  fire  burn- 
ed within  them.  He  saw  not  the  looks 
of  contempt  with  which  the  courtiers  re- 
garded him,  the  surprise  of  my  Lord 
Essex,  or  the  pity  of  my  Lord  Southamp- 
ton, as  the  queen  haughtily  turned  upon 
her  heel,  saying  to  one  of  the  gentlemen- 
pensioners  in  attendance,  "  Remove  that 
fellow  !"  and  heard  not  the  cutting  sar- 
casm of  my  Lady  Howard  of  Walden, 
as  she  shrunk  away  from  him  as  though 
he  were  a  leper,  or  the  many  rebukes  of 
my  Lord  Bumble,  whilst  he  helped  to 
lead  him  from  the  presence;  and  how  he 
got  out  of  the  palace  and  made  his  way 
to  Master  Shakspeare's  lodgings,  he 
never  could  explain. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

My  free  drift 

Halts  not  particularly,  but  moves  itself 
In  a  wide  sea  of  wax  :  no  levelled  malice 
Infects  one  comma  in  the  course  I  hold, 
But  flies  an  eagle  flight,  bold,  and  forth  on. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

These  are  the  youths  that  thunder  at  a  pla)-house- 
And  fight  for  bitten  apples  ;  that  no  audiencp 
But  the  tribulation  of  Tower  Hill  or  the  limoo 
Of  Limehouse,  their  dear  brothers  are  able  to  endure. 

IBID. 

Mercy  o'  me,  what  a  multitude  are  here  ! 
They  grow  still  too— from  all  parts  they  are  coming. 

IBID. 

"  OH,  Master  Shakspeare  !"  exclaimed 
the  young  secretary,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
articulate  for  emotion,  as  he  caught  hold 
of  his  hand  and  stood  pale  and  trembling 
beside  him.  "For  the  love  of  Heaven, 
counsel  me,  or  methinks  I  can  not  but  go 
mad."  His  friend  marvelled  greatly  to 
see  him  in  so  terrible  an  excitement ;  and 
after  talking  reasonably,  and  with  a  sin- 
cere affection,  he  drew  from  him  what 
had  happened. 

"To  be  buoyed  up  unto  the  highest 
pitch  of  expectation,"  continued  Master 
Francis,  still  giving  evidence,  in  his  look 
and  manner,  he  was  exceeding  moved. 
"  To  have  the  fairest  hopes  a  sanguine 
nature  ever  had — to  stand  in  the  presence 
of  the  queen  of  England,  and  of  a  right 
noble  company,  and  to  be  admired  and 
commended  by  all — and  then  to  have  so 
gross  an  insult  cast  on  me  that  my  heart 
boils  at  it,  and  to  be  thrust  out  of  the 
royal  palace  with  such  scorn  as  the  bases 


250 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


of  wretches  could  scarce  have  deserved 
— indeed,  Master  Shakspeare,  I  can  not 
— can  not  bear  it." 

"Regard  it  not,  Master  Francis,"  ob- 
served his  companion,  who  seemed  fa- 
mously vexed  his  young  friend  should 
have  had  no  better  treatment.  "  Remem- 
ber you  are  in  no  way  to  blame  in  this. 
The  disgrace  is  theirs  who  put  so  infa- 
mous a  wrong  upon  you." 

"Knew  you  how  earnestly  I  have 
sought  an  honorable  reputation,"  added 
the  other,  "  how,  night  and  day,  I  have 
toiled  that  my  name  might  be  in  some 
repute ;  with  how  great  a  love  I  reve- 
renced those  of  admirable  fame,  and  how 
anxiously  I  strove  to  gain  for  myself  some 
of  their  excellence,  that  I  might  live  to 
be  thought  as  nobly  of  by  others  as  I 
thought  of  them,  you  would  know  how 
deeply  I  feel  the  contumely  that  hath 
been  cast  upon  me  by  the  queen  and  her 
court !  AH  hope  is  lost  to  me  now — 
nothing  but  shame  and  contempt  can  be 
my  portion." 

"  You  wrong  yourself  mightily  in  think- 
ing so,  and  you  wrong  the  world  more," 
answered  Master  Shakspeare.  "  Mayhap 
the  queen  is  as  good  a  queen  as  any  ;  but 
that  she  hath  either  delicacy  or  feeling, 
will  I  never  believe :  as  for  the  trumpery 
of  the  court,  I  have  had  sight  of  them. 
They  will  live,  die,  and  rot,  and  be  no 
more  heard  of.  The  good  opinion  of  such 
be  no  more  Avorth  having  than  is  the 
cackling  of  so  many  geese.  Look  abroad. 
There  be  thousands  of  honest  hearts  and 
manly  intellects  in  the  streets  and  the 
fields,  the  chamber  of  the  student,  the 
workshop  of  the  artisan,  and  the  ware- 
house of  the  merchant.  'Tis  the  breath 
of  their  voices  that  hath  the  establishing 
of  a  reputation.  The  opinion  of  couriiers 
be  of  no  worth,  and  liveth  but  for  a  day ; 
but  the  judgment  of  the  nation  soundeth 
the  trumpet  of  fame,  that  hath  its  echoes 
from  generation  to  generation,  unto  the 
ending  of  the  world.  Fear  not  you  shall 
not  have  justice  done  you.  I  doubt  not 
at  all  your  merit  standeth  as  fair  a  chance 
of  honorable  distinction  with  the  world, 
as  any  that  live.  My  advice  to  you  is, 
let  not  what  hath  passed  trouble  you. 
Come  with  me  to  find  out  this  Holdfast. 
If  he  be  of  any  reputation  he  shall  own 
you  as  a  father.  If  he  be  of  a  different 
sort,  heed  not  his  relationship.  Come 
what  may,  I  will  be  as  good  to  you  as 
any  father  that  breathes ;  and  right  hap- 
py and  proud  shall  I  be  to  be  thought  of 
kin  to  one  of  so  estimable  a  nature." 

The  result  of  this  truly  honest  speech 


on  the  part  of  Master  Shakspeare,  was 
the  proceeding  of  the  two  toward  the 
barber-chirargeon's  in  Eastcheap.  For 
all  that  Master  Francis  was  so  moved  at 
what  had  lately  taken  place,  upon  coming 
nigh  unto  the  house  of  Geoffrey  Sarsnet 
he  could  not  help  recollecting  of  what 
sweet  pleasure  he  had  there  had,  and 
how  it  had  all  at  once  been  dashed  with 
bitterness,  the  taste  whereof  had  since 
made  his  life  a  perfect  misery ;  and  from 
this  he  presently  took  to  thinking  of  the 
strangeness  of  his  seeing  Joanna  and  the 
Padre  Bartolome  together  in  the  room 
with  the  French  ambassador.  However, 
his  thoughts  on  this  matter  were  quickly 
brought  to  an  ending  upon  his  entering 
the  shop  of  his  old  acquaintance.  Mas- 
ter Lather  was  standing  with  his  specta- 
cles on  his  nose,  and  his  stick  in  his  hand, 
intent  upon  the  putting  on  of  his  hat, 
whilst  giving  some  directions  to  an 
exceeding  tall,  spindle-legged,  hatchet- 
faced  boy,  his  new  apprentice,  whose  dull 
look  and  awkward  bearing  made  him  a 
famous  contrast  unto  the  spirited  and 
quick-witted  Harry  Daring,  his  predeces- 
sor. Noticing  the  entrance  of  two  gal- 
lants, the  barber-chirurgeon  turned  from 
his  apprentice,  and  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  with  some  courtesy,  mixed  with  a 
marvellous  fine  gravity,  he  made  up  to 
them  and  asked  them  of  their  pleasure. 
It  was  plain  he  knew  not  Master  Francis, 
though  he  had  seen  him  frequently.  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  took  upon  himself  the 
business  they  had  come  about,  believing 
he  could  best  manage  it. 

"  Know  you,  good  sir,  whereabout 
dwelleth  a  worthy  man  of  this  neigh- 
borhood, one  Master  Lather  ?"  inquired 
he,  putting  on  as  monstrous  serious  a  face 
as  ever  was  seen. 

"  I  be  Martin  Lather,  may  it  please 
you,  sweet  sir,  and  there  be  no  other  of 
that  name  hereabouts,"  replied  the  other, 
wonderfully  pleased  to  be  inquired  for  in 
so  courteous  a  fashion,  by  so  noble-look- 
ing a  gentleman. 

"  I  am  infinitely  glad  so  easily  to  have 
found  one  of  whom  I  have  heard  such 
good  report,"  added  Master  Shakspeare, 
at  the  which  old  Lather  looked  to  be  in 
a  greater  delight  than  before.  "  I  have 
come  to  you  on  a  matter  of  some  moment 
to  this  my  friend  and  me,  in  which  none 
but  you  can  avail  us  anything  ;  and  from 
the  honorable  account  we  have  heard  of 
your  great  learning,  your  admirable  ski«, 
and  your  extreme  worthiness,  we  have 
made  bold  to  wait  on  you  for  your  ad- 
vice." * 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


251 


"  I  shall  be  proud  to  serve  you,  sweet 
sir,  in  anything  wherein  I  have  ability," 
answered  the  chirurgeon,  bustling  eagerly 
to  put  seats  for  his  visiters.  "Seat  you, 
good  sirs,  I  pray  you ;  for  is  it  not  writ 
in  Esculapius, '  requiescat  in  pace,'  which 
meaneth,  '  much  standing  tireth  the 
legs'  ?"  Master  Shakspeare  would  have 
smiled,  hut  he  knew  what  depended  on 
the  keeping  of  his  gravity,  so  he  took  the 
offered  chair  without  moving  of  a  muscle. 
"I  am  much  bound  to  those  who  have 
so  commended  me  to  you,"  continued  old 
Lather.  "  As  for  my  worthiness,  I  would 
it  were  more  than  it  is;  for  as  that  shi- 
ning light  of  the  age,  Master  Tribulation 
Holdfast,  declareth,  we  are  all  but  as 
pitch  that  defileth  they  who  touch  it." 

"Alack,  we  are  very  pitch  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspeare,  looking  as  doleful  as 
if  he  were  about  to  be  hanged. 

"  As  for  my  skill,  mayhap  it  is  some- 
tliirf;  more  than  the  ordinary,"  added  the 
chirurgeon  with  some  complacency.  "I 
have  studied  my  art  but  ill,  lack  I  any 
knowledge  in  it.  It  be  true  enough  I 
can  not  recover  one  dead  of  the  plaffue, 
or  fit  a  bald  man  with  a  periwig  without 
stuff  for  the  making  of  it;  yet  in  aught 
which  can  reasonably  be  done  appertain- 
ing unto  barbering  or  chirurgery,  me- 
thinks  I  can  do  as  well  as  the  best  in  the 
land." 

"Better,  I  will  be  bound  for V  said 
the  other. 

"It  pleaseth  you  to  think  so,"  replied 
Master  Lather,  looking  in  no  way  dis- 
pleased with  such  an  opinion.  "And  as 
for  my  learning,  I  have  ever  been  diligent 
in  the  studying  of  books:  and  perchance, 
I  shall  be  found  as  good  at  the  making 
of  verses,  or  the  quoting  of  Latin,  or 
other  clerk-like  accomplishments,  as  some 
of  our  chirurgeons  who  pretend  to  greater 
scholarship.  My  painstaking  hath  been 
constant,  and  there  be  no  becoming  learn- 
ed wiihou.'.  wonderful  trouble.  Indeed, 
Aristotle  himself  sayeth  that  the  cbiefest 
aids  to  wisdom  are,  'Pallor  et  genae  pen- 
dulse,  oculorum  ulcera  tremulae  manus,' 
the  which  rendered  into  the  vulgar,  is, 
'  late  hours  and  early,  thumbing  the  prop- 
erest  books,  and  discoursing  with  they 
who  be  more  learned  than  yourself;'  the 
which  I  have  done  this  forty  years." 

"  I  am  well  convinced  of  it,"  remarked 
Master  Shakspeare  as  gravely  as  he 
could.  "  But  the  business  upon  which 
we  come  is  of  such  moment  as  requireth 
your  instant  attention.  Listen,  I  pray 
vou,  worthy  Master  Lather."  The  old 
barber-chirurgeon  was  in  a  moment  look- 


ing as  attentive  as  any  man  could,  where- 
upon the  other  proceeded.  "  We  two, 
sick  of  the  vanities  of  this  most  heathen- 
ish world,  and  long  having  scruples  of 
conscience  concerning  of  certain  things 
belonging  unto  the  faith  as  by  law  estab- 
lished, desire  to  enter  into  a  more  strict 
society,  where  we  may  be  comforted  by 
the  hearing  of  some  famous  preacher, 
capable  of  ministering  to  our  spiritual 
wants.  We  have  heard  of  your  being 
one  of  such  a  community  as  that  we  wish 
to  enter  into,  and  the  manner  in  which 
you  have  been  commended  hath  made  us 
marvellously  desirous  to  ask  of  you  to 
render  us  your  assistance  in  the  hearing 
and  having  speech  with  such  a  preacher 
as  you,  in  your  superior  judgment,  may 
think  best  qualified  to  do  us  the  service 
we  require." 

"That  will  I  and  readily,"  quickly  re- 
plied Master  Lather.  "When  you  came 
I  was  on  the  point  of  attending  a  meet- 
ing of  the  faithful,  where,  if  you  will  now 
come  with  me,  you  shall  hear  Master 
Tribulation  Holdfast,  who  be,  according 
to  ray  thinking,  the  very  searchingest 
preacher  that  ever  expounded  text." 

This  was  exactly  what  Master  Shak- 
speare wanted ;  and  presently  the  three 
were  proceeding  together  under  the  gui- 
dance of  the  barber-chirurgeon,  who  all 
the  way  kept  sounding  of  the  praises  of 
the  person  they  were  so  intent  upon  see- 
ing. It  was  a  difficult  thing  for  any  who 
were  not  of  that  sect  to  get  admission 
among  a  congregation  of  puritans,  as 
these  being  frequently  oppressively  used 
of  the  government,  and  contemptuously 
treated  of  the  court,  would  retaliate  with 
some  disdain  if  they  could ;  and  this 
Master  Shakspeare  knowing,  made  him 
have  recourse  to  stratagem.  The  anxiety 
and  uneasiness  of  Master  Francis  had 
greatly  increased.  He  was  now  about  to 
see  his  father,  of  whom  he  had  been  kept 
in  entire  ignorance,  and  of  whose  affec- 
tion he  had  been  debarred  for  so  long  a 
time.  From  his  earliest  boyhood  he  had 
been  of  that  affectionate  nature  which 
ever  requireth  some  natural  source  upon 
which  to  pour  out  its  sympathies.  For 
his  uncle  he  could  have  no  feeling  in 
common;  his  affection  for  Harry  Daring 
though  sincere  was  not  powerful  enough 
to  satisfy  him  :  nor  was  his  young  friend 
of  such  a  disposition  as  could  create  in 
him  any  kinder  feeling.  At  one  time  his 
devotion  to  Joanna  was  of  so  fond  and 
exclusive  a  kind  as  left  no  room  in  his 
heart  for  love  of  any  other.  When  he 
discovered  this  was  not  reciprocal  there 


S52 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


was  a  void  which  all  that  he  felt  for 
Master  Shakspeare  and  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh could  not  fill.  The  shame  that,  to 
his  sensitive  nature,  seemed  to  cling  to 
him,  made  him  despair  that  he  should 
meet  with  any  of  a  like  disposition  with 
his  own.  Indeed,  it  was  not  probable  he 
would ;  for  there  was  somewhat  of  an 
effeminate  softness  in  it  which  no  man 
that  had  not  the  fondness  of  a  parent  for 
him  could  regard  him  with  ;  and  though 
he  had  formed  in  his  own  imagination 
the  most  pleasurable  pictures  of  fatherly 
regard,  when  he  heard  the  character  of 
this  Holdfast,  he  felt  the  conviction  that 
such  a  father  he  could  neither  love,  or  be 
loved  by  ;  and  his  heart  again  sunk  within 
him.  Now  he  listened  attentively  to  all 
that  was  said  by  old  Lather,  and  most 
fervently  hoped  that  Holdfast  might  have 
become  as  good  a  man  as  he  was  deemed 
excellent  a  preacher. 

They  arrived  at  last  before  an  old 
house  with  projecting  casements  running 
all  along,  one  above  another,  which  was 
in  Houndsditch,  and,  the  barber-chirur- 
geon  leading  the  way,  they  presently  en- 
tered a  chamber  of  spacious  dimensions 
filled  with  people.  These  were  chiefly 
men,  clad  in  formal  cut  suits  of  coarse 
material,  and  without  ornament.  They 
had  usually  stern  forbidding  visages,  and 
famous  grave-looking  beards.  Some 
women  were  there ;  but  they  were  old 
and  by  no  means  comely.  In  the  middle 
of  the  chamber,  standing  upon  a  barrel 
with  a  book  in  his  hand,  was  a  tall  man 
formally  clad,  and  with  a  very  absolute 
sanctified  countenance.  He  was  preach- 
ing with  a  monstrous  fierce  gesticulation, 
and  with  a  loud  voice  that  was  not  the 
more  tunable  for  having  of  an  audible 
nasal  twang  in  it.  Now  he  would  threat- 
en terribly,  his  dark  fiery  eyes  flashing 
the  very  gloomiest  glances,  and  his  long 
bony  arms  waving  about  in  the  air  in  a 
wonderful  awful  manner;  and  then  his 
congregation  would  groan,  and  sigh,  and 
look  exceeding  moved ;  anon  he  would 
call  them  the  vilest  names  he  could  lay 
his  tongue  to,  and  bid  them  repent  of 
their  sins  quickly,  or  every  one  of  them 
should  suffer  the  horride'st  torment  that 
ever  was  endured;  and  then  there  was 
amongst  them  the  making  of  such  solemn 
faces,  and  such  turning  up  of  their  eyes 
to  the  ceiling  as  was  quite  pitiful  to  look 
upon. 

Upon  the  entering  of  Master  Shak- 
speare and  his  young  friend  they  were  re- 
garded by  such  of  the  assembled  puritans 
as  could  get  sight  of  them,  with  the 


gloomiest  scowling  glances  ever  seen — 
mayhap  taking  them  for  some  idle  gal- 
lants who  only  came  to  make  sport;  but 
when  that  they  had  noticed  Master  Fran- 
cis's pale  and  melancholy  aspect,  still 
looking  to  be  infinitely  uneasy,  and  turned 
from  him  to  gaze  on  his  companion,  who 
had  put  on  him  as  long  a"  face  as  any 
there,  they  thought  not  they  could  have 
any  such  intention.  Still  some  continued 
to  watch  them  very  suspiciously.  Master 
Francis,  as  hath  been  said,  was  becoming 
monstrously  uneasy.  He  had  heard  old 
Lather  point  out  the  preacher  as  Holdfast, 
and  at  the  first  glance  he  liked  him  not 
at  all.  His  appearance  and  manner  were 
too  repulsive  for  him  to  anticipate  he 
should  find  in  him  that  affection  for  which 
his  heart  yearned.  At  the  conclusion  of 
his  sermon  the  preacher  made  a  pow- 
erful appeal  to  his  auditors  on  be- 
half of  certain  persons  he  styled  "  the 
suffering  saints,"  who  were,  in  fact,  divers 
puritan  divines  who  had  been  mulcted  or 
imprisoned  by  the  government ;  and  with 
sundry  famous  arguments  held  forth  the 
necessity  of  each  contributing  according 
to  his  means,  toward  the  acquiring  for 
them  such  assistance  as  their  necessities 
demanded.  Then  descending  from  his 
elevation,  he  took  his  hat  and  went  round 
with  it  among  the  congregation.  Some 
put  in  it  a  groat,  some  a  sixpence,  some  a 
shilling,  and  others  what  they  could,  and 
then  went  their  way. 

Master  Francis  trembled  when  Hold- 
fast approached  him.  He  felt  some  fear 
of  he  knew  scarce  what.  He  had  listen- 
ed and  had  observed  attentively,  and  he 
fancied,  from  what  he  had  noticed,  that 
there  could  be  no  affection  in  one  so  se- 
vere as  he  seemed.  Indeed,  he  began  to 
doubt  the  other  would  even  acknowledge 
him.  Neither  had  Master  Shakspeare 
been  an  inattentive  spectator;  but  his 
scrutiny  was  assisted  by  a  more  perfect 
knowledge  of  character  than  was  pos- 
sessed by  Master  Francis.  As  the  preach 
er  came  nearer,  Master  Shakspeare  no- 
ticed his  features  more  closely.  From 
the  impudent  expression  of  the  eyes,  the 
extended  nostril,  and  large  mouth,  he 
suspected  him  to  be  nothing  better  than 
an  unreclaimed  profligate.  The  look  of 
sanctity  imposed  not  on  him.  He  saw 
that  the  countenance  before  him  was  one 
the  comeliness  whereof  had  been  spoiled 
by  riotous  ill-living.  The  skin  was  coarse, 
of  a  purplish  hue  on  the  cheeks,  and  had 
the  wrinkles  and  the  crowsfoot  famously 
conspicuous.  It  was  plain  such  a  father 
would  do  no  credit  to  his  young  friend ; 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


253 


mdeed,  had  not  the  latter  seemed  so  con- 
fident of  it,  he  should  have  doubled  there 
ivas  any  relationship  betwixt  them.  Not- 
withstanding of  what  he  thought,  he  had 
mac.e  up  his  mind  how  he  should  act. 

it  so  happened  that  Holdfast  did  not 
cotae  to  old  Lather  and  his  companions  till 
nearly  all  of  his  congregation  had  taken 
their  departures.  Upon  seeing  of  what 
he  took  to  be  two  gallants,  he  looked 
upon  them  with  a  sort  of  sneer,  yet  pres- 
ently put  his  hat  before  Master  Shak- 
speare,  who,  taking  out  his  purse,  drop- 
ped among  the  contributions  of  the  others, 
a  ryal  of  Henry  the  Eighth.  At  the  sight 
of  the  gold,  the  yellow  eyeballs  of  the 
puritan  did  glisten  again. 

"  Here  is  another  for  my  friend,"  said 

Master  Shakspeare,  dropping  a  second 

•into  the  hat,  "and  heartily  do  we  both 

wish  the  suffering  saints  out  of  the  power 

of  their  tyrannical  persecutors." 

"  I  thank  you  in  their  names — and  the 
Lord  thanketh  you  also,"  replied  Hold- 
fast looking  wonderfully  gracious.  "Ver- 
ily, I  took  you  to  be  of  the  ungodly,  for 
the  vanity  of  your  apparelling  did  mis- 
lead me." 

"  Indeed,  worthy  sir,  it  hath  misled 
you  hugely,"  observed  the  barber-chirur- 
geon.  "  These  be  two  very  honorable 
gentlemen  of  my  acquaintance,  who,  re- 
penting of  the  blindness  in  which  they 
have  lived,  are  desirous  of  entering  into 
our  community,  that  they  might  profit  by 
the  discourses  of  such  an  absolute  search- 
er of  hearts  as  yourself;  therefore  have 
I  brought  them  here — for  is  it  not  writ- 
ten in  Aristotle" 

"Mind  not  the  heathen,"  said  the 
preacher,  with  a  monstrous  grave  face, 
interrupting  old  Lather  in  his  speech. 
"  Speak  ye  of  any  written  thing,  let  it 
be  the  word  of  the  Lord:  for  therein  lieth 
all  comfortable  knowledge,  and  all  un- 
derstanding worthy  to  be  known  of  the 
faithful." 

"  Could  I  and  my  friend  have  private 
speech  with  you,  worthy  sir,"  said  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  to  Holdfast.  "I  doubt 
not  'twould  be  to  the  wonderful  comfort- 
ing: of  our  disturbed  spirits  ;  for  what  we 
have  heard  this  day,  so  ably  delivered  as  it 
was,  hath  come  home  to  us.  Your  marvel- 
lous eloquence  hath  touched  us  mightily. 
We  can  not  help  wishing  to  be  of  the 
flock  of  so  truly  admirable  a  shepherd." 

"  Verily,  I  am  in  the  Lord's  hands," 
replied  the  preacher,  with  his  usual  nasal 
twang,  as  he  lifted  up  his  eyes  to  the 
ceiling.  "  What  I  have  is  of  his  giv- 
ing ;  what  I  do  is  of  his  performance." 


"Should  you  bestow  on  us  your  inval- 
uable counsel,  you  would  not  find  us  un- 
grateful for  your  pious  office:"  and  here 
Master  Shakspeare,  as  if  by  accident, 
jingled  his  purse,  which  the  puritan 
knew  to  be  well  filled,  by  the  sound  of  it. 

"  Wait  you  but  till  I  dismiss  the  con- 
gregation,with  the  Lord's  help,  I  will  give 
you  whatever  consolation  you  stand  in 
need  of."  The  preacher  then  went  round 
to  such  as  remained,  and  after  the  barber- 
chirurgeon  had  taken  his  leave  of  them, 
Master  Shakspeare  and  his  young  friend 
were  led  into  a  little  room  adjoining  the 
chamber  used  as  a  chapel,  where  there 
was  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  pasty  on  the 
table,  as  if  waiting  to  be  partaken  of. 
Master  Francis  took  a  seat.  He  was  in 
such  a  state  of  anxiety  he  could  say 
nothing.  He  felt  that  the  crisis  was  ap- 
proaching that  was  to  determine  his  fu- 
ture happiness  or  misery. 

"  It  is  the  Lord's  work,"  observed  the 
puritan,  as  he  was  placing  the  money  out 
of  his  hat  into  a  bag,  the  which  he  seem- 
ed to  do  with  an  infinite  satisfaction.  "  It 
is  the  Lord's  work,  and  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord.  He  hath  sent  you 
unto  me  to  be  his  instrument  for  with- 
drawing you  from  the  ways  of  perdition 
to  enter  into  the  paths  of  holiness.  Verily 
you  have  determined  on  a  wise  thing. 
Join  the  brethren.  Fly  from  the  allure- 
ments of  the  devil,  and  the  lusts  of  the 
flesh.  There  is  no  peace  out  of  our  holy 
assembly.  Fly  from  false  teachers,  and 
ignorant  villanous  pretenders  to  be  of 
God's  high  ministry.  I  that  am  but  as 
a  worm  like  to  be  trodden  under  foot,  by 
the  influence  of  an  especial  grace  have 
become  a  light  among  the  Gentiles.  I 
will  lead  you  out  of  your  darkness — I 
will" 

"  Dost  think  any  one  can  overhear  us  ?" 
inquired  Master  Shakspeare,  going  close 
up  to  Holdfast  and  interrupting  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  preaching. 

"  There  be  none  nigh  enough,"  replied 
the  other,  seeming  somewhat  surprised 
at  hearing  of  such  a  question.  Master 
Shakspeare  again  produced  his  purse, 
which  he  laid  on  the  table.  The  preach- 
er stared  at  the  gold  with  an  exceeding 
avaricious  eye,  yet  did  he  look  as  if  he 
marvelled  in  some  measure. 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  added 
Master  Shakspeare.  "  The  contents  of 
that  purse  are  yours  on  condition  you  an- 
swer truly  such  questions  as  I  shall  put 
to  you.  Be  assured,  that  although  they 
relate  to  yourself,  you  shall  receive  no 
hurt  amongst  your  friends  by  the  faith- 


254 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


fulness  of  your  replies  ;  but  the  rather  ex- 
pect to  have  such  ruin  brought  upon  you 
as  the  exposure  of  your  early  life  must 
needs  produce,  speak  you  not  honestly 
and  to  the  purpose.  I  ask  not  out  of  any 
idle  curiosity,  believe  me  ;  but  for  a  good 
and  honorable  end,  which,  if  I  find  it  ne- 
cessary, you  shall  know  of."  The  puri- 
tan listened  wilh  a  countenance  of  won- 
der, not  unmixed  with  some  dread.  Mas- 
ter Francis  attended  with  an  increasing 
anxiousness. 

"  You  are  called  Tribulation  Hold- 
fast ?"  said  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  That  be  my  name  beyond  all  doubt," 
replied  the  preacher. 

"  Is  not  your  proper  name  Francis 
Holdfast  ?"  inquired  his  interrogator. 

"  When  I  was  one  of  the  ungodly  I 
was  known  by  such  a  name,"  replied  the 
other. 

"By  such  a  name  you  were  known  at 
leas',  some  twenty  years  since?" 

"Ay,  that  was  I." 

"  Remember  you  about  that  time  be- 
ing acquainted  with  a  young  female,  to 
avoid  a  marriage  with  whom  you  went 
to  the  wars?" 

The  puritan  hesitated  awhile,  but  his 
eyes  happening  to  light  upon  the  purse  on 
the  table,  he  presently  answered,  "1  do 
remember  me  something  of  it.'' 

"Were  you  married  to  her  at  any 
time  ?"  inquired  Master  Shakspeare,  fix- 
ing on  the  other  a  very  searching  glance. 

"  No — that  was  I  not  at  any  time,"  re- 
plied Holdfast.  Upon  hearing  which 
Master  Francis  did  utter  a  sudden  groan, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  The  birth  of  a  child  was  the  conse- 
quence of  your  intimacy  with  her?"  con- 
tinued Master  Shakspeare.  The  preacher 
again  paused  before  he  would  answer. 

"Verily  I  was  then  among  the  back- 
sliders," replied  he  at  last  very  demurely. 
"  I  was  sorely  tempted  of  the  devil,  and 
fell  headlong  into  the  snare  :  but  lo  !  the 
Lord  hath  disentangled  me — He  hath 
raised  me  up — He  hath" 

"  Died  not  the  mother  soon  after?"  in- 
quired Master  Shakspeare,  interrupting 
the  other  with  very  little  ceremony. 
Whether  Holdfast  liked  not  to  confess 
the  truth  is  not  known ;  but  he  delayed 
answering  of  the  question  so  long  that  it 
was  repeated  with  a  look  and  manner 
that  did  command  attention. 

"She  died  within  a  short  time  of  its 
birth,"  answered  Holdfast,  with  some- 
thing of  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  and  a  look 
that  showed  he  was  ashamed  to  make 
the  acknowledgment.  Master  Francis 


sat  trembling  like  a  condemned  critni- 
nal. 

"  Know  you  what  became  of  the 
child?"  asked  Master  Shakspeare.  The 
puritan  again  hesitated,  but  observing 
from  the  severe  scrutiny  of  his  gaze  that 
his  interrogator  would  have  an  answer, 
he  replied  in  more  evident  confusion, 
•'  She  lieth  buried  with  her  mother  at  St. 
Mary  Overy." 

"Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  screamed  Master  Fran- 
cis, as  he  started  up  of  a  sudden  with  a 
look  of  frantic  exultation,  and  ran  and 
shook  Holdfast  heartily  by  the  hand,  as  if 
he  was  the  very  dearest  friend  he  had, 
though  a  moment  since  he  would  have 
shrunk  from  his  touch.  "  You  have  saved 
me  from  the  horriblest  misery — I  am  in- 
debted to  you  beyond  all  measure." 

"  The  purse  is  yours,  Master  Holdfast," • 
observed  Master  Shakspeare,  almost  in 
as  great  a  delight  as  was  his  young 
friend,  "  I  need  ask  you  no  more  ques- 
tions." The  puritan  stared  at  one  and 
then  at  the  other,  believing  both  of  them 
to  be  crazed  ;  but  he  hesitated  not  in  ta- 
king possession  of  the  purse. 

"We  must  now  to  your  uncle's,  Mas- 
ter Francis,''  said  his  friend,  as  they  were 
making  their  way  fromHoundsditch.  "  It 
seemeth  to  me  he  hath  been  playing  the 
villain  with  you." 

"  I  will  go  wheresoever  you  please  to 
lead,"  replied  the  other,  in  a  famous 
cheerful  humor.  "Indeed,  I  feel  so  infi- 
nitely joyful  at  heart  I  have  no  care  about 
anything."  And  this  was  exactly  the 
case  with  him.  In  truth,  Master  Fran- 
cis was  of  that  nature — which  be  com- 
mon enough  in  the  young  and  imagina- 
tive— that  he  was  ever  jumping  from 
one  extreme  to  the  other.  What  Sir 
Robert  Cecil  had  said,  had  plunged  him 
into  a  wonderful  melancholy — the  suc- 
cess of  his  play  had  delighted  him  be- 
yond all  measure — the  sight  of  Joanna 
with  Padre  Bartolome  had  filled  him 
with  a  very  monstrous  uneasiness — the 
hearing  he  was  sent  for  by  the  queen  put 
him  in  so  extreme  a  cheerfulness,  he  could 
do  nothing  but  imagine  the  honorable 
things  he  expected  would  come  of  it — 
the  gross  insult  she  had  put  upon  him 
before  all  her  court,  made  him  feel  him- 
self degraded  into  the  lowest  depths  of 
shame — and  the  hope  that  his  supposed 
father  was  of  a  reputable  character — the 
fear  he  would  not  acknowledge  him  as 
his  son — the  dread  he  felt  when  he  saw 
Holdfast  and  noticed  what  manner  of 
man  he  was,  and  the  delight  he  experi- 
enced upon  finding  that  thorough  hypo- 


SHAHSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


255 


Cfite  to  be  of  no.  kin  to  him,  were  as 
powerful  in  their  effects  upon  him,  as 
sudden  in  their  changes.  Now  all  the 
weight  of  fear  and  the  deep  sense  of 
shame  which  had  laid  so  heavy  on  his 
spirit,  appeared  to  be  utterly  cast  off,  and 
he  again  gave  himself  up  to  the  indul- 
gence of  those  ambitious  and  romantic 
dreams  which,  in  early  years,  he  had  ta- 
ken such  huge  delight  in. 

By  this  time  they  arrived  at  St.  Mary 
Axe  the  evening  was  so  far  set  in  that  the 
shops  were  closed,  and  many  of  ihe  more 
industrious  sort  of  citizens  had  retired  to 
their  beds.  Master  Shakspeare  knock- 
ed at  the  house  of  Gregory  Vellum  sev- 
eral times  before  any  sign  appeared  that 
it  contained  any  living  creature.  The 
tenement  seemed  in  a  d  readful  dilapidated 
condition,  and  the  windows  were  covered 
with  mud  and  dirt,  having  most  of  the 
iflass  broken,  with  the  holes  in  some 
places  stuffed  with  old  dirty  rags.  At 
last  a  casement  was  thrown  up,  and,  by 
the  light  of  the  stars,  Master  Francis  and 
his  companion  observed  the  old  scrivener 
looking  cautiously  out  of  it,  projecting 
before  him  the  barrel  of  a  rusty  har- 
quebus. 

"  What  want  you,  knocking  so  loud  at 
this  late  hour  ?"  inquired  the  old  miser  in 
his  shrill  treble. 

••  It  is  I,  uncle,"  replied  his  nephew. 
"  I  would  fain  have  speech  with  you  on  a 
matter  of  some  importance  to  me." 

"  Uncle,  me  no  uncles !"  exclaimed 
Gregory  Vellum  querulously.  "I  know 
you  not.  Get  you  gone  quickly." 

"Open  the  door  to  us  on  the  instant! 
We  have  pressing  business  with  you !" 
cried  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  I  will  open  my  doors  to  none,"  an- 
swered the  other.  "  Mayhap  you  be 
thieves,  as  I  do  indeed  suspect  you  of 
being." 

"  I  assure  you,  we  are  nothing  of  the 
sort,"  said  Master  Shakspeare,  "  I  have 
come  here  with  Master  Francis,  your 
nephew,  to  hear  some  certain  intelligence 
concerning  of  his  father." 

"  Get  you  gone  for  a  couple  of  knaves  !" 
cried  the  old  man  sharply.  "  You  be 
thieves  out  of  all  doubt,  I  will  fire  on  you 
stay  you  at  my  door  any  longer." 

"Open  the  door,  you  old  fool  I"  ex- 
claimed Master  Shakspeare,  getting  to  be 
somewhat  out  of  temper.  "I  do  insist 
upon  your  giving  us  the  information  we 
need  of  you,  else  shall  you  presently  re- 
pent it." 

"  Watch  !  Watch  !  Here  be  villains 
a  breaking  into  my  house.  Watch,  I 


say.  Come  quickly,  or  I  shall  be  spoiled 
and  undone!"  Bawling  this  as  loudly  as 
he  could,  Gregory  Vellum  banged  down 
the  casement,  and  left  the  two  friends  no 
wiser  than  they  came. 

"  If  you  be  true  men,  stand  !"  exclaim- 
ed a  rough  voice  close  at  their  elbow, 
and  on  turning  round  they  observed  one 
of  the  city  watch — a  famous  stupid-look- 
ing pudding-headed  sort  of  a  fellow, 
coming  up  to  them,  holding  of  his  bill  in 
his  hand  in  such  a  manner  as  sho.ved 
some  intention  of  making  their  bodies 
acquainted  with  it.  "  1  charge  you  sta&d 
in  the  queen's  name.  I  apprehend  you 
as  vagrom  men,  going  upon  exceeding 
dissolute  courses,  and  will  straightway 
bring  you  before  Master  Constable  to 
give  an  account  of  yourselves.  Come  on 
in  peaceable  fashion  like  well-behaved 
villains,  as  I  doubt  not  to  find  you,  else 
will  I  raise  my  brethren  of  the  watch,  be- 
sides giving  you  some  terrible  wounds 
with  my  bill.  It  be  flat  felorty  to  resist 
one  of  the  watch.  You  can  not  escape 
hanging  for  it  Come  on,  then,  in  the 
queen's  name." 

"  You  bade  us  stand  in  the  queen's 
name  but  this  moment,"  replied  Master 
Shakspeare  very  gravely,  and  moving 
not  a  foot.  "  Therefore  will  we  stand 
till  doomsday  like  true  men,  as  we  are." 
"  Nay,  that  be  against  the  law,"  cried 
the  other  authoritatively.  "No  vagrom 
men  must  be  allowed  to  stand  when  they 
be  told  to  move  on,  nor  move  on  when 
they  be  told  to  stand,  for  so  saith  Master 
Constable,  who  knoweth  the  law  better 
than  any  man  in  our  ward.  I  charge 
you,  first  of  all,  to  stand,  if  you  be  true 

men" 

"And  I  charge  you,  next  of  all,  to  run 
away  if  you  be  a  villain  !"  answered  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  quickly  drawing  of  his 
rapier;  at  the  sight  of  which  the  other 
left  his  speech  unfinished,  and  took  to 
running  away  as  fast  as  he  could,  bawl- 
ing murder  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
lungs.  Scarce  had  Master  Shakspeare 
had  his  laugh  out,  and  put  up  his  weapon, 
when  he  noticed  the  same  man  coming 
toward  him  with  some  five  or  six  of  his 
brethren  of  the  watch. 

"  There  be  the  villains,  Master  Con- 
!  stable !"  cried  he.  "  I  caught  them  about 
I  to  break  into  a  house,  and  upon  charging 
j  of  them  to  stand,  one  did  draw  his  tool 
|  upon  me.  and  would  have  done  me  some 
[  deadly  hurt,  had  I  not  showed  what  speed 
I  of  foot  I  had." 

"That  be  murder  with  intent  to  kill ; 
or  manslaughter  at  the  least,"  observed 


256 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


one  of  his  companions,  a  fat  old  fellow 
with  a  famous  red  nose,  and  a  marvellous 
grave  countenance. 

"  Le'  us  he  upon  them,  else  will  they 
escape,  Neighbor  Braddle,"  bawled  one  in- 
to his  ear,  as  if  ihe  old  fellow  was  deaf. 
"If  we  stab  them  with  our  bills  and 
they  die  of  it  shall  they  have  their  action 
of  battery  upon  us?"  asked  another  in  a 
loud  voice. 

"  No,  for  we  shall  have  the  law  on  our 
sides,"  replied  he  that  was  called  Brad- 
die.  "  If  you  kill  a  man  in  the  execution 
of  your  duty  he  shall  not  have  his  action 
against  you — that  is,  if  he  resist  none. 
If  he  do  not  resist  and  you  kill  him,  he 
shall  be  entitled  to  have  you  cast  for  the 
murder." 

•'  Then,  methinks,  it  be  best  to  meddle 
not  with  these,"  remarked  a  third.  "  Per- 
chance we  might  come  but  badly  off, 
Master  Constable?" 

"  So  stands  the  law,"  said  Neighbor 
Braddle,  with  as  much  of  the  look  of  an 
oracle  as  he  could  put  on  him.  "  If  we 
kill  them,  save  upon  resistance  to  our 
authorities,  we  shall  be  judged  to  be 
malefactors,  and  not  get  off  without  hang- 
ing." 

"  What,  if  they  kill  us  ?"  inquired  one. 
"  Then  shall  we  have  the  law  on  our 
sides,  and  may  kill  them  again,"  answer- 
ed the  other. 

"  But  I  like  not  being  killed,  I  promise 
you,  Neighbor  Braddle,"  observed  his 
companion  with  an  inconceivable  serious 
look. 

"  Let  us  speak  them  fair,"  said  anoth- 
er. "  Mayhap  we  shall  be  able  to  lay 
hold  on  them  without  a  brawl." 

"  It  shall  be  done,"  answered  the  con- 
stable. "I  will  to  them  myself."  There' 
upon,  he  and  his  companions  walked  up 
to  Master  Shakspeareand  his  friend,  who 
had  been  so  amused  with  what  the  others 
had  said,  whereof  they  had  heard  every 
word  in  consequence  of  their  talking  so 
loud,  that  both  stayed  to  see  what  would 
come  of  it. 

"  My  masters,"  exclaimed  the  consta- 
ble, presenting  himself  before  them  with 
a  famous  consequential  look,  whilst  his 
brethren  of  the  watch  kept  close  upon 
his  heels.  "  On  your  allegiance,  stir  not ; 
as  you  are  true  men,  answer  what  I  ask 
of  you  ;  and  as  you  hope  to  be  saved, 
speak  up,  for  I  be  monstrous  hard  of 
hearing." 

"What  would  you  do  with  us  honest 
men  ?"  inquired  Master  Shakspeare ;  but 
he  had  scarce  let  the  words  out  of  his 
mouth,  when  he  found  himself  firmly 


seized  by  two  of  the  watch,  and  at  the 
same  time  two  others  had  fast  hold  on 
Master  Francis. 

"  If  you  resist  us  it  be  lawful  to  make 
an  end  of  you,"  cried  one. 

"  Hold  them  fast,  neighbor,  for  they  be 
such  thorough  rogues,  I  doubt  not  they 
would  escape  if  they  could,"  said  the  first 
"  Now  I  look  on  you  closer,"  observed 
the  constable,  po"king  his  red  nose  as  neat 
as  he  might  to  the  faces  of  his  prisoners, 
who  held  themselves  very  quiet.  "Now 
I  look  on  you  closer,  two  such  absolute 
cut-throats  never  saw  I  in  my  days." 

"Especially  he  with  the  villanous 
high  forehead,"  exclaimed  another. 

"  I  pretend  not  to  know  aught  of  read- 
ing or  writing,"  remarked  a  third  ;  "  but 
hanging  be  written  so  plain  on  the  coun- 
tenance of  that  varlet  that  methinks  none 
need  learn  his  horn-book  to  find  it  out." 

"  I  doubt  not  but  that  this  be  as  great 
a  villain  as  the  other,"  observed  one  of 
his  companions,  who  had  hold  on  Master 
Francis.  "Indeed,  if  I  be  not  hugely 
deceived,  I  have  already  had  him  in  cus- 
tody for  cutting  of  a  purse." 

"  For  all  their  fine  apparelling,  I  know 
them  to  be  the  very  rascallest  pair  of 
knights  of  the  post  that  live,"  cried  an- 
other. 

"  It  be  plain,  then,  that  you  are  the  vil- 
lains I  took  you  to  be,"  said  Master  Con- 
stable, looking  upon  the  prisoners  with 
extreme  severity.  "Now,  answer  me, 
as  you  wish  to  escape  hanging — carrj 
you  any  money  in  your  purses  ?" 

"I  have  neither  money  nor  purse,"  re- 
plied Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Dost  think  to  escape  hanging,  varlet, 
and  have  no  money?"  exclaimed  the 
other,  sharply  :  "  0'  my  life  you  be  the 
shockingest  villain  I  have  met  with  this 
many  a  day." 

"It  be  plain  they  be  vagrom  men," 
cried  the  first,  "  for  it  be  well  known  of 
all,  vagrom  men  be  a  horrible  pennyless 
set." 

"  I  have  money,  Master  Constable," 
exclaimed  Master  Francis. 

"  There  be  some  hope  of  you,"  quickly 
replied  Neighbor  Braddle:  "saving  that 
you  have  fallen  into  abominable  bad  com- 
pany, I  would  not  utter  a  word  to  your 
disparagement  I  doubt  not  it  will  be 
found  upon  inquiry  you  be  a  youth  of  a 
very  marvellous  honesty.  Let  me  have 
the  keeping  of  your  money,  honest  youth, 
else  it  will  stand  a  good  chance  of  being 
stolen." 

"  I  thank  you,  I  would  rather  keep  it 
myself,"  answered  Master  Francis. 


AND  HIS  FfclENDS. 


257 


".Oulon  you  for  a  hardeped  young  vil- 
lain !"  cried  the  other,  looking  exceeding 
wrath.  "  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  your 
being  a  couple  of  as  infamous  cutpurses 
as  ever  were  put  in  the  compter.  Bring 
them  along,  neighbor  Sheepface^-to  pris* 
on  with  them — they  can  not  help  swing- 
ing for't." 

Master  Shakspeare  and  his  young 
friend  were  dragged  along  the  whole 
fength  of  the  street,  and  they  began  to 
think  their  situation  somewhat  unpleas- 
ant. They  attempted  to  remonstrate'with 
*heir  captors  upon  the  wrong  they  were 
doing,  in  hurrying  to  prison  persons  of 
their  respectability  for  committing  of  no 
offence,  and  threatened  them  with  the  se- 
verest penalties  of  the  law,  were  they 
not  released  on  the  instant;  but  they  re- 
ceived nothing  but  abuse  in  reply.  They 
had  scarce  got  into  the  next  street  when 
the  whole  party  were  met  by  four  young 
men,  who  were  coming  along  singing 
aud  catterwauling,  and  making  of  such  a 
terrible  racket,  that  some  of  the  citizens 
were  seen  in  their  nightcaps  looking  out 
of  window,  to  know  what  horrible  noise 
it  was. 

"  By  Gog  and  Magog,  Big  Jack  o'  the 
Turnstile,  here  be  two  honest  gentlemen 
in  custody  of  the  watch !"  cried  a  well- 
known  voice,  as  he  approached  within 
sight  of  them.  ",To  the  rescue,  Peter 
Perriwinkle  ! — to  the  rescue,  Long-legged 
Tom  ! — they  be  my  true  friends,"  shouted 
Harry  Daring,  as  he  recognised  who  they 
were.  In  a  minute  all  four  hurried  tow- 
ard the  spot,  evidently  in  that  state  in 
which  legions  of  watch  would  have  been 
cared  for  but  little.  "  Ha  !  what  Barna- 
by  Braddle !"  exclaimed  Harry,  in  some 
sort  of  astonishment,  as  he  stood  before 
Master  Constable  ;  "  take  that  for  old  ac- 

Suaintance  sake!"  and  the  next  moment 
arnaby  Braddle  measured  his  length  on 
the  ground,  knocked  on  the  pate  by  his 
own  bill,  which  Harry  had  wrested  from 
him. 

This  appeared  to  be  the  signal  for  a 
general  fight.  Master  Shakspeare  and 
his  young  friend  were  soon  out  of  the 
hands  of  (their  captors,  having  each  of 
them  tripped  up  the  heels  of  such  of  the 
watch  as  held  them  ;  and  laying  hold  of 
the  weapons  of  those  who  fell,  they  as-  [ 
sisted  Harry  Daring  and  his  companions 
with  such  good  will,  that  in  an  .exceeding 
brief  space,  their  opponents  took  to  their 
heels,  or  were  laid  with  broken  pates  on 
the  ground.  However,  the  noise  of  the 
disturbance  and  the  outcries  of  those  who 
ran  away,  soon  fetched  such  numbers  of 
17 


the  city  watch,  that,  for  all  that  they 
fought  with  the  most  determined  resolute- 
ness, every  one  of  them,  Master  Shaks- 
peare and  his  party  would  have  been 
overpowere*d,  had  not  Harry  Daring  all  at 
once  raised  the  cry  of  "  prentices  !  pren- 
tices! clubs!  clubs!"  in  which  he  was 
so  vigorously  assisted  by  Big  Jack  o'  the 
Turnstile,  Long-legged  Tom,  and  Peter 
Perriwinkle,  that  there  presently  were 
seen  running  in  all  .directiqns  some  score 
of  young  men  and  boys,  every  one  with 
a  cudgel  in  his  hand,  who  began  laying 
about  them  so  famously,  it  looked  as  if 
they  were  used  to  it.  Mpre  of  the  watch 
continued  to  come,  but  the  apprentices 
who. had  already  taken  part  in  the  conflict 
soon  drew  such  a  number  to  their  assis- 
tance, by  shouting  as  loud  as  they  could, 
"  prentices  !  prentices  !  clubs  !  clubs !" 
that  the  street  became  filled  with  them 
and  the  watch  to  the  amount  of -some 
hundreds^  all  fighting  with 'one  another 
as  fiercely  as  dragons,  with  such  furious 
outcries,  that  it  brought  the  citizens, 
frightened  •  out  of  their  wits,  to  their 
windows. 

It  can  not  be  doubted  but  that  Harry 
Daring  was  in  the  thickest  of  the  fray. 
Indeed,  though  he  got  a  few  famous 
thumps  from  the  bills  of  his  opponents, 
he  ceased  not  till  he  and  his  companions 
had  driven  .them  to  seek  safety  in  flight ; 
and  after  seeing  of  Master  Shakspeare  to 
his  lodgings,  and  bidding  good-night  to 
his  old  school-fellows,  he  went  home  with 
Master  Francis,  overjoyed  that  he  had 
again  participated  in  such"  exquisite  fine 
fun,"  as  he  had  ever  found  in  beating  of 
the  watch. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

What  things  have  \ve  seen 

Done  at  THE  MERMAID  :  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest ! 

BEAUMONT. 

But  that  which  most  doth  take  my  Muse  and  me, 
Is  a  pure  cup  of  rich  Canary  wine, 
Which  is  THE  MERMAID'S  now — but  shall  he  mine  . 
Of  which  had  Horace  or  Anacreon  tasted, 
Their  lives,  as  do  their  lines,  till  now  had  lasted. 
BEN  JOSSON. 

Come,  let  us  go  while  we  are  in  our  prime, 
And  take  the  harmless  folly  of  the  time. 

HBBBICK. 

THE  next  day  Master  Shakspeare  pro- 
ceeded, with  Master  Francis  to  the  scriv- 
ener's, determined,  if  it  were  possible,  to 


258 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


make  the  old  miser  declare  what  he 
knew  of  liis  young  friend's  parentage: 
but  Gregory  Vellum  was  obstinate,  nay, 
quite  rude  on  the  matter..  He  would 
have  it  he  knew  no  more  than  he  had 
already  said  ;  and  could  not  be  ever  a 
wasting  of  his  time  in  answering  ques- 
tions concerning  the  birth  of  one  that  was 
base  born.  In  vain  his  nephew  implored 
him  to  say  all  that  he  was  acquainted 
with ;  he  only  laughed  at  his  prayers, 
and  bade  him  about  his'business;  in  vain 
Master  Shakspeare  threatened  him  with 
legal  proceedings  told  he  not  the  truth : 
he  set  him  at  defiance,  and  accused  them 
both  of  coming  to  him  with  no  better 
purpose  than  to  extort  money.  After  re- 
ceiving from  him  nothing  but  abuse,  and 
finding  he  could  not  be  brought,  either 
by  threats,  or  bribes,  or  entreaties,  to 
declare  any  one  thing,  they,  with  a  very 
evident  reluctance,  took  themselves  away. 
Master  Francis  now  found  that  his  birth 
was  involved  in  as  much  obscurity  as 
ever ;  yet  as  he  was  not  deprived  of  hope, 
he  was  less  uneasy  on  the  subject  than  he 
had  been  a  long  time.  It  was  a  great 
relief  the  getting  rid  of  all  idea  of  rela- 
tionship with  that  wretched  hypocrite 
Holdfast.  Could  he  as  perfectly  con- 
7ince  himself  of  his  own  legitimacy  as 
he  could  that  he  was  no  son  of  that  man, 
he  would  have  cared  but  little.  Even 
were  his  father  some  honest  poor  man, 
he  would  now  be  satisfied,  provided  he 
had  been  bound  in  marriage  with  his 
mother.  In  fine,  he  felt  he  could  humble 
his  ambition  to  any  lowness,  to  secure  his 
mother's  honor  from  suspicion. 

T.he  success  of  his  play,  for  it  seemed 
to  take  with  the  town  more  and  more 
every  day,  set  him  to  the  writing  of  other 
things,  and  he  began  to  be  considered  of 
the  critics  one  of  the  most  promising 
poets  of  the  time.  Save  Master  Shak- 
speare, none  exhibited  such  interest  in 
the  success  of  his  writings  as  did  Sir 
Walter  Raleieh.  He  had  been  delighted 
with  the  tragedy,  and  took  every  occasion 
to  bring  the  young  author  into  notice 
amongst  such  of  his  friend^  and  acquain- 
tances as  possessed  rank'  or  influence. 
What  had  passed  betwixt  his  secretary 
and  Queen  Elizabeth  had  vexed  him  as 
much  as  the  knowledge  that  the  youth 
was  in  no  way  related  to  such  a  paltry 
cheater  as  he  had  known  that  Holdfast 
to  be,  had  given  him  pleasure.  His  own 
affairs  looked  not  to  be  in  the  most  flour- 
ishing condition.  At  the  earnest  solicita- 
tions of  his  devoted  wife  he  had  strove 
to  the  utmost  to  get  himself  restored  to 


the  queen 's  favor ;  but,  as  Cecil  insinuated", 
my  Lord  Essex  and  his  friends  had  such 
influence  at  court  as  prevented  all  ap- 
proach to  a  reconciliation  with  her  maj- 
esty, though  he  was  unceasing  in  his 
efforts  to  bring  it  about.  For  all  this  the 
queen  did  often  send  him  comfortable 
messages,  which  did  give  him  some  hope 
he  should  make  bis  peace  with  her  be* 
fore  long.  An  expedition  against  the 
Spaniards  had  been1  talked  of,  and  though 
it  met  not  with  the  approbation  of  her 
lord-treasurer,  who  liked  not  atiything 
that  cost  much  money,  and  seemed  to  be 
attended  with  more  risk  than  profit;  as 
it  was  warmly  supported  by  the  lord- 
admiral  and  my  Lord  Essex,  it  was 
thought,  amoqg  those  supposed  to  be  in 
the  secret,  my  Lord  Barghley's  opinion 
would  go  for  naught.  The  expedition 
had  been  originally  proposed  by  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh,  some  years  since ;  and  as 
the  queen  had  lately  sent  frequently  to 
consult  him  on  the  matter,  Dame  Eliza- 
beth did  imagine  he  would  have  some 
command  in  it ;  and  this  thought  of  hers 
pleased  her  mightily,  for  she  did  argue 
from  it  he  would  have  such  opportunity 
for  distinguishing  of  himself  as  must 
needs  end  in  his  being  restored  to  the 
honorable  place  he  had  lost  by  his  mar- 
riage with  her. 

"  Put  you  on  your  hat  and  cloak,  Mas- 
ter Francis,  and  come  with  me,"  said 
Sir  Walter  to  his  secretary,  as  they  sat 
together,  after  the  labors  of  the  day  were 
ended,  in  the  library  at  Durham  house, 
that  was  in  the  turret  overlooking  the 
Thames,  "  I  wish  you  to  meet  certain 
friends  of  mine,  in  whose  society  I  doubt 
not  you  will  find  infinite  pleasure." 

Master  Francis  was  not  long  in  com- 
plying with  his  patron's  request,  and 
shortly  afterward  they  walked  out  to- 
gether till  they  came  to  a  tavern  of  excel- 
lent great  repute,  called  "  The  Mermaid," 
in  Friday  street.  It  seemed  to  be  a  goodly 
structure,  being  of  some  size,  with  a 
famous  porch  in  the  centre,  having  case- 
ments from  the  ground  floor  projecting 
into  the  street  further  than  the  ordinary, 
each  story  above  story,  with  quaint  carv- 
ings round  about  them,  and  a  huge  sign 
over  the  door,  representing  a  mermaid 
in  the  sea,  daintily  combing  of  her  hair 
with  one  hand,  and  having  a  looking- 
glass  in  the  other,  into  which  she  ap- 
peared to  be  gazing.  There  were  two  or 
three  gentlemanlike  men  loitering  about 
the  entrance,  conversing  with  each  other. 

"  Ha  !  Master  Donne !"  exclaimed  Sir 
Walter,  cordially  greeting  a  young  man, 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


259 


dressed  very  soberly,  yet  of  a  simple  good- 
natured  countenance.  "  How  goeth  the 
world  with  you  ?" 

"Indeed,  it  goeth  but  ill  with  me,  Sir 
Walter,"  replied  he,  "  yet  why  should  I 
repine  ?  It  be  true  enough,  I  have  lost 
most  of  my  property  ;  yet  my  dear  wife 
hath  been  restored  to  me.  Methinks  I 
should  be  exceeding  content." 

"  I  hope  all  will  end  happily  at  last," 
remarked  Raleigh.  Now  the  reader  must 
know  that  this  Master  Donne  having  been 
secretary  to  a  certain  Lord  Elsinore,  with 
whom  he  had  travelled  in  Spain  and 
Italy,  fell  in  love  with  my  lord's  niece, 
who  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  George 
More,  and  upon  finding  they  were  both 
of  one  mind,  privately  married  her  ; 
which  did  so  enrage  her  father  when  he 
came  to  know  of  it,  that  he  took  away 
his  wife  from  him,  had  him  dismissed 
from  his  office  of  secretary,  and  then  cast 
him  into  prison.  He  got  his  liberty  pres- 
ently ;  but  he  got  not  his  wife  again  till 
he  had  recourse  to  law  proceedings  with 
his  father-in-law,  that  nearly  consumed 
all  his  substance. 

"My  kinsman,  Sir  Francis  Whalley, 
with  whom  I  am  living,  is  exercising  of 
his  best  means  to  get  Sir  George  to  be 
reconciled  to  me,'1  added  Master  Donne. 
"  I  know  not  what  will  come  of  it,  but 
will  hope  for  the  best.  Then  there  hath 
been  my  true  friend,  Dr.  Morton,  that 
very  excellent  and  truly  good  divine,  ad- 
vising me  to  enter  into  the  church,  and 
offering  me  a  benefice  if  I  would." 

"And  surely  you  will  do  as  he  advises 
you,  the  more  especially  as  your  fortune 
is  so  low  ?"  remarked  Sir  Walter. 

"Indeed,  I  can  not,"  replied  the  other. 
" 'Tis  a  great   temptation  at   this  time 
certainly,  the  offer  of  a  fair  benefice  when 
I  have  nothing  to  look  to,  and  a  sweet 
young  wife  to  provide  for ;  but  I  have 
such  scruples  against  entering  the  priest- 
hood, because  I  am  not  of  that  holy  dis- 
?osition  methinks  it  should  require,  that 
can  not  bring  my  conscience  to  the  do- 
ing of  any  such  thing." 

"  O'  my  life  !  I  do  most  truly  believe 
you  would  do  the  church  infinite  honor 
in  becoming  one  of  its  members,"  said 
Raleigh.  "  I  wish  all  were  as  conscien- 
tious and  as  worthy."  Then  turning  to 
another  he  exclaimed,  with  a  like  cordial 
manner  as  he  had  used  to  Master  Donne 
— "  And  how  speedeih  Master  Cotton  in 
his  labors?  Hast  found  any  more  rare 
manuscripts  and  ancient  records,  such  as 
your  laudable  industry  hath  already  put 
you  upon  the  discovery  of?" 


"Indeed  have  I,  Sir  Walter,"  replied 
he,  who  was  one  of  a  famous  staid  de- 
meanor, and  in  great  repute  for  his  knowl- 
edge of,  and  eagerness  after,  all  manner 
of  ancient  things.  "I  have  had  the  good 
hap  to  get  hold  of  a  marvellous  number 
of  such  wonderful,  curious,  and  valuable 
manuscripts,  charters,  records,  and  the 
like  precious  documents,  as  scarce  any  in 
these  kingdoms  have  met  with,  the  which 
I  shall  be  proud  to  show  you,  call  you 
on  me  at  any  time." 

"  I  will  not  fail  to  pay  you  a  visit 
soon,"  answered  Sir  Walter.  "  Master 
Selden — well  met !"  exclaimed  he  to  an- 
other— "And  Master  Martin  too,"  he  ad- 
ded to  a  fourth.  "  Pray  t*>U  me  who  are 
come?" 

"  There  are  Master  Beaumont  and 
Master  Fletcher,"  said  one. 

"  Arcades  ambo  !"  cried  Raleigh  laugh- 
ingly. 

"  Methjnks  they  be  the  very  <  Gemini' 
of  our  literary  zodiac,"  observed  Master 
Marlin  in  a  like  humor.  "  They  look  to 
be  ever  so  closely  coupled." 

"  Then  there  have  lately  gone  up  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  and  Master  Jonson,"  added 
another. 

"  If  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  be  '  Gem- 
ini,' "  said  Master  Selden,  "  surely  Shak- 
speare and  Jonson  be  'Pisces ;'  for,  o'  my 
life,  never  saw  I  such  fish  for  drinking !" 
Thereupon  there  was  a  laugh  among 
them  all. 

"  Not  a  long  while  since  Master  Carew 
passed  me,  and  went  in,"  remarked  Mas- 
ter Donne. 

"Doubtless  inventing  of  some  new 
ballad,"  said  Master  Cotton,  "  with  such 
a  monstrous  fire  of  love  in  it  as  might 
dissolve  all  the  ice  between  this  and  the 
Frozen  ocean." 

"Master  Constable  and  Master  Syl- 
vester are  also  there,"  added  another. 

"Master  Sylvester  came  before  the 
other  in  a  monstrous  haste,"  observed 
Master  Selden  in  the  same  merry  humor. 
"But  that  can  be  nothing  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary ;  for  he  be  famous  for  outrunning 
the  constable." 

"  Well,  let  us  up  and  join  them,  my 
masters!"  exclaimed  Sir  Walter,  laugh- 
ing with  the  rest ;  upon  which  the  whole 
party  moved  on  through  the  spacious  door- 
way with  its  fantastic  carvings  about  it, 
passing  a  notable  fat  landlady  in  the 
passage,  who  left  off  rating  one  of  the 
drawers  to  drop  her  guests  a  courtesy, 
and  make  some  courteous  inquiry,  as  ev- 
ery one  said  a  civil  word  before  they  went 
up  stairs.  As  they  were  entering  the  room 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


above,  they  heard  such  shouts  oflaughter 
as  showed  plain  enough  there  was  no 
lack  of  good  humor  among  the  company; 
and  so  it  appeared,  for  upon  their  coming 
in  they  noticed  that  every  one  was  laugh- 
ing as  heartily  as  he  might;  and  Master 
Shakspeare,  and  one  of  a  right  merry 
aspect,  whom  Master,  Francis  knew  to 
be  Ben  Jonson,  were  in  the  midst  of  them, 
evidently  causing  all  the  mirth  they  had 
heard.  The  room  was  long,  and  of  a  fair 
height,  having  a  long  old  oak  table  with 
rounded  legs  put  in  the  centre,  on  which 
a  drawer  appeared  to  be  setting  things 
ready  for  supper.  The  compartments  in 
the  wainscot  were  elaborately  carved  with 
all  manner  of  foliage  and  griffins'  heads; 
and  the  chimney,  which  was  of  a  more 
than  ordinary  height  and  capaciousness, 
was  ornamented  in  a  like  manner.  There 
was  an  open  cupboard  on  one  side,  in 
which  was  a  rare  display  of  glass  and 
china, and  one  or  two  parcel-gilt  goblets; 
and  a  goodly  silver  tankard,  curiously 
wrought  with  a  scene  of  persons  going 
a  hawking ;  and  the  tapestry  round  the 
room  was  worked  with  rude  designs  de- 
scriptive of  the  destruction  of  the  Span- 
ish armada,  with  labels  coming  out  the 
mouths  of  the  principal  commanders  in 
the  ships,  saying  of  certain  things  attrib- 
uted to  them. 

Master  Francis  upon  first  coming  in 
did  as  he  saw  others  do,  put  his  hat  upon 
a  peg,  and  then  turned  to  see  who  was 
of  the  company.  Most  of  them  he  knew  ; 
for  they  were  the  chiefest  wits  of  the 
time,  that  he  had  often  met  in  the  cham- 
ber of  the  players,  and  these  greeted  him 
kindly.  Whilst  looking  about  him,  he 
could  not  help  observing  the  drawer,  who 
was  a  youth  marvellous  spare  of  flesh, 
with  long  legs  and  long  arms,  in  a  white 
canvass  doublet  and  saffron-colored  hose, 
and  an  exceeding  innocent  countenance, 
in  which  the  sense  of  respect  for  the  com- 
pany in  which  he  was,  seemed  to  behav- 
ing a  sore  struggle  with  the  desire  to  laugh 
at  the  right  admirable  jests  that  ever  and 
anon  broke  from  one  or  other  of  them. 

"  Here  cometh  our  king  of  El  Dorado  !" 
exclaimed  Ben  Jonson  good-humoredly, 
as  he  noticed  the  entrance  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  and  those  who  came  with  him. 
"  Mayhap  we  shall  have  something  ster- 
ling now.  O'  my  life!  I  be  wonderful 
like  good  money  kept  with  bad.  Me- 
thinks,  by  this  time,  I  must  needs  have  so 
suspicious  a  look  with  me,  on  account  of 
the  rubs  I  am  getting  among  these  base 
ones,  that  I  can  not  help  being  thought  as 
brass  as  my  company." 


,  "  Verily,thy  company  be  brazen  enough, 
of  all  conscience,"  replied  Master  Shak- 
speare in  a  like  tone  and  manner.  "I 
will  put  thee  up  to  a  good  thing,  Ben. 
When  the  next  lord  mayor's  day  comes 
round,  offer  for  a  reasonable  sum  to  play 
the  part  of  one  of  the  men  in  armor.  Na- 
ture hath  provided  thee  with  such  a  com- 
plete suit  of  brass,  thou  art  sure  to  be 
able  to  do  it  cheaper  and  more  to  the  life 
than  any." 

"  Away  with  thee  ! — thy  wit  be  all  of 
a  quality  with  thyself!"  cried  the  other, 
whilst  his  companion  laughed  as  loud  as 
the  rest.  "  Not  only  art  thou  brazen  be- 
yond all  denial,  but  thou  art  a  very  bra- 
zen bull  of  Phalaris  ;  for  thou  dost '  roar' 
at  the  expense  of  thy  victims." 

"  Ifaith  be  I  the  bull  of  Phalaris,  thou 
must  needs  be  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes," 
replied  Master  Shakspeare.  "  Mayhap 
it  would  be  greatly  to  somebody's  profit, 
who  would  break  thee  up  and  sell  thee 
by  weight,  as  was  done  with  that  ancient 
image.  But  heard  I  not  that  the  wor- 
shipful company  of  braziers  had  made 
thee  a  handsome  offer  at  so  much  per 
pound,  wishing  to  melt  thee  into  candle- 
sticks, hand-irons,  stew-pans  and  the 
like  famous  utensils?  I  hope  'tis  true, 
for  thou  wouldst  then  come  to  a  goodly 
use,  which  be  more  than  I  can  hope  of 
thee  at  present." 

"  Oh  !  would  I  had  the  lapis  philo' 
sophicus"  exclaimed  Ben  Jonson,  "I 
would,  with  what  speed  I  might,  trans- 
mute the  abominable  baseness  of  thy  hu- 
mor into  something  more  creditable  to 
thee." 

"Use  it  on  thyself,  Ben,  I  prythee,  for 
thou  wilt  find  it  more  to  thy  profit,"  an- 
swered the  other,  laughingly.  "Had 
such  transmutation  been  done,  and  thou 
hadst  been  one  of  the  children  of  Israel 
that  were  hastening  away  from  Pharaoh, 
there  would  hare  been  no  occasion  for 
them  to  have  melted  the  trinkets  they 
had  filched  from  the  Egyptians." 

"And  why  not,  my  CEdipus?"  asked 
his  companion. 

"  Because  they  would  have  had  a  gold- 
en calf  ready  at  their  hands,"  replied 
Master  Shakspeare.  At  this  the  compa- 
ny laughed  louder  than  ever,  and  the 
drawer  turned  his  head  on  one  side,  to 
hide  the  grin  that  made  its  appearance 
on  his  countenance. 

"  Well,  my  masters,"  exclaimed   Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  fearing  that  the  liveli- 
ness  of  their  wits  might,  if  not  inter 
rupted,  lead  them  to  loggerheads,  "  ther 
can  be  no  doubt  you  are  both  '  men  o 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


26! 


metal ;'  and  if  the  nature  thereof  hath 
an  inclination  for  the  brazen,  '  Corinthian 
brass'  it  must  be  at  the  least." 

"That  is  a  pretty  compliment,  o' my 
word,"  cried  Master  Cotton,  "  and  in 
honest  truth  I  take  them  to  be  of  such 
choice  metal,  if  brass  they  be;  that  had 
they  lived  in  Rome,  under  either  its  con- 
suls or  emperors,  I  doubt  not  at  all  they 
would  both  have  been  coined  into  'ass- 
es.' " 

"  Nay,  hang  it,  Master  Cotton  !"  ex- 
claimed Master  Shakspeare.  good-hu- 
moredly,  "  travel  not  so  far  as  Rome  to 
make  asses  of  us.  I  would  take  no  such 
trouble  in  such  a  case,  I  promise  you  ; 
for  were  I  so  inclined,  I  see  no  reason 
for  doubting  I  could  make  an  ass  of  you 
on  the  spot."  Thereupon  the  laugh  was 
as  general  as  ever,  and  the  drawer  put 
his  hand  to  his  mouth  to  prevent  others 
from  seeing  he  could  not  avoid  joining 
in  it. 

"  Barnaby  !"  cried  Ben  Jonson,  winking 
at  some  of  those  around  him,  as  if  to  in- 
timate to  them  what  he  would  be  at, 
"  what  hast  got  for  supper  ?" 

In  a  moment  the  drawer  had  on  him 
as  grave  a  face  as  ever  was  met  with  in 
a  drawer,  and  gazing  steadily  on  his  fin- 
gers, he  began  with  the  finger  and 
thumb  of  his  right  hand  to  touch  the 
points  of  the  thumb  and  fingers  of  the 
other,  as  he  slowly  named  the  following 
dishes: — 

"Turkey  pullets,   venison  pasty,  two 

roasted  capons,  cold" 

"  Art  sure  they  be  capons,  Barnaby  ?" 
inquired  one,  interrupting  him. 

"  Ay,  master,"  replied  he,  "  brave  ca- 
pons. I  promise  you." 

"Art  cock  sure  on't?"  asked  another. 
"  Ay,  master,"'  answered  the  drawer. 
"  Now  how  canst  pretend  to  be  cock- 
sure  on  a  matter  of  capons  ?''  said  the 
first,  with  an  infinite  gravity.     Barnaby 
scratched  his  head  and   looked  puzzled, 
and  the  rest  took  the  question  very  mer- 
rily, as  may  be  supposed. 

'•  Well,   and    what  else   hast   got   for 
supper  ?"  asked  Master  Shakspeare.  The 
drawer  again,  with  a  monstrous  serious 
countenance,  began  counting  of  his  fin- 
gers as,  with  the  same  voice  and  manner,  j 
he  repeated    the  following  list   of  good/ 
things : — 

"  Turkey  pullets,  venison   pasty,  two  j 

roasted  capons,  cold  sirloin  of  beef" 

"Dost  not  think  the  sirloin  would  have 
been  all  the  better  had  it  been  hot  ?"  ask- 
ed Ben  Jonson,  very  earnestly. 

"  Mayhap  it   would,  master,"  replied 


Barnaby,  with  a   wonderful    innocency 
"  yet  I  know  not  for  certain.     Peradven- 
ture  asked   I   about  it  of  mistress,  she 
could  say." 

"  It  matters  not — proceed  with  what 
you  were  stating,"  said  the  other. 

Again  Barnaby  took  to  the  counting  of 
his  fingers,  and  the  naming  of  the  dishes, 
with  more  steadfast  a  gravity  than  ever, 
— beginning  as  at  first: — 

"Turkey  •  pullets,  venison  pasty,  two 
roasted  capons,  cold  sirloin  of  beef,  boiled 
coneys,  stewed  lampreys."  Here  he  made 
a  stop,  and  seemed  to  think  very  intently 
for  a  minute  or  so ;  then  began  counting 
of  his  fingers  again — after  he  had  counted 
out  the  left  hand,  making  use  of  it  to 
count  the  right  with,  and  renamed  what 
he  had  mentioned  in  a  lower  voice,  as  if 
it  was  to  himself. — "  Turkey  pullets, 
venison  pasty,  two  roasted  capons,  cold 
sirloin  of  beef,  boiled  coneys,  stewed  lam- 
preys— stewed  lampreys — stewed  lam- 
preys," repeated  he,  looking  from  his  fin- 
gers to  the  ceiling  with  a  stare  so  won- 
drous hard,  every  one  supposed  he  saw 
there  something  marvellous.  "  Stewed 
lampreys — odds  pittikins !  now  my  mem- 
ory will  not  serve  me  to  name  what  cometh 
after  the  stewed  lampreys,  though  I  said 
all  the  dishes  to  mistress  not  an  hour 
since."  None  interrupted  him,  though 
every  one  looked  to  be  exceeding  inclined 
to  laugh,  he  appeared  to  be  so  famously 
perplexed  ;  but  many  could  keep  their 
gravity  no  longer  when  they  observed 
him,  though  he  spoke  not,  evidently  from 
the  moving  of  his  lips  repeating  what  he 
had  already  said,  as  with  a  gravity  mixed 
with  some  little  furiousness,  he  once 
more  took  to  the  counting  of  his  fingers. 
"Boar's  head  !"  shouted  he  at  last,  amid 
the  boisterous  laughter  of  all  present. 
"Alack  i hat  I  should  forget  the  boar's 
head  I"  Then  he  continued  as  intent 
upon  his  fingers  as  ever.  "  Boar's  head, 
marrow  pudding,  two  dishes  of  roast 
apple-Johns,  three  of  stewed  prunes,  and 
a  custard  with  plums  in  it." 

"It  be  plain  enough,  Barnaby,  thou 
wilt  not  have  to  go  far  to  bring  us  our 
supper,"  observed  Master  Beaumont. 

"No farther  than  the  kitchen,  master," 
replied  the  drawer  very  innocently. 

"  Surely  there  can  be  no  occasion  for 
your  going  to  the  kitchen,"  said  Master 
Beaumont.  "  It  seemed  but  now  you 
had  it  all  at  your  '  finger's  ends.' "  Amid 
the  laughter  which  followed  this,  the 
voice  of  a  woman  was  heard  crying  out, 
"  Barnaby  !"  as  loud  as  she  could. 

"Anon,  mistress!"  replied  he. 


262 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  How  long  hast  been  a  drawer,  Bar- 
naby  ?"  asked  Ben  Jonson. 

"A  year  since  Pentecost,  master,"  an- 
swered be. 

"Barnaby!  Why,  thou  idle  varlet!" 
screamed  the  voice  from  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs. 

"Anon,  anon,  mistress!"  cried  Barna- 
by, evidently  anxious  to  get  away. 

"Dost  like  thy  business?"  asked  the 
other. 

"Ay,  marry  do  I,  master,"  answered 
the  drawer,  looking  toward  the  door  as 
if  in  some  dread  his  mistress  would  be 
coming. 

"  Prythee  tell  me  what  dost  get  by  thy 
business?"  inquired  Ben  Jonson  with  an 
infinite  seriousness,  as  if  the  question 
\vas  one  of  great  moment. 

"  Twenty  good  shillings  a  year,  besides 
vails ;  and" 

"  Barnaby  !  Barnaby  !  Thou  knave, 
must  I  bawl  here  all  day  ?"  shouted  the 
hostess. 

"Anon!  anon,  mistress!"  cried  he 
again  with  his  countenance  in  some 
afarm  ;  and  then^added  hurriedly,  "  and 
a  suit  at  Lammas  and  Shrovetide." 

"  Prythee  detain  him  no  longer,  Master 
Jonson,"  said  Sir  Walter,  though  he 
could  not  help  laughing  at  the  anxiety 
of  the  drawer  to  attend  to  his  mistress, 
whilst  he  seemed  fearful  of  taking  him- 
self away  from  his  interrogator  too  quick- 
ly, from  the  likelihood  there  appeared  in 
it  of  giving  him  offence.  "Let  him  to 
his  duty  ;  else  shall  we  have  Dame  Can- 
nikin so  put  out,  our  supper  may  chance 
to  suffer  for  it." 

"  Nay,  I  would  not  allow  of  our  supper 
suffering  on  any  account,"  replied  Ben 
Jonson  laughingly,  as  the  draw^r  made 
his  escape. 

"  How  tender  of  heart  thou  art !"  ex- 
claimed Master  Shakspeare.  "But  for 
all  thy  fine  professions,  I  doubt  not  in  the 
least  thou  wouldst  act  toward  it  the  part 
of  the  wolf  to  the  lamb — thou  wouldst 
make  a  meal  of  it." 

"  I  own  that  be  my  intention,"  said 
Ben  Jonson,  joining  in  the  mirth  that 
then  became  general.  "There  is  some 
likelihood  of  its  suffering  from  me  to 
some  extent,  after  that  fashion  ;  for  at 
present  I  must  plead  guilty  to  a  cruel 
appetite." 

"At  present!"  cried  Shakspeare  with 
marked  emphasis.  "  Certes,  it  be  modest 
of  thee  to  speak  but  of  'the  present'  in 
relation  to  thy  appetite;  for  thou  reraind- 
est  me  of  a  certain  maelstrom  I  have 
heard  of,  which  be  ever  at  work  swal- 


lowing all  things  that  come  within  its 
reach." 

"  It  be  a  thousand  pities  thou  hast 
never  gone  that  way,"  observed  the  other. 
"  But  I  forgot.  There  are  some  people 
that  an  old  proverb  declareth  will  never 
be  drowned." 

It  is  probable  some  reply  of  a  like 
nature  with  what  had  been  already  said 
by  these  two  of  one  another,  would  have 
been  spoken  by  Master  Shakspeare  ;  but 
at  that  moment,  evidently  to  the  huge 
satisfaction  of  the  company,  the  door 
opened,  and  there  entered  no  other  than 
Mistress  Cannikin  herself,  carrying  of  a 
dish  of  roast  capons,  which  she  placed 
on  one  end  of  the  table.  Master  Francis, 
when  he  passed  her  in  the  passage,  fan- 
cied he  had  had  sight  of  her  portly  person 
and  fair  florid  face  before,  and  now,  on  a 
more  careful  scrutiny  he,  to  his  no  small 
surprise,  recognised  her  as  the  famous  fat 
dame,  that  with  her  equally  fat  daughter, 
had  been  in  the  room  with  him  at  the 
playhouse  at  the  first  playing  of  his  tra- 
gedy. She  was,  on  this  occasion,  appar- 
elled very  stately  in  a  dress  of  flame- 
colored  taffeta,  cut  low,  and  with  a  mon- 
strous fine  ruff  to  it,  wearing  a  goodly 
bunch  of  keys  at  her  girdle,  besides  a 
pair  of  scissors  and  a  pincushion.  After 
her  came  her  daughter  with  another  dish, 
who  was  decked  out  as  daintily  as  her 
mother,  in  a  dress  of  the  same  material ; 
which  made  Ben  Jonson,  as  he  saw  the 
two  coming  along  enveloped  in  the  steam 
of  the  dishes  they  carried,  call  them  per- 
sonifications of  the  destruction  of  Pompeii 
and  Herculaneum.  Next  to  mine  hos- 
tess's daughter  came  Barnaby,  then  anoth- 
er drawer,  then  a  lull  stout  woman  with 
a  countenance  that  outflamed  the  taffeta 
— then  a  clumsy  scrub  of  a  girl  with  a 
black  face  and  red  elbows — and  then  a 
still  greater  scrub  of  a  boy  scarce  half 
her  size,  in  a  leather  jerkin  a  mile  and 
all  too  big  for  him, — all  bearing  in  their 
hands  dishes  as  much  as  they  could 
carry. 

"Now,  Kate!"  exclaimed  Dame  Can- 
nikin addressing  all  of  them  in  turn  ; 
"  put  you  the  turkey  pullets  in  the  cen- 
tre.— Barnaby  !  lay  the  boar's  head  at  the 
top  of  the  table,  where  the  noble  Sir 
•Walter  Raleigh  is  used  to  sit.  Hum- 
phrey !  the  venison  pastry  here  for  Master 
Shakspeare.  Mary  Cook  !  the  boiled  co- 
neys on  this  side.  Dorothy  !  the  stewed 
lampreys  opposite.  Dick  Turnspit !  the 
marrow  puddings  next  the  turkey  pullets 
— and  now  get  you  gone  all  of  you  for  the 
rest  of  the  things,  whilst  I  fetch  the  tank- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


263 


arks  and  glasses  from  the  cupboard." 
Whereupon  all  departed,  after  placing 
the  things  as  she  directed,  saying  never 
a  word,  and  presently  returned  with  what 
else  was  intended  for  the  supper,  as  she 
got  what  she  wanted  from  the  cupboard. 
During  this  time  her  guests  were  placing 
of  themselves  at  the  table,  where  every 
man  found  his  knife  and  his  napkin  ready 
for  him.  Master  Francis  being  at  the 
right  hand  of  Sir  Walter  and  Ben  Jonson 
on  the  left  -Master  Shakspeare  at  the 
other  end  having  Beaumont  on  one  side 
and  Fletcher  on  the  other,  and  the  rest 
of  the  party  sitting  themselves  on  each 
side  of  the  table  as  they  could. 

Mine  hostess  as  she  helped  in  putting 
everything  in  proper  order,  seemed  to  no- 
tice whatever  was  going  on  around  her, 
and  kept  not  her  tongue  still  a  moment; 
addressing  one  01  other  of  her  guests  in 
some  courteous  speech,  or  rating  the 
drawers,  or  apologising  for  whatever  she 
thought  was  deficient  in  the  serving  of 
the  supper. 

"Good  Master  Donne,  I  am  heartily 
glad  to  see  you,"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
have  been  a  stranger  of  late." 

"  Much  against  my  will,  depend  on't, 
fair  hostess,"  replied  he. 

"  Then,  forsooth,  yon  are  not  to  blame," 
added  she.  "  Worthy  Master  Cotton,  you 
are  welcome  as  a  rasher  of  bacon  in  peas- 
cod  time.  Kate  !  dip  not  your  sleeves  in 
the  stewed  lampreys.  There  lieth  the 
carver,  noble  Sir  Walter,  by  the  side 
of  the  dish !  By  my  troth,  Mary  Cook 
hath  forgot  to  put  the  lemon  in  the  boar's 
mouth.  Go  you  and  get  a  lemon,  Barna- 
by  !  Sweet  Master  Shakspeare,  I  live  in 
hope  the  pastry  will  be  to  your  liking." 

"Where  the  hostess  is  so  greatly  to 
my  liking,  what  is  of  her  providing  must 
needs  be  as  desirable,"  answered  the 
other  gallantly. 

"La,  forsooth,  Master  Shakspeare!" 
exclaimed  she,  looking  exceeding  pleased. 
"Well,  fora  prettily  spoken  gentleman 
never  met  I  your  peer." 

"  Wilt  say  grace,  Master  Shakspeare  ?" 
inquired  Sir  Walter  from  the  other  end 
of  the  table. 

"  Nay  it  be  useless  asking  of  him," 
cried  Ben  Jonson.  "For  he  be  the  most 
notorious  grace-lexs  varlet  that  lives." 

"  O'  my  life,  he  cares  only  to  avoid 
saying  it  himself,"  replied  Master  Shak- 
speare, in  a  like  jocular  manner.  "For 
there  can  not  b,e  in  this  \vorld  so  infa- 
mous a  ^cape-grace."  After  the  laugh 
had  subsided  which  followed  these  witty 
sayings,  the  latter,  with  a  monstrous  se- 


rious face,  repeated  the  following  coup- 
let: — 

"  With  these  good  things  before  our  sights, 
Grant  us,  good  Lord,  good  appetites." 

"  Mayhap,  if  our  commons  were  to  be- 
come as  short  as  our  grace,  our  appetites 
would  stand  but  a  poor  chance  of  being 
satisfied,"  said  Master  Selden. 

"  Indeed,  the  grace  be  of  a  singular 
fine  brevity,"  observed  Mistress  Cannikin, 
seating  herself  at  the  centre  of  the  table, 
whilst  her  daughter  placed  herself  oppo- 
site to  her  at  the  same  time,  as  if  they 
were  accustomed  toil.  "But  methinks 
it  be  all  the  better,  for  then  shall  the 
meat  stand  the  less  chance  of  getting 
cool.  Now,  Master  Carew,  let  me  help 
you  to  a  leg  of  this  coney,"  she  added,  as 
she  began  dividing  the  joints  of  it— still 
seeming  to  have  her  eyes  everywhere, 
and  talking  by  turns  to  all.  "  Please  you, 
good  Master  Donne,  to  carve  those  turkey 
pullets.  I  pray  you,  worthy  Master  Cot- 
ton, look  to  the  capons.  Kate,  serve  you 
lampreys.  Well,  forsooth,  if  there  be 
not  Master  Francis!  I  am  right  glad  to 
see  you  at  the  Mermaid,  sweet  sir.  You 
are  heartily  welcome,  I  assure  you.  In- 
deed, that  was  a  most  moving  tragedy 
of  yours.  Sauce  to  your  capon,  Master 
Fletcher?  I  cried  not  so  much  anytime 
since  the  day  my  last  husband  died. 
Take  you  no  boar's  head  with  your  pullet, 
Master  Beaumont?  I  pray  you,  what 
will  you  have,  sweet  Master  Francis  ? 
Let  me  commend  the  pastry  to  you.  Bar- 
naby !  prythee  make  more  speed  with 
Master  Carew's  trencher  !  Ah  !  thou 
awkward  varlet,  Humphrey !  thou  wert 
nigh  spilling  all  the  gravy  upon  the  no- 
ble Sir  Walter's  ruff.  Alack  !  Master 
Francis  hath  no  bread !  A  manchet  for 
Master  Francis,  Barnaby,  on  the  instant ! 
And  how  is  the  sweet  young  gentleman 
your  friend,  Master  Francis,  who  spoke 
so  commendably  of  you  it  did  my  heart 
good  to  hear  him  ?" 

Master  Francis  felt  he  would  have 
given  anything  to  have  escaped  her  ob- 
servation, for  he  thought  it  would  draw 
on  him  the  notice  of  others,  but  to  his 
great  relief  he  found  the  good  dame 
waited  not  to  have  any  of  her  many  ques- 
tions answered,  for  she  went  on  talking 
without  ceasing,  and  the  company  were 
too  well  employed  to  heed  him. 

"  Shall  I  help  you  to  some  of  ihis  pas- 
try, my  fair  hostess  ?"  inquired  Master 
Shakspeare. 

"  No,  forsooth,  kind  sir,  help  yourself, 
I  pray  you,"  replied  Mistress  Cannikin, 
"  you  have  not  put  bit  in  your  mouth 


§64 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS- 


yet.  Noble  Sir  Walter,  I  hope  the  sup- 
per is  of  your  liking  ?  O'  my  life,  these 
varlets  of  mine  have  forgot  the  ale ! 
Haste,  Barnaby,  and  draw  it;  and  mind, 
secure  the  spigot.  Kate  !  what  wouldst 
have  ?" 

"  Indeed,  la  !  I  have  no  choice," 
drawled  the  girl,  who  appeared  to  be 
somewhat  of  a  simpleton. 

"  Say  you  that  to  all,  you  will  never 

§et  married,  fair  Kate,''  observed  Master 
hakspeare. 

"  Tilly  vally !  she  will  have  choice 
enough  I  warrant  me  when  the  time 
comes  !"  exclaimed  her  mother,  laughing 
till  her  fat  cheeks  seemed  to  shake  like 
a  jelly.  "  Sauce  to  your  pullet,  Master 
Jonson  ?  Humphrey,  you  idle  varlet,  look 
to  Master  Jonson's  trencher.  Forsooth, 
if  she  taketh  after  her  mother,  her  mind 
may  soon  be  known  when  a  husband  be 
in  the  way,  I  promise  you." 

"  Indeed,  la  !  I  care  not  for  a  husband," 
said  Kate  very  demurely. 

"  Say  that  when  thou  hast  one,  wench. 
It  will  be  soon  enough  to  care  not  for  one 
then,  I  warrant  me,"  cried  the  hostess  of 
the  Mermaid,  again  shaking  herself  all 
over  like  a  very  aspen.  "  Noble  Sir  Wal- 
ter !  there  is  a  right  delicate  wing  of  a  ca- 
pon on  the  dish.  Master  Cotton,  I  pray  you 
prevail  on  Sir  Walter.  Lack  you  any- 
thing, Master  Francis  ?  The  ale  will  be 
here  anon.  Humphrey,  thou  heedless 
caitiff !  see'st  thou  not  master  Carew  look- 
ing for  the  salt  ?" 

*;  Can  I  not  prevail  on  you,  fair  Kate  ?" 
inquired  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  If  you  be  wise,  let  him  not  prevail 
on  you,  sweet  Kate  !"  cried  Ben  Jonson 
laughingly. 

"  Heed  him  not,  I  pray  you,  sweet 
Kate,"  said  Master  Shakspeare,  in  a  like 
humor.  "  He  would  do  you  some  wrong 
if  he  could — not  I,  believe  me ;  for  it  be 
well  known  of  all  men  living  he  hath 
the  very  greediest  tooth  for  '  sweet  cates' 
of  every  kind." 

"  0*  my  life,  Master  Shakspeare,  that 
be  as  good  a  thing  as  I  have  heard  this 
many  a  day,"  exclaimed  the  portly  dame, 
joining  as  heartily  as  any  in  the  general 
laugh.  "  Sweet  cates,  forsooth !  Barnaby ! 
ale  for  Master  Francis.  It  be  a  famous 
jest  indeed.  I  pray  you,  Master  Donne, 
stand  not  upon  being  asked  for  anything. 
A  truly  excellent  jest,  by  my  troth."" 

"  Hast  heard  of  that  new-fangled  in- 
vention called  '  forks'  "  inquired  Master 
Constable  of  Master  Cotton,  as  he  was 
diligently  fingering  of  his  meat. 

"  It  comes  from    Italy,"  replied   the 


other.  "  Your  gallants  there  are  so  mon 
strous  fine  they  can  not  be  brought  tt 
touch  their  victuals,  so  they  have  go- 
them  a  sieel  thing  with  prongs  to  it,  with 
the  which  they  lift  what  they  would  ea1 
into  their  mouths." 

"  That  looketh  to  be  nothing  better  than 
flying  in  t^e  face  of  providence,"  observed 
Master  Donne  very  gravely.  "  Of  what 
use,  I  pray  you,  can  be  our  fingers  if  not 
for  laying  hold  of  our  meat?  I  could 
never  be  brought  to  tolerate  such  atheis- 
tical inventions." 

The  supper  proceeded  much  in  this 
way ;  with  an  occasional  joke  from  Ben 
Jonson  or  Master  Shakspeare,  which  was 
sure  to  create  famous  mirth  among  the 
company.  The  face  of  the  portly  hostess 
looked  as  warm  and  as  round  as  the  sun 
at  harvest-time,  whilst  that  of  her  daugh- 
ter, sitting  opposite,  seemed  like  unto  a 
reflection  of  it.  Both  at  last  were  pre- 
vailed on  to  eat ;  but  Dame  Cannikin, 
though  ever  so  much  engaged  in  the  eat- 
ing of  her  own  supper,  still  appeared  to 
have  her  eyes  everywhere,  still  talked 
with  little  intermission  to  all ;  and  still 
continued  to  shake  her  fat  sides  at  every 
jest.that  was  uttered,  either  by  her  guests 
or  herself. 

When  all  had  eat  what  sufficed  them, 
Mistress  Cannikin  giving  her  daughter  a 
look  which  the  other  quickly  interpreted, 
rose  from  her  seat. 

"  I  hope  the  supper  hath  pleased  you 
gentlemen  ?  Barnaby,  get  you  the  voider 
ready,  and  sweep  the  table,"  observed 
she  ;  and  as  soon  as  she  spoke  commenda- 
tions broke  from  all. 

"  Indeed,  it  was  most  admirably  pro- 
vided," said  Sir  Walter. 

"  It  be  said  that  some  mermaids  are  to 
be  avoided,"  added  Master  Shakspeare, 
"  because  of  their  beguiling  men  to  their 
destruction  ;  but  they  who  relate  this  tale 
never  met  with  the  mermaid  of  Friday 
street,  else  would  they  have  told  a  clean 
contrary  story." 

"  Yea,  forsooth,  and  indeed  most  truly 
and  prettily  spoken,"  replied  the  portly 
hostess.  "Barnaby!  heed  h»w  thou 
boldest  that  dish  !  Our  mermaid  shall 
harm  none,  I  promise  you.  Humphrey  ! 
take  up  the  trenchers  carefully !  And 
what  wine  please  you  to  have  noble  Sir 
Walter?  See  to  the  carrying  of  the 
dishes  into  the  buttery,  Kate!  Shall  it 
be  the  Gascoigne,  the  Bastard,  the  Ipo- 
cras,  the  Muscovadine,  the  Canary,  the 
Sherris,  or  the  Charneco?" 

"  What  say  you,  my  masters?"  inquir- 
ed Sir  Walter.  "  Methinks  the  Canary 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


265 


is  of  so  good  a  quality  we  can  not  do  bet- 
ter than  give  it  another  trial." 

"In  truth  it  be  exceeding  good,"  re- 
plied Master  Shakspeare.  "  Mayhap 
'twould  be  as  well  though  were  we  to 
have  with  it  some  Ipocras." 

"And  some  sack  also,  good  hostess!" 
cried  Ben  Jonson.  "  The  sack  of  your 
making  be  of  so  delectable  a  sort,  I  would 
I  could  swallow  a  butt  of  it." 


nikin,  carrying  the  huge  silver  tankard 
that  had  stood  in  the  cupboard,  closely 
followed  by  the  buxom  Kate  with  a  plate 
of  figs  and  another  of  oranges. 

"  I  have  brought  you  the  sack,  Master 
Jonson,"  said  she,  placing  it  before  him, 
with  her  full  round  face  all  radiant  with 
smiles.  "  It  be  made  of  the  choicest 
sherris,  and  I  have  used  all  my  cunning 


in  the  brewing  of  it.    Barnaby,  place  the 
"  Then  would  you  make  but  a  sorry  !  baked   pippins  and  comfits  nigh  Master 
sack-but"  observed  Master  Shakspeare  •  Francis,  and  the  marchpane  closer  to  Sir 
with  a  laugh,  in  which  he  was  joined    Walter." 


by  all. 

"  Nay,  but  the  sack-but  be  a  famous 


"  Say  not  so,  good  hostess,  I  pray  you," 
replied  Master  Jonson,  "  for  if  you  have 
used  all  your  cunning,  you  must  needs  be 


ancient  instrument,"   exclaimed    Master 

Cotton.  "I  doubt  not  were  it  well  play- !  at  your  wit's  end  for  the  next  brewing." 
ed  on  'twould  discourse  most  excellent;  "Yea,  forsooth,  and  sol  should,"  ex- 
music  even  now."  'claimed  the  portly  dame,  laughing  very 

"Let  me  catch  any  playing  on  me,"  j  merrily.  "  That  be  a  famous  conceit  of 
replied  Ben  Jonson,  seeming  to  be  a  little  i  yours.  Kate  !  put  you  the  figs  before 
out  of  humor.  "  I  promise  you  I  vyould  Master  Jonson,  he  may  chance  to  like 
give  them  a  tune  to  dance  to."  'some.  Well  to  be  sure  that  be  most  wit- 

"  '  Green  Sleeves,'  or  '  Light  o'  love,'  i  tingly  said  of  you." 

perchance,"  said  Dame  Cannikin  merrily.  "  What  wine  would  you  please  to  take 
"Master  Francis,  I  hope  you  have  found  |  with  us,  good  dame  ?"  inquired  Raleigh, 
proper  enjoyment  in  your  supper.  They  i  "Excuse  me,  I  pray  you,  noble  Sir 
be  the  movitigest  tunes  I  have  ever  met  Walter,''  replied  Mistress  Cannikin  ;  yet, 
with,  and  many  a  time  and  oft  have  I  for  all  her  denial,  looking  as  if  she  would 
danced  to  them  by  the  hour.  Barnaby,  I  comply  on  a  little  pressing:  "  methinks 


mind  you  let  not  the  dish  slip  !  Then  it 
shall  be  my  choice  Canary  and  Ipocras; 
and  you  shall  have  some  sack  too  of  my 
very  delicatest  brewing."  Whereupon 
the  portly  hostess  took  herself  out  of  the 
room,  talking  all  the  way  she  went. 

After  Barnaby  had  swept,  with  a  long 
wooden  knife,  the  hones  off  the  table, 
into  a  basket,  called  the  voider,  the  wine 
was  brought  upon  the  table,  with  sundry 
sorts  of  fruits  and  cakes,  and  very  quick- 
ly the  whole  party  got  to  be  more  merry 
than  ever.  Jests  flew  about  Iik0*haii- 
stones,  hitting  everybody  ;  but  there  was 
nothing  like  unto  the  sayings  of  Ben 
Jonson  and  Master  Shakspeare,  which 


women  should  not  be  wine-bibbers. — 
Kate  !  those  oranges  to  Master  Fletcher." 

"What!  doth  our  sweet  hostess  of  the 
Mermaid  refuse  to  drink  with  her  guests?'' 
cried  Master  Shakspeare,  seemingly  in 
some  surprise.  "  Indeed,  that  can  we 
never  allow.  We  shall  drink  with  a 
greater  zest  when  your  cherry  lips  have 
been  bathed  in  the  wine." 

"By  my  troth,  Master  Shakspeare, 
that  is  prettily  spoken  of  you,"  cried  the 
portly  dame,  smirking  famously,  as  if  she 
was  well  pleased  with  the  compliment. 
"  Cherry  lips,  forsooth !  as  I  am  a  true 
woman,  those  be  most  fair  words  for  my 
time  of  life.  Try  you  one  of  those  pip- 


for  sparkling  wit  exceeded  all  that  had  |  pins,  Master  Donne,  they  be  in  excellent 
been  heard.  These  two  were  continually  j  good  repute.  Well,  then,  sweet  Master 
letting  off  some  smart  thing  against  each  i  Shakspeare,  since  you  are  so  pressing,  I 
other,  which  was  sure  to  be  retaliated,  will  take  just  one  cup  of  canary."  The 
till  mayhap,  Ben  Jonson  getting  the  worst  wine  was  given  to  her  without  loss  of 


of  it,  or  not  being  of  so  pleasant  a  tem- 
per as  was  his  antagonist,  did  sret  so  nigh 


time, — and  she  then  added,  standing  up 
with  it  in  her  hand, — "  Gentlemen 


upon  quarrelling,  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  1 1  drink  your  good  healths,  and  wish  you 
was  obliged  to  interfere  to  keep  peace  be-  a  hearty  welcome  to  the  Mermaid,"  after 
tween  them.  Master  Francis  held  his  i  which  she  tasted  the  canary,  sipping  it 


prate  like  a  modest  youth  as  he  was;  or 


very  daintily  at  first,  and  then  finishing  it 


at  a  draught. 

And  now,  fair  Kate,  what  say  you 


spoke   only  when  he  was  addressed  by 
any  of  those  around   him,   for  he  could 

not   bring  himself  to  attempt  bandying  !  to  a  cup  of  canary  ?"  asked  Sir  Walter. 

jests  with  the  choicest  wits  of  the  age.     j      "Indeed — la!    I   would    rather   not," 

Presently  there  returned  Mistress  Can-  '  said  the  girl,  looking  somewhat  abashed. 


266 


SHAKSPEARE  AND.  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Tilly  vally,  wench  !  one  cup  will  do 
thee  no  hurt,"  exclaimed  Mistress  Can- 
nikin. 

"  No  harm  in  the  least,  sweet  Kate,  o' 
my  word,"  cried  Master  Shakspeare. 
"  Nay,  we  can  not  excuse  you,  pretty 
Kate.  I  would  I  were  the  cup  that  should 
be  kissed  by  so  delicate  a  mouth." 

"  Who  would  be  after  sweet  cates  now, 
and  be  hanged  to  thee  !"  exclaimed  Ben 
Jonson,  throwing  a  fig's  end  at  Master 
Shakspeare.  • 

"  Heed  him  not,  sweet  Kate  ;  but  drink 
a  cup  of  wine,  I  pray  you,"  said  Master 
Shakspeare  :  "  we  can  judge  by  what  he 
hath  thrown  at  me,  that  he  careth  but  a 
fig's  end  about  the  matter  ;  so  to  the  ca- 
nary, and  quickly,  sweet  Kate." 

"  Indeed — la  !  it  seemeth  monstrous  to 
drink  wine  with  so  many  brave  gallants 
all  at  once,"  exclaimed  Mistress  Kate, 
seemingly  with  a  wonderful  innocency. 

"  Take  a  cup  with  each  of  us,  then," 
observed  Ben  Jonson';  "I  doubt  not  that 
would  satisfy  you." 

"Yea,  forsooth!  but  I  should  not  be 
satisfied,  I  promise  you,"  replied  the 
portly  hostess.  "She  would  be  '  in  her 
cups,'  indeed,  were  she  to  drink  so 
many." 

"  Nay,  I  think  the  cups  would  be  in 
her,"  rejoined  the  other. 

"  Like  enough  she  would  have  both 
cups  and  hiccups,"  added  fhe  dame,  in 
the  same  humor.  "  Come,  wench,  drink 
the  wine  :  I  warrant  me  now  thou  art  as 
eager  for  it  as  a  brood  of  ducklings  for 
the  water.  I  mind  not  taking  another 
cup  just  to  keep  thee  company,  for  I 
doubt  hugely  thou  wilt  do  it  unless,  for 
all  thy  eagerness — thou  art  so  monstrous 
shy  in  such  matters." 

It  may  not  appear  quite  incredible  that 
the  portly  hostess  and  her  portly  daughter 
drank  of  the  Canary,  soon  after  which 
they  took  themselves  out  of  the  room. 

"  Shall  we  not  have  a  song,  my  mas- 
ters?" inquired  Sir  Walter.  "  Are  there 
so  many  notable  sweet  choristers  here, 
and  yet  not  inclined  for  a  carol  ?  Fie  on 
you,  Master  Shakspeare  !  Is  your  voice 
out  of  tune,  or  dolh  your  memory  fail 
you  ?  Master  Jonson,  you  are  not  used 
to  be  so  tuneless.  Master  Beaumont ' 
Master  Fletcher!  Master  Carew  !  wha 
hath  become  of  your  admirable  minstrel- 
sy ?" 

To  these  inquiries  there  were  presently 
some  excuses ;  but  Sir  Walter  would  take 
none.  Then  some  said  they  would  sing 
presently. 

"Why  ask  you  not  Master  Cotton?' 


aid  Ben  Jonson,  "  I  doubt  not,  were  he 
iressed  upon  it,  he  would  sing  you  a  fa- 
mous song." 

'  Indeed,  I  have  the  most  pestilent 
joarseness,"  replied  Master  Cotton. 

"A  murrain  on  thy  hoarseness!"  ex- 
claimed the  other.  "  Thou  canst  sing 
ike  a  very  swan,  if  thou  hast  a  mind  :  or, 
f  th9U  hast  no  voice  for  singing,  croak 
ike  the  frogs  of  Aristophanes.  But, 
come,  tune  thy  reed.  Give  us  a  wonder- 
"ul  moving  ditty  on  the  loss  of  some  mus- 
y  old  manuscript ;  or  a  right  laudatory 
mllnd,  made  upon  the  discovery  of  Cleo- 
patra's Jordan." 

'  I  have  no  such  songs,  I  promise  you," 
replied  the  antiquary,  joining  in  the  mirth 
of  his  companions;  "but,  provided  you 
excuse  all  defects,  I  will  essay  whatever 
my  poor  ability  will  allow." 

'Bravo,  Master  Cotton!"  cried  those 
around  him  ;  and  soon  after,  in  a  famous 
merry  humor,  he  sung  the  following,  bal- 
lad :— 

MASTER  COTTON'S  SONG. 

I  sing  of  a  friar— a  barefooted  friar, 
As  brawny  a  fellow  as  heart  could  desire, 
With  his  shaven  crown,  and  his  corded  gown, 
And  his  rosary  counting  from  town  to  town  ; 
Oh !  he'd  shout  forth  a  psalm  with  such  absolute 
grace,  [face. 

That  the  folks  cried  '  God  speed  to  your  rosy  round 

Oh  the  friar  !  the  barefooted  friar  ! 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  excellent  friar. 

He  preached  not  of  fasting— not  he— by  the  rood  ! 

For  he  knew  that  short  commons  did  nobody  good : 

Instead  of  denouncing  a  flagon  of  wine, 

He  swore  that  good  liquor  made  good  men  divine  ; 

And  as  for  the  kissing  a  wench  on  the  sly, 

He  would  do  it  himself — or  at  least  he  would  try. 

Oh  the  friar  !  the  barefooted  friar  ! 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  saint  of  a  friar. 

'Twas  a  marvel  to  hear  how  well  he  his  beads  told, 
Whenever  he  had  nothing  better  to  hold, 
And  out  of  his  mouth  how  his  prayers  made  a  din 
When  any  choice  morsel  he  could  not  put  in  ; 
Or  at  his  devotions  how  strict  he  had  grown, 
If  not  to  "  Our  Lady" — doubtless  to  his  own, 

Oh  the  friar !  the  barefooted  friar ! 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  capital  friar. 

Brave-hearted  knights  hath   he  shrined  with   his 

prayers, 

Buxom  fair  dames  hath  he  blessed  with  his  cares  ; 
He  hath  christened  the  babe  on  the  mother's  fond 

breast, 

And  scores  of  young  virgins  to  him  have  confessed. 
Of  the  penance  he  set  surely  none  could  complain, 
For  they  got  absolution  again  and  again. 

Oh  the  friar  !  the  barefooted  friar  : 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  excellent  friar. 

He  talked  not  of  tithes— for  Pope  cared  not  a  fig, 
Whilst  he  dined  off  a  capon  or  dainty  fat  pig  ; 
But  the  fame  of  his  doings— his  frolics  and  feasts, 
Excited  the  wrath  of  the  rest  of  the  priests  : 
They  vowed  he'd  be  damned,  as  the  worst   sinnei 

should, 
But  Ae  boldly  swore  he'd  be if  he  would ! 

Oh  the  friar  !  the  barefooted  friar  ! 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  resolute  friar. 

Now  one  luckless  day  this  good  friar  he  died, 
Whereat  all  the  women  most  lustily  cried  ; 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


267 


There  was  wringing  of  hands-there  was  shedding 

of  tears,  , 

Tiiere  were  lots  of  long  faces,  and  no  lack  of  fears. 
Old  Nick  might  have  broiled  every  saint  on  his  fire, 
Had  he  only  but  spared  them  their  barefooted  friar. 

Oh  the  friar  !  the  marvellous  friar  ! 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  Wonderful  friar. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  quoth  the  devil,  at  meeting  his  soul 

Nigh  the  gate  of  purgation,  a  taking  a  stroll, 

'•  Though  some  score  of  sinners  you've  got  out  of 

here, 

I  have  you  fast  for  this  many  a  year." 
"  By  the  mass,"  said  the  friar,  "'if  here  I  must  stay, 
I'll  be  hanged  if  I'll  go  till  you  show  me  the  way." 

Oh  the  friar  '.  the  barefooted  friar  ! 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  valorous  friar. 

Master  Satan,  who's  learned  some  civilities  now, 
Led  the  way  to  the  gate  with  a  smile  and  a  bow, 
When  lo  !  'mid  the  damned  did  he  presently  shoot, 
With  a  kick  of  the  breech  from  the  friar's  broad  foot : 
Away  sped  the  friar — his  foe  followed  quick  ; 
But  heaven  opened  for  him,  and  shut  out  Old  Nick. 

Oh  the  friar !  the  barefooted  friar  ! 

Let  us  sing  in  the  praise  of  this  saint  of  a  friar  ! 

"  An  excellent  good  song  and  a  merry, 
Master  Cotton  !"  exclaimed  Ben  Jonson  ; 
and  similar  commendations  flowed  from 
others  of  the  company.  "  Said  I  not,  my 
masters,  we  should  have  famous  singing 
out  of  him?"  continued  he,  "and  have 
I  not  proved  myself  a  true  prophet?" 

"  Indeed,  methinks  you  spoke  of  songs 
in  no  way  like  unto  that  we  have  just 
heard,"  answered  Master  Constable. 

"No  matter,"  replied  the  other.  "If 
I  have  not  touched  the  bull's  eye,  I  have 
hit  the  target." 

"  I  can  now  commend  thee  with  a 
good  conscience,  Ben,"  observed  Master 
Shakspeare,  "  thy  conceit,  like  thy  shoot- 
ing, is  not  a  miss." 

"  Ah,  thou  sweet  wag !  thou  wilt  give 
me  110  rest,"  cried  Ben  Jonson,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"  There  be  no  rest  for  the  wicked,  Ben," 
said  Master  Shakspeare,  in  the  same  hu- 
mor. 

"  Callest  thou  me  one  of  the  wicked  ?" 
inquired  his  companion,  seeming  to  be 
greatly  shocked. 

"  Nay,  thou  shall  not  be  of  the  wicked 
this  time,"  added  the  other,  "because  it 
happeneth  thou  art  one  of  us ;  and  if 
thou  art  of  the  wicked,  then,  mayhap,  I 
am  like  to  be  nearly  half  as  bad  as  art 
thou,  which  is  a  thing  so  horrible  to  ac- 
knowledge, I  could  never  be  brought  to 
do  it." 

"Oh,  thou  aggravating  varlet!"  ex- 
claimed Ben  Jonson,  good-humoredly ; 
"thou  abominable,  facetious  villain  !  May 
I  never  taste  sack  asain  if  I  do  not  think 
thee  the  most  superlative,  prevaricating 
piece  of  vanity  that  ever  associated  with 
true  men.  What,  thou  wouldst  be  afraid  to 
confess  thyself  half  so  bad  as  am  I?  Thou 
art  right  there,  for  no  one  would  believe  ; 


the  confession  when  'twas  made.  I  tell 
thee,  I  would  find  more  virtue  in  a  bad 
oyster,  than  is  to  be  met  with  in  thy 
whole  body." 

"As  thou  wilt,  Ben,  as  thou  wilt,"  re- 
plied Master  Shakspeare.  "  If  thou  art 
for  finding  anything  commendable  in  bad 
oysters,  I  have  done  with  thee.  My  stom- 
ach  will  endure  no  such  unsavory  similes. 
Keep  whatever  virtue  thou  discoverest 
under  such  circumstances;  for  though  it 
must  needs  be  but  little,  'twill  be  some- 
thing for  thee  to  boast  of — and  that,  me- 
thinks, ought  to  be  a  great  object  with 
thee  at  present." 

Shortly  after  this,  Master  Cotton  did 
call  upon  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  for  a  song, 
which  presently  brought  forth  the  ballad 
that  is  here  given  : — 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH'S  SONG. 

A  comely  young  knight  went  out  to  the  fight, 
And  he  was  the  pattern  of  chivalrie  ; 

For  so  boldly  he  went  through  the  tournament, 
And  in  hall  and  in  bower  so  courteouslie. 

Each  damsel  she  uttered  a  benison,  [John. 

And  sighed  when  she  thought  of  the  knight  of  St 

With  sword  or  wilh  spear,  he  had  not  his  peer, 

In  England,  in  France,  or  in  Germanie  ; 
And  at  singing,  so  choice  was  his  lute  and  his  voice, 
That  there  never  was  heard  of  such  minstrelsie. 
Then  the  heart  of  each  damsel  went  galloping  on 
When  she  glanced  on  the  face   of  the  knight  of  St. 
John. 

His  eyes  were  as  bright  as  rivers  of  light, 
His  cheek  like  a  rose  from  the  east  countrie  ; 

And  he  stood  up  so  tall  and  so  gallant  withal, 
None  couid  gaze  on  unmoved  at  his  excellencie. 

Then  ev'ry  fair  damsel,  cried  when  he  was  gone, 

'•  What  a  love  of  a  knight  is  the  knight  of  St.  John.'' 

He  Paynims  had  slair.,  a  hundred  or  twain, 

In  Palestine  and  in  Arabic  ; 
Yet  ten  times  a  day  would  he  kneel  down  and  pray, 

As  though  he  had  lived  in  great  infarnie. 
And  loudly  each  damsel  proclaimed  when  'twas  done, 
"  What  a  saint  of  aknightis  the  knight  of  St.  John." 

But  when  it  was  told  that  his  heart  was  as  cold 

As  coldest  winter  in  Muscovie  ; 
That  he  was  above  ev'ry  feeling  of  love, 

And  was  bound  by  a  vow  unto  chastitie. 
"  Alack  !"  cried  each  damsel  whose  heart  he  had  won, 
"  What   a  wretch  of  a  knight   is  the  knight  of  St. 
John  !" 

This  song  also  met  with  exceeding 
commendation ;  and  the  wine  having 
been  circulated  pretty  briskly,  all  seemed 
to  be  in  the  very  best  of  spirits,  and  ready 
to  praise  anything  that  showed  the 
smallest  sign  of  worthiness,  so  that  it 
proceeded  from  any  of  their  company. 
Jests  became  more  general.  Master  Shak- 
speare and  Ben  Jonson,  however,  still 
uttered  the  best,  and  the  greatest  number 
of  them  ;  as  at  first,  usually  choosing 
each  other  to  be  the  subject:  but  it  is 
utterly  impossible  I  could  put  down  one 
half  of  the  choice  things  they  said  ;  and 
much  afraid  am  I  that  the  choicest  have 


SHAKSPEARE  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


escaped  me.  At  this  time,  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher  were  engaged  with  Master 
Shaksptare  in  some  friendly  talk  con- 
cerning of  a  play  of  theirs  that  was  to  be 
performed  at  the  Globe.  Master  Selden 
was  leaning  forward  over  the  table,  lis- 
tening attentively  to  an  account  given  by 
Master  Cotton,  of  the  finding  ol  certain 
curious  manuscripts  in  an  ancient  chest, 
the  whicli  Master  Donne  and  Master 
Martin  seemed  also  intent  upon  hearing. 
Master  Constable  and  Master  Sylvester, 
with  Master  Carew,  were  laughing  mer- 
rily to  a  droll  anecdote  told  by  Ben  Jon- 
son  ;  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  relating 
to  Master  Francis  an  adventure  that  he 
had  had  in  the  wars. 

"I  have  prevailed  on  Dick  Burbage  to 
play  the  principal  character,"  observed 
Master  Shakspeare  to  his  brother  play- 
writers,  "  but  it  hath  so  happened  there 
must  be  a  delay  of  some  few  days  before 
it  can  be  played.  Dick  went  the  other 
night  to  visit  an  alderman's  wife  by  ap- 
pointment, and  his  worship,  her  husband, 
returning  sooner  than  they  expected, 
Dick  leaped  out  of  the  window,  and  had 
the  ill  hap  to  sprain  his  ankle ;  since 
when  1  can  get  him  to  talk  of  nothing 
but  the  monstrousness  of  such  husbands, 
who  be  ever  a  coming  home  when  they 
should  stay  abroad." 

"  That  is  so  like  him,"  observed  Master 
Beaumont,  laughingly.  "He  doeth  an 
ill  thing,  getteth  himself  into  a  scrape  for 
it,  and  then  with  a  famous  impudency 
none  can  help  laughing  at — abuseth  not 
himself,  who  must  be  the  only  one  to 
blame,  but  the  very  party  he  was  striving 
to  do  hurt  to." 

"For  his  drolleries  methinks  he  shall 
be  found  nearly  as  wild  as  Green,"  added 
Master  Fletcher.  "  There  is  a  good  story 
of  him  I  heard  him  tell  to-day." 

"Ha!  prythee  relate  it,"  said  Master 
Shakspeare. 

"  Green  walking  nigh  upon  St.  Sav- 
ior's, met  a  funeral,"  continued  the  other. 
"  He  was  struck  with  the  miserable  coun- 
tenances of  all  who  made  part  of  the 
procession.  The  undertaker  and  his  men 
seemed  determined  on  looking  more 
mournful  than  the  mourners,  and  the 
mourners  appeared  to  be  vying  with  each 
other  who  should  look  the  most  wo-be- 
gone.  Green  could  not  abide  such  awful 
long  faces.  He  said  the  sight  of  them 
was  so  exceeding  pitiful  he  could  not  but 
feel  for  their  hapless  conditions ;  and  this 
made  him  resolved  to  strive  if  it  were 
possible  to  make  them  all  in  a  better 
humor.  Thereupon,  upon  coming  up  to 


them,  he  put  on  one  of  his  comicalest 
faces.  In  a  moment,  undertaker,  bearers, 
mourners,  and  all,  relaxed  somewhat  in 
that  severity  of  visage  that  had  so  moved 
him.  If  they  did  not  smile,  they  were 
on  the  point  of  it.  Seeing  this,  after 
passing  them,  Tom  made  a  short  cut,  and 
met  them  at  the  corner  of  the  next  street, 
with  a  face  more  comical  than  he  had 
put  on  before  ;  at  the  sight  of  which  there 
can  be  no  doubt  in  the  world  every  one 
set  up  a  palpable  grin.  The  next  thing 
he  did  was  to  fix  himself  at  the  church 
door,  and  when  they, came  up  he  looked 
into  every  man's  face  with  a  countenance 
so  marvellously  ridiculous  that  it  was 
impossible  to  say  whether  the  undertaker 
or  the  mourners  laughed  the  loudest  ; 
and  as  for  the  bearers,  they  shook  their 
j  sides  so  heartily,  that  the  coffin  went  jog, 
j°S>  jog.  upon  their  shoulders,  in  immi- 
nent danger  of  being  pitched  upon  the 
parson,  who,  as  was  very  natural,  looked 
awfully  scandalized  at  their  behavior." 

"Ha!  ha!"  exclaimed  Master  Shak- 
speare, bursting  out  into  a  famous  laugh, 
"  that  is  Tom  Green  all  over." 

"What  art  making  so  much  noise 
about?  a  murrain  on  thee  !"  cried  Ben 
Jonson  from  the  ofher  end  of  the  table. 
"  Dost  find  so  few  to  heed  thy  sorry  jests 
thou  art  forced  into  laughing  at  them 
thyself.  Well — had  I  wit  of  any  eort,  it 
should  be  such  as  might  move  the  mirth 
of  my  company." 

"Thou  art  right,  Ben,"  replied  his 
ready  antagonist.  "Hadst  thou  wit  of 
any  sort,  doubtless  thou  couldst  make  a 
goodly  use  of  it ;  but  I  see  thou  art  aware 
of  thine  own  deficiencies,  so  I  will  say 
no  more  on  that  head." 

"  Thou  canst  say  as  much  as  thou  wilt 
on  that  or  any  other  head — saving  thine 
own,"  retorted  the  other.  "  And,  as  thou 
knowest  full  well,  it  be  very  proper  policy 
of  thee  to  be  silent  on  so  barren  a  sub- 
ject." 

"  Nay,  my  head  can  not  well  be  bar- 
ren," said  Master  Shakspeare  good  hu- 
moredly,  "  seeing  that  it  hath  its  labors 
continually.  But  as  for  thine,  Ben — I  dp 
wonder  thou  art  not  ashamed  to  look  i« 
in  the  face,  thou  doth  it  so  little  credit. 
Thou  wilt  bring  shame  upon  thy  head, 
depend  on't.  Some  power  thou  hasi 
there,  no  doubt,  for  'tis  well  known  thou 
art  head-strong" 

"  Out  upon  thee  !"  exclaimed  Ben  Jon 
son,  whilst  those  who  heard  the  jes« 
were  laughing  very  merrily.  "  Thou  ar1 
like  a  bad  oyster — thatopeneth  its  mouth 
only  to  show  how  worthless  it  be." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


269 


'Bad  oysters  again,  and  be  hanged  to 
liiee!"  cried  the  other.  "Why,  what  a 
villanous  taste  hast  thou  !  Well,  if  thy 
humor  runneth  on  such  garbage,  let  it ; 
yet  would  it  be  but  civil  of  thee  couldst 
thou  refrain  from  thrusting  such  unwhole- 
some conceits  before  those  of  weaker 
stomachs." 

"  Mayhap  there  shall  be  found  more 
likeness  betwixt  you  and  a  bad  oyster 
than  you  think  can  exist,"  observed  Mas- 
ter Fletcher. 

"  0'  my  life  I  see  not  any  resemblance," 
replied  Master  Shakspeare.  "Prythee 
say  how  dost  thou  make  it  out." 

"  Because  it  seemeth  to  me  that  he 
that  biteth  at  you  be  like  to  get  the  Worst 
of  it,"  answered  Master  Fletcher,  "and 
so  it  be  with  your  bad  oyster." 

"  Ah  !  he  is  villanously  unpalatable  !" 
cried  Ben  Jonson  in  some  bitterness. 

"  There  is  another  point  that  bringeth 
the  resemblance  still  closer,"  added  Mas- 
ter Beaumont. 

"  Alack,  is  it  brought  so  home  to  me !" 
cried  the  other  very  pitifully. 

"  "Tis  the  bad  oysters  that  produce  all 
the  pearls,"  continued  his  companion. 

"  Ben  !  thy  bail  oyster  be  not  so  bad  a 
fish  after  all !"  exclaimed  Master  Shak- 
speare very  drolly,  amid  the  laughter  of 
all  around  him. 

"  Away  !  I'll  have  none  of  thee  !"  cried 
Ben  Jonson,  seemingly  a  little  put  out. 
whilst  he  appeared  intent  upon  the  par- 
ing of  an  orange.  "Thou  art  intolerably 
conceited.  Thou  takest  none  to  be  so 
good  as  thyself.  I  doubt  not  for  all  the 
airs  thou  dost  give  thyself,  there  shall 
easily  be  found  thy  betters  in  scholarship, 
and  ihy  equal  in  all  things." 

"  A  song,  Master  Shakspeare,  I  pray 
you,"  exclaimed  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  see- 
ing a  quarrel  was  at  hand,  unless  he  had 
skill  enough  to  thrust  it  aside.  "It  be 
monstrous  of  you  to  have  remained  all 
this  time  and  sung  nothing." 

"Ask  Ben  for  a  song,"  replied  Master 
Shakspeare.  "  He  is  the  capitalest  singer 
of  a  good  song  among  us  all." 

"I  be  not  in  the  humor.  I  can  not 
sing.  I  have  forgotten  such  songs  as  I 
used  to  attempt,"  said  Ben  Jonson,  still 
a  little  out  of  temper,  but  not  so  much  as 
he  was. 

"  Surely  thou  hast  not  forgot  that  most 
sweet  song  of  thine,  '  Drink  to  me  only 
with  thine  eyes'?"  inquired  the  other. 
"  The  sweetest,  truest,  delicatest  verses  I 
have  met  with  this  many  a  day  ;  and  I 
be  thoroughly  convinced  of  it,  they  will 
live  in  the  reputation  of  the  world  as 


long  as  there  shall  be  found  hearts  and 
minds  capable  of  appreciating  their  infi- 
nite beauty." 

"  Dost  really  think  so,  Will  ?"  eagerly 
asked  Ben  Jonson,  his  features  gradually 
changing  from  a  very  evident  sulkines's 
to  a  most  glowing  pleasure,  as  he  took 
his  eyes  off  what  he  was  intent  upon, 
and  fixed  them  upon  Master  Shakspeare. 
"  Dost  think  them  of  any  goodness  ?  Dost 
fancy  they  will  live  any  time?  'Art  sure 
the  song  pleaseth  thee?" 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it,"  replied 
the  other.  "  'Tis  as  proper  a  song  as 
ever  was  writ:  and  I  should  show  an  in- 
famous lack  ofs  judgment  were  I  not  to 
give  it  the  praise  that  be  its  due." 

"At  least  it  showeth  a  wonderful  noble 
heart  in  thee  to  say  so,"  said  Master  Jon- 
son earnestly.  "  The  more  especially, 
because  thou  hast  written  a  score  or  two 
of  songs  of  a  merit  I  despair  of  attaining  ; 
and  I  do  lake  some  little  shame  upon  my- 
self for  appearing  out  of  temper  with 
thee,  because  thou  dost  sometimrs  press 
me,  as  I  have  fancied,  somewhat  too 
hard." 

"I  can  not  press  thee  too  hard,  Ben," 
answered  Master  Shakspeare.  "  When 
I  meet  with  thee  I  know  I  have  my 
match.  I  like  mightily  to  find  so  able 
an  opponent;  and  if  I  seek  to  give  thee 
a  hard  rub  or  so,  'tis  to  rouse  thee  to  put 
forth  all  thy  strength — -that  I  may  ad- 
mire thee  the  more  for  it." 

"  I'faith  you  are  just  like  two  of  the 
very  skilfulest  masters  offence,"  observed 
Sir  Walter  in  an  excellent  good  humor. 
"  They  know  of  each  other's  cunning  at 
the  weapon,  and  are  ever  a  thrusting 
away  to  prove  which  be  the  better 
man ;  and  although  both  get  no  lack  of 
hard  pokes,  they  can  not  part  without 
being  in  famous  admiration  at  the  other's 
skill." 

"  That  is  it,  true  enough,  Sir  Walter," 
replied  Ben  Jonson,  in  a  like  merry  mood. 
"We  never  meet  without  a  duello  of 
quirks  and  quiddities.  Mayhap  he  com- 
eth  at  me  with  a  jest,  and  o'  my  life  I  can 
not  help  having  at  him  agafc." 

"  You  combat  not  with  blunt  foils,  as 
I  am  a  witness,"  added  Raleigh  laugh- 
ing, "for  there  is  ever  a  Very  fine  point 
in  your  weapons." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  Perchance  there  be  !"  cried 
Ben,  joining  in  the  laugh.  "  But  'tis  my 
humor — 'tis  my  humor." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  wish,"  said  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare.  "  Thou  hast  known  for 
some  time  how  infinitely  I  like  'Every 
man  in  his  humor.'  " 


270 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"  Ah,  that  have  I,  sweet  Will,"  replied 
the  other  with  a  very  sincere  friendliness. 
"  Nor  have  I  forgot  that  it  was  thy  kind- 
ness, when  I  was  unknown  and  uncared 
for,  that  got  ray  play  to  be  taken  up  by 
the  players." 

"I  pray  you," Master  Jonson,  favor  us 
with  your  song,"  said  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 
"  The  night  is  drawing  in,  and  if  things 
go  on  at  this  rate,  we  shall  be  forced  to 
take  ourselves  away  with  such  a  lack  of 
harmony  as  is  not  usual  amongst  us." 

"  I  sing  not  before  my  master.  I  know 
myself  better,"  replied  Ben  Jonson  good- 
humoredly.  "When  that  sweet  face- 
tious varlet  has  delighted  us  sufficiently, 
I  will  strive  what  my  poor  wit  can  do  to 
amuse  you  in  an  humbler  way." 

"  Disparage  not  thy  ability,  Ben  ;  else 
must  my  judgment  be  called  in  question," 
observed  Master  Shakspeare  in  a  like 
mood.  "  But  that  there  shall  be  no  wast- 
ing of  time  in  the  matter,  I  will  give  you 
what  I  know  of  a  merry  ballad  I  heard 
in  Warwickshire  when  I  was  a  boy." 

This  announcement  was  received  with 
exceeding  satisfaction  by  all ;  and  short- 
ly, after  a  monstrous  diverting  fashion, 
he  sung  the  verses  here  given. 

MASTER  SHAKSPEARE'S  SONG. 

Gaffer  Gosling  arose  on  one  fine  summer's  day, 
Donned  his  best  Sunday  jerkin  and  hosen  of  gray, 
And  with  staff  in  his  hand,  and  his  hat  on  his  head, 
Right  out  of  his  threshold  he  presently  sped. 
He  told  unto  none  on  what  he  was  intent. 
But  in  truth,  'twas  in  search  of  the  cuckoo  he  went ; 
For  of  late,  let  him  go  anywhere,  far  or  near, 
The  note  of  that  ill-omened  bird  met  his  ear. 

"  Cuckoo  !— Cuckoo  !" 

And  all  the  year  through, 
Gaffei  Gosling  was  mocked  by  the  villain  cuckoo  ! 

He  went  a  few  steps,  in  no  mood  to  rejoice, 

He  stopped  to  take  heed  and  again  heard  the  voice. 

Now  this  way,  now  that — now  a  little  way  on, 

Now  close  at  his  elbow,  now  far  away  gone. 

He  looked  up  to  the  housetops,  and  down  to  the 

ground. 

But  never  a  trace  of  a  cuckoo  he  found ; 
A  few  folk  of  the  village  he  met  in  his  way, 
And  they  all  smiled  upon  him  and  wished  him  Good- 
day  '. 

"  Cuckoo  ! — Cuckoo  !" 
"  There,  1  hear  it  anew  !"  u 

Cried  the  Gaffer.    "  I  must  find  this  villain  cuckoo !" 

He  hied  to  his  gossip,  and  him  he  addressed, 
To  know  where  the  cuckoo  had  builded  his  nest ; 
Who  told  him  he  kept  quite  unseen  and  unknown, 
And  preferred  any  pretty  bird's  nest  to  his  own. 
There  tarried  the  varlet  whilst  he  had  a  mind, 
Then  fled  he,  and  left  a  young  cuckoo  behind  ; 
And  the  pretty  bird  fed  it  and  tended  it  well, 
And  amongst  her  own  brood  oft  allowed  it  to  dwell. 
"  Cuckoo  !— Cuckoo  !" 
"  Gog's  wounds  !  he's  here  too!" 
Said  the  Gaffer,  and  searched  for  the  villain  cuckoo. 

Then  hither  and  thither,  in  every  place, 
He  poked  his  gray  head  and  his  old  pippin  face  ; 
For  still  was  he  certain  the  bird  was  close  by, 
Though  wherever  he  turned  he  was  mocked  by  the 
crv 


He  got  in  a  rage,  but  his  rage  was  in  vain  ; 

For  wherever  he  turned  still  it  mocked  him  again. 

He  stamped  and  he  struck  the  hard  ground  with  his 

stick, 

Crying,  "  Where  dost  thou  hide  thee.  thou  slander 
ous  chick  ?" 

"  Cuckoo  ! — Cuckoo  !" 
"  Drat  thee  and  thy  crew  ! 

I  could  wring  thy  young  neck— oh,  thou  villain 
cuckoo  !" 

Through  the  lane,  through  the  wood,  o'er  the  com- 
mon he  hies, 

Yet  in  vain  for  the  sight  of  a  cuckoo  he  tries  ; 

Although  from  each  tree,  every  hedgerow  and  wall, 

As  plain  as  could  speak,  he  heard  the  bird  call. 

Then  came  home  dull  of  heart  and  as  gloomy  in 
thought. 

Because  that  he'd  had  all  his  trouble  for  naught ; 

But  he  there  met  a  sight  that  nigh  robbed  him  of 
life— 

'Twas  the  priest,  cheek  by  jowl  with  his  pretty 
young  wife  ! 

"  Cuckoo  !— Cuckoo  !" 
Gaffer  Gosling  looked  blue. 

He  had  found  out  the  nest  of  the  villain  cuckoo. 

"  0'  my  life,  a  good  song,  Will !"  cried 
Ben  Jonson,  laughing  as  loud  as  any 
there.  "  A  right  exquisite  song  !  By  this 
hand  !  I  have  not  heard  so  droll  a  song 
this  many  a  day." 

"  Indeed,  'tis  a  most  merry  conceit," 
said  Master  Constable. 

"  I  like  the  humor  of  it  hugelv,"  ad- 
ded Master  Sylvester  ;  and  all  said  some- 
thing to  the  same  purpose  ;  for,  out  of  all 
doubt,  there  was  none  there  that  did  not 
relish  exceedingly  both  the  drollery  of 
the  song,  and  the  infinite  drollery  of 
the'  singer. 

"  Commend  you  not  so  liberally,  my 
masters,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare, 
after  emptying  a  cup  of  wine.  "  Ben 
Jonson  will  presently  give  you  better 
cause  for  praise." 

"  Nay,  that  can  never  be,  sweet  Will !" 
replied  Ben  Jonson.  "  I  know  not  any- 
thing so  truly  laughable  as  that  which 
thou  hast  so  diverted  us  with,  nor  could 
I  put  such  provoking  mirth  in  it  as  thou 
hast,  knew  I  songs  of  ever  so  comical  a 
sort.  But  such  as  I  have  remembrance 
of  you  shall  hear  if  it  please  you  to  lis- 
ten." This  intimation  produced  a  proper 
attention  amongst  his  companions,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  he  commenced  singing  of 
the  following  ballad  : — 

BEN  JONSON'S  SONG. 

Once  Old  Father  Time  walked  along, 

A  journey  to  take  at  his  leisure  ; 
When  a  group  of  fair  nymphs  there  came  up  in  a 

throng, 

AH  moving  in  gracefulest  measure. 
"  He  shall  tarry  awhile,"  did  they  laughingly  say  ; 
"We  will  hold  him  with  us,  and  tlien  dance  Time 

away ."' 
But  although  bound  with  garlands  they  made  him 

advance, 

They  soon  found  that  they  could  not  keep  Time  in 
the  dance. 

"  Alack,  silly  nymphs  !"  then  he  cries, 
"  Whilst  ye  all  dance  so  gayly,  TIME  FLIES." 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


271 


Father  Time  again  set, 
The  dust  from  his  scythe  gravely  wiping  ; 
Till  a  party  of  skilful  young  shepherds  he  met, 

Passing  Time  most  melodiously  piping. 
Some  sought  10  hold  Time  with  a  vigorous  gripe, 
Some  bade  him  to  listen  how  well  they  could  pipe, 
They  played,  but  ere  long  found  their  pipes  would 

not  chime. 

They  held  not  the  tune,  and  they   could  not  keep 
Time. 

"  Alack,  silly  shepherds  !"  he  cries, 
"  Whilst  ye  all  pipe  so  gayly,  TIME  FLIES  " 

Again  the  old  fellow  set  out, 

Without  a  companion  to  cheer  him  ; 
But  was  stopped  in  his  way  by  the  laugh  and  the 

shout 

Of  a  crowd  of  gay  Bacchanals  near  him. 
With   his  scythe   the    wild  youths  cut   the   grapes 

from  the  vine, 

And  seizing  his  hour-glass  soon  filled  it  with  wine. 
"We  with  drinking  kill  Time!"  cried  they  all,  in 

great  glee  : 

But  whilst  merrily  quaffing,  Time  set  himself  free. 
'•  Alack,  silly  topers  "'  he  cries, 
"  Whilst  ye  all  drink  so  gayly,  TIME  FLIES." 

So.  my  masters,  drink  freely  and  fast, 

Time  coming  iooks  wondrously  pletsant ; 
Let  us  merriiy  find  our  pastime  in  Tine  past, 
As  we  make  the  best  use  of  Tune  present. 
Then  crowned  with  fresh  roses  let's  pass  round  the 

llask, 
And   the  sunbeams  of  wit  on  our  pleasures   shall 

bask  ; 

For  ke  may  all  heed  of  Time's  progress  resign, 
Who  quails— free.y  quaffs  of  the  rosy  red  wiite. 
Old  boy,  we  thy  hour-glass  desp.se, 
We  care  not  a  vvhit  koa  TIME  FLIBS. 


This  song  was  well  received  of  all, 
especially  by  Master  Shakspeare,  who 
seemed  much  taken  with  the  conceit  of 
it;  and  it  appeared  to  give  a  fresh  zest 
to  the  conviviality  of  the  company  ;  for 
more  wine  was  brought  in,  mofe  sack 
made,  and  ihe  laugh  became  louder,  and 
the  jest  more  frequent.  The  table  now 
lacked  much  of  the  pleasant  appearance 
it  had.  Certes,  there  was  a  great  show 
of  empty  bottles,  glasses,  cups,  tankards, 
and  lighted  candles;  but  of  the  dishes, 
mayhap  ihere  was  a  pippin  in  one,  two 
or  three  prunes  in  another,  h;ilf  an  orange 
in  a  third,  and  in  the  fourth  nothing  but 
parings  of  apples  and  shells  of  walnuts. 
Many  more  songs  were  sung :  a  love 
ballad  by  Master  Carew,  and  ditties  of  a 
like  kind  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
Master  Dotine  and  one  or  two  others,  the 
which  have  gone  clean  out  of  my  memory, 
as  well  as  sundry  droll  caiches  and  ex- 
quisite madrigals  which  were  then  and 
there  sung  by  diver-s  of  the  company.  In 
truth,  nothing  could  exceed  the  mirth  and 
harmony  that  prevailed,  the  which  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  at  one  end  of  the  table, 
and  Master  Shakspeare  at  the  other, 
sought  to  preserve  with  an  exceeding 
pleasant  humor  and  courteous  free-heart- 
edness.  Every  one  looked  moved  by  the 
spirit  of  good-fellowship,  and  although 


Master  Cotton  being  in  a  grave  discourse 
to  two  or  three  atteniive  listeners  oa  a 
matter  of  some  antiquity,  did  ever  and 
anon  get  slyly  pelted  by  Master  Shak- 
speare on  one  side,  and  Ben  Jonson  on 
the  other,  with  orange  pips  and  nutshells, 
to  the  infinite  mirth  of  those  around,  he 
took  it  in  good  part,  till  a  prune-stone 
from  the  latter  hit  him  so  sore  a  blow  on 
the  nose,  that  he  suddenly  caught  hold 
of  the  half  orange  that  lay  in  the  dish 
before  him,  and  flung  it  at  Ben  Jonson 
with  so  true  an  aim  that  it  smashed 
against  his  head,  whereupon  the  laugh 
was  louder  than  ever,  and  Master  Jonson 
joined  in  it  as  merrily  as  the  rest.  All 
at  once  there  was  a  great  cry  for  Master 
Francis  to  sing  a  song.  He  felt  he  had 
scarce  confidence  to  attempt  such  a  thing 
before  so  famous  a  company,  and  begged 
hard  to  be  let  off;  but  none  heeding  his 
excuses,  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and 
Master  Shakspeare  pressing  him  on  the 
subject,  he,  after  some  to-do,  and  with  a 
voice  somewhat  tremulous,  began  to  sing 
the  verses  here  set  down. 

MASTER   FRANCIS1   SONG. 

Forbear,  sweet  Wanton  !    Go  your  ways  ! 

1  heed  no  more  your  dainty  smiling: 
Your  sugared  words — your  thrilling  gaze — 

And  matchless  craft  in  heart-beguiling. 
For  though  your  beauty  may  be  bright, 

If  all  may  in  its  splendor  bask, 
Now  bid  my  love  a  fair  "  good  night !" — 

1  will  not  con  a  common  task. 

Forbear,  false  Syren  !     Strive  no  more  ! 

Your  tuneful  voice  hath  ceased  to  charm  me: 
Your  power  hath  gone— your  reign  is  o'er, 

Those  witching  sounds  can  no  more  harm  ro«-— 
For  though  Ihe  strain  was  honey  sweet, 

Its  honey  sweetness  all  allowed; 
And  I  like  not  the  poor  conceit, 

To  be  but  one  among  the  crowd. 

But  give  to  me  the  steadfast  soul 

'Whose  love  no  selfish  care  can  sever, 
And  I  will  own  her  fond  control, 

And  throne  her  in  my  heart  for  ever. 
But  till  such  gulden  muld  I  find, 

(And  fondly  hope  I  such  exists) ; 
The  love  that  changeth  like  the  wind, 

May,  like  the  wind,  go  where  it  lists. 

"  Truly,  a  most  sweet  song,  Master 
Francis,"  exclaimed  Ben  Jonson,  who 
had  listened  to  the  young  singer,  as  had 
all,  with  an  entire  attentiveness. 

"  And  of  an  exceeding  proper  spirit," 
added  Master  Shakspeare ;  who  fancied 
it  was  writ  by  Master  Francis  in  relation 
to  Joanna — in  which  he  was  in  some  way 
right,  for  he  had  composed  it  soon  after 
his  quarrel  with  her. 

"  'Tis  indeed,  very  admirably  conceiv- 
ed," said  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  ;  and  from 
others  round  about  him,  Master  Francis 
received  such  praise,  that  although  it 


272 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


pleased  him  mightily  to  be  so  commend- 
ed of  so  many  good  judges,  it  somewhat 
disconcerted  him. 

"  Now,  my  masters,  for  a  parting  cup, 
and  then  for  our  homes,"  cried  Sir  Wal- 
ter, rising,  and  presently  all  filled  up  their 
cups  with  what  liquor  they  had,  and  drink- 
in<r  it  off  jovially,  each  took  his  hat  and 
made  himself  ready  to  go.  But  it  50 
happened  that  Master  Cotton  was  seen 
fast  asleep  in  his  chair,  and  Ben  Jonson 
spying  this,  and  having  enough  sack  in 
him  to  be  in  the  humor  for  any  sport, 
cautiously  approached  him — the  rest  look- 
ing on,  curious  to  see  what  would  come 
of  it ;  and  fully  expecting  some  famous 
jest  or  another. 

"Fire  !  fire  !  fire  !"  bawled  Ben  Jonson 
in  the  ear  of  the  sleeper. 

"  Ha  !  what  ?  eh  !"  cried  Master  Cotton, 
jumping  up  suddenly  and  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"  Your  house  be  burning  to  the  ground !" 
cried  Master  Jonson. 

"  Save  my  manuscripts !  Save  my 
books !"  shouted  the  antiquary,  as  he  rush- 
ed hither  and  thither  in  as  complete  a 
fright  as  ever  was  seen — but  he  was 
quickly  called  to  his  senses  by  the  shouts 
of  laughter  that  broke  from  every  one  in 
the  room  ;  and  then  finding  matters  were 
not  so  bad  as  he  had  feared,  he  took  the 
jest  as  merrily  as  any. 

"  And  now,  good  dame,"  said  Sir  W  al- 
ter, as  he,  with  the  others,  entered  a  little 
room  furnished  with  a  goodly  show  of  all 
sorts  of  drinking  vessels  and  bottles,  and 
things  appertaining  to  a  tavern,  among 
which  the  portly  hostess  and  her  daughter 
were  sitting ;  "  If  you  will  reckon  the  pay, 
we  will  pay  the  reckoning." 

"  That  will  I,  noble  Sir  Walter,  and 
quickly,"  exclaimed  Mistress  Cannikin, 
laughing  loudly  at  the  conceit,  as  she 
proceeded  to  the  back  of  a  door  on  which 
sundry  curious  marks  were  chalked  ;  then 
making  her  calculations,  she  cried  out  in 
the  midst.  "Humphrey!  put  out  the 
lights  in  the  Dolphin.  Kate,  take  the 
money  of  such  as  I  name.  Barnaby,  ask 
the  gentlemen  in  the  Half-Moon,  if  they 
lack  anything.  Indeed  Sir  Walter,  'twas 
an  exceeding  droll  conceit.  Ten  and  six- 
pence if  it  please  you,  noble  sir." 

"  See  that  we  get  into  no  scrape — we 
are  reckoning  without  our  host,"  observed 
Ben  Jonson  in  a  manner  that  afforded 
much  mirth  to  his  companions. 

"The  hostess  shall  bear  you  blame- 
less," added  the  portly  dame,  laughing 
heartily.  "I  thank  you,  noble  Sir  Wal- 
ter. Good,  upon  my  life !  Worthy  Mas- 
'.er  Jonson,  your  reckoning  cometh  to 


just  six  shillings  and  a  groat.  Kate! 
take  of  Master  Cotton  five  shillings  and 
three-pence.  An  admirable  conceit,  by 
my  troth." 

"  The  reckoning  must  needs  be  in  very 
good  hands,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare 
gallantly.  "Every  one  knoweth  our 
hostess  be  so  exceeding  fair." 

"Ha!  ha!"  cried  Mistress  Cannikin, 
displaying  her  double  chin  to  famous  ad- 
vantage. "Sure  never  was  so  witty  a 
thing  said.  Nine  and  eleven-pence,  sweet 
Master  Shakspeare.  At  my  time  of  life 
too  !  Kate,  seven  and  a  penny  to  Master 
Donne.  And  yet  it  was  so  prettily 
spoken." 

"  And  now,  sweet  hostess,  for  a  salute 
at  parting,"  exclaimed  Master  Shak- 
speare, as  he  threw  his  arms  round  her 
portly  person,  and  snatched  a  caress. 

"Heaven  prosper  you!"  cried  the  old 
dame,  taking  it  very  good-humoredly. 
"Eight  and  a  penny  halfpenny,  good 
Master  Fletcher.  An  excellent-hearted 
gentleman,  and  a  courteous.  Kate,  five 
and  six-pence  to  Master  Beaumont." 

"Indeed,  la!  Master  Jonsoii,  it  be 
monstrous  to  be  kissing  of  me !"  drawled 
out  the  hostess's  daughter,  as  she  was 
faintly  struggling  in  the  arms  of  him  she 
had  named. 

"  Tilly  valley,  wench  !"  exclaimed  her 
mother,  laughing  to  see  what  was  going 
on.  "A  kiss  from  a  gentleman  be  no 
great  matter — especially  if  he  payeth  his 
reckoning  handsomely.  Seven  shillings 
and  two-pence  if  it  please  you,  worthy 
Master  Constable,  and  two  shillings  and 
a  penny  left  owing  at  the  last  time." 

"Now,  sweet  Kate,"  whispered  Ben 
Jonson. 

"Ben  !  Sen  !"  called  out  Master  Shak- 
speare, shaking  his  head  very  reproving- 
ly. "  Thou  art  still  hankering  after  the 
sweet  cales,  1  see." 

"  Cater  for  thyself,  then,"  replied  the 
other  in  the  same  humor.  This  sort  of 
scene  proceeded  till  the  reckoning  was 
paid,  and  then  all  started  into  the  street 
as  merry  as  crickets. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


O,  for  a  muse  of  fire,  that  would  ascend 
The  brightest  heaven  of  invention  ! 
A  kingdom  for  a  stage,  princes  to  act. 
And  monarchs  to  behold  the  swelling  scene ! 
Then  should  the  warlike  Harry  like  himself 
Assume  the  port  of  Mars  ;  and,  at  his  heels, 
Leashed  in  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword,  and  fire 
Crouch  for  employment. 

SHAKSPKARB. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HiS  FRIENDS. 


273 


Convey  thee  from  the  thought  of  thy  disgrace 
Steal  from  thyself,  and  be  thy  care's  own  thief. 
But  yet  what  comfort  shall  1  hereby  gain? 
Bearing  the  wound  J  needs  must  feel  the  pain  ! 

DANIEL. 

What  bloody  villain 

Provoked  thee  to  this  murder? 

BBAUMOKT  AND  FLETCHEK. 


MASTER  FRANCIS  was  again  upon  the 
wide  seas  in  as  goodly  a  ship  as  ever 
ploughed  the  waves,  with  his  true  friend 
Harry  Daring,  and  his  kind  patron  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh.  I  have  already  made 
mention  of  the  likelihood  of  an  expedi- 
tion against  the  Spaniards,  and  this  had 
come  to  pass.  At  the  time  when  Eng- 
land was  threatened  with  an  invasion 
by  the  boastful  armada,  which,  by  God's 
good  help,  was  turned  into  a  laughing 
stock,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  counselled  the 
sailing  of  an  expedition  to  destroy  the 
Spanish  fleet  in  their  own  harbor,  and 
although  it  was  not  acted  on  at  the  time, 
now,  after  a  lapse  of  eight  years,  as  it 
was  known  Philip  was  engaged  in  simi- 
lar desperate  enterprises  against  England, 
Queen  Elizabeth  resolved  on  giving  him 
such  a  blow  as  should  make  him  repent 
of  his  villany.  For  this  purpose,  at  an 
expense  to  Elizabeth  of  fifty  thousand 
pounds,  and  of  great  sums  to  many  who 
did  contribute  toward  it,  a  fleet  of  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  sail  were  equipped  at  Ply- 
mouth, of  the  which  were  seventeen  of 
the  navy  royal,  eighteen  men-of-war,  and 
six  store-ships  supplied  by  the  States, 
and  twenty-two  ships-of-war  furnished 
by  the  Dutch,  under  the  command  of 
their  own  admiral— the  rest  being  tenders, 
pinnaces,  victuallers,  and  transports — 
and  these,  carrying  nigh  upon  fourteen 
thousand  soldiers  and  seamen,  beside  one 
thousand  gentlemen-volunteers,  were  ma- 
king what  speed  they  could  for  the  Span- 
ish coast,  every  ship  wiih  sealed  orders 
not  to  be  opened  till  a  proper  time,  under 
the  direction  of  my  Lord  Essex  and  my 
Lord  High  Admiral,  assisted  by  a  coun- 
cil of  the  queen's  chiefest  officers,  of 
which,  to  Dame  Elizabeth's  huge  delight. 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  selected  as  one, 
appointed  rear-admiral,  and  put  in  com- 
mand of  the  Warspite,  a  ship  of  the  first 
class. 

Nothing  could  be  more  in  accordance 
with  Raleigh's  humor  than  this  expedi- 
tion. At  the  urgent  entreaty  of  his  de- 
voted wife,  he  had  sought  all  means  to 
restore  himself  to  the  queen's  favor,  and 
all  means  had  failed  ;  but  although  his 
very  good  friend  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  as  he 
believed  him  to  be,  had,  before  his  start- 
18 


ing,  done  all  he  could  to  impress  him 
with  the  notion  of  my  Lord  Essex's  hos- 
tility, and  he  could  not  help  observing, 
that  Essex  relished  not  at  all  that  he 
should  divide  his  authority,  or  control 
him  in  any  way,  Sir  Walter  saw  that 
there  was  now  a  noble  opportunity  for 
him  to  distinguish  himself,  and  he  doubted 
not  he  should  make  such  good  use  of  it, 
as  should  recommend  him  to  his  sover- 
eign, and  win  the  friendly  opinion  of  my 
Lord  Essex,  and  all  whom  he  had  been 
taught  to  regard  as  his  enemies. 

By  Master  Francis  the  expedition  was 
looked  upon  as  an  adventure  in  which 
he  might  gain  such  honor  as  would  give 
him  a  fair  credit  with  the  world,  despite 
of  the  mystery  attached  to  his  birth. '  Al- 
though he  was  greatly  rejoiced  at  the  is- 
sue of  his  interview  with  that  wretched 
hypocrite  Holdfast,  and  did  build  many 
pleasant  dreams  in  consequence,  more 
than  once  there  came  into  his  mind  the 
possibility  of  his  being  that  abased  thing 
Queen  Elizabeth  had  called  him  ;  and 
then  the  recollection  of  the  shame  she 
had  put  upon  him  before  all  her  court,  and 
the  likelihood  there  was  that  such  scenes 
might  again  occur,  did  fill  his  heart  with 
so  entire  a  wretchedness,  that  he  felt  he 
could  endure  anything  rather  than  suffer 
similar  treatment  again.  It  is  not  to  be 
imagined  he  got  rid  of  all  thoughts  of 
Joanna.  Frequently  since  he  had  caught 
sight  of  her  at  the  playhouse,  had  she 
formed  the  subject  of  his  reflections,  to 
the  exclusion  of  every  other.  The  ap- 
pearance in  her  company  of  such  a  thor- 
ough villain  as  he  believed  Padre  Bar- 
tolome  to  be,  made  him  infinitely  uneasy  ; 
and  though  he  tried  to  dismiss  any  unfa- 
vorable inference,  by  fancying  they  might 
be  strangers,  the  knowledge  he  had  that 
both  had  been  living  at  Guiana  whilst  he 
was  there,  more  than  once  gave  him  the 
suspicion  that  they  might  be  better  ac- 
quainted with  each  other  than  he  liked. 
He  would  probably  have  been  careless  of 
the  matter  had  he  believed  what  he  had 
at  his  quarrelling  with  her :  but  ever  since 
his  finding  she  had  done  so  much  to  res- 
cue him  from  the  Indians,  notwithstand- 
ing the  extraordinary  manner  she  had 
behaved  to  him  on  his  discovery  of  her, 
and  all  that  he  had  heard  and  seen  before 
— there  ever  lingered  in  his  mind  a  doubt 
that  she  who  could  act  so  nobly  was  of 
so  base  a  nature  as  he  had  been  led  to 
imagine :  and  living  in  the  hope  that  she 
would  one  day  prove  herself  to  be  all  he 
could  wish,  whatever  fresh  thing  he  knew 
of  her  likely  to  discourage  that  hope, 


274 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


gave  him  a  very  monstrous  disquietude. 
Imagining  she  was  in  London,  he  had 
made  every  inquiry,  and  sought  every 
place  in  search  of  her;  and  when  he 
found  the  pursuit  fruitless,  upon  Master 
Shakspeare  seriously  counselling  of  him 
to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  her,  he  had 
sought  the  society  of  such  young  gentle- 
women as  his  intimacy  with  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  gave  him  access  to:  and  though 
many  were  exceeding  comely — and 
though  there  were  few  who  did  not 
look  upon  him  with  a  more  than  ordinary 
kindness,  he  found,  after  all  his  endeav- 
ors, he  could  like  none  of  them  as  he  had  ! 
liked  the  mercer's  daughter  of  Eastcheap.  i 

But  who  could  enter  into  the  expedition  | 
with  more  spirit  than  did  Harry  Daring? 
To  him  nothing  could  come  more  in  the 
nick  of  time,  or  more  completely  to  his 
mind.  Ever  since  his  return  from  El 
Dorado  his  restless  humor  had  employed 
itself  in  all  sorts  of  mad  freaks,  leading  ; 
of  such  apprentices  as  he  could  get  to-  j 
gether  (who  looked  upon  him  as  a  very  ! 
prince  of  a  fellow,  he  was  so  careless  of! 
his  purse)  into  frequent  encounters  with  ! 
his  old  opponents,  the  city  watch,  that 
the  worthy  citizens  knew  not  what  to 
make  of  it.  All  Eastcheap  was  in  a 
constant  uproar.  There  was  scarce  ever 
a  night  passed  without  some  scuffle  and 
tumult ;  and  the  barber-chirurgeons  were 
kept  in  constant  employ  getting  simples 
and  plasters  for  the  wounds,  broken 
pates,  and  bruised  limbs,  of  such  of  the 
watch  and  apprentices  who  got  hurt. 
But  amid  all  this  wildness  and  prodigal- 
ity, Harry  Daring  was  ever  doing  of 
some  generous  action.  He  got  Big  Jack 
o'  the  Turnstile  in  a  comfortable  berth  in 
the  very  ship  of  which  his  patron  Sir 
Walter  had  promoted  him  to  be  one  of 
his  junior  officers.  To  those  who  had 
suffered  in  any  way  by  his  tricks,  he 
had  made  what  amends  he  could.  Even 
the  old  dame  whose  jaw  he  had  so  de- 
spoiled at  his  first  essay  in  the  extracting 
of  teeth,  meeting  by  accident,  he  gave 
such  recompense  to  as  nearly  put  her  out 
of  her  wits  with  joy  ;  and  to  Stephen 
Shortcake  he  and  Master  Francis  be- 
haved so  liberally  as  quite  to  win  the  old 
man's  heart.  Not  one  of  the  serving-men 
were  there  that  did  not  taste  of  his  boun- 
ty; and  those  that  he  had  drubbed  the 
most  were  the  most  rewarded. 

As  the  fleet  sailed  gallantly  along, 
spreading  themselves  about,  and  the  best 
sailors  going  ahead,  they  intercepted 
every  vessel  likely  to  convey  intelligence 
of  their  coming  to  the  en^my,  so  that  not 


so  much  as  the  least  pmk  could  come 
within  sight  but  was  taken  ;  and  after  a 
prosperous  voyage  they  entered  St.  Se- 
bastian's bay,  within  a  league  of  Cadiz, 
whilst  the  Spaniards  dreamed  not  of  the 
English  being  out  of  their  ports.  When 
they  arrived  before  Cadiz  it  was  in  the 
early  morning,  the  sea  went  marvellous 
high,  and  the  wind  was  exceeding  large 
nevertheless  it  was  designed  by  the  lord 
admiral  to  land  some  companies  at  the 
west  side  of  the  town,  in  divers  long 
boats,  light-horsemen,  pinnaces,  and 
barges :  but  in  the  attempt,  one  of  the 
barges,  having  in  her  fourscore  good  sol- 
diers, was  sunk,  out  of  whom  eight  were 
drowned,  though  great  exertions  were 
made  to  save  all  ;  and  by  the  advice  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  hastened  to  my 
Lord  Essex  on  board  of  his  ship,  the 
Repulse,  to  show  how  injudicious  it  was 
to  attack  the  town  before  the  enemy's 
ships  in  the  harbor  had  been  mastered, 
the  land  forces  were  recalled,  and  little 
was  done  that  day,  save  discharging  at  the 
enemy  certain  great  pieces  of  ordnance, 
which  they  replied  to  in  a  like  manner  , 
but  in  consequence  of  the  distance  both 
parties  were  from  each  other,  no  grea< 
damage  was  done  on  either  side. 

The  bay  in  which  the  English  and 
Dutch  fleet  were  riding  looked  large  and 
amazingly  beautiful,  being  in  one  part 
six  or  seven  miles  over,  or  thereabouts, 
yet  having  in  it  so  many  rocks,  shelves, 
sands,  and  shallows,  that  the  proper  sea- 
room  is  not  above  two  or  three  miles, 
and  not  so  much  in  some  places,  so  that 
it  would  be  somewhat  hazardous  for 
many  ships,  of  great  burthen,  such  as 
those  of  me  navy  royal  to  be  thrust  in 
there,  the  more  especially  when  the  po- 
sition of  the  enemy  was  considered.  No 
sooner  had  the  English  presented  them- 
selves than  four  of  the  largest  galleons  of 
the  Spaniards  placed  themselves  to  de- 
fend the  numerous  merchantmen  which 
were  lying  there  ready  bound  for  the  In- 
dies, and  seventeen  of  their  galleys,  all 
armed  to  the  teeth  were  speedily  got 
(under  the  walls  of  the  town)  in  a  posi- 
tion in  which  they  might  face  the  enemy 
with  their  prows;  also  keeping  in  such 
order  and  so  together,  that  they  could  de- 
fend the  '.own,  the  castle  and  the  forts. 
The  harbor  was  defended  by  Fori  St. 
Philip,  and  by  many  piec'es  of  ordnance, 
placed  so  as  to  rake  the  channel ;  and 
Fort  Punial  guarded  the  strait  leading 
toward  Puerto  Real,  along  the  curtain 
upon  the  ramparts. 

It  having  been  agreed  that  the  Spanish 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


275 


fleet  should  be  attacked — to  the  wonder- 
ful satisfaction  of  Harry  Daring  and  all 
in  the  expedition — between  five  and  six  in 
the  morning  of  the  next  day,  it  being  the 
twenty-first  of  June,  the  English   ships 
bore  down  upon  their  opponents,  imme- 
diately upon  which  the  merchants  run  up 
the  river  with  as  much   speed  as   they 
could,  the  galleys  betook  themselves  to 
the  defence  of  the  town,  and  all  the  pow- 
erfulest  ships   moored  themselves  head 
and   stern,  to  have   their  broadsides  to 
bear  upon  the  advancing  English.     The 
four  principal  galleons  of  the   Spanish 
fleet  anchored  under  the  guns  of  the  fort 
of  Puntal,  placing  three  frigates  on  their 
right,  two  Portuguese  galleons  and  argo- 
sies at  their  back,  with  the  galleys  by 
three    and    three,   at    intervals,   in    the 
choicest  situations;  and  the  admiral  of 
New  Spain,  with  forty  sail  of  huge  mer- 
chant-ships  richly  laden,  defending  the 
entrance,  by  stretching  across  it  like  a 
bridge.     It  was  originally  planned  that 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  he  having  been  ap- 
pointed   rear-admiral,    should  lead    the 
van  ;  but  although  the  honor  of  it  was 
claimed  by  the  vice-admiral,  who  was  no 
other  than  Lord   Thomas  Howard,  Sir 
Walter  at  the  sailing  of  his  squadron, 
took  the  start  of  all,  and  bore  gallantly 
into  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  to  the  great 
admiration  of  the  whole  fleet.     At  first, 
the  garrison  let  fly  at  him  their  artillery; 
then  bellowed  the  cannon  on  the  curtain, 
and  next  the  seventeen  galleys  poured 
into  him  their  great  and  small  shot ;  but 
he  answered  them  only  with  a  flourish 
of  trumpets;  and  amidst  the  loud  cheer- 
ing of  his  men  and  officers,  he  anchored 
beside  two  of  the  largest  galleons,  and 
presently  poured  all  his  heavy  ordnance 
into  them  ;  the  which  he  continued  to  do 
without  intermission,  though  he  was  ex- 
posed to  so  raking  a  fire  that  the  War- 
spite  got  dreadfully  shattered.     Sir  Wal- 
ler being  well  supported  by  other  of  the 
queen's   ships,  amongst  whom  was  my 
Lord  Essex,  the  fight  soon  became  ex- 
ceeding hot. 

At  this  time,  whilst  the  conflict  was  ra- 
ging very  terrible  and  hideous,  on  ac- 
count of  the  quick  flashes  of  fire  and  roar- 
ing thunder  of  the  many  culverins  and 
cannon,  one  of  the  Dutch  fly-boats,  con- 
taining about  a  hundred  fighting  men, 
who  had  behaved  themselves  very  val- 
iant, by  some  negligence,  set  its  powder 
afire,  and  blew  up  with  a  dreadful  explo- 
sion, to  the  dismay  of  the  English  and 
Dutch,  and  to  the  wonderful  contentment 
of  the  Spaniards ;  but  their  content  was  of 


no  long  continuance.  They  were  so  sorely 
pressed  by  such  of  the  English  ships  as 
could  get  nigh  them,  though  these  were 
but  seven  in  number,  that  they  began  to 
like  it  not  at  all.     The  scene  on  board  of 
the  Warspite  was  marvellous  to  look  on 
The  wonderfulest  enthusiasm  prevailed 
both  amongst  mariners  and  soldiers,  be- 
cause of  Sir  Walter  setting  them  so  val- 
iant an  example  ;  and  amidst  a  most  de- 
I  structive   fire,  every  piece  which  could 
be  brought  to  bear  against  their  gigantic 
enemies,    the   galleons,   was  cheerfully 
served  by  the  crew ;  and  the  only  desire 
expressed  by  all  was,  to  come  to  closer 
quarters.    Sir  Walter  having  waited,  hour 
after  hour,  for  the  coming  up  of  the  fly- 
boats,  which  ought  to  have  gone  in  and 
boarded  the  enemy,  and  none  coming,  he 
went  on  board  my  Lord  Essex's  ship,  and 
stated  to  him  the  necessity  he  was  in, 
from  the  condition  of  his  vessel,  to  board 
from  the  Warspite,  did  not  the  fly-boats 
instantly  arrive  ;  and  my  Lord  Essex, 
who  had  greatly  admired  his  gallantry 
throughout,  for  all  that  my  Lord  Howard 
of  Walden  and  others  of  his  company, 
I  being  creatures  of  Cecil,  did  try  to  ex- 
cite a  jealousy  in  him,  answered,  in  most 
friendly  fashion,  that  whatever  Raleigh 
would  do,  he,  on  his  honor  would  second. 
This  made  Sir  Walter  row  back  to  his 
ship  with  all  the  speed  he  could  ;  but  the 
other  commanders  taking  this  to  be  a  sig- 
nal to  run  in  upon  the  enemy,  made  prep- 
arations on  the   instant,  and  before   he 
could  get  on   board  several  had  passed 
him.     This,  however,  Raleigh  was  not 
in  the  humor  to  allow  of,  and  presently 
so  manoeuvred  that  he  again  had  the  first 
place,  having   anchored   within   twenty 
yards  of  the  San  Felipe,  a  large  galleon 
of  fifteen  hundred  tons,  in  such  a  position 
across  the  channel  that  no   ship   could 
pass  him.     Finding  he  was  prevented  by 
the  wind  from  getting  close  enough  to 
board,  although  his  officers  and  men  were 
monstrous   eager  for  it,  he   laid   out  a 
warp  "  to  shake  hands  with  her,"  as  he 
said  ;  and  those  of  the  English  fleet  nigh- 
est  to   him  following  his  example,  the 
great  galleons,  in  the  utmost  fright  and 
hurry,  slipped    their    anchors    and    run 
aground;  and  the  soldiers  and  mariners 
were  presently  seen  tumbling  out  of  them 
into  the  sea  by  hundreds — some  getting 
drowned,  others  choked  in  the  mud,  and 
a  vast  number  mortally  wounded. 

Whilst  Master  Francis  and  Harry  Dar- 
ing were,  with  divers  of  the  officers,  ob- 
serving this  strange  tumurt  from  the 
the  quarter  deck  of  the  Warspite,  all  at 


276 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


once  flames  were  seen  issuing  from  the 
lower  deck  of  the  San  Felipe. 

"  The  villains  have  fired  her !"  ex- 
claimed Harry,  seeming  to  be  greatly 
vexed  about  it.  "By  Gog  and  Magog, 
it  be  infamous  so  goodly  a  ship  should 
be  destroyed !" 

He  had  scarce  spoke  when,  with  a 
wonderful  explosion,  the  mainmast  of 
the  burning  galleon  shot  up  into  the  sky 
like  an  arrow,  together  with  such  a 
shower  of  blazing  timbers  that  the  air 
seemed  on  fire  with  it.  With  the  huge 
ship  were  blown  up  vast  numbers  of  the 
Spaniards,  who  had  not  got  out  of  it  in 
time,  so  that  it  did  make  a  very  hideous 
spectacle  to  see  their  bodies  scorched  and 
blackened,  falling  into  the  sea  in  the 
midst  of  numberless  burning  planks, 
whereof  some  fell  as  far  as  the  War- 
apite,  and  put  her  to  great  peril,  which 
was  promptly  guarded  against  by  the 
vigilance  of  the  officers  and  crew. 

"Alack,  if  there  be  not  another  of 
them  a  burning !"  cried  Harry,  in  greater 
vexation  than  before,  pointing  to  a  ship 
from  which  flames  were  seen  to  issue. 

"  'Tis  one  of  their  argosies  !"  observed 
Master  Francis. 

"And,  o'  my  life,  here  is  another  with 
the  like  sign  of  fire  in  it,"  added  his 
young  friend,  "It  be  monstrous,  such 
goodly  ships  should  be  in  the  charge  of 
such  careless  villains." 

And,  sure  enough,  another  of  the  gal- 
leons and  an  argosie  caught  fire  from  the 
San  Felipe,  and  the  sight  became  more 
dreadful  than  ever,  for  the  flames  spread 
with  wonderful  fury ;  and  whilst  some 
of  the  Spaniards  were  clinging  with 
frightful  cries,  to  the  rigging,  many 
drowned  themselves — some  burned,  some 
wounded,  flung  themselves  into  the  sea, 
and  strove  to  swim  for  their  lives — some 
hung  by  ropes  over  the  ship's  side,  up  to 
the  lips  in  water,  but  as  the  fire  continued 
with  increased  fierceness,  either  the  dis- 
charge of  the  great  ordnance  from  the 
galleons  as  the  flames  reached  them,  or 
the  blowing  up  of  the  ship,  when  the 
powder  caught,  soon  put  them  out  of 
their  pain.  By  the  marines  and  soldier? 
on  board  of  the  Warspite — indeed,  by  all 
throughout  the  fleet,  this  sight  was  looked 
upon  with  exceeding  disappointment,  for 
they  expected  to  have  made  these  mon- 
strous vessels  their  prize ;  and  the  men 
and  officers  might  be  seen  crowding 
wherever  a  sight  could  be  got  of  the 
blazing  ships,  and  expressing  their  lamen- 
tations with  famous  long  faces.  SirWal- 
ier  Raleigh  had  been  carried  below  some 


short  time  before,  to  have  his  leg  dressed 
he  having  been  wounded  by  a  splinter  . 
but  whilst  Harry  Daring  and  Mastei 
Francis  were  looking  so  wofully  upon 
the  destruction  of  the  galleons,  there  came 
an  order  from  him  to  make  haste  after 
the  other  two,  so  that  they  should  noi 
escape,  or  beset  on  fire  ;  and  in  an  instant 
all  was  hurry  and  scurry  in  every  part  of 
the  Warspite,  the  sailors  running  nimbly 
up  the  yards  at  the  boatswain's  call,  to 
make  such  alterations  in  the  sails  as  the 
sailing-master  thought  necessary;  others 
cheerfully  raising  the  anchor,  shouting 
their  pleasant  chorus;  the  trumpets 
sounding  for  the  gentlemen-volunteers  to 
muster  on  deck  in  readiness  to  board  the 
Spaniards,  and  the  officers  shouting  their 
orders  to  get  their  men  in  proper  order. 

Three  of  the  Warspite's  largest  boats 
were  in  the  meantime  being  filled  witli 
soldiers  and  sailors,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
on  the  side  of  the  ship  farthest  from  the 
Spaniards;  and  whilst  the  Warspite, 
moved  by  the  wind  which  at  that  time 
sprung  up,  bore  gallantly  down  upon  the 
huge  galleons,  the  boats  were  rowed  round 
the  blazing  vessels,  avoiding  as  well  aa 
they  might  the  showers  of  burning  wood 
that  fell  into  the  sea,  to  board  the  galle- 
ons on  the  other  side.  Of  one  of  these 
boats  Harry  Daring  was  the  second  in 
command  ;  and  he  was  all  impatience  to 
be  at  the  enemy,  and  so  encouraged  the 
sailors  that  they  strained  every  limb  in 
plying  of  their  oars,  with  such  good  effec  i 
that  they  soon  got  ahead  of  the  other 
boats.  When  they  were  within  muskei 
range  of  the  San  Mateo — the  nighest  ol 
the  galleons,  each  of  which  were  ol 
twelve  hundred  tons  burthen — a  discharge 
of  small  arms  from  the  lower  decks  ol 
that  ship  killed  his  superior  officer  anc 
several  of  his  men. 

"  For  death  or  victory  !"  shouted  Harry, 
standing  up  as  nigh  the  helm  of  the  boat 
as  he  could,  waving  his  hat  over  his  head 
very  gallantly.  "Ply  your  oars  merrily, 
my  hearts  of  oak  !  Be  ready  with  youi 
pieces,  soldiers,  and  pick  me  off  these 
villains  at  the  portholes  and  lower  deck." 
He  was  answered  by  the  cheers  of  his 
men,  responded  to  by  the  cheering  of 
those  in  the  other  boats,  who  seemed  ma 
king  every  exertion  to  get  up  with  him; 
and  the  soldiers  under  his  command  dis- 
charged their  muskets  with  so  true  an 
aim,  that  presently  there  was  scarce  a 
Spaniard  to  be  seen  on  that  side  of  the 
ship. 

"  Now,  my  masters !"  cried  Harry  Dar- 
ing, as  he  drew  his  sword,  "  every  man 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


277 


that  hath  the  honor  of  Old  England  at 
his  heart,  follow  me."  Again  the  men 
cheered  with  greater  heart  than  ever, — 
each  grasped  his  sword  or  his  pike  firmly, 
and  prepared  himself  to  follow  to  the 
death  their  gallant  leader;  but  Harry, 
when  he  came  to  the  ship's  side  and  saw 
the  huge  wall  of  timber  that  rose  before 
him,  with  scarce  anything  about  it  that 
presented  a  fair  hold  or  footing,  he  felt  a 
little  puzzled  what  to  be  at,  but  hearing 
the  rattle  of  the  musketry  and  a  huge 
shooting  from  the  other  side  of  the  gal- 
leon, which  proved  she  was  being  boarded 
by  the  Warspite,  and  observing  that  the 
other  boats  were  close  upon  him,  as  the 
next  wave  dashed  his  boat  against  the 
San  Mateo,  and  the  sailors  hooked  her 
on,  he  boldly  flung  himself  into  an  open 
porthole,  rapidly  followed  by  some  score 
or  two  of  his  men,  who  came  tumbling 
one  after  another,  as  if  they  had  been  shot 
out  of  a  sack,  the  others  thrusting  in  their 
pikes,  harquebuses,  swords,  and  such 
weapons  as  they  had  brought  with  them, 
as  quick  as  they  could. 

Every  man  upon  getting  his  footing 
looked  for  his  weapon,  and  then  for  his 
enemies ;  but  they  found  themselves  in  a 
low  chamber,  wherein  there  was  just 
light  enough  to  see  a  few  Spaniards, 
some  dead,  some  dying,  and  to  discover 
by  the  furnishing  of  the  place,  that  they 
Jiad  got  into  the  victualling-room.  None 
stopped  to  taste  any  of  the  good  things 
that  were  around  them;  and  Harry  Dar- 
ing seeing  that  all  his  men  had  their 
pieces  loaded,  and  everything  in  proper 
order,  commanded  silence  and  great 
caution,  made  toward  a  door,  upon  open- 
ing which  he  saw  instantly  he  was  in  the 
jiuwder  magazine,  for  there  was  a  man 
with  his  back  toward  him,  stooping  over 
a  barrel  with  a  lanthorn  at  his  side,  near 
a  basket  nearly  full  of  gunpowder.  The 
man  turned  round  upon  hearing  footsteps, 
and  seeing  who  were  behind  him,  seized 
upon  the  lanthorn,  as  if  with  the  design 
of  firing  the  powder,  and  so  blowing  the 
English,  whom  it  is  supposed  he  believed 
to  be  in  possession  of  the  ship,  and  the 
San  Mateo  up  together,  bui  before  he 
could  execute  his  villanous  intention, 
Harry  had  run  him  through  the  body. 

Here  the  young  officer  placed  a  guard 
to  prevent  all  access  to  the  powder,  and 
then  hastening  out  at  another  door,  found 
himself  in  a  broad  passage,  having  doors 
on  eacli  side.  Heeding  none  of  these, 
and  seeing  ;i  flight  of  steps  a  few  yards 
ahead,  he  marched  his  men  there.  Whilst 
:hey  were  mounting  these  steps  they 


spied  a  party  of  Spaniards  coming  down, 
carrying  divers  of  their  wounded,  who 
no  sooner  caught  sight  of  them  than  in  a 
famous  fright  they  dropped  their  burthens, 
and  with  terrible  outcries  took  to  running 
away  as  speedily  as  their  legs  could  carry 
them.  The  noise  brought  some  soldiers 
to  see  what  was  the  matter ;  but  a  well- 
directed  fire  killed  the  most  part  and  dis- 
persed the  rest  in  all  directions. 

"  On,  my  gallant  hearts,  and  this  huge 
galleon  shall  be  our  own  !"  cried  Harry 
Daring,  pointing  with  his  sword  up  the 
steps  as  he  led  the  way  a  little  in  advance 
of  the  rest.  His  followers  looked  as  if 
they  were  delighted  to  be  so  bravely  led. 
"  There  he  none  here  likely  to  lag 
astern  when  such  as  you  lead  the  way, 
Master  Harry !"  responded  old  Simon 
Mainsail,  who  was  one  of  the  foremost 
of  the  party.  "  Make  all  sail,  my  mas- 
ters !"  added  he  to  the  soldiers,  "  there 
be  shoals  of  these  villain  Spaniards  yet 
left  for  us  to  be  a  killing  of."  He  was 
cheerfully  answered  by  his  companions, 
and  all  pressed  forward  after  their  gallant 
leader.  Harry  Daring  presently  found 
himself  on  the  aft  part  of  the  lower  deck. 
He  gave  a  hasty  glance  around  him,  and 
noticed  on  his  left  the  decks  of  the  War- 
spite,  With  scores  of  her  mariners  and 
soldiers  pouring  down  upon  the  galleon's 
fore-quarter,  amidsuch  a  tumult  of  shouts, 
cries,  groans,  firing  of  pieces,  and  clash- 
ing of  swords,  betwixt  them  and  the 
Spaniards,  as  made  a  complete  Babel: 
On  the  opposite  side  he  heard  the  cheers 
of  those  in  the  other  boats,  who  were  in- 
tent upon  boarding  on  that  quarter ;  where 
a  company  of  soldiers  were  drawn  up 
ready  to  resist  them. 

"  A  Raleigh  !  a  Raleigh  !"  shouted  Har- 
ry, leading  on  his  men  sword  in  hand, 
who  charged  the  soldiers  with  such  good 
will,  and  they  being  quite  taken  by  sur- 
prise, that  they  made  but  a  feeble  resist- 
ance. Some  threw  down  their  arms  and 
cried  for  quarter,  and  others  fled  hither 
and  thither,  wherever  they  fancied  there 
:  was  safety.  The  way  being  clear,  Harry 
|  Daring  and  his  party  quickly  enabled 
I  their  comrades  below  to  get  footing  on 
the  deck,  and  up.  they  came  scrambling 
as  fast  as  they  could,  to  nigh  upon  a  hun- 
dred in  number.  These  then  made  for 
the  fore  parts  of  the  galleon*,  where  the 
Spaniards  had  crowded  in  great  numbers, 
because  there  they  were  being  boarded 
by  the  Warspite;  and  fell  upon  them 
with  such  vigor  that  they  who  could  were 
glad  to  retreat  to  ihe  upper  decks ;  but 
now  a  panic  seemed  to  have  seized  them, 


278 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


and  wherever  the  English  appeared,  as 
they  soon  did  in  some  force,  following  up 
the  advantage  iheyhad  gained  with  such 
spirit  as  not  to  leave  their  enemies 
breathing  time,  they  threw  themselves 
into  the  sea  in  crowds,  hoping  to  swim  to 
the  shore:  and  then  it  being  given  out 
amongst  them  that  the  galleon  was  taken, 
every  one  sought  to  save  himself  in  the 
same  manner,  jumping  out  of  the  cabin 
windows,  off  the  decks,  and  out  of  the 
portholes,  like  bees  issuing  from  a  hive. 

The  other  galleon  was  carried  in  a 
similar  manner.  This  struck  a  terror  in 
the  whole  Spanish  fleet.  Many  of  the 
ships  run  ashore,  the  merchants  made  off 
for  the  roads  of  Puerto  Real,  and  the  gal- 
leys went  creeping  along  the  coast  to 
where  there  was  a  bridge  called  the 
Puente  de  Zuazo.  Thus  was  a  glorious 
victory  achieved  over  this  formidable  ar- 
ray upon  land  and  water,  with  no  more 
than  seven  ships  on  the  part  of  the  Eng- 
lish ;  but  great  as  the  triumph  was,  it 
satisfied  not  the  valiant  hearts  who  had 
gained  it.  Master  Francis  in  the  War- 
spite,  and  Harry  Daring  in  the  boat,  had 
been  exceeding  conspicuous  in  their  at- 
tack upon  the  San  Maieo,  the  former 
having  disposed  of  himself  very  cqurage- 
ously  in  boarding  the  galleon  from  his 
own  ship,  and  the  latter  having  behaved 
as  hath  been  described',  in  heading  the 
party  in  the  boat.  It  so  happened  that 
these  two  met  sword  in  hand  at  the  win- 
ning of  the  Spanish  ship. 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  Harry,  after  sha- 
king his  friend  heartily  by  the  hand,  and 
exchanging  congratulations  upon  finding 
each  other  unhurt.  "For  exquisite  fine 
fun  commend  me  to  the  taking  of  a  gal- 
leon." 

"  I  can  not  say  much  for  the  fun,  Har- 
ry," replied  Master  Francis.  "  But  it 
certainly  hath  in  it  a  wonderful  excite- 
ment." 

"  Excitement !"  cried  the  other,  taking 
off  his  hat  and  wiping  his  hot  forehead 
and  face  with  his  handkerchief.  "  I  take 
it,  excitement  and  exquisite  fine  fun  be 
much  the  same  thing." 

"Hast  lost  many  of  your  party  ?"  in- 
quired his  friend. 

"  Not  above  five  or  six,"  answered 
Harry.  "  Old  Simon  Mainsail  hath  got 
shot  through  the  arm,  but  he  taketh  it  in 
very  good  heart  now  we  have  got  the 
better  of  these  villains.  What  a  wonder- 
ful fine  ship,  though,  this  be !  Never 
saw  I  anything  of  the  like  bigness — save 
the  others.  It  be  a  thousand  pities  any 
should  have  been  burned,  for  I  doubt  not 


we  could  have  taken  them  all  as  easy  as 
we  have  this." 

Master  Francis  glanced  at  the  dimen- 
sions of  this  gigantic  vessel,  and  could 
not  but  acknowledge  it  merited  all  the 
admiration  it  had  excited  in  his  compan- 
ion ;  but  he  soon  turned  to  notice  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  English  and  Dutch  fleet 
in  the  bay.  Those  that  had  been  engaged 
in  the  conflict  bore  on  them  numberless 
marks  of  its  fury,  and  of  these  the  War- 
spite  seemed  to  be  the  most  roughly  han- 
dled of  all,  for  she  was  shot  about  in  ev- 
ery direction.  In  the  distance  were  seen 
fly-boats  and  other  vessels  making  for 
that  part  of  the  bay  where  the  galleons 
were,  and  on  the  land  side  were  the 
Spanish  fleet,  some  dispersed,  some  run 
aground,  some  scorched  and  burning  to 
the  water's  edge,  and  the  San  Mateo  and 
San  Andres — another  galleon  of  a  like 
size,  were  in  prize  of  the  English.  The 
soldiers  of  the  Warspite  were  busy  in  se- 
curing their  prisoners,  and  the  mariners 
were  going  in  parties  under  divers  of  their 
officers,  to  different  parts  of  the  ship  to 
inspect  their  prize,  and  to  guard  against 
treachery  on  the  part  of  the  Spaniards. 
Master  Francis  and  Harry  Daring  were 
upon  the  chief  deck  with  a  company  of 
their  men  keeping  guard  upon  such  offi- 
cers and  soldiers  of  the  Spaniards  as  they 
had  secured ;  but  this  Master  Francis 
was  not  allowed  to  do  long,  for  there 
came  a  message  from  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
to  the  intent,  that  he  was  to  take  a  boat 
well  manned,  and  make  all  speed  to  my 
Lord  of  Essex  to  acquaint  him  with  the 
victory  ;  and  this  he  hurried  to  do. 

Upon  getting  on  board  of  the  Repulse, 
which  lay  but  a  lit  le  way  from  the  War- 
spite,  he  found  my  Lord  Essex  on  the 
quarter-deck  surrounded  by  his  officers. 
He  had  seen  Sir  Walter's  messenger  be- 
fore, both  in  Sir  Walter's  company,  and 
when  he  had  been  so  insultingly  used  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  liking  his  gallant 
appearance,  and  having  heard  much  of 
his  valiant  behavior,  he  received  him 
with  a  very  pleasant  courtesy :  but  when 
he  heard  the  good  news  brought  by  him, 
it  put  him  in  as  agreeable  a  humor  as 
might  be  seen  in  the  sociablest  gentle- 
man that  ever  lived  ;  and  gave  instant  or- 
ders for  the  landing  of  three  thousand 
shot  and  pikemen  to  assault  the  town. 
Whilst  the  officers  were  getting  their 
men  into  the  boats,  my  Lord  Essex  de- 
tained Master  Francis,  inquiring  of  him 
particulars  of  the  taking  of  the  galleons  ; 
the  which  he  answered  modestly  as  re- 
garded himself,  but  with  plentiful  com- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


279 


mendalion  of  all  others  who  had  been 
engaged  in  that  enterprise — the  which 
seemed  infinitely  to  the  satisfaction  of  his 
noole  listener. 

"  And  how  fareth  my  gallant  friend, 
Sir  Walter  ?"  inquired  he. 

"He  is  badly  hurt  in  the  leg,  ray  lord, 
from  a  splinter,"  replied  Master  Francis, 
'•else  doubtless  would  he  have  been  here 
himself." 

"He  hath  sent  a  right  proper  repre- 
sentative," said  rny  lord.  "Yet  I  hope 
his  wound  be  one  of  no  great  moment,  for 
I  doubt  not  we  shall  have  hot  work  pres-  \ 
ently,  and  we  can  not  well  spare  so  valiant 
a  commander  at  so  critical  a  time." 

"  If  it  please  you,  my  lord,  I  will  hasten 
back  to  the  Warspite  and  tell  him  this," 
observed   the  young  secretary.      "  I  am 
quite  sure  he  would  like  nothing  so  well ; 
as   sharing,   with   your   lordship,  in  the ! 
glory  of  this  noble  enterprise." 

"  Nay,  Master  Francis,  I  can  not  part 
with  you  just  yet,"  replied  Essex.  "I 
will  send  a  messenger  to  Raleigh,  requi- 
ring of  him  to  support  me,  if  his  hurt  will 
let  him,  with  what  force  he  can  get  to- 
gether ;  and  state  to  him  I  have  kept  you 
to  be  officer  of  mine  for  the  present." 

"  If  it  so  please  you,  my  lord,"  answer- 
ed Master  Francis,  who  was  not  dissatis- 
fied with  this  design  of  the  lord-general's. 
"  Quite  sure  am  I  Sir  Walter  will  hasten 
to  support  you,  even  if  he  be  carried  to 
the  field,  for  I  have  oft  heard  him  speak 
in  so  friendly  a  manner  of  your  lordship's 
valiant  disposition,  that  I  am  sure  he  hath 
that  regard  for  you  that  would  hasten  him 
into  any  enterprise  by  which  he  might  do 
you  a  service." 

"Dost  think  so?"  inquired  my  lord, 
looking  into  the  other's  face  somewhat 
incredulously.  "Hast  heard  him  speak 
in  such  friendly  manner  as  should  warrant 
your  saying  this." 

"  That  have  I  out  of  all  manner  of 
doubt,"  replied  his  companion. 

"  By  this  hand,  I  have  heard  the  clean 
contrary,"  exclaimed  Essex. 

"  Then  such  who  told  you,  my  lord, 
did  most  grossly  belie   him,"  answered 
Master  Francis  with  such  exceeding  earn- 
estness as  carried  conviction  with  it.     "  I 
have  had  better  opportunities  of  knowing  j 
his  true  nature  than  have  many,  and  I  do  ; 
affirm,  it  be  utterly  impossible  he  would! 
not  appreciate  such  qualities  of  behavior  j 
as  your  lordship  possesses.     Believe  me,  i 
my  lord,  they  have  most  vilely  slandered  j 
him  who  have  said  otherwise,   for  onei 
more  ready  to  acknowledge  the  merit  of  j 
another  d'd  I  never  know." 


"  Tis  likely  enough,"  said  the  lord- 
general.  "  I  can  not  imagine  that  one 
who  hath  behaved  with  the  notable  true 
valor  he  hath  shown  to-day,  and  on  divers 
other  occasions,  should  be  given  to  such 
poor  passions  as  envy  and  malicious- 
ness." 

"  I  will  answer  for  his  true-hearted- 
ness  vvrth  my  life  !"  replied  his  companion 
eagerly. 

"  I  doubt  you  not  at  all,  Master  Fran- 
cis," answered  the  other.  "I  shall  think 
of  him  all  the  better  for  what  you  have 
said.  But  I  pray  you  attend  me  in  my 
barge.  We  will  talk  more  on  this  matter 
when  opportunity  allows." 

My  Lord  Essex  then  sending  a  mes- 
senger to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  proceeded 
to  the  barge  which  was  waiting  for  him, 
in  company  with  Master  Francis ;  and 
the  latter  found  himself  putting  to  shore 
with  three  regiments  of  soldiers  well  ap- 
pointed, filling  a  little  fleet  of  barges  and 
boats,  rowed  by  the  mariners.  They 
landed  in  a  sandy  bay,  close  upon  Fort 
Puntal,  the  garrison  whereof  waited  not 
to  come  to  blows  with  them,  but  aban- 
doned it  as  speedily  as  they  might  upon 
their  first  appearance  ;  whereupon  Essex 
took  possession  of  the  fort,  and  finding  he 
could  only  be  annoyed  from  the  mainland 
by  -the  Puente  de  Zuazo,  despatched  at 
least  one  half  of  his  force  under  able  offi- 
cers to  lake  that  bridge  and  at  the  same 
time  sent  a  message  to  my  lord  admiral, 
to  attempt  the  Mexican  fleet  lying  at 
Puerto  Real,  to  prevent  their  escape  or 
burning  ;  and  then  with  the  remainder 
of  his  regiments  advanced  in  good  order 
toward  the  town  which  lay  at  about  three 
miles  distance ;  but  the  road  being  all 
of  a  deep  sliding  sand,  and  the  day  hot 
and  dry,  made  the  march  wonderfully 
fatiguing. 

At  some  slight  distance  from  the  town 
they  found  a  force  of  some  five  thousand 
foot  and  eight  hundred  horse,  and  although 
my  Lord  Essex  had  with  him  but  fifteen 
hundred  men  in  all,  these  attacked  the 
Spaniards  with  such  fierceness  that  they 
abode  very  little  fighting,  and  did  make 
their  retreat  with  such  speed  that  when 
the  English  came  up  to  the  walls  of  Cadiz 
they  found  the  fugitives  safe  within  them, 
and  the  gates  closed.  Whilst  some  of 
the  assailants  were  striving  to  break 
through  the  gates,  others,  among  whom 
was  Master  Francis,  by  means  of  an  un- 
finished work,  mounted  the  walls  and 
leapt  down  as  fast  as  they  could  ;  and  the 
gate  having  been  forced,  the  rest  entered 
in  good  order,  with  their  flags  flying  and 


280 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


trumpets  blowing,  and  charged  at  all  they 
met.  'But  now  the  struggle  commenced 
for  they  found  every  house  turned  into  a 
fort,  its  flat  roof  having  been  made  a 
magazine  for  weighty  stones,  which  wo- 
men as  well  as  men  let  fall  as  they  ad- 
vanced— others  of  the  Spaniards  annoy- 
ing them  with  firearms  in  the,  mean- 
while. 

Some  houses  were  so  offensive  in  this 
way  that  the  lord-general  was  obliged  to 
detach  small  parties  of  his  men  under 
commanders  of  most  approved  courage 
to  take  them  by  assault ;  and  to  one  which 
seemed  to  be  a  church  or  religious  house 
of  some  kind  he  sent  Master  Francis 
against,  with  a  force  of  fifty  men,  whilst 
he  sought  to  make  his  way  to  the  market- 
place. The  young  commander,  after  an 
obstinate  opposition,  carried  the  place  by 
assault,  which  proved  to  be  a  nunnery 
for,  upon  his  forcible  entrance  at  the  head 
of  his  men,  he  noticed  the  nuns  flying 
before  him,  screaming  and  calling  on  the 
saints  for  assistance.  Taking  care  that 
none  such  should  be  hurt,  he  followed  on 
briskly  till  he  came  to  the  cloisters,  and, 
greatly  to  his  surprise,  perceived  at  some 
little  distance  from  him  a  man  in  the 
habit  of  an  ecclesiastic  dragging  along 
by  the  hair  of  her  head  a  female  in  the 
dress  of  a  novice. 

"  Turn,  villain  !"  cried  Master  Francis, 
hurrying  toward  him  with  his  sword 
drawn.  "  Thou  art  but  a  coward  to  use 
a  woman  so.  Let  go  thy  hold  or  I  will 
cut  thee  to  the  chine." 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  man  turning  tow- 
ard him  the  well-known  face  of  the  Padre 
Bartolome,  looking  more  malignant  than 
ever  he  had  known  it. 

"  Art  thou  here,  accursed  heretic  !  Then 
this  to  thy  heart,  wanton  !"  In  the  same 
moment,  to  Master  Francis's  horror  and 
surprise,  he  saw  the  Jesuit  snatch  a  dag- 
ger from  his  vest,  and  bury  it  in  the  breast 
of  his  female  companion,  who  sunk  with 
a  scream  at  his  feet ;  and  then  with  a 
fiendish  laugh  was  seeking  to  make  off 
by  a  side  passage  ;  but  the  young  officer 
was  upon  him  too  quickly. 

"There,  thou  abhorred  murderer,  and 
damned  treacherous  villain  ! — take  thy 
reward  !"  shouted  he  as  he  ran  the  priest 
through  the  body.  The  thrust  seemed 
to  have  gone  home ;  for  the  padre  fell  on 
his  back  and  spoke  not  afterward,  but 
fixed  on  his  assailant  so  hateful  a  glance 
that  the  other  was  glad  to  turn  away  his 
eyes.  His  men  had  by  this  time  come 
up,  and  looked  wondering  to  see  a  nun 
flam  by  a  priest. 


"  She  moves  !"  cried  their  commander, 
hastening  to  the  prostrate  novice,  who 
gave  some  evidence  of  life.  "  Mayhap 
the  blow  the  villain  gave  her  was  not 
deadly."  She  lay  on  her  side,  with  her 
long  glossy  hair  streaming  over  her  face, 
and  a  stream  of  blood  issuing  from  a 
wound  a  little  below  her  breast  that  had 
stained  her  garments  down  to  her  feet. 
Master  Francis  gently  raised  her  from 
the  ground,  and  gazing  upon  her  pallid 
face,  beheld  there  the  idolized  features 
of  the  mercer's  daughter  of  Eastcheap. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Lo  !  here  the  hopeless  merchant  of  this  loss, 
With  head  inclined,  and  voice  damned  up  with  woes, 
With  sad  set  eyes,  and  wretched  arms  across, 
And  lips  now  waxen  pale.  SHAKSPEARE. 

Oh,  where  have  I  been  all  this  time  ?— how  friended, 

That  1  should  lose  myself  thus  desperately, 

And  none  for  pity  show  me  how  I  wondered? 

There  is  not  in  the  compass  of  the  light 

A  more  unhappy  creature.     Sure,  I  am  monstrous  '. 

For  I  have  done  those  follies,  those  mad  mischief*, 

Would  dare  a  woman.     Oh,  my  loaden  soul ! 

Be  not  so  cruel  to  me  ;  choke  not  up 

The  way  to  my  repentance  !    Oh,  my  lord ! 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER 

"  DISTURB  not  yourself,  I  pray  you  !" 
exclaimed  Master  Francis  earnestly,  as 
he  bent  with  an  anxious  countenance  over 
the  form  of  Jpanna.  She  now  reclined 
upon  a  pallet  in  a  narrow  cell,  furnished 
only  with  a  small  table,  on  which  ap- 
peared to  be  a  missal  or  breviary,  a  ro- 
sary, and  a  crucifix ;  and  he  was  sitting 
on  a  chair  close  beside  her,  holding  of  one 
of  her  hands.  Her  face  looked  marvellous 
pale — that  settled  pallor  that  betokeneth 
approaching  dissolution  ;  and  her  eyes, 
though  still  turned  toward  him  with  all 
the  affectionate'  tenderness  that  had  once 
dwelt  in  them,  looked  with  wonderful 
languor  and  uneasiness,  and  lacked  much 
of  that  extreme  brilliancy  by  which  they 
had  used  to  be  distinguished. 

"  The  chirurgeon  hath  told  me  I  have 
but  a  few  hours  fb  live,"  replied  the  mer- 
cer's daughter  in  alow  voice.  "And  I 
would  fain  devote  such  short  time  as  is 
allowed  me  to  make  my  peace  with  God 
and  my  conscience,  by  a  confession  which 
methinks  be  equally  necessary  for  you  to 
hear  as  for  me  to  slate." 

"  Nay,  trouble  not  yourself  about  the 
matter  now,  I  implore  you,"  cried  her 
over.  "I  would  not  have  you  make 
rourself  miserable  at  such  a  time  by  al- 
usion  to  what  I  would  willingly  wish 
mried  in  oblivion.'' 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


281 


44rTis  imperative,'  'answered  the  other 
firmly.  "  Justice  calls  for  it.  I  feel  with- 
in me  an  influence  that  maketh  it  a  thing 
absolute  and  not  to  be  set  aside.  I  con- 
jure you  listen.  Hear  me,  Francis;  and 
hear  me  with  whatsoever  patience  you 
can  bring  to  the  hearing  ;  for,  indeed,  the 
tale  I  have  to  tell  requireth  much  endu- 
rance of  you," 

Master  Francis  made  no  further  objec- 
tion ;  and  with  considerable  wonder  and 
some  curiousness  attended  to  the  follow- 
ing narration : — 

"  I  trace  all  the  evil  that  hath  happen- 
ed to  me  to  the  want  of  a  mother's  care- 
ful control  in  my  bringing  up,"  said  his 
companion.      "She   died    in    my    early 
childhood.     I  was  thus  left  to  the  entire! 
care,  if  care  it  might  be  called,  of  my  i 
other  parent,  who  soon  showed  how  unfit  j 
he  was  for  any  such  duty.     Being  cou-l 
sidered  a  child  of  some  comeliness  I  was ! 
ever  petted  by  him — the  commendation'! 
I  received  of  strangers  making  him  proud  ! 
of  my  appearance.     I  heard  naught  from  ' 
him  and  his  associates  save  such  flattery 
as  taught  me  to  imagine  there  could  be 
nothing  in  the  world  of  so  much  value 
as  the  attractions  of  the  person.     Vanity 
early   took    possession  of  my  character ; 
and  the  love  of  admiration  which  it  en- 
gendered grew  the  stronger  the  more  it 
was  fed.    I  got  but  little  education  deserv- 
ing of  the  name,  save  occasional  school- 
ing in  the  neighborhood,  which  when  I 
liked  not  I  gave  up,  and  when  I  fancied  I 
took  to  again  ;  but  I  quickly  acquired  all 
sorts  of  cunning  and  deceit,  from  min- 
gling   with    my    father  and    his    chief 
friends,  who  looked  upon  craft  as  nothing 
else   but   cleverness;    and   my   passions 
which  were  exceeding  violent  even  when 
young,  were  fostered  in  every  conceivable 
way  by   the   indulgence   and   harshness 
equally  misapplied. 

"As  I  grew  toward  womanhood,  and 
my  features  and  person  began  to  assume 
something  of  that  appearance  they  after- 
ward acquired,  the  admiration  I  excited  i 
became  greater,  and  my  vanity  the  more 
intense.  I  lacked  not  suirors:  no  girl 
could  be  more  followed.  I  was  the  fa- 
vorite of  all  the  apprentices  round  about; 
and  many  an  honest  citizen's  son  vowed 
he  loved  me  dearer  than  a  11  the  world  be- 
side. My  father  had  early  impressed  me 
with  a  distaste  for  becoming  a  wife,  draw- 
ing fearful  pictures  of  the  misery,  drudge- 
ry, and  insignificance  of  such  women  as 
married  ;  and  then,  in  more  glowing  col- 
ors, painting  the  consequence  and  happi- 
ness enjoyed  by  a  girl  of  wit  enough  to 


draw  plenty  of  fine  gallants  round  her  all 
ready  10  be  her  slaves,  that  I  thought  only 
of  how  I  might  place  myself  in  the  envia- 
ble situation  of  the  latter.  I  liked  flattery 
too  well  to  turn  away  from  it,  let  it  come 
from  any,  so  I  encouraged  all  who  spoke 
after  such  a  fashion  as  long  as  it  pleased 
me  so  to  do  ;  and  if  they  became  impor 
tunate,  or  pressed  me  on  the  subject  of 
marriage,  gave  them  such  answers  as 
might  hold  them  on,  if  1  liked  not  to  give 
them  up,  or  send  them  away  if  I  cared 
not  for  their  company.  As  for  studying 
the  feelings  of  any  of  them,  I  never  knew 
of  such  a  thing.  Being  perfectly  selfish 
myself  in  these  instances,  I  believed  all 
to  be  much  like  me,  and  cared  nothing 
when  I  found  it  otherwise ;  for  when  I 
heard  that  any  worthy  youth  had  taken 
to  heart  my  behavior,  it  moved  me  not  at 
all :  indeed,  so  utterly  heartless  have  I 
been,  when  I  had,  by  the  cruel  disappoint- 
ments I  put  them  to,  reduced  some  to  be 
nigh  unto  death's  door,  I  have  boasted  to 
my  female  confidante  of  the  time  that 
so  many  were  dying  for  me.  In  fact, 
I  looked  upon  such  things  as  great  tri- 
umphs that  showed  the  power  of  my 
beauty. 

"That  you  must  sufficiently  despise  me 
for  conduct  so  despicable  I  feel  assured. 
In  truth,  I  do  despise  myself  most  hearti- 
ly ;  and  the  only  excuse  I  can  bring  for- 
ward in  extenuation  of  such  baseness  is, 
that  it  was  taught  me,  and  encouraged  by 
those  who  ought  to  have  inculcated  in 
me  honester  principles.  I  may  add,  so 
little  seemed  my  father  to  care  for  my 
morals,  that  he  scrupled  not  in  allowing 
me  to  associate  with  women  living  in 
great  disrepute,  if  they  happened  to  be 
good  customers  to  him ;  and  would  have 
such  to  dwell  with  him  in  the  house  with 
as  little  shame  or  compunction.  In  fact, 
he  cared  for  nothing  save  the  increasing 
of  his  gains,  so  that  he  might  have  such 
companions  as  he  chose,  and  live  in  con- 
tinual feasting  and  jollity.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  the  selfishness  which  made  me 
so  regardless  of  the  feelings  of  others  v. 
whilst  I  could  gratify  my  own  vanity, 
secured  me  from  anything  like  moral 
danger.  I  knew  not  anything  that  did 
deserve  the  name  of  love — whatever  I 
might  have  professed — so  that  the  ardor 
of  the  most  devoted  lover  might  with  as 
much  profit  have  been  cast  on  a  stone  as 
on  me. 

"The  admiration  of  apprentices  and 
young  citizens  soon  ceased  to  con  tent  me. 
Many  brave  gallants  and  young  noblemen 
coming  to  my  father's  shop,  and  getting 


282 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


sigh*  of  me,  liked  me,  or  professed  to  like 
me,  with  so  monstrous  an  affection,  that 
they  were  ever  besieging  -me  with  the 
sweetest  of  flatteries ;  and  my  father 
finding  his  advantage  in  it,  afforded  them 
every  facility  for  seeing  me  when  any  of 
them  had  a  mind.  The  report  of  my 
comeliness  brought  others ;  and  all,  to 
get  my  father's  assistance  toward  having 
speech  with  me,  had  dealings  with  him, 
whereby  he  got  great  gains.  Here  then, 
was  I,  a  woman — young,  and,  by  report, 
lovely — exposed  to  all  the  artsof  some  of 
the  most  dissolute  men  about  the  court. 
They  tempted  me  with  costly  presents — 
they  strove  to  cajole  me  with  the  most 
delusive  speeches  ;  but  I  had  too  much 
cunning  not  to  perceive  their  designs; 
and  though  it  did  delight  my  vanity  fa- 
mously to  be  so  admired  by  so  many  brave 
gallants,  and  my  selfishness  allowed  me 
to  take  freely  what  they  freely  gave,  to 
none  did  I  give  better  encouragement  than 
an  occasional  caress — -the  which  I  had 
ever  been  taught  to  consider  as  a  thing 
of  no  sort  of  moment. 

"  This  continued  till  I  knew  you,  and 
then  my  whole  being  seemed  changed 
of  a  sudden — the  barren  rock  seemed 
struck  by  some  holy  hand,  and  there  gush- 
ed forth  a  stream  of  the  purest  and  sweet- 
est feeling.  Before,  everything  was  for 
myself — now,  everything  was  for  you. 
Although  the  love  of  admiration  was  im- 
plasjted  too  deeply  in  my  disposition  to 
be  readily  eradicated,  I  made  it  subser- 
vient to  the  most  generous  purposes.  I 
learned  how  you  were  situated  with  your 
miserly  kinsman — I  noticed  your  inability 
to  supply  that  thirst  for  information  which 
distinguished  you.  Love  not  only  taught 
me  liberality,  but  instructed  me  to  use 
such  delicacy  in  the  application  of  it,  as 
enabled  me  to  supply  all  your  wants  after 
such  a  fashion  as  could  be  least  objection- 
able to  one  of  so  modest  and  retiring  a 
nature  as  I  found  you  to  be.  You  were 
then  but  a  mere  youth,  and  I  a  woman  of 
some  six  or  seven  years  your  senior  ;  the 
delight  I  felt  in  affording  you  facilities 
for  improving  yourself  in  study,  and  the 
gratification  that  arose  in  me  as  I  observed 
the  rapid  progress  of  your  mental  facul- 
ties in  consequence,  I  am  altogether  un- 
able to  express  ;  but  the  affection  I  felt 
was  of  so  different  a  sort  from  anything  I 
have  heard  or  read  of,  that  I  can  not  fancy 
such  was  ever  felt  before. 

"  The  fact  was,  you  seemed  so  entirely 
thrown  on  my  protection — there  was  such 
a  sweet  purity  and  entire  excellence  in 
vour  disposition,  and  you  were  so  young, 


affectionate,  and  perfectly  free  from  guile, 
that  the  feelings  with  which  I  regarded 
you  mingled  the  deep  devotion  of  a  fond 
woman  for  the  object  of  her  early  idolatry, 
with  the  sweet  tenderness  of  a  mother  for 
her  most  cherished  offspring :  but  when 
in  the  overpowering  eloquence  of  your 
full-heartedness  you  began  to  pour  forth 
those  passionate  ecstasies  so  delicious  for 
an  attached  woman  to  find  she  has  excited 
in  her  lover,  and  developed  those  bounti- 
ful gifts  of  mind  you  were  possessed  of, 
in  writing  in  my  commendation  the  most 
endearing  and  graceful  poetry,  I  have 
known  transports  so  sweet  and  refresh- 
ing, that  all  my  heart  melted  in  my  eyes, 
and  I  then  felt  I  could  endure  every  evil, 
and  would  willingly  make  any  sacrifice 
the  securing  of  your  happiness  required. 
Oh !  would  that  these  exquisite  sympa- 
thies had  continued  their  generous  in- 
fluence !  Would  that  they  had  destroyed 
in  me  that  wretched  vanity  and  contempti- 
ble cunning,  which,  to  my  shame  be  it 
spoken,  were  called  into  action  as  fre- 
quently as  ever! 

"  'Tis  true  my  love  of  admiration  still 
allowed  me  to  listen  to  the  flatteries  of 
every  gallant  I  met,  with  a  sensible  satis- 
faction, and  put  forth  numberless  little 
arts — I  then  thought  nothing  of,  but  now 
consider  sufficiently  contemptible — to  ex- 
cite their  adulation  ;  but  though  I  liked 
the  flattery  well  enough,  it  was  rare  I  did 
not  despise  the  flatterer,  and  easily  per- 
ceiving the  selfish  object  had  in  view,  it 
was  not  possible  I  should  care  much  to 
excite  hopes  in  them  I  never  meant  they 
should  see  realized :  but  I  did  more  than 
this,  I  encouraged  all  such  as  were  so  in- 
clined, to  the  giving  of  me  presents,  the 
which,  as  soon  as  might  be  necessary, 
were  applied  to  the  sole  profit  and  ad- 
vantage of  one,  whose  profit  and  advan- 
tage I  had  ever  at  heart." 

"  Gained  I  what  friendly  assistance  I 
had  of  you  by  such  means  ?"  inquired 
Master  Francis,  looking  with  infinite  se- 
riousness. 

"  I  pray  you  disturb  me  not  with  ques- 
tions," replied  the  mercer's  daughter 
faintly,  "I  have  much  yet  to  say,  and  I 
feel  exceeding  faint ; — as  though  it  were 
not  possible  for  me  to  go  through  it  all. 
But  I  must  on.  Ah !  where  was  I  ?" 
asked  she,  and  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  proceeded.  "Suffice  you  to  know 
I  had  no  other  means  of  doing  you  such 
service  as  it  was  ray  good  fortune  to  do, 
for  of  my  father's  bounty  had  I  never 
known,  he  scarce  letting  me  have  enough 
for  mine  own  necessities,  and  seeming  to 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


fST 


car<?  for  nothing  but  constant  indulgence 
of  himself  in  riotous  ill-living.  Though 
I  had  no  scruples  myself  about  procu- 
ring sums  of  money  this  way,  knowing 
the  thorough  worthlessness  of  nearly  all 
those  from  whom  I  had  it— indeed  it  did 
appear  to  me  a  laudable  application  of 
what  was  offered  with  evil  intentions — I 
had  looked  so  well  into  your  disposition, 
I  knew  you  would  not  tolerate  such  a 
thing  on  any  account,  and  I  therefore  did 
put  forth  all  manner  of  artifices  to  deceive 
you,  not  only  as  to  the  source  whence  I 
derived  what  gains  I  had,  but  in  every- 
thing relating  to  my  true  character.  I 
strove  all  I  could  to  keep  from  your 
knowledge  that  I  knew  of  any  such  gal- 
lants, and  ever  behaved  to  you  in  such  a 
sort  as  might  convince  you  I  cared  for 
pleasing  none  other  than  yourself:  for  I 
had  noted  you  to  be  sudden  and  of  a 
quick  temperament,  and  I  did  hugely  sus- 
pect, gained  you  any  knowledge  of  how 
I  was  proceeding,  you  would  think  the 
worst  of  me,  and  quarrel  on  the  instant. 

"  About  this  time  I  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  gallant  of  exceeding  prepossess- 
ing countenance  and  manner,  and  of  a  right 
noble  person,  whom  I  had  met  at  Paris 
garden,  a  place  my  father  often  took  me  to. 
He  appeared,  by  his  look  and  language, 
to  be  foreign-born  ;  and  there  was  about 
him  so  courteous  a  dignity,  that  I  doubted 
not  he  was  also  nobly  born.  Finding  his 
advances  not  ill  received,  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  entertainment  he  must  needs 
be  seeing  of  me  home,  to  the  which  my 
father  not  only  made  no  objection,  seeing 
that  he  was  gallantly  apparelled,  but 
presently  took  himself  away,  and  left  us 
together.  His  admiration  was  evident, 
yet  he  spoke  not,  save  with  exceeding 
respect,  and  did  conduct  himself  with  a 
gentleness  of  behavior  that  flattered  me 
more  than  all.  This  meeting  led  to  pri- 
va'e  interviews  at  my  father's  dwelling, 
throughout  which  he  behaved  with  the 
same  delicate  courteousness  as  at  first. 
When  our  intimacy  had  more  ripened,  I 
learned  from  him,  in  confidence,  that  he 
was  a  Spanish  noble,  styled  Don  Santia- 
go de  Luz,  though  he  called  himself 
Count  de  Blanc  on  our  first  acquaintance  ; 
and  he  further  stated,  that  being  a  Span- 
iard, he  could  only  remain  in  England  in 
disguise,  and  therefore  had  passed  him- 
self for  a  Frenchman,  which,  by  his  skill 
in  languages,  he  could  readily  do.  At  one 
time  after  this  he  came  to  me  apparently 
in  some  little  alarm,  stating  that  suspi- 
cions of  his  true  character  having  been 
exciled  in  some  of  the  queen's  govern- ! 


ment,  he  could  not  visit  me  .unless  it  was 
by  stealth,  after  dark,  for  he  found  a 
watch  was  set  upon  him,  that  made  him 
not  inclined  to  stir  out  in  the  day. 

"  In  consequence  of  his  saying  this,  I  let 
him  in  at  what  hour  of  the  night  he 
chose  to  come,  and  very  willingly  too,  for 
the  confidence  he  placed  in  me  I  found 
agreeable  to  my  vanity ;  and  the  sweet 
courteousness  of  his  conduct,  and  his 
avowal  of  the  grateful  sense  of  the  favor, 
he  was  pleased  to  call  it,  I  did  him,  were 
equally  acceptable  to  me.  All  this  time 
he  spoke  not  a  word  of  love — no  sort  ot 
passion  was  exhibited  in  his  behavior — 
he  made  me  no  costly  presents — he 
breathed  no  delusive  flatteries;  his  bear- 
ing had  in  it  more  of  the  attached  and 
respectful  friend  than  the  gay  and  noble 
gallant.  He  was  ever  the  same  mild  and 
gracious  gentleman,  delighting  me  with 
most  entertaining  discourse  of  the  foreign 
countries  he  had  visited,  and  seeming  to 
have  so  serious  an  interest  in  my  welfare 
that  he  took  to  teaching  of  me  the  Span- 
ish language,  as  he  said  it  might  be  of  ad- 
vantage to  me  hereafter.  Though  I  could 
not  doubt  of  his  admiration,  it  was  shown 
in  too  pleasing  and  too  respectful  a  man- 
ner to  cause  the  slightest  wish  in  me  for 
its  discontinuance,  or  create  a  single  ap- 
prehension for  its  consequences. 

'•'  At  no  time  felt  I  anything  like  affec- 
tion for  this  Don  Santiago.  I  liked  his 
society  well  enough.  I  felt  sufficiently 
pleased  that  so  noble  a  gentleman  as  he 
seemed  to  be,  should  pay  me  the  atten- 
tion he  did;  and  having  been  brought  up 
in  the  way  I  had,  I  could  see  no  harm  in 
allowing  of  his  visits,  even  though  I  was 
professing,  and  did  feel,  for  you  a  most 
fond  and  entire  devotedness.  About  this 
time  I  met  Master  Shakspeare,  though  1 
knew  not  who  he  was  till  some  days  af- 
ter. I  had  behaved  to  him  much  as  I  had 
done  to  other  gallants  that  sought  me;  but 
he,  upon  finding  I  was  the  Joanna  whom 
he  knew  you  to  feel  such  true  and  exclu- 
sive affection  for,  did  reason  with  me  very 
seriously  on  the  injustice  and  impropri- 
ety of  my  proceedings ;  but  selfishness 
and  vanity  had  taken  too  firm  hold  of  my 
nature  to  allow  myself  to  be  in  the  wrong  ; 
and  I  went  on  as  before,  caring  only  to 
keep  from  your  knowledge  that  I  associ- 
ated with  any  other  than  yourself. 

"There  were  times  when  I  felt  I  was 
unworthy  of  you.  For  you  were  so  pure- 
minded,  and  perfectly  free  from  craftiness 
of  every  kind,  and  of  so  different  a  sort 
to  such  men  as  I  had  had  acquaintance 
with,  that  I  looked  up  to  you  as  to  a  su- 


284 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


j  erior  creature  ;  and  the  fear  of  losing 
you  not  only  led  me  into  the  practice  of  a 
thousand  deceits  to  disguise  what  I  ima- 
gined you  would  take  alarm  at,  in  my 
natural  character ;  bnt  I  deceived  you  to 
the  same  extent  in  other  things,  that  I 
fancied  the  knowing  of  might  lessen  the 
affection  you  had  for  me.  I  would  re- 
strain my  feelings  as  much  as  I  could, 
and  appear  to  you  no  other  than  a  kind 
protectress ;  believing,  from  my  experi- 
ence of  lovers,  that  but  little  encourage- 
ment bindeth  the  attachment  stronger, 
whilst  the  appearance  of  much  fondness 
iiazardeth  an  early  satiety:  and  when  I 
found  you,  as  you  oft  did,  lavishing  on 
me,  with  so  bountiful  a  heart  as  you  pos- 
sessed, the  affectionate  impulses  of  your 
.mpassioned  nature,  I  checked  their  too 
evident  warmth,  fearing  that  so  great  a 
fire  could  not  but  quickly  burn  itself  out. 
So  absolute  an  effect  had  your  youth  and 
mnocency  of  soul  on  my  maturity  and 
preat  knowingness,  that  when  enjoying 
such  sweet  endearments  with  you  as  I 
sometimes  would  allow,  I  have  felt  my- 
self a  different  being — all  selfishness,  all 
vanity,  all  deceit,  all  cunning,  seemed  to 
have  left  me — I  have  wept  like  a  child, 
and  loved  with  all  the  entireness  of  a 
woman's  devotion." 

Here  the  mercer's  daughter  paused  for 
a  few  seconds,  as  if  her  feelings  would 
not  allow  her  utterance.  Master  Francis 
nad  listened  with  considerable  disquie- 
tude to  the  account  she  gave  of  the  vani- 
ty of  her  behavior ;  but  for  all  this,  at 
her  stopping  in  her  narration,  he,  may- 
nap  involuntarily,  pressed  the  hand  he 
:ield  in  his  own. 

"  Alack  !  it  lasted  not  long !"  exclaimed 
Joanna.  "  The  next  hour  I  might  be 
with  some  gallant  or  another,  as  heartless 
and  as  full  of  artifice  as  the  meanesjt 
wretch  that  breathed*  One  thing  only 
did  I  do,  and  continue,  that  proved  I  was 
not  entirely  regardless  of  what  was  due 
to  you.  I  never  would  suffer  your  cares- 
sing of  me  when  any  other  had  done  so. 
However  earnestly  you  pressed  it,  and 
nowever  greatly  you  took  the  refusal  to 
.lean,  I  could  on  no  account  endure  your 
sweet  endearments  should  fall  where  the 
idle  or  the  profligate  had  lately  sought  a 
turned  gratification.  I  endured  such  from 
ethers  when  it  could  not  be  avoided,  part- 
y  because  I  had  been  taught  to  think  of 
;t  lightly,  and  partly  not  by  refusing  to 
teem  rude,  and  so  offend  such  gallants  as 
Bought  it  of  me ;  by  which  means,  be- 
cause they  were  his  chiefest  customers,  I 
should  hugely  have  angered  my  father. 


They  afforded  me  no.  pleasure  beyond  the 
satisfying  of  rny  self-love  at  seeing  noble* 
and  princely  gentlemen  seeming  to  be  sc 
intent  upon  having  such  a  favor  of  me 
but  on  receiving  such  precious  gifts  from 
you,  all  that  was  good  of  me  was  stirred 
into  exercising  of  its.influence,  and  I  lei' 
such  exquisite  enjoyment  as  I  have  found 
in  naught  else  in  the  world. 

"  I  come  now  to  the  fatal  hour  of  our 
first  and  last  quarrel.  I  had  rejoiced  in 
your  good  fortune  in  meeting  with  such  a 
friend  as  the  noble  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
and  however  I  might  in  my  letters  to  you 
have  seemed  to  lack  affection,  I  loved  you 
as  tenderly  as  ever,  and  wished  for  noth- 
ing so  much  as  your  prosperous  voyage 
and  speedy  return.  One  luckless  day  I 
had  gone,  by  desire  of  my  father,  to  the 
house  of  my  Lord  Cobham,  with  an  ac- 
count for  payment,  my  father  having 
found  out  that  when  any  of  these  noble 
gallants  settled  not  their  bills  as  quickly 
as  he  wished,  he  had  only  to  send  me, 
and  they  not  choosing  to  appear  niggardly 
before  a  woman  they  pretended  to  have 
great  admiration  of,  paid  presently,  and 
with  some  show  of  handsomeness.  My 
Lord  Cobham  having  done  what  was  re- 
quired of  him,  did  himself  courteously  con- 
duct me  to  a  door  leading  from  his  dwel- 
ling into  the  gateway,  where  perchance 
you  were  at  the  time.  There  he  would 
needs  have  a  kiss  of  me  before  parting, 
and  though  I  made  some  resistance  to 
him,  it  was  more  for  form  sake  than 
aught  else,  for  I  cared  not  much  about 
the  matter.  By  what  dropped  from  you 
afterward,  it  was  plain  you  heard  us ; 
and  you  had  also  gained  knowledge  of  my 
allowing  of  Don  Santiago's  visits  at  night, 
and  letting  him  out  in  the  early  morning, 
which  moved  you  to  say  the  harsh  things 
of  me  you  did. 

"  My  passions  had  ever  been  uncon- 
trolled, and  when  you  spoke  in  such  cru- 
el language  as  you  used  on  my  return 
from  my  Lord  Cobham's,  it  stung  me  to 
the  quick.  Selfish  as  I  was,  vain  as  I 
was,  deceitful  as  I  was,  I  was  not  the 
base  thing  you  would  have  made  me  out. 
It  did  enrage  me  mightily  to  hear  myself 
so  abused,  and  all  that  was  vile  in  my 
nature  rose  up  in  arms  to  revenge  the 
wrong.  But  what  then  took  place  re- 
quireth  not  further  allusion.  Bitterly  re- 
pented I  afterward;  and  when  I  found 
that  I  had  lost  you,  I  woke  at  once  to  a 
sense  of  the  shamefulness  of  my  beha- 
vior, and  felt  in  my  inmost  heart  the 
truth  of  all  Master  Shakspeare  had  stated. 
The  violent  fury  of  my  passions  brought 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


285 


me  to  ;he  brink  of  the  grave  ;  and  ray 
slow  recover;  gave  me  ample  time  and 
opportunity  for  the  examination  of  myself. 
Right  heartily  did  I  then  despise  those 
false  dealings  by  which  I  had  repaid  your 
sincerity  ;  and  yet,  though  knowing  how 
worthless  I  had  been,  you  were  so  com- 
pletely the  object  of  my  best  sympathies, 
1  could  not  give  you  up  without  a  strug- 
gle. I  felt  you  were  necessary  to  my  ex- 
istence. I  would  have  gone  barefooted 
over  the  world  to  have  obtained  your  par- 
don. I,  the  proud,  the  selfish,  the  heart- 
less Joanna,  would  have  lowered  myself 
to  any  humility,  and  sacrificed  everything 
most  dear  to  woman,  to  have  been  re- 
stored to  your  affections.  Ah  me !  all 
was  unavailing.  You  rejected  every  over- 
ture— you  would  not  forgive  ;  and  I  was 
left  with  a  despairing  heart  and  a  broken 
spirit." 

"  Indeed,  I  have  forgiven  you  long 
since,"  replied  Master  Francis,  kindly. 
"  And  now  I  do  consider  myself  much  to 
blame  in  having  so  spoken  to  you  with- 
out better  warrant.  Dear  Joanna,  believe 
me  it  is  all  forgiven."  And  again  the 
hand  was  tenderly  pressed. 

"  Hush  !"  hastily  exclaimed  his  com- 
panion. "  Call  me  not  '  dear.'  But  every- 
thing seemeth  to  press  hurriedly  upon  me 
now.  I  can  scarce  collect  my  thoughts 
in  order.  Still  I  will  proceed  as  I  best 
may.  Let  me  return  to  Don  Santiago.  I 
saw  him  not  till  I  was  convalescent,  when 
he  seemed  so  exceeding  concerned  at  my 
illness,  and  expressed  himself  so  much 
more  like  a  friend  than  a  lover  on  the 
subject  of  my  evident  unhappiness,  that 
after  infinite  pressing  on  his  part  to  know 
the  cause  of  it,  I  told  him  so  much  of 
our  attachment,  and  your  behavior  as  I 
thought  necessary,  and  I  conjured  him  to 
assist  in  endeavoring  to  bring  about  a 
reconciliation  betwixt  us.  Thishe  readily 
promised  to  do  ;  but  at  the  same  lime  ex- 
pressed monstrous  indignation  at  your 
conduct— vowing  you  knew  not  how  to 
appreciate  so  rich  a  prize — a  prize  worthy 
of  the  proudest  noble  in  the  land — and 
much  more  to  the  same  purpose.  He 
went  with  a  message  from  me,  request- 
ing of  an  interview,  and  returned,  stating 
that  you  rejected  such  a  proposal  with 
scorn  and  contempt— that  you  spoke 
most  disgracefully  of  me ;  and  that  he 
had  found  out,  upon  inquiry,  you  were 
diligently  seeking  the  affections  of  a  fair 
damsel  in  your  neighborhood." 

"  I  saw  no  Don  Santiago  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Francis  in  some  surprise  and  in- 
dignation. "  Never  spoke  I  in  my  life  to 


I  any  one  disgracefully  of  you — and  never 
have  I  sought  the  affections  of  any  save 
yourself." 

"  I  believe  you,"  replied  Joanna.  "  Do.i 
Santiago  now  showed  his  admiration  ol 
me  more  conspicuously  ;  and  spoke  with 
such  persuasiveness  of  the  injustice  I  was 
doing  myself  by  thinking  of  one  whose 
conduct  proved  he  deserved  not  the 
slightest  consideration,  whilst  some  ot 
worthier  station,  who  would  be  but  too 
happy  to  show  the  earnest  love  they  felr 
for  the  marvellous  excellence  I  possessed, 
obtained  no  sort  of  regard,  that  I  strove 
to  care  not  for  you,  and  endeavored  to 
make  myself  content  with  the  increasing 
devotion  and  affectionate  attentions  ot 
this  foreign  gallant.  Don  Santiago  had 
hitherto  behaved  himself  with  an  appear- 
ance of  so  much  delicacy  and  disinterest- 
edness, that  I  felt  myself  perfectly  safe 
with  him  at  all  times.  'Tis  true,  his 
language  became  more  fond,  and  his 
manner  toward  me  more  impassioned, 
but  his  love  came  mingled  with  such  ex- 
ceeding respect,  that  I  could  never  ima- 
gine any  sinister  intention  in  him.  This? 
good  opinion  of  him  led  me  to  allow  him 
such  favors  as  I  had  allowed  others. 
Ever  the  most  honorable  sentiments  were 
on  his  lips,  and  his  look  and  bearing- 
were  of  such  a  sort  as  seemed  to  the  full 
to  express  the  same  noble  meaning,  i 
suffered  his  frequent  endearments  wilhou; 
the  slightest  alarm.  This  apparent  yield- 
ing of  myself,  the  more  emboldened  him 
in  his  advances.  Alack,  I  knew  not  the 
villain  he  was  !  I  had  no  thought  of  the 
danger  I  was  exposed  to.  All  looked 
honor  and  sincerity  of  heart.  All  breathed 
of  love  and  the  very  deepest  respectful- 
ness. Miserable  degraded  wretch  that  I 
became,  little  knew  I,  with  all  my  cun- 
ning, what  monstrous  craft  was  arrayed 
against  me  ;  or  how  soon  it  might  come 
to  pass,  that  she  who  had  duped  so  many 
should  herself  be  the  completest  wretch 
edest  dupe  that  ever  breathed  !  I  fell— 
the  victim  of  such  base  treachery  as  1 
dreamed  not  the  existence  of. 

"Not  by  any  consent  of  mine  own!* 
exclaimed  Joanna  more  vehemently,  as 
Master  Francis  drew  away  his  hand  and 
averted  his  face.  "  I  thought  not — sus- 
pected not  the  nearness  of  such  dishonor. 
'Twas  a  vile  trick — an  unmanly  strata- 
gem— a  very  atrocious  piece  of  villany  !" 

"  Francis !"  she  cried  with  increased 
wildness,  her  eyes  lighted  up  with  such 
extreme  excitement  they  looked  more 
brilliant  than  ever  they  were ;  and  by 
clutching  at  his  arm  convulsively,  raising 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HTS  FRIENDS. 


r.erself  from  her  pallet  till  her  head  came  ] 
on  a  level  with  his  shoulder.  "Francis!  i 
1  feel  the  hand  of  death  is  on  rny  heart.  ' 
j  •zould  not  tell  a  lie  at  such  a  lime.  On 
ray  soul — now  ffoing  to  judgment — there 
was  a  drug  administered  in  some  wine 
without  my  privity,  and  I  woke  from  the 
torpor  it  put  me  into,  to  find  myself  in 
mine  own  eyes  as  loathsome  as  a  leper. 
I  pray  you,  in  pity's  sake,  think  not  so 
meanly  of  me  as  I  see  you  do.  Francis ! 
Francis!  this  is  worse  than  death!" 
Saying  this  in  the  most  heart-moving  ac- 
cents, she  sunk  on  her  face  upon  the 
I  allet ;  and  nothing  was  heard  from  her 
i.ut  violent  deep  sobs,  at  intervals  of  a 
minute  or  so,  that  seemed  as  if  they  were 
rending  of  her  heart  in  twain. 

Master  Francis  had  listened  to  what 
aaih  been  stated,  with  a  flushed  and  un- 
easy countenance  ;  and  the  quick  heaving 
tit  his  breast  and  perceptible  loudness  of 
us  breathing  expressed  how  much  he 
had  been  moved  by  the  narration.  His 
look,  however,  had  more  of  pain  than 
uistrust  in  it ;  and,  suddenly,  as  if  he 
could  bear  it  no  longer,  he  buried  his 
lace  in  his  hands  and  groaned  aloud. 

"Joanna  !"he  exclaimed,  after  a  silence 
(1  several  minutes,  looking  upon  her  with 
a  grave  and  melancholy  gaze.  "It  can 
not  be  unknown  to  you,  that  I  loved  you 
in  all  truth  and  honesty,  and  believed  you 
to  be  the  perfectest  creature  that  ever 
olessed  this  earth.  You  appeared  of  a 
nature  so  bountiful  in  goodness,  that  I 
regarded  you  as  a  ministering  angel  sent 
10  be  my  constant  guide  and  protectress, 
and  I  could  look  forward  to  no  felicity 
you  did  not  either  share  or  create.  My 
i.appiness  depended  on  my' thinking  as  I 
did  of  you.  The  moment  I  discovered 
ur  believed  you  to  be  other  than  I  had 
thought,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  in 
store  for  me  but  wretchedness.  Still, 
however,  angered  as  I  was  by  your  beha- 
vior, and  miserable  at  heart  at  it,  I  have 
oft  entertained  a  hope  that,  bad  as  appear- 
ances might  have  been,  at  some  time  or 
other  you  would  prove  yourself  guiltless 
cf  any  dishonesty.  To  find  you  untainted 
was  all  I  prayed  for.  The  consequence 
of  this  feeling  of  mine  maketh  what  I 
have  heard  to  shock  me  greatly.  It  is 
intelligence  of  so  horrible  a  sort,  that  it 
hath  come  like  a  withering  blast  upon 
me,  and  taketh  from  me  all  sense  and 
sympathy.  But  I  will  not — I  can  not 
dwell  upon  it.  Proceed  with  your  nar- 
ration, I  pray  you." 

Joanna  did  not  answer  on  the  instant, 
and  when  she  did  turn  her  face  toward 


him,  it  was  more  pale  than  before,  and 
was  impressed  with  such  anguish  as  was 
pitiful  to  look  on. 

"  You  can  not  condemn  me  more  than 
I  condemn  myself,"  she  replied,  speaking 
as  if  with  some  difficulty.  "  As  soon  as 
I  became  aware  of  what  had  happened, 
I  grew  frantic  with  rage  and  horror  ;  and 
a  sense  of  shame  fell  upon  me  that 
weighed  me  to  the  dust.  I  saw  in  a  mo- 
ment, I  was  irrevocably  lost  to  all  honor- 
able affection,  and  dared  no  longer  regard 
you  with  the  slightest  feeling  of  love. 
Don  Santiago  strove  all  he  could  to  mol- 
lify my  anger:  and  made  such  protesta- 
tions and  excuses,  and  seemed  to  regret 
so  exceedingly  what,  as  he  said,  the  un- 
governableness  of  his  passion  had  led 
him  into,  that  he  pacified  me  in  some 
measure.  But  what  was  I  to  do?  You 
were  lost  to  me  for  ever  ;  and  when  the 
Spaniard  pressed  me  to  "accompany  him 
to  his  own  country,  I  thought  now  it 
must  be  all  one  where  I  went :  and  as  he 
earnestly  swore  he  would  make  me  his 
wife  on  our  arrival  in  Spain,  I  trusted  in 
his  honor,  and  embarked  on  board  a  ship 
bound,  as  I  thought,  for  that  country. 
We  had  not  been  out  at  sea  many  days, 
when  the  behavior  of  Don  Santiago 
toward  me  completely  changed.  From 
mild  and  respectful,  he  gradually  became 
haughty  and  uncivil.  He  rated  me  for 
my  melancholy  as  if  it  was  a  crime ;  and 
continually  got  into  monstrous  passions 
of  jealousy,  swearing  I  was  ever  thinking 
of  you.  One  day  he  completely  threw 
off  the  mask.  He  acknowledged  he  was 
no  Don  Santiago  de  Luz — he  confessed 
that  the  ship  was  not  bound  for  the  Span- 
ish coast,  and  bade  me  think  not  of  mar- 
riage with  him,  for  he  was  a  Jesuit.  He 
was  Padre  Bartolome." 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  Master  Francis, 
starting  up  with  his  face  famously  flushed. 
"I  had  seen  him  then  before.  I  remem- 
ber me  now,  he  did  call  upon  me  at 
Sherborne,  but  with  no  such  name  as  Don 
Santiago,  and  when  I  saw  the  villain  at 
Trinidad,  I  had  some  faint  recollection  of 
his  face,  but  could  not  call  to  mind  where 
I  had  met  with  him."  Master  Francis 
paced  the  narrow  cell  for  a  minute  or  so, 
looking  very  disturbed  and  angry. 

"But  the  caitiff  hath  gone  to  his  ac- 
count," said  he,  as  he  flung  himself  back 
into  his  seat.  " 'Tis  useless  allowing  ol 
his  villany  to  move  me.  Proceed  you, 
Joanna,  with  what  remaineth  to  be  told." 

"  I  afterward  learned  from  him  and 
from  others,  that  he  was  a  sort  of  a  spy  in 
the  service  of  the  Spanish  government," 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


287 


continued  the  mercer's  daughter.  "For 
this  employment  his- wonderful  talent 
m  dissimulation,  and  great  accomplish- 
ments, must  have  well  fitted  him.  He 
cloaked  his  real  character  under  so  fair 
an  exterior,  that  there  could  be  no  suspect-1 
ing  any  craft  or  treachery.  Having  man- 
aged to  obtain  intelligence  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh's  expedition  in  search  of  the 
famous  El  Dorado,  which  he  presently 
forwarded  to  Spain,  he  engaged  the  ship 
in  which  he  had  put  me,  and  sailed  di- 
rect to  South  America,  and  gave  the 
governor  of  Guiana  the  most  minute  in- 
formation of  its  force,  and  plotted  with 
him  for  the  destruction  of  all  concerned 
in  it.  As  soon  as  I  knew  him  for  what 
he  was,  I  hated  him  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul,  and  the  more  earnestly  for  his 
throwing  out  mysterious  hints  of  your 
speedy  death,  with  such  apparent  satis- 
faction, as  none  but  so  black  a  villain 
could  have  known.  Wishing  to  be  quit 
of  such  a  wretch,  I  endeavored  to  make 
a  friend  of  Don  Antonio  de  Berrio,  in 
whose  guardianship  I  had  been  left  du- 
ring a  temporary  absence  of  the  padre, 
and  who  quickly  professed  himself  my 
*  lover.  From  him  I  learned  the  arrival 
of  the  expedition,  and  that  you  were  of 
the  party.  On  that  very  evening  the 
city  was  taken  by  assault,  and  I  found 
you  were  an  inmate  in  the  same  house 
with  me.  The  padre  had  concealed  him- 
self in  my  apartment,  vowing  the  horri- 
blest  vengeance,  and  believing  him  ca- 
pable of  doing  any  villany  he  had  a  mind, 
I  kept  a  strict  eye  on  his  movements.  I 
was  fortunate  enough  to  come  upon  him 
as  he  was  about  to  stab  you  in  your  sleep, 
and  quickly  forced  him  to  leave  the  room 
with  his  wickedness  unperpetrated.  Up- 
on finding  you  once  again  before  me,  and 
in  the  great  joy  I  felt  at  having  rescued 
you  from  death,  there  was  a  sudden  rush 
at  my  heart  of  such  powerful  sweet  feel- 
ings, that  you  seemed  to  me  again  as  we 
were  once  to  each  other  ;  and  I  was  just 
on  the  point  of  clasping  you  in  my  arms 
ij  pour  out  the  fulness  of  my  heart  upon 
1  our  breast,  when  I  remembered  the  de- 
graded thing  I  had  become — I  shrunk 
from  you  in  the  wretched  belief  that  my 
touch  would  be  pollution,  and  with  a 
-acking  anguish  turned  away  and  left 
he  room.  Alack !  alack  !  the  misery  I 
.hen  felt,  language  hath  no  name  for." 

Joanna  was  for  some  time  unable  to 
proceed,  and  seemed  to  breathe  with  ex- 
ceeding difficulty  :  at  last,  as  with  a  great 
uTort,  she  thus  continued  her  narration: 

M I  escarped  the   same  night  with   the 


padre  to  the  mainland.  We  sojourned 
with  others  who  had  fled  from  the  island, 
at  a.  village  nigh  upon  the  Orinoco,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  safety  and  in  some  com- 
fort ;  but  one  day,  the  padre  having  gone 
early  with  a  party  to  a  village  some 
leagues  off,  to  procure  provisions  for  our 
little  settlement,  there  came  back  one  of 
them  with  the  news,  that  whilst  they 
were  carrying  off  a  young  Englishman 
the  padre  had  set  them  upon,  they  had 
been  attacked  by  a  tribe  of  Indians,  and 
all  killed  save  only  the  padre  and  the 
captive  Englishman,  who  had  been  taken 
up  the  country  by  the  natives ;  and  the 
fugitive  had  escaped  only  because  he  was 
at  some  distance  when  they  made  the 
onslaught,  and  on  the  first  alarm  climbed 
,up  a  tree.  On  their  departure  he  caught 
one  of  the  horses  that  had  strayed  from 
the  rest  and  made  for  the  settlement  with 
all  the  speed  he  could.  I  was  sure,  from 
the  description  of  the  Spaniard,  whom  I 
questioned  closely,  that  it  was  you  Padre 
Bartolome  had  sought  to  entrap,  and  the 
Indians  had  now  hold  of.  I  was  in  such 
fear  for  your  safety  I  scarce  knew  what 
to  do  ;  but  expecting  some  pursuit  would 
be  made,  I  got  of  an  Indian  woman, 
to  whom  I  had  done  some  kindness,  a 
dress  such  as  she  usually  wore,  and  stain- 
ing myself  so  as  to  be  of  her  color,  I 
started  under  her  guidance  to  the  village 
whence  you  had  been  taken,  having  got 
all  the  information  I  could  of  the  Span- 
iard and  others,  of  the  direction  the  In- 
dians were  supposed  to  have  gone,  in- 
tending to  offer  myself  as  a  guide  to  such 
as  would  be  looking  for  you.  I  foun3 
your  true  friend  and  the  young  Indian  ; 
and  desiring  not  to  be  known  of  the  first, 
and  much  liking  the  appearance  of  the 
other,  I  told  the  prince,  under  promise  of 
secresy,  such  of  n»y  story  as  I  had  a  mind 
to  tell.  My  confidence  had  all  the  effect 
I  wished.  Pomarra,  during  my  stay  wish 
him,  treated  me  with  such  true  respect 
and  delicate  courtesy  as  might  have  put 
to  shame  the  behavior  of  the  most  finished 
gallant.  What  followed  is  sufficiently 
known  to  you. 

"  I  did  all  I  could  to  keep  myself  from 
discovery.  It  was  a  delight  to  me,  how- 
ever litile  I  might  deserve  it,  to  be  so 
near  you,  and  to  know  of  your  safety.  I 
shrunk  instinctively  from  such  familiarity 
as  micht  betray  me;  but  bearing  you 
speak  of  me  as  you  did  took  awiy  from 
!  me  every  faculty  I  possessed,  and  on  my 
swooning  I  was  discovered.  I  left  you 
as  quickly  as  I  could  after  that,  and  has- 
tened to  our  little  settlement,  where  I 


388 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


had  left  whatproperty  I  had.  This  taking 
with  me,  I  proceeded  to  a  part  of  the 
coast  where  I  was  told  a  small  vessel 
was  lying  at  anchor.  I  saw  tlie  captain  : 
his  ship  was  bound  for  France.  It  mat- 
tered not  to  me  where  I  went  so  that  I 
escaped  from  that  villain  Spaniard.  I  bar- 
gained for  a  passage,  and  the  very  first 
person  I  met  on  board  was  Padre  Bar- 
tolome,  who  had  engaged  the  vessel  for 
his  own  use. 

"It  would  be  to  no  good  purpose  to 
tel)  you  how  he  misused  me,  or  to  say 
how  I  hated  him,  or  how  I  strove  to  get 
myself  away  from  his  villanous  compa- 
ny ;  but  wherever  he  went  he  seemed  to 
have  such  wonderful  influence  that  all  I 
did  was  only  to  put  myself  the  more  in 
his  power.  We  stayed  in  France  but  a 
short,  time,  and  then  proceeded  to  Eng- 
land, where  we  lived  at  the  French  am- 
bassador's, with  whom  the  padre  appear- 
ed on  marvellous  good  terms.  He  passed 
me  off  as  his  sister  ;  but  kept  me  under 
such  jealous  watch,  that  I  never  went 
out  of  the  house,  save  once  to  go  to  the 
play  with  him.  There  I  saw  you  again, 
and  marked  you  well ;  but  though  I  no- 
ticed your  uneasiness,  and  the  interest 
you  took  in  the  play,  I  had  no  suspicion 
of  the  cause  till  I  gathered  from  the 
signs  and  looks  of  those  around  you  that 
you  were  the  author.  The  next  day  we 
took  ship  for  Spain,  and  after  a  prosper- 
ous voyage  landed  at  Ca'diz.  Here  the 
padre  left  me  to  the  care  of  some  in 
whom  he  placed  confidence,  and  went  to 
Madrid  ;  but  I  managed  to  escape  from 
them,  and  took  refuge  in  this  convent, 
wherein  I  intended  passing  my  life  in 
meditation  and  prayer.  The  Jesuit,  on 
his  return,  finding  me  escaped,  lacked  no 
exertion  to  discover  my  retreat,  the  which 
he  at  last  found;  and* ray  noviciate  not 
having  expired,  he  sought  by  the  most 
moving  entreaties  to  get  me  to  desist 
from  my  purpose ;  and  these  availing 
him  nothing,  took  to  the  horriblest  threats, 
which  I  regarded  with  the  like  indiffer- 
ence, bidding  him  be  gone  and  trouble 
me  no  more.  He  went,  but  during  your 
assault  upon  the  city,  he  got  admittance 
into  the  convent,  and  finding  me  out, 
thinking  none  would  heed  him  in  the  tu- 
mult, as  I  treated  him  with  the  scorn  and 
hatred  he  deserved,  he  took  to  dragging 
me  by  force  in  the  way  you  saw. 

"  I  care  not  for  having  fallen  by  his 
dagger,"  continued  Joanna,  her  voice  get- 
ting fainter  every  moment.  "  Twas  a 
mercy  rather  than  a  punishment.  I  doubt 
much  had  I  lived  I  should  have  done  any 


credit  to  the  whole  community  among 
whom  I  had  taken  refuge ;  for  I  found, 
though  I  strove  ever  so,  I  could  not  be- 
come so  religious  minded  as  seemed 
necessary.  My  meditations  were  all  of 
you — my  prayers  were  all  for  you.  Yet, 
in  the  solitary  contemplation  of  my  own 
unhappiness,  I  had  ever  one  consolation. 
It  was  the  belief  that  you  were  in  the 
enjoyment  of  that  prosperity  your  many 
excellences  deserved.  Francis,  this  was 
indeed  a  pleasure  !  I  could  think  of  no 
other  pleasant  thing.  Miserable  and 
degraded  as  I  was — an  outcast  and  an 
alien — with  a  mind  almost  maddened, 
and  a  breaking  heart — after  wearing  put 
the  long  night  on  my  knees,  beseeching 
every  blessing  might  be  showered  upon 
you,  Francis  ! — I  felt  the  sweet  conviction 
steal  upon  me  that  you  would  be — must 
be — happy  ;  and  i|t  brought  with  it  a  com- 
fort that  left  me  naught  to  wish  for  but 
the  grave." 

Master  Francis  again  took  the  hand  he 
had  before  held,  and  his  eyes  looked 
humid  as  he  turned  his  gaze  upon  his 
companion.  Although  Joanna  seemed 
quite  exhausted,  and  was  gasping  for 
breath  at  the  close  of  her  speech,  the* 
moment  she  felt  his  hand  pressing  her 
own,  she  snatched  it  to  her  lips,  and  cov- 
ered it  with  her  caresses,  with  such  sobs 
and  tears  as  would  have  moved  a  heart 
of  stone.  It  was  evident  he  was  also  in 
tears.  He  looked  a  moment  irresolute ; 
and  then,  as  though  the  influence  of  old 
impressions  were  not  to  be  resisted,  sud- 
denly bent  down  and  caught  her  up  in  his 
arms.  "  Francis ! — dear  Francis !"  she 
exclaimed  in  a  faint  voice.  "  Now  I  also 
am  happy !" 

Master  Francis  was  too  much  moved 
to  speak.  Indeed,  his  feelings  were  of 
that  tumultuous  character  that  left  him 
not  even  the  ability  to  think.  He  was 
aware  only  that  the  heart  of  the  being  he 
had  loved  was  beating  against  his  breast, 
and  remembered  only  the  many  noble 
things  she  had  done  in  his  behalf.  For 
a  few  minutes  he  lost  all  sense  of  sur- 
rounding objects  ;  and  was  first  awakened 
to  consciousness  upon  finding  that  Jo- 
anna's heart  did  not  beat  against  his  own. 
On  unclosing  of  his  arms,  he  saw  at  a 
glance  he  had  embraced  the  dead ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Who  dares,  who  dares, 
In  purity  of  manhood  stand  upright, 
And  say,  This  man's  a  flatterer  ? 

SHAKSPEABt 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


289 


And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick  conceiving  discontents 
1'U  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous  ; 
As  full  of  peril  and  advent'rous  spirit, 
As  to  o'erwalk  a  current  roaring  loud, 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

IBID. 

He  endures  beyond 
'ihe  sufferance  of  a  man. 

MASSINQBH. 

THE  English  armament  was  now  on 
its  homeward  voyage,  being  nigh  upon 
Cape  St.  Vincent.  The  victors  brought 
with  them,  beside  the  two  galleons  aftd 
the  spoil  of  Cadiz,  divers  wealthy  priso- 
ners, and  forty  hostages,  for  the  due  per- 
formance of  'he  ransom ;  and  afterward 
having  landed  at  a  town  called  Faro, 
which  they  took,  did  bring  away  with 
them  the  library  of  a  famous  ecclesiastic 
— one  Osorio,  Bishop  of  Sylves.  Master 
Francis  and  Harry  Daring  were  sitting 
together  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  main 
deck.  There  was,  as  often  happened,  a 
marked  contrast  between  the  two ;  the 
face  of  the  former  being  paler  than  usual, 
and  of  a  settled  melancholy,  whilst  the 
features  of  the  other  were  lighted  up 
with  a  wonderful  animation.  Harry 
carried  his  arm  in  a  sling,  showing  that 
he  had  a  wound  of  some  kind  ;  but  to 
look  at  the^  cheerfulness  of  his  counte- 
nance, none'would  have  believed  it  was 
any  great  matter — yet  it  had  been  cut  to 
the  bone  with  a  halberd.  It  appeared  he 
was  relating  to  his  friend  what  he  had 
seen  of  the  taking  of  Cadiz. 

"  It  was  a  horrible  march  that  over  the 
sands,"  exclaimed  Harry  ;  "  but  at  last,  I 
being  with  Sir  Walter,  who  was  carried 
on  men's  shoulders  till  my  lord-admiral 
lent  him  a  horse,  entered  the  town  with 
our  colors  flying  very  gallantly,  and  soon 
came  up  with  my  Lord  Essex,  who  was 
fighting  in  the  market-place  surrounded 
by  enemies.  As  ill  luck  would  have  it, 
the  villains  made  but  little  resistance 
after  we  came.  I  managed  however  to 
get  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  before  it 
was  all  over,  and  got  me  this  thrust  in 
my  arm;  whereupon  I  paid  the  caitiff 
who  did  it  so  handsomely.  I  doubt  not 
he  was  as  thoroughly  satisfied  as  ever  a 
Jead  Spaniard  could  be.  The  town  now 
being  our  own,  Sir  Walter,  who  had 
hitherto  rode  with  us  on  horseback,  suf- 
fering much  from  his  wound,  returned  to 
the  fleet,  but  I  was  left  with  the  rest  to 
help  keep  possession  of  our  conquest. 
Then  came  the  sack.  Now  I  did  think 
the  taking  of  the  galleon  was  as  exquisite 
fine  fun  as  could  be  known  ;  but  the  sack- 
ing of  Cadiz  beateth  it  hollow.  Methinks 
19 


all  the  houses  in  the  place  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye  were  turned  inside  out  into 
the  street  ;  and  our  men  began  a  plun- 
dering away  like  a  troop  of  half-starved 
mice  just  broke  into  a  malthouse.  There 
was  such  shouting  and  laughing  as  I 
never  heard  before  ; — some  guzzling  rare 
wines  with  as  little  discretion  as  an 
apprentice  might  swallow  small  beer — 
others  devouring  the  choicest  cates  as 
greedily  as  a  litter  of  pigs  taketh  to  a 
feed  of  grains.  They  who  cared  not  so 
much  for  eating,  stuffed  their  trunks  with 
whatsoever  valuables  came  nighest  to 
hand,  and  then  filled  their  hats,  and  then 
loaded  themselves  with  as  much  as  they 
could  carry.  Perchance  coming  away 
and  meeting  with  something  they  liked 
better,  they  disgorged  what  they  had 
about  them,  and  took  to  burthening  them- 
selves with  the  choicer  commodity.  Here 
you  might  see  one  fellow  wrapt  up  in  the 
costliest  silks  knocking  out  the  head  of  a 
cask  of  raisins,  and  a  little  way  on,  anoth- 
er in  a  famous  robe  of  gold  brocade,  dili- 
gently sucking  of  a  wine-barrel.  In  an 
incredible  short  time  the  principal  streets 
were  covered  with  almonds  and  olives, 
figs,  raisins,  and  spices,  which  were 
kicked  about  and  trampled  under  foot, 
and  mixed  with  streams  of  wine  and  oil, 
j  left  running  out  of  casks  that  had  been 
broken  to  see  what  they  contained  :  and 
upon  these  were  bales  of  stuffs  and  arti- 
cles of  furniture  of  great  value,  that  had 
been  abandoned  for  less  bulky  or  more 
attractive  plunder.  But  the  next  day  I 
saw  a  sight  that  put  me  into  such  a 
humor  I  could  take  pleasure  in  nothing." 

"What  was  that,  Harry?"  inquired 
Master  Francis. 

"  This  was  it,"  replied  the  other.  "  Sir 
Walter  had  sent  at  day-break  into  the 
town  to  get  orders  from  the  lord-general 
that  he  might  go  and  secure  the  Indian 
fleet — which  might  easily  have  been  done 
— but  he  got  no  answer;  and  whilst  my 
lord  admiral  and  others  were  disputing 
with  the  Spaniards  about  the  ransoming 
of  these  ships,  the  monstrous  horrible 
villains  set  fire  to  them  all ;  and  there 
were  burned  nearly  forty  sail  of  as  ex- 
cellent fine  vessels  as  Christian  might 
wish  to  see,  laden  with  choice  merchan- 
dise for  Mexico.  Well,  it  be  a  certain 
sure  thing  that  they  who  set  them  afire 
will  get  a  like  burning  themselves  some 
of  these  days — that's  one  comfort." 

His  companion  did  not  answer  to  this. 
Indeed  he  was  too  intent  upon  his  own 
contemplations  to  pay  it  any  regard. 

"  Hast  noticed  this  Colonel  Harquebus, 


290 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Master  Francis,  that  Sir  Walter  hath 
taken  so  much  to  lately  ?"  asked  Harry 
Daring. 

"  In  truth  no,  Harry,"  answered  his 
friend ;  "  I  can  not  say  I  have  taken  of 
him  any  great  notice." 

"Methinks  he  behaveth  exceeding  un- 
civil to  you,"  observed  his  companion. 

"  I  have  noted  no  such  behavior  in 
him,"  replied  Master  Francis. 

"Why  he  looketh  at  you  with  a  per- 
petual frown,"  added  Harry  ;  *'  and  when 
he,  in  company  with  Sir  Walter,  passed 
us  to-day  on  the  quarter-deck,  I  heard 
him  mutter  the  words  'paltry  secretary,' 
with  a  visage  sour  enough  to  turn  all  the 
wine  in  the  ship  into  verjuice." 

"  There  can  be  no  harm  in  that,"  ob- 
served his  companion,  carelessly. 

"  No  harm !"  cried  Harry  Daring,  in 
some  astonishment.  "  Let  any  of  my 
quality  frown  at  me,  or  say  or  do  any- 
thing despisingly,  I  warrant  you  I  could 
not  be  easy  till  I  picked  a  quarrel  with 
the  varlet,  and  taught  him  to  carry  his 
sweetest  looks  next  time  we  came  in  sight 
of  each  other.  Now  you  be  fully  as  good 
a  gentleman  as  is  any  Colonel  Harquebus 
of  them  all,  and  next  time  he  seeketh  to 
put  on  you  any  such  indignity,  I  would 
have  you  call  him  a  villain,  and  if  he 
draweth  upon  that,  have  at  him,  and 
show  him  what  brave  stuff  you  be  made 
of." 

"  That  I  can  never  do,  Harry,"  replied 
Master  Francis :  "  Colonel  Harquebus  is 
so  far  my  superior,  as  to  render  such  a 
course  out  of  the  question.  Besides  he 
hath  done  me  no  offence,  nor  do  I  think 
he  would  affront  me  wantonly  and  with- 
out any  provocation  on  my  part,  for  I 
have  heard  he  is  one  of  marvellous  great 
magnanimity,  and  of  exceeding  singular 
fine  gallantry  in  warlike  matters.  In- 
deed, he  hath  been  looked  upon  by  many 
as  one  of  the  completest  soldiers  in  all 
Christendom:  added  to  which,  his  many 
laudable  good  virtues  have  made  him  Sir 
Walter's  particular  friend." 

"  Were  he  the  devil's  particular  friend 
I  would  care  not !"  exclaimed  his  com- 
panion. Here  the  conversation  ended, 
by  a  messenger  coming  from  Sir  Walter 
for  Master  Francis  to  attend  him  in  the 
state  cabin.  Thither  then  hurried  he  on 
the  instant,  and  found  none  there  but  his 
patron  and  Colonel  Harquebus,  socially 
quaffing  of  their  wine  after  dinner.  The 
latter  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  some  fifty  | 
years  or  so — his  hair  and  beard  gray,  or 
rather,  grisled — his  face  brown,  and  mark- ' 
ed  with  a  famous  scar  along  the  right  i 


cheek  and  another  over  the  forehead,  hi* 
eyes  were  piercing  and  severe,  and  his 
features,  though  not  uncomely,  were  so 
stern  and  haughty  as  almost  to  be  repul- 
sive. It  was  evident,  from  the  grea" 
breadth  of  his  shoulders  and  size  of  his 
limbs,  he  was  of  exceeding  vigor  ;  indeed, 
he  had  been  one  of  the  tallest  and  prop- 
eresl  men  of  his  time  and  even  now  ap- 
peared scarcely  to  have  passed  the  very 
prime  of  his  age.  His  dress  was  of  ex- 
uctne  plainness,  carelessly  put  on,  having 
a  dagger  at  his  girdle,  and  a  Spanish 
rapier  of  great  length  at  his  side.  He 
was  talking  when  Master  Francis  entered, 
whom  he  only  noticed  with  a  stare,  some- 
what of  the  rudest. 

"  Sit  you  down,  Master  Francis,"  said 
Sir  Walter  kindly  to  him.  "  There  is 
some  of  the  enemy's  wine  before  you, 
and  of  very  choice  quality.  Drink  you 
our  safe  and  speedy  return  to  our  own 
shores."  Master  Francis  did  as  he  was 
bid,  the  colonel  all  the  time  seeming  to 
scrutinize  his  appearance  with  so  search- 
ing and  severe  a  look,  that  others  beside 
Harry  Daring  might  have  supposed  from 
it  he  was  monstrous  uncivil  in  his  man- 
ners. 

"  The  fight  commenced,"  said  Colonel 
Harquebus  to  Sir  Walter  in  a  quick  sharp 
voice,  and  as  if  in  continuation  of  what 
he  had  before  stated — "Enemy  strongly 
posted.  Met  us  with  a  galling  fire,  and 
the  action  soon  became  sharp.  Right 
wing  engaged  with  a  superior  force.  Held 
their  ground  well.  Enemy's  cavalry  tried 
to  turn  our  left,  were  charged  by  our  own 
horse.  Desperate  conflict — slashing  work 
— as  excellent  good  fighting  as  ever  I  saw  ! 
Our  horse  forced  to  give  way,  were  re- 
inforced by  another  regiment,  and  then 
they  charged  the  enemy  with  such  won- 
derful fine  vigor,  they  retreated  behind 
the  village  in  a  presently.  Enemy's  guns 
annoyed  our  centre.  Shifted  ground  and 
took  up  better.  Splendid  manoeuvre,  by 
this  hand  !  Enemy's  pikemen  and  mus- 
kets, five  thousand  strong,  strove  to  break 
into  us  upon  passing  the  wood.  Received 
them  steadily — desperate  sharp  fire  ! — 
battalions  moving  in  line — horrible  diffi- 
cult ground  ! — got  broke  —  reformed — 
wheeling  up  into  line  at  last,  obtained  a 
marvellous  fine  position.  Enemy  kept 
gaining  strength  at  this  point.  Charged 
again  and  again,  and  were  beaten  back. 
Monstrous  hard  work  !  but  a  singular, 
admirable  piece  of  good  fighting.  Went 
with  my  regiment  to  take  the  village. 
Every  house  a  fortalice — and  a  windmill 
at  the  entrance  strongly  garrisoned,  that 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


291 


opened  on  us  a  dreadful  villanous  fire — 
took  it  by  assault.  Forced  the  Spaniards 
out  of  the  village  at  the  point  of  the  pike. 
Pushed  on  to  take  the  guns.  Were 
charged  by  the  enemy's  cavalry — fell 
back  upon  the  village  in  exceeding  credit- 
able order.  Enemy's  foot  in  great  force 
advanced  to  retake  the  village.  Magnifi- 
cent fighting !  Wonderful  fine  heavy 
fire!  Admirable  famous  slaughter  !  Re- 
ceived a  shot  in  the  shoulder.  Dreadful 
hard  pressed  by  numbers.  Got  separated 
from  my  regiment.  Killed  a  few  of  the 
enemy.  Had  my  sword  knocked  out  of 
my  hand — was  overpowered  and  taken 
prisoner." 

"I  remember  that  battle  well,"  ob- 
served Sir  Walter,  "'twas  right  hotly 
contested." 

"  Odds  wounds !  that  it  was,  I  promise 
you,"  continued  the  colonel,  after  a 
quaffing  a  goodly  cup  of  wine  :  then 
looking  with  some  contempt  at  Master 
Francis,  who  was  absorbed  in  his  own 
reflections,  added  expressively,  "  But  we 
had  men  about  us,  Sir  Walter  !  Proper 
fellows  of  their  inches.  No  pale-visaged 
varlets  in  fine  doublets.  No  popinjays. 
No  chamberers.  Men  were  they,  Sir 
Walter  —  men  of  the  true  breed,  that 
looked  on  the  barrel  of  a  musket  as  the 
best  pouncet-box,  and  preferred  the  flash- 
ing of  a  row  of  pikes  to  the  wanton  glan- 
ces of  a  bevy  of  idle  women.  There 
were  no  scribbling  skip-jacks  amongst 
them.  They  consorted  not  with  a  parcel 
of  trumpery  rhymesters.  They  were  ex- 
cellent brave  fellows.  Sir  Walter — gal- 
lant hearts,  every  man  of  them." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  observed  Raleigh. 
"  But  what  became  of  you  after  you  were 
taken  prisoner?" 

"  I  was  known,"  replied  the  colonel. 
"  The  enemy  knew  me  well.  By  this 
sword !  I  had  given  them  infinite  good 
reason  for  it !  1  doubt  much  had  I  been  a 
mere  absolute  fine  gallant  my  name  would 
have  been  so  famous  amongst  them.  I 
was  none  such,  I  promise  you — can't 
abide  them — fit  for  nothing.  Well — the 
Spaniards  were  mightily  rejoiced  at  hav- 
ing got  hold  of  me.  I  was  taken  to  the 
rear.  Chirurgeon  came  to  dress  my 
wounds.  Didn't  like  his  treatment,  for 
he  probed  my  shoulder  and  put  me  to 
the  very  horriblest  torture  I  ever  endured. 
Wouldn't  wince.  Next  time  he  did  it, 
tweaked  his  villanous  nose  for  him.  Saw 
no  more  of  him.  Another  chirurgical 
knave  came — approaching  me  trembling 
like  an  aspen — handled  me  as  tenderly 
as  though  he  took  me  to  be  a  dragon. 


After  that,  was  carried  with  a  strong  es- 
cort to  Spain.  Horrid  roads — long  jour- 
ney— escape  impossible." 

"  How  fared  you  during  your  captivi 
ty  ?"  inquired  Sir  Walter. 

"Pretty  well  at  the  first,"  answered 
the  colonel,  occasionally  glancing  at  Mas- 
ter Francis  during  his  speech  such  looks 
as  seemed  to  show  he  liked  not  his  ap- 
pearance. "A  soldier  wanteth  not  to 
have  his  delicate  flesh  pampered  with 
dainties,  no  more  than  he  careth  for  silk 
and  satin  for  his  apparelling.  I  was  con- 
tent with  what  I  could  get.  Ate — drank 
— slept,  as  I  might.  Was  marched  to 
Cadiz,  more  strongly  guarded  than  ever 
Had  I  been  but  noted  for  my  skill  with 
the  pen,  doubt  much  they  would  have  so 
cared  for  me.  People  stared  at  me  as  1 
passed,  like  rustics  at  a  conjuror.  Was 
lodged  in  the  castle.  Wounds  got  well. 
Every  one  came  a  visiting  of  me.  Mar- 
velled to  find  so  many  priests  of  the  num- 
ber, all  a  praying  away  from  morning  till 
night.  Not  one  of  these  knaTes  had  any 
skill  in  warlike  matters,  I'll  be  bound 
for't.  Asked  what  they  came  about. 
Found  'twas  to  make  a  papist  of  me. 
Began  a  kicking  of  them  all  out  of  my 
company  on  the  instant ;  which,  when 
they  saw,  none  stopped  to  cover  the  re- 
treat of  the  rest.  A  panic  seized  on  the 
whole  detachment ;  and  they  made  for 
the  door  with  all  sorts  of  fearful  excla- 
mations, whilst  I  hung  upon  their  rear, 
doing  them  what  damage  I  could." 

"  Methinks  that  was  but  uncourteous 
treatment  for  religious  men,"  said  Ra- 
leigh, but  not  without  seeming  somewhat 
amused. 

"Hang  them  for  villains!"  exclaimed 
Colonel  Harquebus.  "They  thought  of 
making  an  apostate  of  me.  Got  thrust 
into  a  dungeon  after  that,  and  fed  on 
bread  and  water.  Didn't  care.  A  sol- 
dier careth  for  naught.  All  the  beggarly 
monks,  friars,  and  the  like  contemptible 
set  in  the  town,  were  preaching  a  crusade 
against  me.  Wanted  to  have  me  burnt 
as  a  heretic.  People  furious.  Officers  of 
the  garrison  in  a  fright.  Gave  out  I  had 
throttled  myself.  Priests  satisfied — mob 
quiet.  Had  I  been  but  a  paltry  secreta- 
ry, the  Spaniards  would  have  cared  but 
little  whether  I  lived  or  died."  And  here 
he  glanced  again  at  Master  Francis. 

"  But  sought  they  not  to  treat  with  you 
about  your  ransom  all  this  time  ?"  asked 
Sir  Walter. 

"  Wanted  a  thousand  ducats,"  replied 
the  colonel.  "  Hadn't  a  maravedi.  When 
I  quitted  England  had  left  all  my  dispo- 


292 


SHAKSPEARE  AND   HIS  FRIENDS. 


sable  property  in  the  hands  of  a  citizen 
of  London,  in  great  repute  for  his  honesty 
and  frugality.  Could  write  little  else  save 
my  name.  Hate  writing.  A  soldier  can 
employ  himself  better.  Got  one  of  the 
garrison  to  pen  me  a  letter  to  my  honest 
citizen.  Put  on  it  my  seal  and  signature. 
Forgot  it  had  been  writ  in  Spanish,  of 
which  my  honest  citizen  had  no  knowl- 
edge. Sent  it  by  a  Hollander  trading  to 
London.  No  reply.  Next  got  one  writ 
in  English.  No  reply.  Next  got  the 
captain  of  a  Dutch  merchant  to  call  on 
rny  honest  citizen,  requesting  of  him  to 
send  the  money  for  my  ransom.  Honest 
citizen  swore  he  had  never  heard  of  my 
name.  Wretched  villanous  caitiff!  hath 
got  in  plate,  money,  and  jewels,  some  ten 
thousand  marks  of  mine — besides  my 
deeds  and  papers.  Mean  to  cut  his  wea- 
san  for  him  on  my  return." 

"Nay,  I  would  do  the  knave  no  vio- 
lence," observed  Raleigh.  "  Give  him 
to  justice — the  law  will  right  you,  and 
see  he  hath  fit  punishment.' 

"Let  the  law  go  hang!"  exclaimed 
Colonel  Harquebus.  "What  be  the  use 
of  a  lot  of  scribbling,  prating,  poor  rogues 
of  lawyers,  but  to  set  honest  brave  men 
by  the  ears?  There  be  no  law  like  unto 
the  law  of  the  sword,  and  no  such  law- 
yers as  soldiers  expert  at  their  weapon. 
I  will  cut  off  his  ears  at  least — a  mur- 
rain on  him !  But  he  was  one  of  those 
intolerable  mqnstrous  clerklike  varlets, 
from  whom  no  better  behavior  could  be 
expected :  fellows  that  live  by  penning,  en- 
grossing, and  such  like  villanies.  I  would 
the  world  were  well  quit  of  such — 'twill 
never  be  fit  for  brave  men,  till  all  craft 
of  penmanship  and  monkish  bookishness 
be  driven  out  of  it  at  the  point  of  the 
sword.  Detest  such  vocations.  Can't 
abide  scribblers.  Hate  books." 

"How  kept  you  your  health  during 
your  imprisonment  ?"  asked  Sir  Walter. 

"  Famously  well,"  answered  the  colonel. 
"  I  cared  not  a  jot  how  things  went.  1 
ate  my  bread — drank  my  water — prayed 
to  God  to  confound  my  enemies — and 
went  to  sleep  in  my  dungeon  with  a  safe 
conscience.  Had  I  been  one  of  your  fa- 
mous fine  gallants,  now,  who  must  needs 
dress  themselves  up  in  silk  doublets,  and 
look  as  melancholy  as  a  woman  without 
a  lover,  mayhap  I  should  have  been  all 
the  worse  for  the  treatment  I  had  whilst 
a  prisoner,  but  T  was  of  no  such  trumpery 
sort,  I  promise  you ;  and  the  only  thing 
that  vexed  me  was,  when  I  heard  the 
firing  of  the  great  guns  of  the  castle  and 
the  othei  ordnance  and  learned  for  what 


it  was,  I  could  not  get  to  have  any  share 
of  the  fighting." 

"  I  would  you  had  been  with  us,"  ob- 
served Raleigh,  "  some  of  our  command- 
ers had  wonderful  need  of  your  experi- 
ence. There  hath  been  famous  blunder- 
ing, and  monstrous  loss  of  excellent  great 
profit  to  the  queen  in  consequence." 

"  Alack  !  for  me  not  to  have  been  at 
the  taking  of  Cadiz  is  a  thing  to  grieve 
at  all  my  days,"  replied  the  colonel  in 
some  dejection,  and  then  swallowed  a  cup 
of  wine,  as  if  to  wash  down  his  disap- 
pointment. 

"  I  see  not  why  you  should  so  much 
lament  it,"  observed  Raleigh.  "You 
have  been  at  so  many  important  actions, 
that  methinks  having  no  part  of  one 
only  should  be  of  no  moment  to  you." 

"  But  it  is  of  exceeding  moment  to 
me!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Harquebus  sharp- 
ly. "  To  have  missed  seeing  so  much 
excellent  fine  fighting  is  monstrous  to 
think  of.  'Tis  abominable — intolerable, 
villanous !" 

"  I  must  now  to  the  captain  of  my 
ship,"  said  Sir  Walter,  rising  from  his 
seat.  "  And  to  see  how  go  on  the  wound- 
ed. Master  Francis,  remain  you  here 
till  I  return." 

Master  Francis  had  noted  but  little 
of  the  preceding  conversation,  for  his 
thoughts  had  the  most  of  the  time  been 
engaged  upon  the  melancholy  death  of 
Joanna ;  but  what  he  had  seen  and  heard 
of  his  companion  did  not  make  him  feel 
in  any  sort  of  comfort  when  he  found 
himself  left  alone  with  him.  There  was 
something  so  stern  in  his  look  and  un- 
courteous  in  his  manner  his  heart  felt 
chilled  at  it.  A  silence  for  a  minute  or 
so  ensued  after  Sir  Walter  had  left  them. 
Master  Francis  felt  too  humbled  to  speak, 
and  the  other  appeared  not  inclined  for 
conversing.  The  colonel  seemed  scrutini- 
zing more  severely  than  ever  the  appear- 
ance of  the  young  secretary,  who  was  of 
too  modest  a  disposition  to  find  himself 
so  rudely  stared  at  without  looking  some- 
what confused.  He  imagined  that  his 
companion  might  have  heard  from  some 
one  in  the  ship  what  gross  affront  the 
queen  had  put  upon  him  before  all  her 
court,  and  believing  there  was  sufficien. 
cause  for  it,  was  determined  to  use  him 
despisingly.  Colonel  Harquebus  drank 
off  another  cup  of  wine,  and  seemed  to 
be  in  some  impatience.  He  beat  the 
table  with  his  knuckles — coughed  a  little 
— made  two  or  three  slight  hems  as  if  he 
were  about  to  speak,  and  ever  and  anon 
glanced  frowningly  at  his  companion. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


293 


Master  Francis  wished  that  Sir  Walter 
would  return.  Still  never  a  word  was 
spoke  by  either.  Presently  the  colonel 
rose,  stalked  haughtily  from  ihe  table, 
and  just  as  he  passed  the  other,  he  put  on 
his  face  the  scornfulest  look  he  had  yet 
used,  and  left  the  cabin  muttering  with  a 
most  contemptuous  expression  the  words, 
"  paltry  secretary !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

It  is  a  work  of  charity,  God  knows, 
The  reconcilement  of  two  mortal  foes. 

MlDDLETO>4. 

Hold  my  heart-string*,  whilst  contempt 
Of  injuries,  in  scorn  may  bid  defiance 
To  this  base  man's  foul  language.  FOBD. 

Peace,  damned  enchantress — peace  !   I  should  look 

on  you 

With  eyes  made  red  with  fury ;  and  my  hand, 
That  snakes  with  rage,  should  much   outstrip   my 

tongue, 
And  seal  my  vengeance.  SHAKSPEARE. 

"I  LIKE  it  not,  Master  Bacon,"  observed  j 
my  Lord  Essex,  as  he  flung  himself  into  ! 
a  chair  in  a  spacious  and  well-appointed  ! 
chamber  in  his  own  stately  mansion,  wiih 
a  countenance  that  showed  he  was  chafed 
at  something.  %"I  like  it  not,  I  promise 
you.  Here  the  first  thing  I  find  on.  my 
return  is  this  fellow  Cecil  appointed  sec- 
retary of  state  ;  and  on  my  telling  of  the 
queen  how  little  it  pleased  me,  seeing  I 
had  wished  Sir  Thomas  Bodley  should 
have  the  place,  he  being  much  the  proper- 
er  man,  she  rated  me  soundly  for  ques- 
tioning of  her  appointments,  and  said 
haughtily,  she  would  have  for  her  servants 
such  as  she  liked." 

"I  do  not  see  how  your  interest  can 
suffer  by  this,"  replied  Master  Francis 
Bacon,  looking  up  from  a  huge  volume 
he  had  in  his  lap.  "  Sir  Robert  Cecil 
doubtless  knoweih  what  be  his  best  policy. 
The  man  who  hath  his  fortune  to  make 
beginneth  not  by  setting  of  himself  against 
one  whose  fortune  is  established." 

"Nay,  'tis  not  for  that  I  care, "answer- 
ed my  lord  disdainfully.  "  I  heed  not  a 
rush  any  of  these  Cecils,  busy  as  they 
make  themselves  ;  but  I  looked  to  have 
the  place  for  rny  friend  ;  and  it  vexeth 
me  monstrously  to  find,  after  perilling 
myself  so  often  as  I  have  done — put  my- 
self to  great  charges,  and  borne  with  her 
humors — whilst  I  \vas  fighting  of  her 
battles,  the  queen  should  put  such  a  slight 
on  me  as  to  appoint  this  fellow  to  the 
eegle'1'  -*xg  of  Sir  Thomas  Bfdley,  whose 


fitness  and  worthiness  I  had  earnestly 
spoke  to  her  upon." 

"  I  pray  you  make  the  best  of  it,  my 
lord,"  said  Master  Bacon.  "  Though  Sir 
Thomas  hath  not  been  made  secretary, 
it  was  not  from  lack  of  zeal  in  you  for 
his  advancement :  therefore  have  you 
naught  to  complain  of  yourself.  And 
now  that  Sir  Robert  hath  been  appointed 
to  that  office,  it  must  be  to  little  purpose 
your  seeming  vexed  in  any  way  ;  for  your 
vexation  will  in  no  way  serve  your  friend, 
or  disparage  his  rival.  All  that  can  be 
said  of  it  amounteth  to  this — that  the 
appointment  is  a  disappointment." 

"And  a  miss-appointment,  or  I'm 
hugely  mistaken,"  replied  the  other  in 
some  bitterness. 

"  Then  shall  no  blame  be  attached  to 
you  in  the  appointing,''  added  his  com- 
panion. 

"But  it  be  monstrous  of  the  queen  to 
have  used  me  thus !"  exclaimed  my  Lord 
Essex  sharply,  as  he  left  off  playing  with 
the  gold  buttons  upon  his  green  velvet 
doublet,  and  threw  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  looking  more  discontented  than 
ever.  "  It  seeraeth  that  every  fool  must 
have  influence  with  her  now,  whilst  they 
who  have  perilled  life  and  limb  for  her  are 
to  be  slighted  at  every  turn  of  her  pesti- 
lent humor." 

"My  lord,"  replied  Master  Bacon, 
gazing  upon  the  other  with  exceeding  se- 
riousness. "  It  hath  pleased  you  10  take 
me  to  be  your  friend  and  counsellor — 
more  from  your  infinite  sweet  nobleness 
of  heart  than  from  any  merit  of  mine — 
therefore  must  you  excuse  any  seeming 
over-boldness  in  me  seek  I  the  proper 
performing  of  the  counsellor's  part.  It 
must  be  apparent  on  the  very  slightest 
reflection,  that  her  majesty  hath  been  a 
most  bountiful  mistress  to  you.  Mayhap 
she  hath  some  qualities  of  temper  you 
approve  not  of;  but  where  will  you  find 
any  one  human  creature,  more  particu- 
larly a  woman,  still  more  a  sovereign, 
that  hath  so  happy  a  disposition  naught 
could  be  taken  away  to  better  it  ?  I  know 
not  of  the  queen's  majesty's  ill  qualities 
of  mine  own  knowledge,  but  I  know  of 
her  very  many  princely  virtues ;  and  have 
seen  with  how  singular  admirable  a 
friendliness  she  hath  been  disposed  tow- 
ard you  on  divers  occasions,  to  the 
making  of  you  the  chiefest  in  her  court. 
That  your  marvellous  great  worth,  excel- 
lent valor,  and  very  perfect  discretion, 
deserved  no  less  of  her,  be  true  enough  : 
but  it  speaketh  famous  things  of  her  dis- 
crimination that  she  should  have  found 


294 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


out  your  truly  noble  excellences ;  and 
she  deserveth  the  like  praise  in  prov- 
ing she  knew  how  to  appreciate  them. 
Touching  this  appointment  of  Sir  Robert 
Cecil,  it  must  be  known  unto  you,  the 
queen's  majesty  must  needs  have  a  voice 
in  the  matter.  She  hath  used  it;  her 
will  is  absolute,  and  all  opposition  fruit- 
less. Perchance  Sir  Thomas  Bodley  was 
the  properer  man ;  and  having  recom- 
mended him  as  such,  you  should  recon- 
cile yourself  to  another  being  preferred  in 
his  stead1,  by  remembering  you  have  done 
your  duty  as  a  subject  in  stating  to  your 
sovereign  who  was  the  fittest  person,  and 
fulfilled  all  that  your  friend  could  have 
expected  of  you  by  lauding  and  bringing 
forward  his  qualifications.  The  thing  is 
ended.  Now  you  can  neither  serve  your 
friend  in  the  matter,  nor  yourself  by  ma- 
king any  stir  in  it;  and  if  Sir  Robert  Ce- 
cil hath  any  ill  will  against  you,  or  any 
of  his  family — I  say  not  they  have,  for  I 
should  be  loath  to  attribute  bad  feelings 
to  any  honorable  person — they  would  like 
nothing  so  well  as  seeing  you  setting  of 
yourself  against  the  queen's  pleasure, 
which  they  know  well  enough  can  only 
end  in  your  discomfort,  and  their  further 
profit.  I  pray  you,  pardon  me,  my  lord, 
if,  in  my  earnest  zeal  for  your  welfare,  I 
may  have  seemed  to  put  myself  too  for- 
ward in  saying  what  I  hatve ;  but  no  con- 
sideration i'or  mine  own  interests  would 
allow  me  to  see  you  risking  your  favor 
with  the  queen,  without  giving  you  proper 
caution." 

My  Lord  Essex  had  listened  to  what 
fell  from  Master  Bacon  rather  impatiently 
at  first — looking  haughtily,  pulling  down 
the  sleeves  of  his  doublet,  adjusting  his 
cloak,  and  changing  of  his  position;  but 
toward  the  end  of  it,  he  seemed  better 
satisfied,  and  looked  with  a  more  pleased 
aspect.  The  reasoning  was  too  convin- 
cing to  be  disputed  ;  and  it  was  so  prop- 
erly put  forward,  that  one  even  of  so 
proud  a  nature  as  was  my  Lord  of  Essex, 
and  spoiled  child  of  Fortune  as  he  was, 
could  find  no  offence  in  it. 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  think  no  more  of 
the  matter,"  observed  he,  rising  from  his 
seat  and  proceeding  to  the  window.  "  But 
I  like  not  these  Cecils.  My  lord  treasurer 
seemeth  to  be  ever  opposing  me :  and  I 
would  rather  any  man  than  Sir  Robert 
had  been  made  secretary." 

My  Lord  of  Essex  stood  a  few  minutes 
silently  looking  out  into  the  court-yard, 
and  Master  Bacon  quietly  returned  to  the 
perusing  of  his  book. 

"  Ha !'  exclaimed  the  former,  in  a  note 


of  pleased  surprise,  "  here  conaeth  Ra- 
leigh." At  the  first  hearing  of  this  in- 
telligence Master  Bacon  closed  the  vol- 
ume he  held  and  placed  it  on  the  table 
before  him,  looking  also  in  some  degree 
gratified. 

"I  can  say  naught  of  his  ability  as  a 
commander,"  observed  he,  "  that  not  be- 
ing of  my  province ;  but  a  riper  scholar 
than  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  have  I  rarely 
met  with." 

"  And  a  famous  gallant  commander  is 
he,*' added  my  lord,  "and  I  do  believe  a 
truly  noble  gentleman.  Mayhap  he  hath 
sometimes  presumed  somewhat,  and  took 
on  him  too  much  of  the  oracle,  but  his 
showing  of  the  valiant  spirit  he  did  at  the 
attacking  of  the  Spanish  fleet,  hath  made 
many  by  whom  he  was  hugely  misliked 
for  his  presumption,  to  speak  of  him  more 
worthily  than  they  used." 

Presently,  preceded  by  a  serving-man 
in  a  gorgeous  livery,  to  announce  him, 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  made  his  appearance, 
and  the  reception  he  met  with  was  won- 
derfully cordial. 

"  Master  Bacon,  I  am  heartily  glad  in 
meeting  with  you  again,"  said  Raleigh, 
turning  courteously  to  the  other ;  "  'tis  an 
infinite  pleasure  to  have  an  argument 
with  so  able  an  opponent — nay,  not  a 
pleasure  only,  but  as  great  a  profit;  for 
although  he  who  disputeth  with  one  of 
such  marvellous  learning  and  perfect 
judgment  must  needs  come  off  but  sec- 
ond best,  still  what  he  heareth  of  the 
other  bringeth  such  additions  to  his 
own  knowledge,  that  he  gaineth  by  his 
loss." 

"  That  could  not  be  with  one  who  ar- 
gueth  after  the  fashion  of  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh," answered  Master  Bacon,  "  even 
supposing  it  could  be  with  any  other: 
for  in  the  first  place,  I  have  ever  found 
you  to  have  such  mastery  of  your  subject, 
I  have  felt  at  my  wit's  end  to  answei 
you  with  any  sort  of  discretion ;  and,  in 
the  next  place,  what  you  could  get  from 
my  poor  ability  I  know  not,  seeing  you 
are  a  perfect  Croesus  in  learning,  and  I 
but  a  mere  beggar,  as  it  were,  who 
must  needs  put  in  his  wallet  what  he 
getteth  of  others." 

"  I  would  there  were  a  few  more  such 
beggars,"  observed  Raleigh, with  a  smile  ; 
"  poverty  would  then  be  more  desirable 
than  wealth,  and  they  who  now  bestow 
their  alms  so  sparingly  would  be  forced 
to  seek  alms  for  the  supplying  of  their 
own  wants,  and  be  taught  the  generous 
lesson  they  know  not  how  to  practise. 
But  what  news  have  you,  my  lord  ?"  in- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


295 


quired  Sir  Walter,  suddenly  addressing 
my  lord  of  Essex. 

"Little  of  any  moment,"  replied  he. 
"  The  queen  beffinneth  to  grumble  about 
the  little  profit  she  hath  had  of  her  fifty 
thousand  pounds,  and  hath  rated  me  and 
my  lord  admiral  for  inducing  her,  by  our 
tempting  speech,  to  embark  so  great  a 
sura  in  the  undertaking." 

"  Had  we  taken  the  Indian  fleet,  now 
how  famously  had  we  pleased  her  maj- 
esty," said  Raleigh. 

"But  the  Indian  fleet  having  been 
burned  of  the  Spaniards,  it  standeth  to 
reason  we  could  not  bring  them  away 
with  us,"  replied  Essex,  somewhat  sharp- 
ly, for  he  liked  not  the  subject  to  be  al- 
luded to,  he  having  been  charged  with 
rernissness  in  allowing  of  their  destruc- 
tion. 

"Methir.ks,  under  the  circumstances, 
we  did  the  best  we  could,"  added  Sir 
Waller;  ''and  the  advantages  we  have 
gained  are  neither  few  nor  slight.  We 
have  shown  to  the  world  how  little  we 
care  for  the  power  of  Spain,  for  we  have 
carried  the  war,  as  it  might  be  said,  into 
the  braggart  Philip's  private  chamber, 
and,  with  small  loss  on  our  sides,  anni- 
hilated his  fleet — prevented  him  from 
sending  any  supplies  to  Mexico  for  this 
season  at  least — took  from  him  the  power 
of  injuring  our  commerce  for  some  time 
to  come,  and — beside  the  two  galleons 
and  much  other  profit  we  deprived  him 
of — took  by  assault  one  of  the  chiefest 
and  strongest  of  his  cities.'' 

"  I  would  we  had  kept  it,  as  I  wished," 
answered  my  lord.  "  Could  we  have  got 
victual  from  Morocco,  or  elsewhere,  in 
sufficiency  for  our  force,  I  doubt  not  we 
would  have  held  Cadiz  till  Philip  had 
offered  us  Calais  in  exchange." 

"  Ffaith  that  would  have  been  to  us 
the  greatest  advantage  of  the  two,"  said 
Raleigh,  "  seeing  that  it  be  so  much 
more  commodious  ;  and  having  been  in 
our 'possession  for  so  long  a  time,  and 
then  lost,  the  regaining  of  it  would  have 
been  exceeding  satisfactory  to  the  queen 
and  all  her  loving  subjects.  But  let  us 
be  content  with  what  we  have  done. 
Methinks  it  deserveth  to  be  considered  a 
glorious  triumph." 

"And  so  it  doth,  out  of  all  doubt,"  re- 
plied Essex  ;  "  but  some  are  never  satis- 
fied, do  what  you  would.  There  hath 
application  been  made  to  my  lord  treas- 
urer for  the  payment  of  the  soldiers  and 
marines,  which  hath  caused  all  this  dis- 
satisfaction of  the  queen  concerning  of 
the  expending  of  her  fifty  thousand 


pounds  ;  and  she  declareth  the  men  have 
been  well  paid  by  what  they  .gained  in 
the  sacking  of  the  city." 

"  Mayhap  some  of  them,"  observed  Sir 
Walter,  "did  then  and  there  get  such 
handsome  wages  as  might  have  justified 
my  lord  treasurer — in  his  own  eyes,  doubt- 
less— of  refusing  further  payment.  At 
least  there  lieth  a  consolation  for  us,  let 
ray  Lord  Burghley  be  as  little  satisfied  as 
he  may,  in  knowing  with  what  extreme 
satisfaction  the  whole  realm  regardeth 
the  issue  of  our  expedition." 

"  Indeed,  it  seemeth  to  me  so,"  said 
Master  Bacon.  "  Every  one  talketh  of  it. 
Even  in  the  courts,  when  I  go  to  hear 
some  knotty  question  decided,  1  find  the 
young  lawyers  are  as  full  of  galleons  and 
argosies  as  ever  was  any  port  in  the  king 
of  Spain's  dominions  ;  and  question  I  any 
how  speedeth  the  plaintiff  in  his  action, 
they  will  answer  me,  he  took  fire  and 
blew  up  with  a  monstrous  thundering  re- 
port, and  did  terrible  damage  by  dis- 
charging of  his  heavy  ordnance." 

The  two  commanders  laughed  heartily 
at  this  conceit,  and  it  appeared  to  have 
put  my  lord  of  Essex  in  entire  good  hu- 
mor, lor  he  began  conversing  cheerfully 
on  the  matter  with  both  of  his  compan- 
ions. 

"  I  would  fain  have  your  company  to 
dinner  with  me,  my  lord,"  observed  Sir 
Walter  to  Essex,  as  they  stood  jesting 
and  laughing  together  at  the  window. 
"  Durham  house  would  gladly  open  its 
gates  for  your  entertainment." 

"And  I  would  as  gladly  enter  them," 
replied  my  lord,  in  the  like  courteous 
spirit.  "  I  doubt  not  of  meeting  a  right 
hospitable  reception;  and  I  know  not 
where  I  would  sooner  go  in  the  expecta- 
tion of  being  honestly  entertained." 

"  0'  my  life,  my  good  lord,  you  do  me 
but  justice,"  said  Raleigh,  earnestly.  "  I 
lack  not  sufficiency  of  good  will  in  the 
matter,  believe  me ;  and  therefore  shall 
I  be  the  more  inclined  to  give  you  good 
cheer,  that  it  may  induce  you  to  honor 
my  poor  dwelling  with  your  company 
as  often  as  your  convenience  will  allow." 

"  You  shall  not  find  me  backward,  I 
promise  you,"  answered  Essex.  "  I  will 
;aste  of  your  cheer  this  day,  if  it  please 
fou,  Sir  Walter,  for  a  beginning,  and  af- 
er,  whenever  you  may  be  in  the  humor." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  lord — I  desire  no 
jetter  good  fortune,"  observed  Sir  Wal- 
ter. "But  there  is  a  certain  friend  of 
mine  I  much  wish  you  to  meet  at  my 
house  to-day,  who  hath  had  the  ill  hap  to 
offend  you,  in  a  matter  whereof  he  pro- 


296 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


testeth  bis  entire  ignorance;  and  I  have 
set  my  heart  upon  reconciling  you  to 
him." 

"  Then  should  I  be  loath  to  disappoint 
you,"  replied  my  lord.  "  If  the  gentleman 
hath  done  me  no  great  offence — no  wrong 
to  mine  honor — naught  impossible  for  me 
to  hush  up — and  professeth  that  he  hath 
offended  me  in  ignorance,  consider  your 
desire  accomplished." 

"  It  delighteth  me  infinitely  to  hear 
you  say  so,"  said  Sir  Walter.  "And 
well  convinced  am  I,  Sir  Robert  Cecil 
will  be  as  much  gratified  as  am  I,  at 
hearing  of  your  readiness  to  live  with  him 
on  terms  of  greater  friendship  than  you 
have  of  late." 

"  Nay,  I  will  have  none  of  him,"  cried 
the  haughty  noble,  as  soon  as  he  ascer- 
tained he  was  to  meet  the  new  secretary  ; 
and  turned  away. 

"But,  my  good  lord5' 

"  He  hath  an  exceeding  meddlesome 
disposition,  Sir  Walter, — a  most  pestilent 
busy  nature,  and  is  ever  thrusting  of  him- 
self where  he  should  not." 

"He  hath  stated  to  me  that  this  ap- 
pointment was  forced  on  him  by  the 
queen,"  observed  Raleigh.  "  And  more- 
over declareth,  that  had  he  known  at  the 
time  you  were  seeking  of  it  for  your 
friend,  he  would  have  been  eager  to  ex- 
cuse himself,  and  recommend  Sir  Thomas 
Bodley's  greater  fitness." 

"  He  putteth  himself  ever  against  me 
in  whatsoever  I  would  undertake,"  con- 
tinued my  Lord  Essex,  still  looking 
gloomy  and  dissatisfied.  "  These  Cecils 
be  ever  at  it." 

"  He  hath  sworn  to  me,  in  as  moving 
terms  as  ever  I  heard,  he  was  your  very 
true  friend  and  servant,"  added  Raleigh. 
"  And  vowed  there  was  no  man  living 
for  whom  he  would  sooner  do  a  service, 
was  it  within  the  compass  of  his  ability." 

"  I  want  not  his  services,"  said  my 
lord,  haughtily.  "I  doubt  not  I  could 
serve  myself,  at  a  pinch." 

"He  who  serveth  himself,  rarely  com- 
plains of  a  hard  master,"  observed  Mas- 
ter Bacon,  in  a  manner  somewhat  between 
seriousness  and  jesting.  "Yet,  however 
well  qualified  some  may  be  to  do  without 
assistance,  there  is  generally  a  time  when 
they  shall  be  glad  enough  to  have  anoth- 
er's aid.  A  man  prideth  himself  on  the 
excellence  of  his  legs — he  could  walk 
through  the  world  upon  them — by-and- 
by  he  shall  be  forced  to  take  a  stick  or  a 
crutch  to  help  him  to  his  neighbor.  I  say 
not,  my  lord,  there  can  "be  a  likelihood 
of  your  requiring  any  such  propping,  save 


as  regardeth  the  natural  decay  of  strength; 
which  is  common  to  all  men ;  neverthe- 
less, when,  in  a  spirit  of  friendliness,  any 
help  may  be  offered,  methinks  the  policy 
can  not  but  be  bad  which,  by  a  churlish 
and  discourteous  refusal,  because  it  is 
not  needed  at  the  time,  preventeth  its 
coming  to  you,  should  you  afterward  sink 
into  any  extremity." 

"  Trouble  me  no  more  about  it,  Master 
Bacon — I  like  not  these  Cecils,"  answered 
my  lord  of  Essex,  though  not  so  haught- 
ily as  before.  "  They  are  ever  professing 
of  themselves  my  true  friends,  yet  find  I 
them  every  day  striving  to  thwart  me  in 
some  way  or  other." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  good  lord,  seem  I  too 
earnest  in  this!"  exclaimed  Sir  Waller. 
"I  pray  you,  remember,  that  both  of  you 
being  much  in  her  majesty's  confidence, 
and  engaged  in  the  duties  of  the  state,  it 
is  absolutely  necessary  there  be  no  differ- 
ences or  dislikes  betwixt  you ;  else  must 
the  queen  suffer  for  it  to  some  extent — for 
no  government  can  act  with  efficiency 
when  the  members  of  it  are  at  variance 
with  each  other  ;  because  one  being  ever 
ready  to  oppose  the  other,  nothing  can  be 
accomplished  by  either." 

"  A  government  can  not  stand  long 
under  such  circumstances,"  observed 
Master  Bacon,  finding  my  Lord  Essex 
made  no  reply  to  what  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh had  stated.  "You  two  stand  in 
the  state  as  are  the  arms  to  the  body — if 
each  pull  contrary  ways,  there  existeth  a 
great  chance  you  neutralize  your  own 
strength,  or  tear  in  two  that  which  you 
pull  at;  but  pull  you  together  bravely, 
your  united  force  shall  move  whatever 
you  have  a  mind." 

"That  seemeth  plain  enough,"  said 
my  Lord  Essex,  "  and  I  should  not  like 
the  queen's  government  should  suffer  by 
my  dislike  of  any  one.  In  honest  truth, 
Sir  Walter,  I  bear  him  no  malice." 

"That  will  I  readily  believe,  my  good 
lord,"  replied  Raleigh,  as  if  spying  his 
advantage  and  anxious  to  follow  it  up. 
"  1  have  seen  such  signs  of  a  princely 
disposition  in  you,  that  I  can  not  imagine 
a  mere  feeling  of  prejudice  against  Mas- 
ter Secretary,  should  lead  you  into  allow- 
ing the  realm  to  be  ill  governed." 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  I  would  not,  Sir 
Walter  !"  cried  my  lord. 

"  I  will  answer  for  him  in  that,"  ob 
served  Master  Bacon.  "  So  far  from  his 
bearing  malice,  I  have  known  him,  out 
of  his  gracious  and  admirable  magna- 
nimity, give  up  a  just  resentment  for  the 
better  furthering  of  the  queen's  interest. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


297 


"That  was  noble  of  him,"  answered 
Raleigh,  with  extreme  earnestness.  "In- 
deed, 'tis  a  most  convincing  sign  of  a 
truly  great  ana  gallant  nature." 

"  It.  scarcely  deserveth  mention,"  said, 
my  Lord  Essex,  looking  to  be  in  a  much 
better  humor.  "  By  this  hand,  I  would 
do  such  any  day." 

"I  doubt  it  not,  my  good  lord, "replied 
Sir  Walter.  "And"  if  you  knew  wiih 
what  deepness  I  have  this  reconciliation 
at  heart,  knowing  how  much  her  maj- 
esty may  be  benefited  by  it,  I  am  certain, 
from  all  I  have  seen  and  heard  of  your 
bountiful  sweet  virtues,  you  would  put 
aside  whatever  unkind  feeling  you  enter- 
tain against  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  as  some- 
thing your  noble  nature  disdaineth,  and 
come  with  me  to  meet  him  at  my  house, 
without  another  word  said." 

"As  you  will,  Sir  Walter,"  answered 
my  Lord  Essex,  very  courteously,  "  I  am 
ready  now.  If  it  please  you,  we  will  go 
this  very  minute." 

Leaving  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  my 
Lord  Essex  to  proceed  to  Durham  house, 
I  must  request  of  the  courteous  reader, 
that  he  follow  me  with  Master  Francis, 
•who  was  leaving  the  lodging  of  his  true 
friend  Master  Shakspeare,  at  the  Bank- 
side,  and  was  making  for  his  uncle's 
dwelling  in  St.  Mary  Axe.  The  truth 
was,  the  behavior  of  Colonel  Harquebus 
had  become  so  unpleasant  to  the  young 
secretary,  that  it  made  his  life  perfectly 
miserable.  He  would  have  taken  the 
advice  of  his  true  friend  Harry  Daring, 
and  challenged  the  colonel  for  the  indig- 
nities he  was  continually  putting  on  him, 
but  imagining  that  that  officer  knew  of 
the  queen's  behavior  to  him,  which  was 
ever  in  his  mind,  and  believing  he  would 
treat  wi;h  scorn  and  contempt  any  pro- 
ceeding of  the  kind  from  one  of  such 
obscure  origin,  Master  Francis  shrunk 
from  drawing  upon  himself  greater  con- 
tumely than  he  received,  which  seemed 
like  enough  to  come  to  pass,  were  he  to 
attempt  calling  his  insulter  to  account  for 
his  conduct.  Another  reason  weighed 
greatly  with  him.  Colonel  Harquebus 
was  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  particular  friend 
and  companion  in  arms ;  and  the  kindness 
Master  Francis  had  received  from  his 
patron  made  him  feel  exceeding  delicate 
about  quarrelling  with  one  for  whom  he 
ever  expressed  great  admiration  and  at- 
tachment. His  position  becoming  so 
peculiarly  uncomfortable,  because  the 
colonel  had  taken  up  his  residence  with 
Sir  Walter,  and  had  constant  opportuni- 
ties for  affronting  him,  whereof  he  let 


none  escape,  made  him  more  anxious 
than  ever  to  know  something  certain  of 
his  birth.  Upon  acquainting  Master 
Shakspeare  with  all  that  had  transpired 
since  they  last  met,  the  latter  had  advised 
him  to  go  alone  to  his  kinsman  who,  it 
was  thought  by  both,  knew  more  of  the 
matter  than  he  chose  to  tell)  and  offer 
such  a  sum  of  money  for  his  giving  up 
the  secret  as  would  be  sufficient  to  tempt 
his  avaricious  disposition  ;  and  upon  this 
counsel  Master  Francis  was  now  acting. 

He  had  stepped  out  of  a  pair  of  oars 
on  to  the  Blackfriars'  side  of  the  river,  and 
was  going  on  his  way,  lost  in  his  own 
melancholy  meditations,  when  he  was 
roused  from  his  revery  by  hearing  him- 
self accosted  in  a  loud  pedantic  voice  in 
the  following  words : — 

"  Behold  rne  here,  divine  Zenocrate, 
Raving,  impatient,  desperate,  and  mad, 
Breaking  my  steeled  lance,  with  which  1  burst 
The  rusty  beams  of  Janus'  temple  doors, 
Letting  out  Death  and  tyrannizing  war, 
To  march  with  me  under  this  bloody  flag." 

Master  Francis  saw  before  him  a  man 
with  an  exceeding  dirty  face  and  ragged 
apparel — the  perfectestspecimen  of  a  vag- 
abond he  had  met  with  a  long  time — hav- 
ing his  right  arm  stretched  out,  holding, 
what  seemed  to  the  young  secretary,  to  be 
a  rolling-pin,  the  other  arm  being  akimbo, 
but  occasionally  changing  its  position  to 
wave  a  cabbage-leaf,  which  he  did  with 
a  look  of  the  heroic  cast  so  ludicrous, 
that  serious  as  was  Master  Francis's  hu- 
mor at  the  moment,  he  could  not  help 
smiling.  It  was  some  few  minutes  before 
he  recognised  in  this  odd  compound  of 
dirt  and  drollery,  his  old  acquaintance 
Ralph  Goshawk,  the  young  haberdasher 
of  the  Strand;  and  believing,  from  the 
neglectedness  of  his  appearance,  he  was 
in  great  poverty,  he  questioned  him  upon 
the  matter.  With  considerable  difficulty, 
the  young  secretary  understood  from  the 
other's  blank  verse  and  tragedy  manner, 
that  play-going  had  been  his  ruin.  His 
customers  liked  not  being  addressed  in 
ends  of  plays,  and  all  by  degrees  left  him 
to  have  their  wants  looked  after  by  haber- 
dashers more  attentive  to  their  business. 
Want  followed — from  bad  he  fell  to 
worse  ;  and  now  lived  as  he  could,  which 
was  as  vagrant  a  life  as  ever  was  known 
— but  so  powerful  was  his  passion  for  the 
seeing  of  plays,  that  got  he  a  penny  or 
two-pence  of  any  one,  he  would  be  off 
on  the  instant  to  one  of  the  cheapest  play- 
houses, though  he  wanted  food  ever  so. 
Master  Francis  bestowed  on  him  a  hand- 
some sum,  telling  Ralph  to  put  himself 


293 


SHAKSPEAEE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


in  a  better  doublet,  and  when  he  wanted 
greater  assistance,  to  seek  for  him  at 
Durham  house.  The  play-mad  haber- 
dasher first  gazed  with  a  famous  wonder 
in  his  look,  at  the  money,  the  which  he 
presently  put  in  a  place  of  security ;  then 
turning  out  his  toes,  whereof  the  better 
part  had  already  turned  out  of  the  shoes 
which  should  have  covered  them,  and 
placing  himself  in  his  favorite  position— 
in  a  monstrous  melancholy  visage,  at  first 
fixing  his  glance  on  the  person  he  ad- 
dressed, and  afterward  on  the  heavens 
above  him,  he  spoke  these  lines  very 
movingly : — 

"  Durst  I  presume  to  look  upon  those  eyes, 
Which  I  have  tired  with  a  world  of  woes, 
Or  did  I  think  submission  were  enough, 
Or  sighs  might  make  an  entrance  to  my  soul, 
Yon  heavens  !   you  know  how  willing  I  would 

weep, 

Yon  heavens  can  tell  how  glad  1  would  submit, 
Yon  heavens  can  say  how  firmly  1  would  sigh  !" 

At  the  concluding  of  the  last  line,  and 
before  Master  Francis  had  the  slightest 
expectation  of  such  a  thing,  Ralph  Gos- 
hawk threw  his  arms  around  the  neck 
of  his  benefactor,  embracing  him  with 
an  abundance  of  most  heart-moving 
sighs ;  and  then  stalked  away,  patheti- 
cally wiping  of  his  eyes  with  the  cabbage- 
leaf. 

Master  Francis  had  scarce  parted  with 
him  when  he  was  accosted  by  an  old 
woman  in  a  dark  cloak,  whose  sallow 
and  wrinkled  physiognomy  and  queru- 
lous voice  he  easily  recognised  as  those 
belonging  to  Dame  Margery. 

"  Odds  pittikins,  how  you  be  changed !" 
exclaimed  the  old  gossip  with  a  look 'of 
prodigious  wonder.  "  Marry,  were  not 
your  countenance  so  familiar  to  me,  I 
doubt  hugely  I  should  have  known  you. 
By  my  troth,  you  must  needs  have  made 
your  fortune ! — and  who  deserveth  it  so 
well,  I  should  like  to  know!  Indeed, 
never  saw  I  a  more  comely  and  gallant 
gentleman — and  never  knew  1  one  of  so 
bountiful  a  heart  when  he  had  where- 
withal to  give,  and  an  old  acquaintance 
who  requireth  it  as  badly  as  do  I,  nigh 
at  hand,  to  thank  him  for  his  largess." 

Master  Francis  would  gladly  have 
avoided  the  old  dame,  for  she  awakened 
in  his  mind  associations  of  an  exceeding 
unhappy  character.  He  brought  out  his 
purse  to  bestow  a  liberal  gift,  that  he 
might  the  sooner  get  rid  of  her. 

"  Oh,  Master  Francis,  we  have  had 
such  monstrous  doings  since  you  left  us," 
cried  Dame  Margery,  glancing  wistfully 
at  the  well-filled  purse.  "  Master  Sars- 


net  be  running  as  fast  as  he  can  to  the 
devil  as  I  would  away  from  him — he  is* 
ever  in  his  cups,  and  his  business  be  go- 
ing to  rack  and  ruin,  whilst  he  giveth 
himself  to  riotous  ill-living.  I  served 
him  faithfully  for  many  a  long  year,  but 
latterly  he  got  to  be  so  profligate  in  his 
courses,  that  my  virtue  could  abide  it  no 
longer."  Master  Francis  had  got  a  piece 
of  gold  in  his  hand,  at  the  sight  of  which, 
the  old  woman  looked  to  be  quite  in  a 
fidget  to  be  fingering  of  it. 

"By  my  troth,  you  have  had  a  narrow 
escape,"  continued  she,  rubbing  her 
thumb  and  forefinger  together,  and  star- 
ing at  the  gold  as  if  she  could  not  take 
her  eyes  away.  "  A  narrow  escape,  in- 
deed. For  of  all  shameless  horrible 
wantons  that  breathe,  that  Joanna  was 
the  worst.  Her  infamy  exceeded  descrip- 
tion. Master  Francis !  Master  Francis  !" 
bawled  out  Dame  Margery  upon  finding 
him  of  a  sudden  move  away  from  her  as 
hastily  as  he  could,  without  giving  her 
the  piece  of  gold  her  mouth  had  been 
watering  at  so  long ;  but  the  slanderous 
old  gossip  bawled  to  no  purpose.  Master 
Francis  quickly  placed  himself  out  of 
sight  and  hearing,  leaving  her  in  such  a 
complete  vexation  and  disappointment 
she  had  never  known  since  her  worthless 
existence  commenced. 

Upon  Master  Francis  reaching  his 
uncle's  he  knocked  for  admittance,  and 
after  some  little  delay,  to  his  extreme 
surprise,  knowing  his  uncle  kept  no  at- 
tendant, the  door  was  opened  by  a  stout 
varlet  with  a  monstrous  searching  look 
with  him,  that  the  young  secretary  re- 
membered at  a  glance  to  be  the  very 
watch  that  had  sought  to  take  Master 
Shakspeare  and  himself  to  the  compter, 
but  noticing  the  gallant  young  gentle- 
man who  wanted  entrance,  Neighbor 
Sheepface  fell  back  respectfully  to  give 
him  way. 

"  They  be  all  up  stairs,  an  it  please 
you,  noble  sir,"  said  the  man.  Master 
Francis  entered,  puzzled  to  know  who 
could  be  up  stairs,  and  why  Neighbor 
Sheepface  was  there.  On  coming  into 
the  office  he  observed  Barnaby  Braddle 
with  as  red  a  nose  and  as  punchy  a  body 
as  ever,  sitting  upon  the  very  same  stool 
whereon  he  had  so  oft  sat  himself  when 
attending  to  his  kinsman's  business,  with 
a  right  famous  knowing  aspect,  laying 
down  the  law  to  some  brother-constables ; 
and  they  were  so  intent  upon  what  they 
heard,  that  they  noticed  not  the  entrance 
of  Master  Francis. 

"  You  see,  my  masters,"  observed  Bar- 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


299 


naby  Braddle,  pressing  the  forefinger  of 
his  right  hand  into  the  palm  of  the  other. 
"  This  can  be  no  other  than  flat  burglary"." 

"  No  doubt  on't,  Master  Constable/' 
cried  one  into  his  ear. 

"  Which — so  runneth  the  law — be  an 
offence  so  heinous  the  malefactor  can  not 
help  being  hanged  for't." 

"  The  caitiff  deserveth  no  better,"  ad- 
ded another,  in  as  loud  a  voice. 

"  Now — mark  you  this,  my  masters — 
cutting  a  purse  be  one  thing,  and  burglary 
be  another  thing ;  therefore  cutting  a 
purse  be  not  burglary." 

"  There  be  no  denying  that,  Master 
Constable,"  exclaimed  a  third. 

"  Again — forgery  be  one  thing — and 
burglary  be  another  thing :  yet  forgery  be 
not  burglary." 

"  Indeed,  no — I  thought  as  much,"  said 
the  first,  very  gravely. 

"  And  murder  be  one  thing,  and  treason 
be  one  thing,  and  rebellion  be  one  thing; 
and  burglary  be  another  thing.  Yet,  as 
it  hath  been  judged  by  the  law,  burglary  be 
neither  murder,  nor  treason,  nor  rebellion." 

"  You  have  laid  it  down  like  a  coun- 
sellor, Neighbor  Braddle,"  observed  the 
second. 

"But  what  be  burglary,  Master  Con- 
s'able?"  inquired  the  third,  with  exceed- 
ing earnestness. 

"There  .be  divers  kinds  of  burglary, 
Neighbor  Calfskin,"  answered  the  other, 
putting  so  profound  a  gravity  on  his  fool- 
ish fat  face,  it  was  laughable  to  notice  it. 
"  To  wit — burglary  with  intent  to  kill, 
and  burglary  wiih  intent  to  rob.  Now, 
burglary  with  intent  to  kill,  is  when  a 
man  is"  felo-de-se ;  and  burglary  with 
intent  to  rob,  is  when  he  becometh  a 
malefactor." 

"  Never  heard  I  a  thing  more  scholarly 
stated  !"  cried  Neighbor  Calfskin. 

"I  would  I  had  so  studied  the  law," 
exclaimed  another:  and  every  one  ex- 
pressed his  admiration  of  Master  Consta- 
ble's marvellous  fine  wisdom  ;  and  did 
regret  he  possessed  not  similar  advan- 
tages. Master  Francis  left  these  un- 
noticed, and  proceeded  up  stairs;  but  had 
not  gone  far  when  he  was  stopped  in  his 
progress  by  hearing  the  voice  of  Colonel 
Harquebus,  very  loud  and  sharp,  and 
seeming  to  be  in  a  great  anger. 

"  Out  with  it  all  !"  exclaimed  he, 
»•  Make  speed,  for  the  constables  are  at 
hand.  The  money — the  plate — the  jew- 
els— the  title-deeds  !  Disgorge  thy  spoil 
to  the  utmost  farthing,  or  I  will  have  thy 
viilanous  old  carcase  hanged  on  the  high- 
est gallows  that  can  be  built." 


"  Good  sweet  colonel !  be  not  su  hasty, 

I  pray   you,"  cried    the  shrill  voice  of 

Gregory    Vellum,   imploringly.      "  You 

shall  have  whatever  I  possess  of  yours. 

I  0'  my  life,  I  meant  not  to  deprive  you  of 

|  aught." 

"  Thou  liest,  for  a  knave,"  shouted  the 
other — "  a  viilanous  scribbling  knave  ! — 
a  parchment  rascal !  Didst  not  tell  my 
messenger  whom  I  sent  tothee  for  money 
for  my  ransom,  thou  hadst  never  heard 
of  my  name  ?" 

"  Nay,  sweet  colonel,  he  hath  belied 
me,  said  he  so,"  replied  the  scrivener 
tremulously.  "  Truly,  your  name  be  a 
most  honorable  name — a  name  in  famous 
excellent  repute — a  name  I  have  ever 
held  in  most  especial  reverence  and  af- 
fection." 

"  Away  with  thee !"  cried  his  com- 
panion. "  I  will  be  dallied  with  no  long- 
er. The  constables  are  in  reserve.  They 
shall  lodge  thee  in  the  compter.  'Tis  fit 
such  a  caitiff  should  be  hanged." 

"  Alack,  be  not  so  severe  with  me,  no- 
ble colonel,"  exclaimed  the  old  miser  in 
wonderful  piteous  accents.  "It  be  no 
fault  of  mine  that  thieves  broke  into  my 
dwelling,  and  despoiled  me  of  the  chiefest 
part  of  your  property." 

"  Thou  liest  again  !"  shouted  the  colo- 
nel, seemingly  more  enraged  than  ever. 
"  They  took  from  thee  nothing.  They 
destroyed  each  other  whilst  squabbling 
upon  the  division  of  their  booty.  Wilt 
deliver  up  my  chattels?  Wilt  refund? 
Wilt  disgorge  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  meant  not  to  say  they  took 
everything,"  replied  Gregory  Vellum,  his 
voice  faltering  more  as  the  other's  grew 
the  louder.  "It  was  a  mistake.  Francis 
knew  they  took  nothing.  A  good  youth  ! 
an  admirable  sweet  youth !  I  have  been 
more  than  a  father  to  him." 

"  My  money  !  my  plate  !  my  jew- 
els !  my  papers!"  thundered  out  the  col- 
onel. 

"You — you — you  shall  have  them, 
noble  colonel,"  cried  the  scrivener  more 
tremulously  than  ever.  "They  shall  be 
safely  restored  to  you  anon.  But  there 
be  certain  charges,  good  sweet  colonel 
— amounting  mayhap  to  a  matter  of  two 
hundred  crowns  or  so,  for  my  infinite 
pains,  and  labor,  and  honest  steward- 
:  ship" 

"  Honest!"  shouted  his  companion  sar- 
castically. "Didst  say  honest?  Honest 
stewardship? — honest  devilship  !  Dost 
not  blush  at  using  such  a  word  ?  Art 
;  not  ashamed  of  thy  villany  ?  Why  thou 
:  abominable,  cheating,  pitiful  old  rogue  ! 


300 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Dost  think  I  am  ignorant  of  how  thou 
hast  misused  the  confidence  I  reposed  in 
thee?  Dost  think  I  know  not  to  what 
extent  ihou  hast  strove  to  dishonor  the 
dead,  and  rob  the  living  ?  All  thy  tricks 
are  familiar  to  me  !  I  have  made  inquiry, 
and  discovered  thee  to  be  the  horrible 
villain  thou  art.  By  this  sword,  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  hew  thee  in  pieces — but 
thou  art  only  fit  to  be  hanged  like  a  man- 
gy cur.  Here,  Master  Constable  !"  cried 
he  in  a  louder  voice,  "  take  me  this  caitiff 
to  prison." 

"Say  not  so,  good  colonel,  I  pray 
you !"  exclaimed  the  miser  in  marvellou^ 
moving  accents.  "  All  your  property  lieth 
secure  in  yonder  chest."  And  then  the 
old  miser  began  wringing  of  his  hands, 
and  crying  out  in  a  wonderful  pitiful 
voice,  "  Alack  !  Alack !  I  am  ruined  !  I 
am  ruined  !" 

At  this  moment  entered  Master  Fran- 
cis, who  had  till  now  hesitated  whether 
he  should  come  up  or  turn  back,  and  he 
beheld  Gregory  Vellum  sinking  into  a 
chair,  trembling  like  an  aspen,  whilst 
Colonel  Harquebus  was  giving  directions 
to  certain  of  Sir  Walter's  serving-men  to 
take  away  a  chest,  the  young  secretary 
remembered  was  the  one  wherein  his 
uncle  had  put  such  store  of  treasure. 

"Francis!  Francis!" cried  the  old  man 
very  movingly,  as  soon  as  he  noticed  the 
entrance  of  his  nephew,  and  was  making 

toward  him  —  "Sweet — excellent" 

What  more  he  would  have  said  I  know 
not,  but  his  utterance  was  at  that  mo- 
ment completely  stopped  upon  finding 
himself  swung  to  the  other  end  of  the 
chamber. 

"  Breathest  thou  another  word  to  that 
fellow,  I  will  kill  thee  on  the  spot !"  ex- 
claimed the  colonel  with  a  fierce  look, 
as  he  drew  his  dagger  out  of  its  sheath, 
the  sight  whereof  appeared  to  have  ta- 
ken the  miser's  breath  away  :  then  turn- 
ing to  Master  Francis,  who  looked  as  if 
he  marvelled  exceedingly  to  see  what  he 
did,  added  somewhat  contemptuously, 
"  See'st  thou  not,  sirrah !  we  are  on  pri- 
vate business?  Hast  forgot  thy  man- 
ners? We  want  no  intruders.  Prythee 
get  thee  gone !"  Master  Francis  made 
a  hurried  apology,  in  the  midst  of  which 
the  colonel  turneid  on  his  heel,  muttering 
the  words  "paltry  secretary!"  Master 
Francis  involuntarily  put  his  hand  to 
his  rapier,  but  in  the  same  moment  re- 
membering what  obligations  he  owed 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  he  forbore  taking 
notice  of  the  affront ;  and  with  a  courte- 
ous bow,  yet  with  a  dreadful  aching 


heart,  he  left  the  room,  and  as  quickly 
as  possible  the  house. 

"Ah  me!"  thought  Master  Francis,  as 
he  hastened  dejectedly  along  the  street, 
"  this  Colonel  Harquebus  putteth  my  pa- 
tience to  sore  trials!  I  would  he  were 
far  away  from  me.  I  fear  me  I  can  not 
abide  these  indignities  much  longer:  but 
if  I  could  get  Jo  know  my  parentage 
be  honest,  and  I  come  of  a  creditable 
family,  I  could  bear  them  without  their 
moving  me  a  jot.  I  will  to  my  uncle's 
as  soon  as  I  may,  and  I  doubt  not,  with 
proper  temptation,  now  his  dishonesty  is 
found  out,  I  shall  get  the  secret  from 
him."  It  so  happened  Master  Francis 
never  could  get  an  opportunity  to  go  to 
St.  Mary  Axe,  he  was  kept  in  such  con- 
slant  employ  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  on 
matters  that  would  stand  no  delay ;  and 
in  a  few  days  he  was  suddenly  obliged  to 
start  for  Sherborne. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
\ 

To  make  some  sire  acknowledge  his  lost  ton, 
Found  when  the  weary  act  is  almost  done. 

RETURN  FROM  PARNASSUS 

Ho-v  now  ? 

Even  as  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague, 
Methinks  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections,  > 

With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.  SHAKSTEASE. 

Where  did  I  leave  ?  No  matter  where,  quoth  he, 
Leave  me  ;— and  then  the  story  aptly  ends. 

IBID. 

"  HEIGHO  !"  exclaimed  Alice,  as  she 
sat  at  work  with  her  cousin  in  her  tiring 
room  at  Sherborne. 

"What  aileth  thee,  coz  ?"  inquired 
Dame  Elizabeth, "  it  be  something  strange 
to  hear  thee  sigh ;  yet  of  late  'tis  a  fash- 
ion thou  hast  taken  to  marvellously. 

"  What  I  ?"  asked  the  other,  in  a 
seeming  monstrous  surprise.  "What  I 
sigh  ?  Nay,  Bess,  that  must  be  clean  im- 
possible. I'd  be  hanged  if  I'd  sigh."  And 
the  merry  Alice  commenced  very  briskly 
humming  of  a  tune,  as  if  to  show  how 
careless  of  heart  she  was. 

"  Nay,  but  I  have  noticed  thee  to  be  in 
a  most  sighing  humor  of  late,"  continued 
her  kinswoman,  "and  thou  hast  looked 
melancholy  —  hast  ceased  to  be  ever 
breaking  of  jests — and  art  monstrously 
given  to  solitary  walks.  Thou  art  the 
last  person  I  should  suspect  of  unreason- 
able sadness,  and  that  thou  art  sad  in  re- 
ality I  feel  assured.  Prythee  tell  me  why 
thou  art  sao,  Alice  ?" 

"  I  tell  thee  I  am  not  sad,  coz,"  replied 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


301 


the  other,  attempting  to  laugh  at  theidea 
of  such  a  thing.  "  Tis  an  excellent  good 
jest  indeed  to  say  I  be  given  to  sadness, 
and  melnncholy  and  solitary  walks  for- 
sooth !  By  my  troth,  an  infinite  fine  jest ! 
Why,  there  can  not  be  so  merry  a  cricket 
in  the  whole^  realm,"  and  then  she  hum- 
med her  tune  louder  than  before. 

"  If  thou  art  sad,  it  is  not  kind  of  thee 
to  keep  the  cause  of  it  from  me,  dear  Al- 
ice," observed  her  companion  affection- 
ately. "  Methinks  too  'tis  somewhat 
strange  thou  shouldst  be  sad  at  all  at 
such  a  time  as  this — now  that  I  am  so 
exceeding  happy."  It  may  here  be  men- 
tioned that  Sir  Walter  having  reconciled 
to  each  other  my  lord  of  Essex  and  Sir 
Robert  Cecil,  and  for  his  right  gallant 
behavior  at  the  taking  of  Cadiz,  was 
called  to  court  at  the  queen's  express 
command,  and  had  been  restored  to  all 
his  dignities  and  his  place  in  the  queen's 
favor.  "  I  marvel  thou  art  not  as  happy 
as  am  I,"  added  Dame  Elizabeth. 

"I  am  happy,  dear  Bess,"  answered 
her  cousin,  but  there  yas  a  slight  tremu- 
lousness  in  her  voice  which  seemed  to 
deny  the  truth  of  her  statement.  "Very 
happy — wonderfully  happy." 

"It  delighteth  me  to  hear  thee  say  so," 
said  the  other,  "  for  I  was  beginning  to 
fear  thou  wert  vexing  thyself  at  some- 
thing or  other.  For  mine  own  part  there 
is  nothing  on  this  earth  I  care  for  pos- 
sessing, now  Walter  hath  again  acquired 
the  queen's  countenance,  which  he  lost 
by  the  nobleness  of  his  behavior  to  me, 
who  but  little  deserved  it  of  him ;  and 
though  I  was  the  cause  of  such  deep  mis- 
hap, never  gave  he  me  one  cross  look  or 
impatient  word,  from  first  to  last.  Truly, 
a  more  kind  husband  fond  woman  was 
never  blessed  with  ;  and  to  notice  his  ex- 
treme satisfaction  now  he  is  again  all  I 
wished  him  to  be,  giveth  me  such  per- 
fect pleasure  as  I  never  felt  before.  Sure- 
ly there  can  not  be  greater  happiness 
than  is  enjoyed  by  Walter  and  I." 

Here  Alice  sighed  again,  and  her  pret- 
ty face  looked  singularly  thoughtful  and 
melancholy. 

"  By  my  troth,  there  is  another  sigh  !" 
exclaimed  her  cousin,  "and  it  came  so 
from  the  heart,  I  am  half  inclined  to 
think  thou  art  in  love." 

"  In  love !"  cried  her  companion  in 
some  amazement,  yet  blushing  up  to  her 
eyes  the  whilst  she  spoke.  "  In  love, 
Bess?  why  what  man-animal  thinkest 
thou  I  would  be  in  love  with  1" 

"In  truth  I  cannot  say,  dear  Alice," 
answered  the  other,  "for  thou  hast  so 


urned  thy  lovers  into  ridicule,  no  man 
dare  accost  thee  affectionately.  Yet  glad 
at  heart  should  I  be  could  I  meet  wiui 
iome  proper  match. for  thee." 

"  Proper  fiddlestick  !"  exclaimed  Alice 
quickly.  "Dost  think  I  be  such  a  fire- 
.ock  I  can  not  go  off  without  a  proper 
match?  Well — 'Heaven  help  them  that 
an't  help  themselves,  say  I.  Matched 
quotha  !  am  I  a  coach-horse  that  I  am  to 
be  thought  nothing  ot  unless  I  have  my 
fellow  ?  or  so  odd  a  fish  that  like  a  sole  I 
can  not  be  taken  save  as  one  of  a  pair  ?" 

"  Nay,  Alice,"  observed  Dame  Eliza- 
beth more  gravely ;  "  this  is  the  way 
thou  hast  ever  treated  the  subject.  If  I 
press  thee  on  the  matter  thou  art  sure  to 
answer  with  a  jest.  I  would  thou  wouldst 
grow  more  serious." 

"Alack,  Bess!  how  difficult  it  be  to 
please  thee/'  answered  her  cousin.  "  A 
moment  sine*  I  was  blamed  for  my  grav- 
ity, and  now  1  am  rated  for  my  mirth." 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  minutes 
after  this.  Mayhap  Dame  Elizabeth 
liked  not  the  other's  speech,  and  felt  too 
hurt  to  reply  ;  or,  perchance,  Alice  found 
there  was  no  more  to  say  on  the  subject 
however,  let  the  cause  be  what  it  may, 
both  plied  their  needles  and  held  their 
prates,  and  Alice  again  got  to  look  mar- 
vellous thoughtful  and  reserved.  Pres- 
ently she  stopped  in  what  she  was  do- 
ing of. 

"  Dost  not  take  Master  Francis  to  be  a 
most  gentleman-like  youth,  sweet  Bess?" 
inquired  she.  Immediately  upon  hear- 
ing of  the  question,  her  cousin  fixed  on 
her  a  glance  of  mingled  wonder  and  cu- 
riousness  ;  at  the  which  Alice's  eyes,  al- 
beit though  she  looked  famously  uncon- 
cerned, appeared  to  shrink  a  little. 

"  Indeed,  he  appeareth  well  enough," 
replied  Dame  Elizabeth,  in  such  a  tone  as 
seemed  to  show  she  thought  not  much 
of  him. 

"Well  enough!"  cried  Alice,  laying 
down  her  work,  and  darting  a  look  at  the 
other  of  extreme  astonishment.  "  Only 
well  enough !  I  doubt  much  thou  wilt 
find,  search  the  world  through,  so  proper 
looking  a  gallant." 

"Why,  what  dost  see  in  him,  Alice  ?" 
asked  her  kinswoman  carelessly. 

"What  do  I  not  see  in  him  ?"  replied 
her  companion  with  increasing  earnest- 
ness. "  Didst  ever  see  so  noble  a  car- 
riage ?  Dost  note  elsewhere  limbs  of  such 
just  proportion,  or  of  such  infinite  grace- 
fulness? Where  canst  meet  with  fea- 
tures so  delicate  and  lovely  2  Doth  not 
Sir  Walter  speak  everlastingly  of  his 


302 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HTS  FRIENDS. 


valiant  spirit,  his  modest  nature,  his  ex- 
cellent fine  talent  in  the  writing  of  plays 
and  the  like,  and  his  wonderful  great 
learning  in  all  profound  matters?  I  tell 
thee,  Bess,  never  saw  I  so  noble  a  figure, 
or  so  admirable  a  countenance.  He  hath 
eyes  that  be  very  stars,  and  a  mouth  so 
small,  so  rosy,  and  of  so  gracious  a  smile, 
'tis  a  pleasure  to  look  at  it.  What  do  I 
see  in  him?"  added  Alice  with  more  em- 
phasis, her  pretty  dimpled  face  lighted 
up  with  a  wonderful  animation.  "  I  see 
in  him  the  sweetest,  bravest,  comeliest, 
gallantest,  noblest,  wisest,  worthiest, 
young  gentleman  ever  saw  I  in  all  my 
days !" 

Dame  Elizabeth  smiled,  but  said  never 
a  word. 

"  Then  to  hear  his  voice,"  continued 
her  cousin,  who  had  stopped  only  to  take 
breath  ;  "  there  can  be  no  such  music  in 
this  world.  W  hat  mellowness  it  hath  ! — 
what  richness  it  hath  ! — what  expressive- 
ness it  hath !  0'  ray  life  !  every  other 
singing  hath  seemed  to  be  the  very  abso- 
lutest  paltry  poor  stuff  ever  attempted, 
since  I  heard  Master  Francis  singing  a 
love-ditty,  sitting  by  himself  under  the 
elms  in  the  park  one  midsummer  noon.  I 
shall  never  forget  hiding  behind  the  trees 
listening  to  that  love-ditty.  There  was 
he  lying  of  his  length  on  the  grass,  look- 
ing as  youthful  and  handsome  as  a  very 
Cupid,  resting  of  his  head  on  his  arm, 
whilst  in  the  other  hand  he  held  an  open 
book  ;  and  so  filling  the  air  with  exquis- 
ite sweet  melody  that  the  very  birds  held 
themselves  silent  the  better  to  hear  his 
singing.  Some  time  after  this,  upon 
pressing  of  him  very  much — for  never 
knew  I  a  creature  of  such  exceeding  shy- 
ness— I  got  him  to  sing  me  that  love- 
ditty  when  we  were  together  in  the  grove, 
and  methought  it  sounded  more  exquisite 
sweet  than  the  time  before.  All  the  love- 
ditties  I  had  ever  heard  seemed  such' 
wretched  paltry  nonsense  I  would  as  s6on 
have  given  my  ears  to  a  fool  as  listened  to 
them  ;  but  what  Master  Francis  sung,  to 
say  naught  of  the  moving  manner  in 
which  he  gave  it,  was  a  love-ditty  indeed. 
By  my  troth,  I  could  listen  to  such  the 
whole  day  long !" 

Dame  Elizabeth  smiled  again  ;  and,  as 
she  had  done  before  looked  with  a  pecu- 
liar arch  meaning  in  her  beautiful  coun 
tenance. 

"And  then  to  hear  how  wisely  he  dis- 
courseth,"  added  her  pretty  kinswoman 
with  greater  eagerness.  "  He  hath  spoken 
so  of  some  little  flower,  its  marvellous 
beauty,  and  wonderful  excellent  virtues, 


that*  I  would  have  given  all  1  possessed 
to  have  been  that  little  flower,  that  hr 
might  have  spoken  so  eloquently  of  me. 
And  he  hath  described  to  me  on  some 
fair  night  we  have  been  taking  of  a 
moonlight  walk,  the  bright  stars  that 
were  shining  over  our  heads,  in  language 
so  choice  and  noble,  and  in  a  manner  so 
earnest  and  moving,  that  many  a  time  I 
have  envied  those  bright  stars  for  having 
such  rare  things  said  of  them.  But  he  dis- 
courseth  not  of  flowers  and  stars  alone  in 
so  admirable  a  style  :  there  can  not  be  a 
subject  ever  so  profound,  or  a  thing  of 
ever  so  little  account,  that  I  have  not 
known  him  dilate  on  with  such  bountiful 
store  of  learning  it  was  a  marvel  to  hear, 
Indeed,  I  do  believe  there  is  not  so  wise 
a  man  living." 

"  Wise  man  !"  exclaimed  Dame  Eliza- 
beth, archly.  "Wise  fiddlestick!  In 
what  is  he  wise?  Doth  he  not  talk  ad- 
mirably ?  So  doth  a  parrot  if  he  be  well 
taught." 

"  Ah,  Bess  !"  cried  Alice,  endeavoring 
to  hide  her  confusion  under  an  assumed 
carelessness.  "  I  knew  not  Master  Fran- 
cis when  I  said  that." 

"Wise  calf  I"  continued  her  compan- 
ion, in  the  same  humor.  "  Why  there  is 
more  philosophy  in  a  forked  radish  than 
ever  you  will  find  in  your  wise  man." 

"  When  I  said  that,  I  had  not  seen 
Master  Francis,"  observed  the  other  with 
increased  embarrassment. 

"  And  what  be  this  same  animal  called 
man  ?"  added  Dame  Elizabeth,  mimick- 
ing her  cousin's  voice  as  well  as  she 
could.  "  A  thing  to  laugh  at.  A  joke 
that  goes  upon  two  legs.  A  walking 
piece  of  provocation  for  women  to  break 
a  jest  upon." 

"  So  be  all  men  but  Master  Francis," 
replied  Alice,  graVely. 

"  As  for  me,"  continued  her  kinswo- 
man, "if  there  be  any  that  would  have 
me  at  mine  own  valuation,  then  shall  they 
coin  all  the  man's  flesh  that  is  above 
ground  into  rose  nobles,  and  lack  the 
greatest  portion  of  what  I  would  go  for 
after  all." 

"  I  tell  thee,  Bess,  I  knew  not  Master 
Francis  when  I  said  these  things,"  an- 
swered the  other,  looking  frowningly,  as 
if  she  liked  not  to  be  reminded  of  them. 

"  If  the  sky  were  to  rain  lovers,  I'd 
keep  under  shelter,"  said  her  cousin,  in 
the  same  tone  and  manner. 

"  So  I  would  ere  I  had  known  Master 
Francis,"  replied  Alice,  sharply,  and  evi- 
dently getting  to  be  a  little  out  of  temper 
j  with  her  cousin's  raillery. 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"Before  I  marry  a  man  I'll  give  my 
virginity  to  an  owl !"  continued  Dame 
Elizabeth. 

"  Bess,  I  hate  thee  /"  cried  Alice,  in 
extreme  earnestness,  flashing  such  an  an- 
gry look  upon  the  other  she  seemed  quite 
iiurt  at  it,  and  then  suddenly  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Nay,  Alice — dear,  sweet  Alice  ! — I 
meant  not  to  vex  thee!"  exclaimed  her 
kinswoman  affectionately,  as  she  threw 
her  arms  round  uer  neck  ;  "  I  did  it  but 
to  tease  thee  a  little  for  having  been  so 
secret  with  me  about  this.  And  dost 
really  love  Master  Francis?"  inquired 
Dame  Elizabeth,  after  she  had  succeeded 
in  quieting  this  sudden  burst  of  passion 
in  her  pretty  cousin. 

"  I  do  believe  I  love  him  right  hearti- 
ly," replied1  Alice,  hiding  her  blushing 
fuce  on  the  bosom  of  her  companion — 
for  she  was  no  longer  afraid  or  ashamed 
to  acknowledge  the  truth. 

"  And  how  came  it  first  about?"  asked 
the  other. 

"Nay,  I  know  not,  for.  a  certainty," 
answered  her  cousin.  "Mayhap  it  was 
whe;i  I  was  so  besieged  by  suitors  upon 
their  getting  knowledge  of  what  Auat 
Dorothy  had  left  me,  I  had  him  play  the 
lover  to  me,  to  make  the  others  jealous; 
and  he  played  the  lover  in  jest,  so  well,  I 
had  a  mind  he  should  play  it  in  earnest." 
"A  goodly  beginning,  o'  my  word!" 
exclaimed  Dame  Elizabeth,  with  a  smile  ; 
"  but  hath  he  ever  shown  any  such  ear- 
nestness of  affection  thou  didst  desire  to 
see  in  him  ?" 

"  From  first  to  last — never,  dear  Bess," 
replied  Alice,  dejectedly;  and  that  hath 
made  me  oft  so  dull  at  heart." 

"And  didst  give  him  any  sort  of  en- 
couragement, Alice?"  asked  her  com- 
panion. "Didst  show  him  any  sign  of 
regard  ?  Was  it  likely,  from  thy  beha- 
vior, he  could  guess  his  company  was  not 
distas;eful  to  thee  ?" 

"  I  know  not  the  encouragement  I  have 
not  given  him,"  answered  the  other.  "  I 
have  shown  him  all  sorts  of  signs — rny 
behavior  hath  ever  been  of  the  kindest 
to  him,  whilst  other  suitors  were  used 
with  extreme  uncivilness.  Yet  all  hath 
been  to  no  manner  of  profit.  Hetreateth 
me  with  a  very  gentlemanlike  courtesy, 
certainly,  but  in  every  other  thing  ap- 
peareth  as  indifferent  to  me  as  is  a  beg- 
gar to  the  stocks.  I  never  meet  him 
?ave  with  a  welcome  smile,  and  he 
straightway  accosts  me  with  a  bow.  I  ask 
affectionately  how  he  hath  fared  of  late, 
and  he  will' reply  by  inquiring,  with  a 


like  affectionateness  after  my  dog.  I  get 
him  to  talk  of  love,  hoping  it  will  em- 
bolden him  to  discourse  lovipgly  tome; 
and  thereupon  he  entertaineth  me  with  a 
famous  account  of  -/Eneas  and  Dido,  or 
Hero  and  Leander,  or  some  other  people 
I  would  as  lief  hear  of, /as  of  my  grand- 
mother. This  perfect  carelessness,  and 
monstrous  lack  of  affection  in  him,  doth 
make  me  fancy  he  hath  given  his  heart 
to  another  ;  and  that,  dear  Bess,  driveth 
me  into  an  utter  despair." 

"  'Tis  marvellous  thou  shouldst  have 
gone  on  regarding  him  as  thou  hast  done, 
and  he  so  indifferent,"  observed  Dame 
Elizabeth. 

"  0'  my  life,  'twas  that  which  so  pro- 
voked me,"  replied  Alice.     "  Had  he  ad- 
dressed me  with  such  fine  phrases  as  had 
others,  I  doubt  much  I  should  have  cared 
'  for  him  at  all;  but  noting  how  insensible 
I  he  was,  let  me  do  or  say  what  I  would, 
put  me  upon  u?.ing  greater  efforts,  and 
taking  more  interest  in  my  endeavors,  till 
he  possessed  all  my  thoughts,  and  I  was 
no  better  off  than  at  first." 

"  Thou  hast  played  a  very  gambling 
game  with  thy  affections,  dear  Alice," 
said  her  kinswoman,  seriously;  "thou 
hast  lost  a  little,  hoping  to  make  a  great 
gain ;  and  kept  losing  till  thou  hast 
nothing  more  to  stake.  I  would  giv£  thee 
comfort  if  I  could  ;  but,  supposing  Mas- 
ter Francis  to  be  attached  to  some  other, 
which  lookelh  to  be  exceeding  like,  thou 
hast  but  a  sorry  prospect  of  it." 

"  Alack !  say  not  so,  sweet  Bess !" 
cried  Alice,  very  movingly. 

"As  far  as  mine  own  wishes  go,  I 
should  like  nothing  better  than  to  see 
Master  Francis  a  lover  of  thine,"  added 
her  cousin;  "for  I  have  marked  what 
excellent  good  disposition  he  hath,  and 
how  rare  a  nature  ;  and  knowing  Walter 
holdeth  him  in  huge  esteem,  I  can  not 
think  he  would  object  to  it  in  any  way. 
I  will  acknowledge  I  have  observed  in 
him  all  the  commendable  qualities  thou 
hast  spoken  of,  and  do  take  him  to  be  as 
noble  and  gallant  a  young  gentleman  as 
any  that  breathes." 

"Indeed  is  he,"  cried  Alice,  her  eyes 
again  becoming  brilliant  with  anima- 
tion, and  her  rosy-dimpled  cheek  ex- 
pressing all  its  pleasantness,  "  hadst  thou 
seen  him  as  I  have,  and  heard  him  as  I 
have,  thou  wouldst  say  as  I  do — there 
can  not  be  another  in  the  world  like 
unto  Master  Francis." 

"Possibly  he  thinketh  his  condition  to 
be  too  low  to  allow  him  to  have  any 
thoughts  of  thee,"  continued  her  kinswo- 


,104 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


man,  "and  that  may  keep  him  respect- 
ful and  unassuming." 

"  I  would  thou  wouldst  give  me  some 
hope, dear  Bess,"  said  the  other  earnestly. 

"I  will  give  thee  not  only  whatever 
hope,  but  whatever  aid  I  can  in  the  mat- 
ter," answered  Dame  Elizabeth,  with  a 
sincere  affection.  "  There  existeth  noth- 
ing I  would  not  do  to  secure  thy  happi- 
ness. Nevertheless  I  must  consult  with 
Walter  as  to  what  is  best  to  be  done." 

"Nay,  prythee  let  him  have  no  hand 
in  it,"  exclaimed  her  cousin,  looking  to 
be  in  some  alarm. 

"  And  why  not,  Alice  ?"  inquired  the 
other. 

"  Oh  !  he  will  so  jest  at  me,"  replied 
her  companion.  "  I  doubt  not  he  will 
so  laugh  on  the  occasion,  I  shall  scarce 
be  able  to  show  my  face  for  him." 

"  Indeed  I  will  not  suffer  it,"  answered 
her  kinswoman.  "Besides,  I  know  Wal- 
ter too  well  to  think  he  would  offer  thee 
annoyance  in  such  a  case  as  this." 

"  Then  as  it  pleaseth  thee,  dear  Bess," 
added  Alice,  affectionately  caressing  her 
companion.  "Do  all  that  thou  canst  for 
me,  like  a  good,  sweet,  kind  coz,  as  thou 
art ;  for  in  honest  truth  I  do  believe  I  shall 
break  my  heart  if  Master  Francis  will 
have  naught  to  say  to  me." 

It  was  two  or  three  days  after  what 
hath  just  been  described,  that  Master 
Shakspeare  —  who  had  that  day  come 
on  a  visit  to  Sherborne  —  and  Master 
Francis  were  walking  together  in  an  al- 
ley of  tall  trees  in  the  park.  They  were 
in  earnest  conversation,  and  did  keep  pa- 
cing to  and  fro  in  that  umbrageous  alley, 
intent  upon  what  they  were  saying,  and 
for  so  long  a  time,  it  was  plain  ihey.took 
great  interest  in  their  discourse. 

"I  do  think  it  exceeding  wrong  of  you 
to  give  yourself  up  to  these  melancholy 
humors,''  observed  Master  Shakspeare, 
seriously.  "  'Tis  natural  enough  to  la- 
ment the  loss  of  any  one  we  have  greatly 
loved — and  that  you  most  truly  loved  Jo- 
anna is  beyond  all  question.  Alack ! 
there  is  no  small  reason  for  regret,  I 
must  allow  ;  for  hers  was  a  noble  nature 
spoiled  in  the  rearing — a  rich  soil  that, 
for  lack  of  proper  culture,  hath  been 
choked  up  by  unsightly  weeds.  Had  her 
mind  and  heart  had  proper  schooling,  to 
the  full  development  of  those  excellen- 
ces she  undoubtedly  possessed,  I  hesitate 
not  in  saying,  she  would  have  proved  as 
glorious  an  example  of  womanhood  as 
ever  existed  :  but,  as  divers  singing-birds 
catch  the  tones  of  those  nigh  whom  they 
are  caged,  yet  will  sometimes  break  forth 


!  into  a  sweeter  minstrelsy  of  their  own— 
I  Joanna  caught  up  her  father's  wretched 
cunning  and  selfishness,  till  love  for  you 
woke  in  her  some  impulses  of  her  own 
natural  humanity.  It  should  be  a  source 
of  rejoicing  to  you  that  she  at  last  under- 
stood the  evil  she  had  practised,  and 
learned  how  to  appreciate  the  truth  and 
honesty  she  had  been  so  ignorant  of.  It 
should  be  a  still  greater  source  of  rejoi- 
cing to  you  that  your  behavior  to  her  hath 
been  ever  that  of  a  sincere  and  honest 
heart — that  you  stooped  to  no  meanness, 
and  lent  yourself  to  no  dishonor,  in  the 
seeking  of  her  affection.  Now  all  regret 
is  unavailing.  It  would  be  just  as  wise 
in  you  to  make  yourself  miserable  be- 
cause a  goodly  tree  had  been  cut  down, 
as  to  fret  yourself  into  a  continual  melan- 
choly for  her  loss.  You  can  not  make 
the  tree  to  grow  again,  nor  recal  the 
dead  to  life ;  and  instead  of  benefiting 
yourself  by  this  sadness,  it  be  much  more 
like  to  lead  to  your  destruction.  To 
what  sensible  purpose,  then,  go  you  on  in 
this  way  ?" 

"I  can  not  help  being  sad  at  heart  at 
times,"  replied  Master  Francis  ;  "  but 
you  know  I  have  other  things  besides  the 
melancholy  death  of  Joanna  that  create 
my  unhappiness." 

"Naught  that  I  can  consider  of  suffi- 
cie*nt  moment  to  vex  any  man  that  hath 
in  him  a  proper  philosophy,"  said  his 
friend.  "  'Tis  true  enough  your  mind  is 
of  no  common  order;  yet  is  your  nature 
wonderfully  sensitive ;  and  I  have  studied 
too  long  and  deeply  not  to  know  that  in- 
tellect hath  but  little  power  over  disposi- 
tion :  but  you  must  be  disposed  to  tutor 
yourself  into  more  refreshing  thoughts 
and  feelings.  Remember  you  the  con- 
solation of  Joanna  in  her  last  extremity  ? 
Was  it  not  the  conviction  of  your  perfect 
happiness  1" 

"  Indeed  it  was,"  answered  the  other. 
"  And  yet,  knowing  this,  you  can  show 
so  little  respect  for  her  wishes,  as  to  live 
in  the  pleasureless  way  you  do,"  said 
Master  Shakspeare,  seemingly  as  if  he 
marvelled  greatly. 

"  From  what  can  I  derive  pleasure  ?" 
|  inquired  Master  Francis. 

"From  all  things, be  you  so  disposed," 

answered  his  companion  ;   "  and  surely 

;  there  lieth  enough  of  the  agreeable  around 

'  your  path  to  balance  whatever  can  be  of 

another  sort.      Have  you  not  what  you 

will  at  your  command — a  liberal  patron 

— and  a  circle  of  admiring  friends?   You 

lack  nothing — you  are  honored  wherever 

you  go ;  and  being  in  the  confidence  of 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


305 


one  who  is  now  so  great  a  man  at  court 
as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  you  may  consider 
your  fortune  as  made.  "Can  you  not  find 
pleasure  in  these  advantages?" 

"But  I  lack  something  that  these  can 
not  give,"  replied  his  young  friend,  some- 
what dejectedly. 

"Ah  !  now  I  think  of  it,  'tis  reasonable 
you  should,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare, 
with  a  smile  of  peculiar  meaning  the 
other  did  not  see.  "You  have  a  void  in 
your  heart  that  requireth  filling  up,  and 
the  sooner  it  shall  be  done,  the  sooner 
shall  you  be  the  happier." 

"  What  mean  you,  sweet  Master  Shak- 
speare?" asked  Master  Francis. 

'•Know  you  no  pretty  damsel  in  these 
parts  who  could  teach  you  such  pleasant 
lessons  as  might  lead  to  the  forgetting  of 
all  your  troubles  ?" 

"In  honest  truth  I  know  none  such." 

"  Hast  associated  with  none  whose 
company  you  could  prefer  to  that  of  all 
others — whose  disposition  you  could  ap- 
prove of  before  any — and  who  hath  shown 
you  such  kindness  of  manner  as  show- 
eth  she  holdeth  you  first  in  her  regard  ?" 

"  There  is  Mistress  Alice  whose  com- 
pany I  should  ever  make  choice  of  before 
any  living;  for  she  hath  a  most  sweet 
disposition,  and  hath  shown  me  infinite 
Kindnesses,  the  which  I  can  never  forget: 
but  that  she  holdeth  me  in  any  particular 
regard  is  not  to  be  imagined  ;  for,  in  the 
first  place,  my  outward  behavior  could 
not  have  induced  her  to  it ;  and,  in  the 
next,  she  doth  nothing  but  jest  at  all  such 
things  as  love  and  the  like." 

"Hath  she  jested  on  such  matters  lat- 
terly ?" 

"  I  think  not  so  much  as  she  did." 

"  And  have  you  noted  any  change  in 
her  appearance  or  behavior  to  you?" 

"  She  seemeth  never  in  so  merry  a 
mood  as  she  used,  and  sometimes  looketh 
to  be  vexed  with  me,  though  I  sing  to 
her  when  she  asks,  and  discourse  to  her 
of  such  things  as  she  hath  a  mind  to 
know  of.'' 

"  And  of  all  women  you  have  had  ac- 
quaintance with,  you  would  prefer  the 
pretty  Alice  for  a  wife  ?"  inquired  Master 
Shakspeare. 

"  Nay  that  is  clean  out  of  the  question," 
answered  Master  Francis :  "  there  be  such 
difference  betwixt  us  in  fortune  and  qual- 
ity that  'tis  an  idea  I  can  not  entertain 
for  a  moment." 

"  Now  answer  me  at  once,  and  to  the 
purpose.  Provided  all  parties  were  wil- 
ling, and  sh-e  so  disposed,  could  you  re- 
gard her  with  such  affectionateness  as 
20 


might  give  her  a  fair  chance  of  leading 
a  happy  life  with  you?" 

"  I  doubt  not  I  could  ;  for,  from  the 
first,  I  have  liked  her  exceedingly,  she 
hath  evinced  toward  me  such  marvel- 
lous goodness  of  heart.  But  why  speak 
you  of  this  ?  She  hath  given  me  no  war- 
rant for  drawing  of  any  such  conclusions." 

"  Hath  she  not,  indeed  ?"  asked  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  with  much  emphasis. 
"  Hath  she  not  taken  hugely  to  your  so- 
ciety ? — hath  she  not  made  a  jest  of  all 
men  but  you  ? — hath  she  not  got  you  to 
sing  her  love-songs  again  and  again  ?" 

"  Truly  she  hath,"  replied  Master 
Francis ;  "  and  as  for  the  singing  of  love- 
songs,she  seemeth  to  like  nothing  so  well." 

"  And  yet  you  have  had  no  warrant  for 
imagining  she  doth  affect  you?"  said  his 
friend.  "I  tell  you  she  hath  loved  you 
all  along  with  a  most  sincere  affectiou- 
ateness,  and  you  have  caused  her  many 
an  aching  heart  by  your  monstrous  in- 
difference." 

"0'  my  life  I  never  saw  it  in  that 
light,"  answered  the  other,  looking  fa- 
mously surprised  ;  "  and  I  am  wonder- 
fully grieved  at  hearing  I  have  occasion- 
ed her  any  uneasiness.  I  could  not  help 
it.  I  saw  not  she  took  to  me  in  any  way 
but  in  friendship.  But  tell  me  truly, 
Master  Shakspeare,  hath  she  such  regard 
for  me  as  you  have  said  ?" 

"  What  else  could  have  made  that 
change  in  her  you  have  stated  ?"  asked 
his  companion.  "  She  is  not  in  so  merry 
a  mood,  because  she  believeth  you  care 
not  a  whit  for  her;  and  she  seemeth  an» 
gry  with  you,  because  of  your  ungrate- 
ful indifference  to  all  the  infinite  kindness 
she  hath  lavished  upon  you." 

"  Nay,  I  do  assure  you  I  am  in  no  way 
ungrateful,"  exclaimed  Master  Francis, 
earnestly.  "  But  think  you  not  her  friends 
would  look  upon  it  as  exceeding  great 
presumption  and  impudency  in  me,  used 
I  any  endeavor  to  attach  her  affection?" 

"I  do  believe  they  would  like  nothing 
so  well,"  replied  Master  Shakspeare ; 
"  and  for  mine  own  part,  I  should  be  in- 
finitely delighted  to  see  you  wedded  to 
Mistress  Alice,  for  nothing  can  be  so  like 
to  cure  you  of  your  present  troubles  as  a 
union  with  so  sweetly-disposed  a  crea- 
ture. And  she  having  such  excess  of 
mirth  as  will  correct  your  excess  of  mel- 
ancholy, there  can  not  be  a  doubt  but 
that  you  will  be  as  happy  a  pair  as  any 
that  live." 

"I  hope  I  shall  love  her  well  enough," 
observed  his  young  friend,  looking  very 
thoughtful ;  and  then  added,  with  more 


306 


,SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


seriousness — "  Mayhap  some  will  say  I 
only  sought  her  for  her  money." 

"A  fig's  end  for  what  any  say,  save 
her,  and  her  friends,"  answered  Master 
Shakspeare.  "  But  let  me  tell  you,  Mas- 
ter Francis,  that  your  apparent  unkind- 
ness  is  leading  to  the  breaking  of  her 
heart-^-she  is  pining — and  'tis  very  evi- 
dent to  me,  go  you  on  in  this  way  any 
longer,  you  will  have  to  answer  for  the 
death  of  the  cheerfulest,  sweetest,  excel- 
lentest  young  creature  that  ever  smiled 
upon  a  lover." 

"  Alack,  do  not  say  so  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Francis,  movingly,  and  with  an 
exceeding  anxious  countenance.  "I 
would  on  no  account  be  the  cause  of  suf- 
fering in  any,  much  less  in  one  who  hath 
ever  exhibited  toward  me  so  bountiful  a 
heart.  I  will  strive  as  earnestly  as  I  may 
(olove  her." 

"  Then  lose  you  no  time  about  it,"  said 
his  friend  ;  "for  I  see  her  coming  out  of 
the  garden  gate,  and  entering  the  av- 
enue." Master  Francis  looked  up,  and 
sure  enough  Mistress  Alice  was  coming 
toward  him.  Her  step  seemed  not  so 
buoyant  as  it  was  wont,  and  her  look  had 
lost  all  that  laughing  gayety  for  which 
she  had  used  to  be  distinguished. 

"  Yes  I  will  speak  to  her  on  the  in- 
stant," said  he,  turning  to  where  the 
other  had  stood  when  he  last  spoke :  but 
Master  Shakspeare  had  darted  in  amongst 
the  trees  upon  the  first  sight  of  the  fair 
intruder,  and  Master  Francis  found  him- 
self alone.  He  advanced  toward  the 
lovely  Alice  in  a  wonderful  disturbed 
state  of  mind,  half  doubting  Master 
Shakspeare  had  sufficient  warrant  for 
what  he  had  stated  concerning  of  that 
damsel's  love  for  him ;  and  yet  with  a 
remembrance  of  numberless  acts  of  some- 
thing more  than  kindness  he  had  received 
from  her,  that  made  such  a  thing  have 
the  look  of  probability.  He  had.intended 
saying  of  something  without  delay  ;  but 
when  they  met  he  found  himself,  he 
knew  not  why,  at  such  a  loss  for  words  as 
he  had  never  experienced  before ;  and 
his  heart  began  to  throb  more  quickly 
than  he  had"  known  it  in  her  company 
since  he  had  been  acquainted  with  her. 
He  was  just  able  to  reply  te  her  saluta- 
tion, and  then  walked  by  her  side  under 
the  shadow  of  the  leafy  elms,  striving  in 
his  mind  to  form  some  speech  as  would 
be  sufficiently  apt,  and  to  the  purpose  ; 
but  the  more  he  strove,  the  less  seamed 
be  to  succeed  ;  for  sometimes  the  words 
appeared  not  to  express  as  much  as  they 
ought,  and  so  were  rejected ;  or,  at  other 


times,  they  looked  too  like  presumption 
in  him,  and  lack  of  proper  respect,  and 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  give  them 
utterance. 

As  for  Alice  she  knew  not  at  first  what 
to  make  of  his  disturbed  countenance  and 
silent  manner,  and  did  hazard  a  jest  or 
two  on  the  subject  in  her  usual  humor  ; 
but  it  so  happened  she  succeeded  not  at 
all  in  her  attempts.  She  spoke  falter- 
ingly — her  laugh  had  no  heartiness  in  it, 
and  she  soon  found  herself  embarrassed 
in  her  speech,  and  so  moved  by  a  sort  of 
anxiousness  and  fear,  she  presently  be- 
came as  reserved  as  Master  Francis. 
Yet  it  was  out  of  all  doubt  she  did  like 
this  silence  of  her  companion  better  than 
all  the  eloquent  discourse  he  had  used  to 
entertain  her  with.  Upon  taking  a  glance 
at  his  handsome  features,  their  eyes  met, 
and  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  say  which, 
on  the  instant,  looked  the  most  confused 
of  the  two.  After  that  Alice  seemed  to 
be  in  a  monstrous  uneasiness,  and  having 
a  rose  in  her  hand,  began  plucking  of  it 
to  pieces,  leaf  by  leaf. 

"  Nay,  spoil  not  so  goodly  a  flower,  1 
pray  you  !"  exclaimed  Master  Francis  in- 
voluntarily, upon  seeing  the  destruction 
of  the  chiefest  of  his  floral  favorites. 

"  Indeed,  I  did  forget  your  extreme 
fondness  for  roses,"  said  Alice  in  a  voice 
scarce  to  be  heard.  "  I  shall  not  forgive 
myself  doing  so  wrong  a  thing — but  in 
truth  I  knew  not  I  was  at  such  ill  em- 
ployment." 

"  If  it  would  not  be  thought  somewhat 
over  bold  of  me,  sweet  Alice,  I  would 
ask  that  flower' of  you,"  observed  her 
companion,  yet  in  a  tone  that  evinced 
considerable  embarrassment.  Alice,  with 
a  sensation  of  pleasure  she  had  never 
before  experienced,  noticed  that  till  that 
moment  Master  Francis  had  always  called 
her  "  Mistress  Alice,"  and  he,  as  if  he  had 
styled  her  "  Sweet  Alice,"  without  know- 
ing it,  presently  looked  more  confused 
than  ever,  thinking  he  had  taken  too  great 
a  liberty.  Now  Alice  Throckmorton,  the 
liveliest  and  wittiest  of  the  maids  of  honor 
at  the  court  of  Elizabeth,  who  had  never 
been  at  a  loss  for  a  reply,  let  whatever 
might  be  said  to  her,  amongst  crowds  of 
nobles  and  gallants,  and  boldly  jested  ai 
every  thing  in  the  shape  of  love  and  lovers, 
lost  all  confidence  in  herself,  and  became 
as  timid  as  a  child.  Spying  of  a  seat  in  a 
turning  of  the  walk,  she  very  gladly  made 
for  it,  and  sat  herself  down,  finding  it  diffi- 
cult for  her  to  proceed  further,  in  the 
present  strange  excitement  of  her  feelings. 
"  I  have  spoiled  you  th'is  rose,"  said 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


307 


she  as  Well  as  she  could  speak,  "  'tis  not 
worthy  your  accepting.  Lei  me  gather  you 
another  as  I  return  through  the  garden." 
"  I  doubt  not  I  should  prize  that  above 
any,"  replied  her  companion  earnestly. 
Alice  stretched  forth  her  arm  to  give  it 
to  him,  and  thereupon  Master  Francis — 
not  without  some  slight  embarrassment 
— took  the  flower  with  one  hand,  and  her 
hand  with  the  other.  Immediately  she 
felt  her  hand  pressed  by  his,  the  once 
confident  and  careless  Alice  began  a 
trembling  as  if  she  were  seized  with  a 
sudden  fear ;  and  though  the  action  had 
been  done  hundreds  of  times  by  others, 
and  she  looked  upon  it  as  a  thing  of  no 
note,  no  sootier  had  Master  Francis  raised 
her  hand  to  his  lips,  than  she  blushed  as 
if  she  thought  there  was  something 
wrong  in  the  doing  of  such  a  thing. 

"Alice!  Sweet  Alice!"  exclaimed 
Master  Francis  tremulously,  as  he  still 
held  her  trembling  hand  in  his  own.  "  I 
do  remember  me  some  time  ago  you  did 
ask  of  me  to  play  the  lover  to  you  in 
jest."  His  fair  companion  answered 
not ;  but  sat  with  downcast  eyes,  flushed 
cheek,  and  heaving  bosom — such  a  pic- 
ture of  maidenly  love,  diffidence,  and 
anxiety,  as  none  could  have  expected  to 
have  met  in  the  once  witty  and  fearless 
Alice. 

'I  pray  you  now,  if  it  please  you,  let 
me  try  how  I  can  play  such  a  part  in 
earnest,"  added  he  with  increased  fer- 
vor. At  this  Alice  did  tremble  more 
than  ever,  and  did  seem  in  a  greater  con- 
fusion ;  but  she  answered  him  never  a 
word.  In  truth,  she  i'elt  so  full  at  heart 
that  she  could  not  have  spoke  had  it  been 
to  save  her  life.  Presently  she  lifted  up 
her  brilliant  eyes,  and  they  flashed  upon 
Mtster  Francis  a  look  of  such  exquisite 
sweet  affection  as  all  the  language  that 
was  ever  writ  or  spoke  could  never  ex- 
press. Master  Francis  did  play  the  lover 
in  earnest,  and  so  marvellously  to  the 
satisfaction  of  his  fair  mistress,  that  she 
appeared  well  inclined  to  have  stayed 
where  she  was  the  livelong  day,  to  be- 
hold the  playing  of  it.  At  last,  after  the 
passing  of  better  than  an  hour  in  this 
way,  it  was  put  a  stop  to  by  the  hearing 
of  footsteps  close  at  hand.  Alice  sprung 
from  her  seat,  and  turned  the  corner 
toward  the  house,  bidding  her  lover  fol- 
low ;  and  this  Master  Francis  was  about 
to  do  when  he  was  stopped  in  his  progress 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Colonel 
Harquebus  close  upon  him,  coming  from 
that  direction.  He  would  rather  have 
met  any  one — in  fact,  he  would  have 


given  anything  in  the  world  the  colonel 
had  been  fifty  miles  away,  for  he  could 
not  help  looking  exceeding  confused  at 
seeing  him  so  unexpectedly. 

"  Humph  !"  exclaimed  Colonel  Har- 
quebus in  his  usual  sharp  voice,  and 
looking  more  scornful  than  ever.  "  jPretty 
conduct  this!  Honorable  behavior  truly  ! 
Get  into  the  confidence  of  a  family — 
Scribble  your  way  into  their  good  graces 
— They  treat  you  well— Reward  you 
handsomely  for  your  labors — such  as  they 
be.  In  return,  you  steal  into  the  affec- 
tions of  a  young  gentlewoman  of  the 
family,  knowing  she  hath  a  fortune." 

"  Colonel  Harquebus !"  said  Master 
Francis,  greatly  annoyed  by  the  insinua- 
tion conveyed  by  the  other,  '•  methinks  it 
would  be  as  well  were  you  to  confine 
your  interference  in  matters  wherein  you 
have  a  right  to  meddle  ;  and  not  impute 
ill  motives  to  one  of  whose  character  and 
conduct  you  must  be  ignorant." 

"Why,  you  impudent  young  jacka- 
napes !"  cried  the  colonel  contemptuously, 
"dost  think  to  come  the  secretary  over 
me  in  this  fashion  ?  Is  it  not  palpable  ? 
Am  I  blind  ?  Dost  suppose  you  can  man- 
age your  inano3uvres  so  secretly  an  old 
soldier  such  as  am  I  can  not  detect  them  ? 
I  tell  you  'tis  exceeding  paltry  of  you — 
But  what  better  could  be  expected  from 
a  varlet  who  gaineth  his  living  by  scrib- 
bling and  the  like  worthless  employ- 
ments ?" 

"  Colonel  Harquebus !"  replied  Master 
Francis,  getting  to  be  somewhat  angered, 
"  I  know  not  why  it  is,  seeing  I  have 
given  you  no  offence  in  rn*y  life,  you  should 
be  ever  putting  of  some  affront  upon  me: 
but  I  can  endure  it  from  you  no  longer. 
I  would  have  you  remember  I  wear  a 
sword." 

"  Indeed !"  answered  the  other,  with 
a  very  evident  scorn.  "  I  have  had  my 
doubts  of  that.  Wear  a  sword  do  you? 
I  did  suppose  you  had  only  a  scabbard, 
for  I  have  found  you  marvellous  chary  of 
showing  the  blade." 

Master  Francis  put  his  hand  to  his  ra- 
pier on  the  instant. 

"  No,"  exclaimed  he,  making  a  strug- 
gle to  put  down  his  auger,  "  you  are  the 
friend  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh." 

"  A  good  excuse  o'  my  life  !"  cried  the 
colonel,  with  a  look  of  derision,  "  a  fa- 
mous good  excuse.  But  cowards  are 
never  at  a  loss  for  excuses,  and  your 
wretched  scribblers  and  paltry  secretaries 
be  ever  the  errantest  cowards  that  live. 
Know  you  not  I  am  the  best  swordsman 
in  Europe  ?" 


308 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


"I  neither  know  nor  care,"  replied  his 
companion,  yet  still  striving  to  put  down 
his  indignation  at  the  continual  provoca- 
tion he  was  receiving.  "  Coward  I  am 
not  nor  ever  was,  as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
under  whose  eye  I  have  fought,  can  suf- 
ficiently assure  you.  Neither  am  I  a 
braggart— so  aught  of  what  I  have  done 
you  will  not  know  from  me.  I  seek  not 
to  quarrel  with  you.  I  will  add,  let  you 
impute  it  to  what  motive  you  please,  I 
would  rather  avoid  it ;  but  not  from  any 
fear  of  your  skill  in  the  weapon.  That 
you  are  a  brave  soldier,  I  have  heard ; 
but  'tis  a  pity  your  long  experience  in 
matters  of  war  hath  made  you  forget 
there  was  also  a  necessity  of  your  being 
also  as  brave  a  gentleman." 

"  Say  you  so,  my  fine  secretary  fellow  ?" 
said  the  other  in  the  same  insulting  tone 
and  manner  he  had  used  from  the  first. 
"  Fine  talking,  o'  my  life  !  Brave  words  ! 
An  excellent  good  speech!  Out  of  what 
book  didst  steal  such  holyday  phrases? 
Alack,  it  be  a  pitiful  thing  methinks  that 
your  fine  talkers  should  ever  be  such 
poor  fighters.  So,  forsooth,  your  worship 
doth  not  take  me  to  be  a  gentleman  ! 
How  infinitely  vexed  am  I !  I  will  on 
the  instant  get  me  a  fine  doublet.  I  will 
study  the  courtliest  phrases  out  of  book. 
I  will  stifle  my  valor  and  take  to  scrib- 
bling. Why,  how  now,  yarlet!  What 
dost  mean  by  such  impudency !  What 
know  you  of  gentlemen — a  paltry  poor 
fellow,  of  no  note  or  quality,  that  can 
not  say  who  was  his  own  father?" 

Master  Francis  had  been  much  moved 
before — but  now  he  became  exceeding 
agitated.  He  breathed  hard — he  pressed 
his  teeth  upon  his  lower  lip  so  firmly  that 
the  blood  oozed  from  it,  and  his  cheek, 
which  had  hitherto  been  famously  flushed, 
now  grew  wonderfully  pale. 

"Colonel  Harquebus!"  exclaimed  he, 
looking  proudly  and  angrily  at  his  insult- 
er,  "  I  have  borne  more  from  you  than 
ever  I  endured  from  any  man  in  my  life. 
As  the  friend  of  one  for  whom  I  feel  the 
affection  of  a  son,  you  have  had  in  my 
eyes  a  claim  to  my  forbearance,  which  I 
should  be  loath  to  set  aside.  But  forbear- 
ance hath  its  limits.  Urge  me  not  any 
more,  for  were  you  fifty  times  the  skilful 
swordsman  you  are,  give  me  such  another 
affront,  I  will  die  but  I  will  avenge  it  on 
you  with  my  sword.  Colonel  Harquebus, 
I  would  pass  you."  Thereupon  Master 
Francis  bowed  haughtily  to  his  compan- 
ion, and  seemed  intent  upon  taking  him- 

ir  re 

sen  away. 

"Never   saw  I  such   thorough   cow- 


ardice," replied  the  colonel,  scornfully , 
at  hearing  which  the  young  secretary 
stopped  of  a  sudden,  and  looked  on  the 
other  with  knitted  brows  and  a  fearless 
gaze.  "  It  be  palpable.  No  sun  at  noon- 
day ever  was  seen  so  clearly.  Go  to ! 
you  are  contemptible  !  You  are  paltry  ! 
You  are  vile !  I  have  suspected  your 
worthless  origin  with  sufficient  cause. 
Such  base  behavior  proveth  you  to  be  the 
base  offspring  of  some  wanton  woman." 
In  an  instant  the  rapier  of  Master  Fran- 
cis flashed  from  its  sheath. 

"  Thou  liest !"  shouted  he,  trembling 
with  irrepressible  rage,  his  eyes  glancing 
with  a  brilliancy  they  had  never  till  then 
exhibited,  and  his  countenance,  though 
pale  as  death,  expressing  extreme  anger 
and  defiance.  "  Thou  liest,  for  a  foul- 
mouthed  calumniating  villain.  Draw, 
if  thou  hast  the  spirit  of  a  man,  and  I 
will  prove  that  thou  art  a  slanderer  on 
thy  villanous  body." 

.  "  Not  so  fast,  Master  Secretary,"  coolly 
replied  the  colonel,  as  he  slowly  drew 
forth  his  weapon.  "  All  in  good  time.  I 
like  not  to  be  hurried,  I  promise  you. 
Right  glad  am  I,  however,  to  see  that 
you  wear  something  beside  a  scabbard. 
'Tis  a  pretty  blade.  I  hope  you  are  tol- 
erably skilled  in  the  use  of  it,  for  I  like 
not  killing  one  who  is  ignorant  of  his  de- 
fence. Put  forth  your  cunning.  Live  as 
many  minutes  as  you  may.  But  I  would 
fain  persuade  you  to  the  saving  of  your 
life.  You  know  what  a  master  of  fence 
I  am.  Be  wise  in  time.  Sheathe  your 
weapon  and  go  your  ways." 

Master  Francis  only  replied  by  throw- 
ing his  hat  on  one  side,  and  making  a 
demonstration  of  readiness  to  attack  his 
opponent.  Colonel  Harquebus  very  un- 
concernedly put  his  hat  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree  close  by  ;  but  he  looked  not  so  scorn- 
ful as  he  had  done;  indeed,  he  seemed 
to  be  setting  upon  a  conflict  of  life  and 
death,  as  though  it  were  a  marvellous 
pleasant  pastime  to  him. 

"  Then  you  accept  not  of  my  clemen- 
cy, Master  Secretary  ?"  said  he,  advan- 
cing toward  him.  "  Life  is  sweet.  Death 
endeth  all  scribbling.  I  pray  you  have 
pity  on  yourself,  and  sheathe  your  weap- 
on." 

"Heed  not  me  !"  replied  Master  Fran- 
cis, in  no  way  lessening  his  rage.  "  I  am 
loath  to  draw  in  a  quarrel ;  but  I  sheathe 
not  my  weapon  till  I  have  had  satisfac- 
tion for  an  injury." 

"  Then  look  to  yourself,  Master  Secre- 
tary," added  Colonel  Harquebus,  as  he 
made  a  flourish  of  his  rapier,  "T  must 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


309 


needs  kill  you.     Yet  I  like  not  making  a 
hole  in  so  fine  a  doublet.'' 

The  sarcasm  contained  in  the  last  sen- 
tence seemed  to  have  increased  the  an- 
ger of  Master  Francis;  for  he  instantly 
crossed  the  other's  weapon  with  his  own, 
and  began  a  brisk  assault.  The  colonel 
took  it  at  first  very  coolly,  scarcely  exert- 
ing of  himself  at  all,  as  if  he  believed 
he  had  so  poor  a  swordsman  to  deal  with 
there  was  no  necessity  for  his  putting 
forth  any  particular  skill  for  the  van- 
quishing of  him  ;  but  this  contemptuous 
behavior  the  more  stirred  up  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  young  secretary.  Still,  how- 
ever greatly  angered  he  was,  he  bore  in 
mind  his  adversary's  reputation  with  his 
weapon,  and  used  such  caution  as  would 
give  him  as  little  advantage  as  was  pos- 
sible. Presently,  the  colonel  found  him- 
self so  pressed,  he  was  by  little  and  little 
forced  into  the  using  of  all  the  cunning 
he  possessed.  Now  their  weapons  flashed 
against  each  other  with  such  marvellous 
rapidity  the  eye  could  not  follow  their 
movements.  The  colonel  looked  not  so 
cool  as  he  did.  In  a  minute  or  two  the 
colonel  found  himself  obliged  to  give 
ground.  I  know  not  whether  it  was  Col- 
onel Harquebus  was  not  such  a  master  of 
fence  as  he  had  said,  or  that  increased 
excitement  led  Master  Francis  to  the 
using  of  a  greater  vigor;  but  the  colonel 
was  now  so  hotly  assaulted  he  had  to 
employ  all  his  vigilance,  all  his  strength, 
and  all  his  skilfulness  in  his  own  defence  ; 
and  having  his  attention  fully  employed 
by  his  adversary,  could  not  notice  where 
he  was  retreating  to,  till  his  foot  came 
against  the  root  of  a  tree  that  projected 
somewhat  above  the  earth,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment he  measured  his  length  on  the 
ground. 

"Hold  thy  hand,  boy!"  shouted  he, 
upon  seeing  the  point  of  the  other's 
weapon  coming  direct  upon  his  breast. 
"Wouldst  kill  thine  own  father?" 

Master  Francis  dropped  his  rapier  on 
the  instant,  and  stood  with  clasped  hands, 
and  looks  of  wonder,  fear,  and  horror,  j 
gazing  upon  his  prostrate  antagonist.     As  j 
for  the  colonel,  all  trace  of  any  ill  feeling 
had  vanished  from  his  features,  and  he 
looked  now  with  a  sort  of  half-ashamed 
and  half-pleased  face. 

"  Well,  colonel— art  satisfied  ?"  in-  | 
quired  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  coming  up 
with  Master  Shakspeare  unseen  by  Uie 
combatants,  followed  by  Dame  Elizabeth 
and  Alice,  and  Harry  Daring  and  young 
Raleigh,  all  excepting  the  first  looking  as 
if  they  marvelled  exceedingly. 


"  Satisfied,  quotha  !"  replied  the  other 
as  he  sprang  upon  his  feet,  and  began 
wiping  of  his  hot  face.  "  O'  my  life,  I 
had  nigh  been  satisfied  after  such  a  fash- 
ion as  would  have  left  me  naught  to  de- 
sire in  this  world  !  A  valiant  young 
villain  ! — a  very  Hector !  As  pretty  a 
fellow  at  his  weapon  as  ever  I  met.  You 
have  seen  something  of  my  skill  at  the 
sword,  Sir  Walter  :  I  have  overcome  the 
best  masters  of  fence  in  Christendom. 
But,  my  by  troth  !  though  I  sought  with 
all  my  cunning  to  disarm  him,  that  I  might 
then  say  who  I  was,  and  acknowledge 
him  as  a  son  of  mine,  the  varlet  not  only 
would  not  allow  of  such  a  thing,  but 
pressed  on  me  with  such  a  furious  valor, 
I  had  great  ado  to  keep  me  a  whole 
skin." 

"You  will  take  my  word  next  time," 
said  Raleigh  with  a  smile ;  then  turning 
to  Master  Francis,  who  was  gazing  on 
one  and  on  the  other,  so  bewildered  it 
was  evident  he  scarce  knew  what  to  say 
or  do,  he  added — "  Master  Francis !  or, 
as  you  must  henceforth  be  called,  Master 
Francis  Harquebus,  it  is  now  my  business 
to  tell  you,  and  I  would  gladly  have  told 
you  before  had  I  been  allowed,  that,  from 
the  likeness  you  bear  to  your  most  virtuous 
and  excellent  mother,  the  colonel,  on  the 
first  sight  of  you,  did  suspect  your  rela- 
tionship to  him,  and  did  question  me  very 
closely  upon  your  history,  the  which  I 
told  to  the  full  extent  of  what  I  knew. 
Thereupon  he  acknowledged  himself 
your  father,  stating  that  he  had  secretly 
married  your  mother,  and  soon  after  left 
England  for  foreign  wars,  to  escape  being 
forced  into  a  marriage  he  liked  not,  as  I 
told  you  before  ;  but,  finding  you  were  my 
secretary,  and  hearing  you  were  much 
given  to  studiousness  and  writing,  which 
he  hath  a  most  unreasonable  contempt 
of,  he  would  on  no  account  have  you 
made  aware  of  your  kindred  to  him.  It 
was  in  vain  I  related  such  instances  of 
your  courage  as  had  come  under  mine  own 
eyes:  his  dislike  of  scribblers  and  mere 
gallants  would  not  allow  him  to  think 
otherwise  than  that  I  was  partial  in  my 
commendations  of  you,  and  stated  his 
resolve  to  make  trial  of  your  valor,  that 
if  you  proved  yourself  of  such  gallant 
spirit  as  would  make  him  glad  to  own 
you  as  a  son,  his  son  you  should  be  im- 
mediately acknowledged  ;  but  if,  as  he 
imagined,  you  had  no  such  spirit  in  you, 
nothing  should  be  said  about  the  matter; 
for  he  said  he  would  never  be  brought  to 
own  relationship  to  a  pitiful  fine  milksop 
Upon  this  he  tried  to  affront  you,  expect- 


310 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


ing  you  to  call  him  to  account  for  it. 
Your  forbearance  he  took  for  ftar,  and 
vowed  he  would  have  none  of  .you  for  a 
son.  I  said  what  I  could  to  create  in 
him  a  different  opinion ;  and  he  continued 
to  put  upon  you  such  insults  as  he  thought 
most  offensive  and  intolerable.  I  do  be- 
lieve you  endured  till  nature  could  endure 
no  longer ;  and  now  you  have  convinced 
him  that  learning,  and  taste  in  apparel- 
ling of  oneself,  can  do  no  hurt  to  true 
valor." 

"  0'  my  life  !  I  do  begin  to  believe  they 
be  not  so  bad  as  I  have  thought,"  observed 
the  colonel  good-humoredly,  as  he  sheath- 
ed his  rapier. 

"  One  thing  more,"  continued  Sir  Wal- 
ter. "  You  must  not  suppose,  from  the 
harshness  of  his  behavior  to  you,  that  your 
father  is  of  the  crabbed  nature  he  hath 
seemed.  I  have  known  him  long,  and 
have  seen  him  oft ;  and  do  in  all  sincerity 
assert  there  liveth  not  a  kinder,  heartier, 
and  more  sweetly-disposed  gentleman  in 
this  world — as  far  as  I  know  of  it." 

"  0'  my  life  !"  exclaimed  the  colonel. 
"  I  do  believe  he  hath  taken  such  offence 
at  my  behavior,  and  knowing  once  I  would 
have  none  of  him  for  a  son,  he  will  turn 
the  tables,  and  now  have  none  of  me  for 
a  father." 

Master  Francis  had  no  such  idea  in 
him.  He  was  lost  in  a  sort  of  pleasing 
wonder ;  and  his  feelings  were  overpow- 
ered at  remembering  that  the  parent  he 
had  been  so  anxious  to  meet,  the  ignorance 
of  whom  had  occasioned  him  such  ex- 
treme unhappiness,  he  was  a  moment 
since  on  the  point  of  running  through  the 
body. 

"  Wilt  shake  hands  and  be  friends,  Son 
Francis?"  inquired  his  father.  "Wilt 
have  peace  after  all  this  famous  fighting  ? 
Dost  care  for  owning  an  old  soldier  for 
thy  father,  thou  valiant  young  villain  ? 
Heed  not  what  I  have  said  ;  care  not  for 
what  I  have  done.  Thou  art  of  my  blood 
I  could  swear  by  the  way  thou  holdst  thy 
weapon.  I  am  proud  of  thee.  I  will  be 
hanged  if  ever  I  affront  thee  again,  thou 
desperate  little  Hercules !  Thou  hast 
thy  mother's  look  and  thy  father's  spirit: 
so  if  thou  wilt,  become  a  son  to  me  in  my 
old  age,  and  I  will  love  thee  as  well  as  I 
loved  thy  mother." 

Master  Francis,  wilh  a  heart  too  full 
for  utterance  did  hasten  to  his  faiher,  who, 
after  shaking  of  him  cordially  by  the 
hand,  presently  pressed  him  in  his  arms 
with  such  show  of  affection  as  was  de- 
lightful for  the  others  to  look  upon. 

"  By   Gog   and    Magog,   this   be    the 


happiest  day  of  myl'  exclaimed  Harry 
Daring,  whose  honest  face  beamed  with 
joy  at  his  friend's  good  fortune ;  and  ev- 
ery one  of  that  party  seemed  to  be  as 
greatly  rejoiced. 

"And  now,  Master  Francis  Harque- 
bus," said  Sir  Walter  Raleigh;  "I  must 
needs  dismiss  you  from  my  service:  the 
colonel  will  not  allow  you  to  remain  my 
secretary.  But  I  part  with  you  with  the 
less  regret,  as  I  here  place  you  in  a  situ- 
ation of  equal  confidence,  wilh  one  whose 
service  1  doubt  not  you  will  find  far  more 
pleasant  than  mine."  Thereupon  he  took 
the  hand  of  Alice  and  placed  it  in  that 
of  her  lover. 

"  And  hark  you,  Master  Francis !"  cried 
Master  Shakspeare,  looking  to  be  in  his 
merriest  humor.  "  If  from  this  time  for- 
ward I  catch  you  wearing  of  a  melan- 
choly visage,  I  will  do  my  best  to  have 
you  smothered  in  sad-colored  taffeta,  or 
sent  to  become  an  undertaker's  appren- 
tice." 

"  And  look  you,  Mistress  Alice !"  ex- 
claimed Raleigh  •  with  the  like  good  na- 
ture. "If  from  this  time  forward  I  catch 
you  breaking  your  wicked  jests  upon  man- 
animals  of  any  sort,  I  will  do  my  best  to 
have  you  shut  up  in  a  mouse-trap,  or  put 
in  a  cage  like  a  tame  raven,  and  hung 
where  you  shall  not  have  sight  of  a  man 
for  the  rest  of  your  days." 

All  laughed  at  these  sallies  ;  and  Alice 
turned  away  blushing  very  prettily,  still 
holding  her  lover  by  the  hand,  and  they 
|  two  turned  their  steps  toward  the  house. 
Master  Shakspeare  and  Dame  Elizabeth 
followed  ;  then  came  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
and  his  companion  in  arms  Colonel  Har- 
quebus ;  and  lasily,  Harry  Daring  and 
the  child :  and  it  was  no  easy  matter  to 
say  of  these  which  wore  the  happiest 
countenance,  or  who  had  the  gladdest 
heart. 

All  the  goodly  chambers  in  Durham 
house  were  filled  with  company.  Crowds 
of  fine  gallants  and  beautiful  dames  were 
moving  to  and  fro.  There  had  been 
feasting  in  such  prodigality  that  it  was 
the  marvel  of  all.  There  had  been  such 
delicate  sweet  music  as  seemed  never  to 
have  been  heard  till  then.  Dancing  had 
there  been  of  such  a  sort  the  oldest  there 
remembered  not  anything  so  commenda 
bly  done  ;  and  pageants  of  such  wonder- 
ful excellent  conceits  had  been  performed 
which  eclipsed  all  things  of  the  like  kind 
that  had  ever  been  seen  before.  So  bril- 
liant a  company  it  was  thought  by  all, 
at  no  time  had  met  together  upon  one 
occasion ;  for  here  were  all  the  chiefest 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


nobles  of  the  land ;  here  were  all  the 
most  famous  commanders  of  the  age: 
here  were  all  the  loveliest  ladies  of  the 
court ;  here  were  all  the  greatest  wits  of 
the  time  ;  and  such  splendor  of  apparel- 
ling, such  bountiful  show  and  infinite 
variety  of  all  manner  of  rarest  fabrics 
and  costliest  jewels  were  there  to  be  seen, 
that  a  stranger  gazing  thereon  might 
have  said  there  would  be  no  occasion  for 
any  one  going  to  distant  parts  in  search 
of  an  El  Dorado,  here  it  was  at  his  hand. 
But  more  magnificent  than  all,  on  a  rich 
throne  placed  upon  a  raised  dais,  in  the 
fairest  chamber  of  the  mansion,  sat 
Queen  Elizabeth,  looking  to  be  in  such 
sweet  content  as  was  the  admiration  of 
her  loving  subjects. 

And  for  what  occasion  had  this  noble 
company  been  brought  together? — To 
do  honor  to  the  marriage  of  Master 
Francis  Harquebus  to  Mistress  Alice; 
Throckmorton.  The  nobles  had  come 
out  of  respect  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
who,  since  his  return  from  the  expedition 
to  Cadiz,  had  grown  to  be  wonderfully 
popular  amongsi  them,  and  was  now  in 
greater  favor  with  the  queen  than  ever 
he  was.  And  who  so  proud  as  he — who, 
having  just  danced  with  her  majesty  a 
coranto,  to  her  infinite  delight,  stood 
close  at  her  side,  arrayed  with  that  ex- 
quisite taste  and  costliness  she  so  much 
admired,  ever  and  anon  breathing  into 
her  ear  such  courily  phrases  as  he  knew 
she  most  affected ;  and  she  answering 
him  with  smiles  and  pretty  words,  and 
tapping  him  playfully  with  her  fan,  and 
doing  a  hundred  things  that  proved  on 
what  excellent  terms  he  was  with  her. 

The  commanders  came  out  of  respect 
to  their  gallant  associate,  Colonel  Har- 
quebus, who  was  in  great  reputation  with 
them  for  his  approved  good  soldiership: 
and  who  so  proud  as  he,  as  he  received 
the  congratulations  of  the  Howards  and 
the  Veres — the  Monsons — the  Carews — 
the  Cliffords — and  scores  of  the  like  brave 
spirits,  who  thronged  around  him.  The 
fair  dames  and  lovely  young  gentlewomen 
had  come  out  of  respect  to  Dame  Eliza- 
beth and  her  pretty  cousin,  who  had  re- 
ceived such  gracious  behavior  from  her 
majesty  as  no  ladies  of  her  court  had 
ever  been  known  lo  be  honored  with  be- 
fore. And  who  so  proud  as  Dame  Eliza- 
beth, seeing  her  husband,  after  being  dis- 
graced for  her  sake,  now  in  such  estima- 
tion with  her  sovereign  and  all  England, 
as  he  had  never  reached  till  now.  Alice 
was  proud  of  her  husband  also,  but  she 
was  more  happy  than  proud. 


The  wits  had  come  out  of  respect  for 
Master  Francis,  by  whom  he  was  con- 
sidered one  of  themselves;  and  famous 
compliments  he  received,  and  heartily 
was  his  good  fortune  hailed  by  them. 
And  who  so  proud  as  he,  at  sight  of 
so  gallant  a  company,  all  met  to  do  him 
honor ;  but  I  doubt  not,  when  his  eye 
glanced  toward  the  dimpled  rosy  cheek 
of  his  exquisite  sweet  bride,  he  was  also 
more  happy  thaki  proud.  The  courtiers 
came  because  the  queen  was  there,  and 
they  now  rivalled  each  other  in  showing 
of  their  devotion  to  the  reigning  favorite, 
and  marvelled  any  one  should  ever  have 
thought  ill  of  so  princely  a  gentleman. 
My  Lord  Essex  was  not  of  the  party,  he 
had  excused  himself  on  the  score  of  ill- 
ness; but  some  did  say  he  was  only  in- 
disposed to  come.  The  new  secretary 
of  state  was  there,  with  others  of  the 
queen's  chief  officers,  and  all  were  won- 
derful courteous  to  the  captain  of  the 
queen's  guard.  None  seemed  more  friend- 
ly than  did  Sir  Robert  Cecil ;  but  an  ob- 
server, had  he  paid  strict  attention  to 
him  as  he  was  in  earnest  conversation 
with  his  coadjutor  and  parasite,  Lord 
Henry  Howard,  in  a  corner  of  the  cham- 
ber of  state,  where  were  her  majesty  and 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  might  have  noticed 
in  the  sneer  upon  his  lip,  as  he  eyed  the 
two,  that  Master  Secretary  was  devising 
of  some  crafty  scheme  to  mar  the  good 
feeling  that  existed  between  them. 

Master  Francis  was  in  one  of  the  rooms 
in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  cheerful  friends, 
amongst  whom  were  Master  Bacon,  Ben 
Jonson,  and  divers  of  his  old  acquaint- 
ances of  the  Mermaid,  diffusing  around 
him  such  pleasant  wit  and  courteous  good 
humor,  it  was  delightful  to  look  upon  the 
scene,    when    he   was   accosted   by   Sir 
Nicholas  Throckmorton,  stating  that  the 
queen  was  desirous  of  seeing  him  on  the 
instant ;  thereupon   he  hurried  away  in 
company  with  the  old  knight,whoamused 
himself  as  they  passed  along,  by  inform- 
'  ing  his  young  friend  that  her  majesty  was 
in  a  very  monstrous  passion,  and  having 
I  got  hold  of  the  swoH   -f  her  captain  of 
i  the  guard,  was  about  performing  of  some 
j  bloody  tragedy  upon  one  Master  Francis 
!  Harquebus  and  his  father — they  having 
:  been  proved  to  be  exceeding  traitorous 
and   disloyal   subjects.      Master   Francis 
could   easily   perceive,   from   his  merry 
!  countenance,  that   the   old    knight  was 
!  jesting;  but  still  he  could  not  help  enter- 
I  ing  upon  some  speculation  on  the  cause 
of  the  queen's  sending  for  him.     As  he 
:  proceeded  through   the   splendid  crowd 


312 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


that  thronged  the  rooms,  the  eyes  of  all 
turned  in  admiration  upon  his  right  hand- 
some countenance  and  gallant  figure.  He 
was  clothed  in  a  peach-colored  velvet 
d  .ublet,  ornamented  with  pearls;  and 
trunk  lio.-e  of  delicate  white  saiiu,  with 
white  rosettes  in  his  shoes.  Many  a  fair 
damsel  of  rank  envied  Alice  her  good 
fortune.  In  truth,  though  Sir  Waller 
Rakish  might  have  been  the  nobler-look- 
ing, Master  Francis  was  the  very  hand- 
somest man  in  the  whole  company  ;  and 
as  he  moved  along,  he  won  the  gracious 
opinion  of  all,  by  his  courteous  behavior 
and  modest  deportment. 

Upon  entering  the  royal  chamber  and 
parsing  through  a  circle  of  nobles,  gal- 
lants, and  lovely  dames,  who  gladly  made 
way  fur  him,  he  heard  a  buz  of  admira- 
tion, and  noticed  his  father  rising  from  a 
kneeling  position,  with  the  queen  holding 
of  a  sword  in  her  hand,  by  his  side,  hav- 
ing Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  all  the  chief- 
est  of  her  court  about  her.  "  Master 
Francis  !"  exclaimed  her  majesty,  evident- 
ly scanning  the  perfections  of  his  grace- 
ful person  with  a  famous  admiration, 
"  we  do  remember  putting  on  you  some 
affront,  the  which  you  deserved  not ;  and 
we  are  now  anxious  to  make  you  some 
slight  amends  for  it,  which  we  do  with 
the  greater  pleasure,  having  heard  won- 
derful commendation  of  you  from  our 
captain  of  the  guard.  We  command 
you  to  kneel."  Master  Francis  knelt  on 
one  knee  at  the  queen's  feet,  in  a  strange 
tumult  of  proud  and  happy  feelings.  He 
felt  something  touch  his  shoulder,  and 
her  majesty  say,  "Rise  up,  Sir  Francis 
Harquebus  !"  and  then  followed  some 
courteous  speech  from  the  queen,  and 
congratulations  from  the  splendid  circle 
around  him ;  though  of  what  was  said 
he  had  but  an  indistinct  knowledge;  he 
felt  in  so  great  a  surprise  and  wonder,  and 
admiratioa. 

A  short  time  after  this,  as  he  was  turn- 
ing from  the  proud  and  happy  Alice,  and 
the  equally  delighted  Dame  Elizabeth, 
with  a  pleasure  equal  to  their  own,  and 
proceeding  out  at  the  door,  lost  in  the 
sweet  bewilderment  of  his  own  thoughts, 
he  was  roused  from  his  ambitious  revery 
by  a  well-known  voice. 

"Remember  you  not,  when  we  two 
were  at  Master  Tickletoby's,  and  we 
talked  of  what  we  should  do  when  we 
grew  to  be  men,  how  I  said  that  you 
should  be  a  famous' gallant  knight,  and  I 
your  esquire  ?"  . 

"I  remember  it  well,  Harry!"  replied 
Sir  Francis,  cheerfully,  as  he  gazed 


upon  the  honest  happy  face  of  his  true 
friend. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  a  knight," 
added  Harry  Daring,  with  great  earnest- 
ness ;  "  I  always  said  you  were  a  gentle- 
man born.  How  glad  of  heart  I  am  I 
forswore  barbering  to  follow  you  to  the 
wars." 

"Indeed,  Harry,  I  am  infinitely  glad 
also,"  answered  the  other.  "I  can  not 
forget  what  extreme  goodness  and  mar- 
vellous noble  behavior  you  showed  tow- 
ard me  when  I  had  no  other  friend  than 
you." 

"By  Gog  and  Magog,  I  could  not  help 
it !"  exclaimed  his  companion,  "  I  loved 
you;  that  is  the  honest  truth;  and  you 
were  always  of  so  excellent  sweet  a  dis- 
position, it  was  clean  impossible  I  could 
do  aught  else." 

"  Desire  you  to  go  to  the  wars  again, 
Harry  ?"  inquired  Sir  Francis. 

"  What,  against  those  villanous  caitiffs, 
the  Spaniards  ?"  asked  Harry  Daring, 
quickly.  "Ah,  that  should  1,  Master — 
Sir  Francis,  I  mean.'' 

"And  what  say  you  to  the  having, 
some  short  time  hence,  a  goodly  ship  of 
your  own  ?"  added  his  friend. 

"  O'  my  life,  I  should  like  nothing  so 
well !"  replied  the  other,  with  increasing 
animation.  "  Then  would  I  go  cruising 
in  the  Spanish  Main  after  those  same  rich 
galleons  and  argosies,  and  I  doubt  not  I 
would  make  prize  of  some." 

"  That  you  shall  do,  Harry,"  answered 
Sir  Francis. 

The  conversation  was  here  broken  in 
upon  by  the  coming  up  of  divers  persons 
of  worship,  to  congratulate  Sir  Francis 
upon  the  distinction  just  conferred  upon 
him. 

But  of  all  this  noble  company  there 
was  not  one  so  greatly  noticed  as  was 
Master  Shakspeare.  This  was  owing, 
in  some  part,  to  his  own  excellent  repu- 
tation, and  partly  to  the  respect  and 
friendliness  shown  toward  him  by  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  and  his  young  friend,  Sir 
Francis  Harquebus.  The  queen  having 
spied  him  among  the  throng,  had  been 
exceeding  gracious  in  her  behavior  to 
him,  keeping  him  for  a  considerable  time 
engaged  in  agreeable  converse  ;  and  then, 
after  much  courteous  speech,  she  removed 
a  ring  from  her  finger  and  gave  him  to 
wear  in  token  of  her  admiration  of  his 
genius  and  character.  This  being  whis- 
pered from  one  to  another,  and  much  talk 
ensuing  concerning  of  the  many  wonder- 
ful fine  plays  and  poems  he  had  writ, 
wherever  he  went  he  was  itgarded  with 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


313 


a  singular  curiousness  and  respect;  and 
the  chiefest  of  the  nobles  thronged  up  to 
him  as  though  they  were  proud  to  be 
considered  among  the  number  of  his 
friends. 

"All  is  settled,  sweet  Master  Shak- 
speare,"  whispered  the  young  Lord  South- 
ampton to  his  friend,  as  they  stood  to- 
gether toward  the  close  of  the  evening 
in  a  corner  of  the  room.  "  I  have  pre- 
vailed on  her  at  last  to  risk  a  marriage 
with  me.'' 

"  I  wish  you  joy,  my  good  lord,"  said 
the  other  with  a  very  earnest  sincerity. 
"I  do  believe  Mistress  Varnon  to  be  in 
every  way  worthy  of  you,  and  I  hope  you 
will  be  as  happy  as  both  your  hearts 
desire." 

"I  ihank  you,  with  all  my  hearts,"  re- 
plied his  patron  with  a  look  of  exceeding 
affection.  "  And  there  liveth  none  to 
whom  I  feel  myself  so  deeply  indebted. 
Indeed,  I  know  not  what  I  should  have 
done  had  you  riot  stepped  in  so  opportune- 
ly to  my  rescue,  and  with  your  excellent 
rare  wit  set  at  naught  the  tyrannical  de- 
vices of  those  who  would  put  asunder 
two  young  hearts  that  love  had  joined. 
Surtly  no  man  ever  had  such  true  friend 
as  I  have  found  in  you." 

"  Nay,  my  good  lord,  you  overvalue  my 
poor  service,"  observed  Master  Shak- 
speare in  a  kindred  spirit. 

"That  can  never  be,"  exclaimed  my 
Lord  Southampton.  "  But  I  can  not  trust 
myself  to  say  more  on  that  head  now.  I 
will  wait  a  better  time." 

"  I'failh  I  am  right  glad  to  find  I  could 
turn  the  singing  of  madrigals  to  such 
good  account,"  said  his  friend  merrily. 
"  Yel,  I  must  say,  'twas  not  without  infi- 
nite painstaking,  I  acquired  the  dignified 
approbation  of  Aunt  Deborah  ;  neverthe- 
less, I  have  been  so  well  repaid  by  the 
amusement  I  have  had  in  noticing  of  her 
antiquated  humor,  I  would  cheerfully  go 
through  the  same  trouble  to  procure  rue 
the  like  sport." 

"  Alack,  what  a  very  absolute  rage  she 
will  be  in  when  she  discovereth  her  niece 
hath  given  her  the  slip !"  said  the  young 
noble.  "  But  I  do  shrewdly  suspect  her 
greatest  grief  will  be  for  the  loss  of  her 
gallant.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  she  doth 
continually  sigh  for  Master  Dulcimer  in  a 
manner  so  profound,  that  it  is  quite  pitiful 
to  hear  her;  and  when  she  doth  fancy 
herself  unseen  of  any,  she  will  pace  up 
and  down  her  chamber,  putting  her  em- 
broidered handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and 
turning  up  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and 
clasping  of  her  hands  together,  and  ever 


and  anon  singing  snatches  of  madrigals 
in  the  most  delicate  moving  manner  ever 
known." 

"  0'  my  life,  'tis  wonderfully  pathetic  !" 
cried  the  other,  laughing  heartily,  "  but  as 
I  have  no  taste  for  antiquarian  matters 
methinks  'twould  be  as  well  were  I  to 
turn  her  over  to  Master  Cotton,  who,  I 
doubt  not,  will  make  much  of  her,  as  he 
holds  nothing  in  such  estimation  as  an- 
cient pictures  and  the  like,  and  I  will 
warrant  her  as  old  a  piece  of  painting — 
judging  from  her  complexion— as  he  shall 
find  anywhere  out  of  a  frame." 

"  Ha,  sweet  Will !"  exclaimed  Master 
Burbage  coming  up  with  Ben  Jonson,  as 
the  other  two  were  indulging  themselves 
with  their  mirth.  "  Of  what  jest  hast 
thou  just  been  delivered  ?  for  I  see  there 
hath  another  been  born  of  thy  most  mul- 
titudinous family." 

•"Mayhap,  it  shall  be  nothing  better 
than  a  new  version  of  the  old  story,"  ob- 
served Ben  Jonson.  "  Mons  parturiens, 
nascitur  mus." 

"  Nay,  good  Ben,  I  will  not  have  it  that 
way,"  said  my  Lord  Southampton.  "  A 
mountain  he  may  be — Olympus  itself 
was  scarce  such  another,  but  what  is 
bom  of  him  hath  nothing  of  the  insignifi- 
cance of  a  mouse." 

"  I  would  say  here  as  many  a  tender 
housewife  hath  said  before — let  the  mouse 
go,"  answered  Master  Shakspeare  good- 
humoredly.  "Perchance  my  jests  are 
but  mice.  Yet  are  they  such  as  have  too 
much  wit  in  them  to  go  into  a  trap.  As 
for  any  disparaging  words  that  may  be 
spoken  of  this  facetious  varlet,  mind  them 
not,  my  good  lord.  Ben  is  like  unto  one 
of  the  heathen  gods — he  hath  grown  fa- 
mous for  devouring  his  own  offspring." 

"  Go  to  !"  exclaimed  Ben  Jonson,  join- 
ing in  the  laugh  of  the  others.  "  Thou 
hast  done  nothing  of  the  sort  I  will  be 
bound  for't,  with  regard  to  thy  words,  for 
thou  knowest  well  enough  what  poor 
eating  they  would  make." 

"  'Tis  hard  to  say  what  hunger  would 
do,"  remarked  Master  Burbage  in  the 
same  merry  humor.  "  Bears  suck  their 
own  paws  for  lack  of  better  victual ;  and  if 
Will  was  reduced  to  a  like  strait,  mayhap 
he  should  be  found  driven  to  his  '  wit's 
end'  for  a  meal." 

"  Good,  by  my  troth,"  cried  Master 
Shakspeare. 

"He  would  not  be  the  first  that  had 
come  to  the  extremity  of  living  by  his 
wits,"  said  my  Lord  Southampton. 

"I  wish  him  no  such  bad  fortune,"  re- 
marked Ben  Jonson.  "  Doubtless  famine 


314 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


is  a  great  evil ;  but  to  get  starved  to 
death  so  rapidly  as  he  must  needs  be, 
having  come  to  so  sorry  a  shift,  is  pitia- 
ble to  think  of.'' 

"  Save  thy  sympathy  for  thyself,  Ben," 
replied  his  opponent.  "Wert  thou  in 
such  want,  I  have  a  huge  suspicion  thou 
wouldst  discover  that  there  could  be  no 
jesting  with  an  empty  stomach  ;  for  it  is 
allowed  I  have  wits  to  live  upon,  albeit 
there  be  no  great  provision — but  that  thou 
canst  find  diet  of  however  poor  a  kind  in 
a  like  circumstance,  I  have  no  such  as- 
surance." 

"  You  are  merry,  my  masters !"  ex- 
claimed my  Lord  Howard  of  Walden, 
who,  with  two  or  three  noblemen  of  his 
acquaintance,  now  came  up,  attracted  by 
the  evident  mirth  of  Master  Shakspeare 
and  his  companions.  "  I  warrant  me  you 
have  said  some  choice  conceit  or  anoth- 
er. I  pray  you  tell  us  what  was  the  jest." 

"  Indeed,  it  was  scarce  worth  repeat- 
ing," observed  Master  Shakspeare,  now 
with  a  monstrous  grave  countenance. 
"  We  were  but  admiring  the  infinite  con- 
scientiousness of  a  certain  prudent  gen- 
tlewoman, who,  having  in  a  fit  of  anger, 
called  her  husband  'a  brute' — the  which 
at  that  time  she  knew  he  was  not,  did  as 
speedily  as  might  be,  verify  the  accusa- 
tion because  she  would  on  no  account  ac- 
knowledge to  the  telling  of  an  untruth." 

Upon  this  the  laugh  became  louder  than 
ever,  and  my  Lord  Howard  did  join  in  it 
as  heartily  as  any,  with  a  perfect  inno- 
cency  of  the  jest  having  been  directed  at 
him,  although  it  was  well  known  of  the 
others  to  what  it  alluded. 

"  If  we  may  judge  of  the  firing  of  the 
report  there  must  needs  be  a  sharp  en- 
gagement here,"  said  Colonel  Sir  Fran- 
cis Harquebus,  joining  the  circle  with  sev- 
eral of  his  friends,  who  had  also  been 
drawn  there  by  the  seeming  good  humor 
of  the  group.  "I  trust  there  may  not  be 
many  wounded  on  your  side  ?" 

"  Nay,  good  colonel,  stav  you  with  us 
but  a  brief  space  you  will  find  there  be 
no  need  of  any  serious  apprehension,"  re- 
plied Master  Shakspeare  in  the  same 
pleasant  mood,  whereupon  the  mirth 
broke  out  afresh.  "  Our  ordnance  doeth 
the  clean  contrary  of  that  you  have  b.een 
used  to.  Perchance  we  shall  keep  up 
a  constant  fire  when  we  enter  the  field, 
yet  instead  of  lessening  the  forces  en- 
eaged,  we  shall  be  continually  adding  to 
our  numbers."  And  so  it  proved — for 
the  frequent  loud  laughing  of  these  few, 
every  moment'  brought  to  them  others  of 
the  company — many  of  whom  were  the 


most  distinguished  in  the  land — and  as 
Master  Shakspeare  had  ever  ready  some 
excellent  fine  conceit  or  another  which 
did  infinitely  tickle  the  fancies  of  such  as 
were  within  hearing,  the  mirth  became 
louder,  and  the  throng  about  him  in- 
creased so  prodigiously  he  could  scarce 
move  for  the  crowd. 

"  It  is  Master  Shakspeare  !"  said  one ; 
and  as  soon  as  it  got  whispered  about 
that  he  was  uttering  his  notable  witty 
sayings,  the  singers,  and  the  musicians, 
and  even  the  masquers  and  dancers  were 
left  unheeded ;  and  these,  beginning  to 
know  the  cause  they  were  so  abandoned, 
with  as  absolute  a  curiosity  as  any, 
thronged  as  quickly  as  they  might,  tow- 
ard the  same  scene  of  attraction.  It  hap- 
pened when  the  crowd  was  at  its  thick- 
est, a  message  came  from  the  queen's 
majesty,  who  had  noted  the  flocking  of 
the  company  to  one  place  and  had  been 
told  the  cause  of  it,  for  Master  Shak- 
speare to  appear  before  her  forthwith. 

"  We  charge  you,  Master  Shakspeare, 
with  high  treason  !"  exclaimed  Queen 
Elizabeth,  when  he  presented  himself  ac- 
cording to  her  bidding,  whereupon  he  be- 
gan to  be  somewhat  alarmed,  and  others 
nigh  unto  the  presence  were  exceeding 
curious  to  know  what  he  had  done  to 
bring  upon  himself  so  weighty  an  accu- 
sation. 

"  Please  your  majesty,  I"- 

"  The  offence  hath  been  proved  to  us," 
said  the  queen,  interrupting  of  him  very 
quickly,  and  then  the  courtiers  looked 
marvellous  serious.  "  You  have  drawn 
away  divers  of  the  subjects  of  this  realm 
from  their  duty  to  their  lawful  sovereign, 
which  is  treason  of  the  very  greatest 
magnitude.  Is  it  not  so,  Master  Bacon  ?" 
inquired  Queen  Elizabeth,  seeing  that 
excellent  fine  lawyer  in  the  circle  before 
her. 

"Please  your  majesty,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  it,  replied  he  with  a  smile,  for 
he  saw  into  her  majesty's  humor — though 
few  of  the  others  were  so  quickwitted. 

"  You  have  by  sundry  sorts  of  jests  and 
other  pointed  weapons,"  continued  the 
queen,  "  very  dangerous  when  not  in  dis- 
creet and  lawful  hands,  excited  number- 
less of  our  nobles,  and  officers,  besides 
others  of  lower  quality,  into  violent  dis- 
turbances against  the  peace  of  the  realm. 
We  charge  you  on  your  allegiance,  con- 
fess what  hath  led  you  into  this  notorious 
misbehaving."  As  soon  as  they  heard 
this  speech,  the  courtiers  seemed  struck 
with  a  wonderful  admiration  of  her  maj- 
esty's conceit,  and  with  very  different 


SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


3J5 


faces   to  those  they  had  put  on  awhile 
since,  they  waited  the  issue. 

"  Please  your  majesty,"  replied  Master 
Shakspeare,  looking  in  no  way  daunted 
at  the  charge.  "  Before  I  enter  on  ray 
confession,  let  me  humbly  represent  to 
you,  that  this  is  the  first  time  any  sov- 
ereign hath  made  treason  a  laughing 
matter." 

"  If  such  it  be,  methinks  it  is  like  to 
make  the  offender  laugh  on  the  other  side 
of  his  mouth,"  exclaimed  ihe  queen  mer- 
rily, at  the  which  the  mirth  became  gen- 
eral. 

"  That  I  dispute  not,  believe  me,"  an- 
swered he.  "  I  plead  guilty  of  the  of- 
fence of  which  your  majesty  hath  justly 
accused  me,  but  I  would  venture  to  say 
in  extenuation,  that  although  I  might 
perchance  succeed  in  the  shaking  of  your 
majesty's  sides,  it  hath  never  been  my  in- 
tention in  any  way  to  disturb  your  maj- 
esty's crown." 

"  Odds  boddikins !"  exclaimed  the 
queen — an  oath  she  much  affected  when 
in  a  pleasant  humor — and  laughing  very 


heartily,  as  did  her  courtiers  also.  "  We 
believe  you,  and  willingly  admit  the  in- 
nocency  of  your  intentions,  but  we  let 
you  not  off  a  fitting  punishment,  and  a 
heavy,  proceed  you  not  on  the  instant  to 
tell  us  what  caused  the  loud  burst  of 
laughter  that  made  us  send  to  you  our 
messenger ;  and  if  there  seemeth  to  us 
to  have  been  sufficient  provocation  for  it, 
you  shall  be  allowed  to  depart  from  our 
presence  free  and  unharmed." 

"  Your  majesty's  gracious  condescen- 
sion I  can  not  sufficiently  express  my  ap- 
preciation of,"  replied  Master  Shaks- 
peare  very  respectfully.  "  But  in  honest 
truth,  the  cause  was  in  indifferent  pro- 
portion to  the  effect.  However,  of  that 
your  majesty  shall  judge.  This  was  it : — 

"  '  I  called  my  Rachel  '  Plain-face  !'     In  a  pet 

She  vowed  she'd  never  speak  to  me  again  ; 
She  frowned,  she  pouted,  and  she  sulked— and  yet 
My  Rachel  hath  a  face — that's  very  plain.'  " 

Methinks  it  be  scarce  necessary  to  add, 
that  the  offender  was  allowed  to  go  from 
the  presence  unpunished. 


HERE    ENDETH   THE   STORY    OF 


SHAKSPEARE   AND   HIS   FRIENDS 


NOTE.— Should  the  courteous  reader,  from  what  he  hath  here  perused,  desire  of  me  some 
further  account  of  this  inestimable  rare  and  sweet-minded  gentleman,  and  to  know  what 
befell  Harry  Daring  in  his  adventures  in  the  Spanish  main,  and  to  become  acquainted  with 
what  happened  unto  my  Lord  Southampton  in  his  wooing  of  the  loving  Mistress  Varnon, 
besides  learning  the  doings  of  others  of  whom  mention  is  made  in  this  story,  I  say  unto 
him  in  the  words  of  the  drawer  of  mine  hostess  of  the  Mermaid,  "  Anon— anon,  sir!" 


BY   THE   MOST    EMINENT   FOREIGN    AND   AMERICAN   •WRITERS, 

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HOME  AS  FOUND. 
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S1CR1T  PASSION, 


BT  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

«  THE  YOUTH  OF  SHAKSPEARE,' 
•  SHAKSPEARE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS, 

tee. 


Lord  of  my  love,  to  whom  in  vassalage 
Thy  merit  hath  my  duty  strongly  knit, 

To  thee  I  send  this  written  embassage^ 
To  witness  duty,  not  to  show  my  wit 

SHAKSPEARE 


STRINGER  &  TOWNSEND, 
822  BROADWAY,  CORNER  OP  ANN  ST. 


OF 


THE  SECRET  PASSION 


CHAPTER  I. 

What  sport  do  I  make  with  these  fools !  what 

pleasure 

Feeds  me,  and  fats  my  sides  at  their  poor  inno- 
cence ! 

Hang  it,  give  me  mirth, 
Witty  and  dainty  mirth :  I  shall  grow  in  love, 

sure, 
With  mine  owne  happy  head. 

THE  WILD  GOOSE  CHASE. 
He  that  will  not,  now  and  then,  be  a  Cala- 
bingo,  is  worse  than  a  Calamoothe. 

THE  VIRGIN  MARTYR. 

But  do  you  know  what  fooling  is  ?  true  fool- 
ing? 

The  circumstances  that  belong  unto  it  ? 
For  every  idle  knave  that  shows  his  teeth 
Wants,  and  would  live,  can  juggle,  tumble,  fid- 
dle. 

Make  a  dog-face,  or  can  abuse  his  fellow, 
Is  not  a  fool  at  first  dash  ;  you  shall  find,  sir, 
Strange  turnings  in  this  trade. 

THE  MAD  LOVER. 

IF  laughter  may  be  taken  as  a  sign  of 
happiness,  then  right  happy  were  the  bois- 
terous, free-hearted  merry-makers)  that  were 
causing  the  goodly  rafters  of  Dame  Hart's 
kitchen  to  ring  with  their  exceeding  mirth- 
fulness.  Peal  followed  peal,  and  shout 
burst  forth  after  shout,  with  so  little  show 
of  dilatoriness,  that,  ere  one  was  half  spent, 
t'other  was  in  full  force.  Had  any  listened 
to  it  but  ever  so  small  a  space,  he  could 
scarce  help  being  assured  that  the  wanton- 
est  wits  and  very  drollest  varlets  in  all 
Stratford,  ay,  and  for  miles  round,  had 


thronged  to  the  threshold  of  their  good  gos- 
sips, the  jolly  hatter,  and  his  no  less  jovial 
spouse,  and  were  there,  with  their  famous 
tales  and  excellent  good  jests,  intent  oiVj>s 
having  the  walls  about  their  ears,  from  the 
effect  of  the  huge  tempest  of  laughter  they 
must  needs  be  provoking. 

Yet  had  little  Tommy  Hart  and  his  af- 
fectionate little  helpmate  no  such  company. 
In  very  truth,  they  had  but  got  about  them, 
as  was  their  wont  ever  since  the  two  had 
been  made  one — which  was  no  great  time- 
one  or  two  neighbors  and  acquaintances  of 
some  standing,  who  were  most  of  their  hu- 
mor, in  a  readiness  to  join  in  all  lawful 
pleasures,  to  speak  a  jest  in  season  that 
hurt  none,  and  promote  whatever  of  singing, 
or  telling  of  stories,  or  other  goodly  frolic, 
that  promised  amusement  sufficient  for  the 
wants  of  the  hour  and  the  company. 

Hugely  did  folk  of  more  serious  sort  mar- 
vel at  the  wondrous  appetite  for,  and  enjoy- 
ment in,  matters  of  drollery  of  Joan  Hart ; 
a  laugh  seemed  as  necessary  to  her  as  is 
water  to  a  fish;  and,  to  look  into  her 
admirable  clear  eyes,  and  into  the  corners 
of  her  pouting  lips,  you  would  be  ready  to 
take  oath  on  it  she  had  such  provocation  to 
mirth  at  her  commandment,  nought  should 
reach  her,  however  remote  from  lightness, 
but  her  smiles  should  break  out  at  it  as 
bright  and  gladly  as  though,  under  its  as- 
sumed gravity,  there  was  jesting  of  the 
very  exquisitest  kind. 

Our  Joan  was  small  in  stature,  it  is  true, 
but  her  heart  was  of  an  exceeding  bigness, 
containing,  as  it  seemed,  whatever  was  most 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


pleasant  in  all  humanity,  and  in  such  meas- 
ure, it  looked  to  be  in  a  constant  humor  of 
overflowing.  But  of  this  sort  she  had  been 
from  her  earliest  years.  Never  did  Fate 
look  so  frowningly  but  she  could  make  as 
though  the  frown  was  a  smile  of  most  cov- 
etable  import.  When  she  came  to  have 
lovers,  she  laughed  famously  at  them  all, 
which  none  could  take  so  pleasantly  as 
'twas  meant,  save  only  little  Tommy  Hart, 
an  honest  chapman  of  her  native  town,  of  a 
like  size,  of  a  like  humor,  and  of  a  like 
ago  as  herself,  who  laughed  at  her  with  as 
true  a  zest  as  did  she  at  him.  Ere  any 
long  space  was  passed,  they  laughed  at  each 
other — in  perfect  truthfulness,  it  may  be 
said,  with  all  their  hearts — and,  in  the  end, 
the  daughter  of  the  honest  woolstapler,  to 
the  vast  contentation  of  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood, became  the  wife  of  the  waggish 
maker  of  hats. 

And  now  were  they  keeping  the  anniver- 
sary of  that  very  wedding,  in  their  holiday 
bravery,  with  no  lack  of  jollity,  as  may  be 
expected,  the  which,  if  example  could  bring 
a  sufficiency,  there  was  like  to  be  the  prodi- 
galest  display  of  it  ever  beheld.  For  there 
was  Joan,  with  her  face  as  brown  as  any 
oerry,  and  as  full  of  laughter  as  is  the  sun 
of  fire,  and  looking  nigh  upon  as  warm  with- 
al, standing  in  the  midst  of  a  group,  sitting 
roti nil  her;  whereof  there  was  no  one 
whose  visage  indicated  not  all  the  mad  frol- 
ic in  the  which  they  were  then  engaged. 
There  were  they,  a  group  of  some  twenty 
or  so  of  divers  sorts,  conditions,  and  ages  ; 
okl  and  young,  fat  and  spare,  servant  and 
master,  alike  enjoying  themselves  to  the 
most  absolute  contentation  ever  known. 

Prominent  among  these  was  seen  the  un- 
wiekly  form  of  Winifred  Poppet,  in  a  fair 
miniver  cap,  a  dainty  partlet  of  white  thread, 
and  a  stamel  red  petticoat  of  a  most  choice 
fashion,  as  intent  on  the  sport  as  if  she  took 
no  heed  of  such  braveries. 

Nevertheless,  this  was  by  no  means  the 
c'aso,  for  a  careful  observer  might  have  no- 
ticed that  ever  and  anon,  however  busy  she 
seemed  with  the  game  that  was  going  on, 
she  turned  a  sly  glance  to  some  part  or  other 
of  her  gay  apparel,  and  twitched  a  fold  here, 
and  smoothed  a  rumple  there,  with  a  look 
of  as  infinite  contentation  as  ever  brightened 
up  the  visage  of  threescore  and  ten. 

By  her  side  was  seen  the  well-known 
figure  of  Jonas  Tietape,  in  excellent  favor 
among  the  burgesses'  wives  at  Stratford,  as 
a  woman's  tailor.  That  it  was  the  cunning 
in  his  craft  that  made  him  so  well  liked  of 
his  customers,  seemed  evident  enough,  of  all 
conscience  ;  for  gifts  of  person  or  counte- 


nance, for  the  obtaining  of  a  fair  woman's' 
approval,  had  he  none  at  all,  seeing  that  his 
features  were  by  no  means  comely,  his 
height  so  dwarfish,  that  an  ordinary  boy  of 
some  twelve  or  fourteen  years,  might,  with 
no  great  difficulty,  have  glanced  over  his 
shoulder,  and  his-head,  arms,  and  feet  of  a 
bigness  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  length 
and  size  of  his  limbs. 

With  these  defects  in  him,  Jonas  was  in 
such  huge  favor  with  his  customers — ay, 
and  with  whoever  were  of  his  acquaint- 
ance— as  was  no  woman's  tailor  in  the 
whole  county.  And  how  came  so  marvel- 
lous a  tiling  to  pass,  seeing  that  women,  of 
all  persons,  are  only  to  be  taken  by  come- 
liness ?  inquireth  of  me  the  courteous  rea- 
der. Thus  was  it :  He  had  so  comic  a 
manner  with  him,  you  could  scarce  look  him 
in  the  face  but  you  must  needs  laugh  out- 
right. So  many  droll  antics,  and  grimaces 
had  he,  such  odd  sayings,  so  great  a  multi- 
tude of  quaint,  diverting  tricks,  and  such  an 
infinite  fund  of  good  humor  at  his  disposal, 
that  you  might  as  well  expect  a  hungry  dog 
to  be  indifferent  to  a  full  platter,  as  that 
man,  woman,  or  child,  in  his  neighborhood, 
could  hear  him,  or  look  on  him,  and  carry 
on  any  melancholy  or  ungracious  hu- 
mors. 

Yet  it  must  also  be  recorded,  he  had  gifts 
of  some  sort.  Of  a  surety,  as  hath  been 
said,  they  were  not  of  person  ;  nevertheless, 
I  doubt  not  they  did  him  more  true  service 
wherever  he  went,  than  could  he  have 
gained  had  he  been  ever  so  proper  a  man. 
There  was  no  game  known  or  heard  of  be- 
twixt John  O'Groat's  house  and  the  Land's 
End,  he  had  not  as  pat  as  though  he  had 
played  it  all  his  days.  Hot-cocles,  or 
chuck-farthing,  loggets,  tick-tack,  seize- 
noddy,  barley-break,  cross-and-pile,  pick- 
point,  shove-groat,  and  a  lot  more  I  cannot 
stop  to  name,  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  his 
fingers  and  thumbs. 

There  was  no  sport  at  which  he  was  not 
so  skilled,  it  was  rare  indeed  he  met  with 
his  fellow  at  any.  Cunning  at  the  bow 
was  he,  as  though  he  had  sought  to  be  held 
as  a  rival  to  Clym  o'  the  Clough,  or  even  to 
Robin  Hood  himself;  and  at  quarter-stalF 
none  had  dared  touch  him  since  he  had 
cudgelled  Sandie  Daredevil,  the  big  drover 
from  over  the  border,  who  had  made  mocks 
at  him,  and  called  him  scurrilous  names, 
and  threatened  him  most  villanously,  till — 
though  no  seeker  of  brawls — he  took  him 
to  his  weapon,  and,  with  such  earnest- 
ness, the  rude  Scot  got  so  ugly  a  knock  on 
the  pate,  he  was  fain  from  that  time  forth  to 
take  up  his  hostel  in  the  churchyard.  Theu 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


at  mumming  was  there  ever  so  monstrous  a 
dragon?  or  in  the  May  games,  who  had  eyes 
for  any  thing,  but  his  most  delectable  hob- 
by-horse 1  lie  roared  so  dragoni.sh,  it  looked 
as  though  he  would  swallow  a  whole  parish 
at  a  mouthful ;  and  his  curvetings,  his 
neighings,  and  his  paces,  were  so  to  the  life, 
there  was  never  a  natural  horse  of  any  sort 
that  was  thought  able  to  do  them  half  so 
well. 

But  Jonas  Tietape,  in  a  suit  of  motley  ! 
Then  was  there  famous  shaking  of  sides  ! 
Of  a  Christmas  or  a  New  Year's  Eve,  per- 
chance, when  the  spacious  hall  or  kitchen 
was  thronged  with  some  of  the  merriest 
hearts  in  Stratford,  he  would  don  the  cap 
and  bells  and  parti-colored  suit,  and  so 
choicely  play  his  part,  that  the  very  wisest 
of  the  lookers-on  could  scarce  help  lament- 
ing he  had  such  lack  of  the  fool  in  him. 

Then,  how  brave  a  musician  was  he ! 
'Twas  a  marvel  to  hear  him  play  the  bag- 
pipes. UP  blew  them  with  such  exceeding 
spirit,  all  the  dogs  in  the  parish  would  join 
in  full  chorus  whenever  he  headed  a  wed- 
ding party,  playing  up  "  Light  o'  Love,"  as 
was  his  wont ;  and  when  he  was  in  the  hu- 
mor of  taking  to  tlie  pipe  and  tabor,  the  mor- 
ice  would  be  danced  with  such  vehemency, 
the  lookers-on  could  scarce  help  thinking 
all  in  it  had  no  less  sufficiency  of  wings  to 
their  legs  than  bells. 

These  gifts  caused  him  to  be  held  in 
such  esteem,  that  his  misshapen  condition 
was  never  commented  on  by  any  save  some 
few  malapert,  uncivil  grooms,  who,  when- 
ever they  had  sight  of  him,  allowed  tlieir 
rude  wits  to  run  riot  at  the  expense  of  his 
persorf  and  his  calling,  till  they  got  cudgelled 
into  more  honest  behavior.  13y  those  he 
was  used  to  come  among,  nought  amiss  was 
seen  in  him.  They  had  got  so  familiar 
with  the  strangeness  of  his  fashioning,  they 
had  acquired  a  sort  of  affectionateness  to  it. 
His  dwarfishness  they  got  a  liking  to,  far 
more  suitable  stature  in  other  men  failed  to 
create.  His  large  head  had  become  an  ob- 
ject of  singular  approval ;  and  what  else 
was  in  him  unseemly  or  objectionable  to  or- 
dinary persons,  to  them  was  a  feature  of 
matchless  interest. 

His  apparelling  was  as  little  like  that  of 
common  persons  as  was  his  visage  or  figure. 
He  ever  arrayed  himself  according  to  some 
conceit  or  other  ;  and,  being  his  own  fash- 
ioner, and  having  usually  a  fine  choice  of 
materials,  he  failed  not  on  any  occasion  of 
mirth  to  be  clothed  in  the  most  ridiculous 
garb  eyes  ever  beheld. 

At  this  present  showing,  he  had  on  a  jer- 
kin of  divers  colors,  made  of  pieces  as  vari- 


ous in  shape  as  opposite  in  fabric ;  for  lin- 
sey-woolsey and  Genoa  velvet,  taffeta  and 
broad-cloth,  fustian  of  Naples  and  Welch 
frieze,  Norwich  satin  and  Yorkshire  ker- 
sey, were  most  disorderly  mingled  together  ; 
and  as  for  the  suitableness  of  the  colors, 
what  could  be  said  of  an  arrangement  where 
iron-grey  and  scarlet,  murrey  and  sadnew 
color,  watchett  and  russet,  black  and  Lin- 
coln green,  were  in  closest  neighborhood  ? 
Below  this  was  seen  a  singular  kind  of 
breeches,  of  which  one  leg  disclosed  French 
sail-cloth  of  the  coarsest  sort,  and  the  other 
painted  arras,  as  ridiculously  fine  as  the  lim- 
ner's skill  could  make,  having  so  goodly  a 
subject  as  the  Queen  of  Sheba's  stomacher. 
These  had  monstrous  great  pockets  ;  and  as 
amongst  his  sundry  several  ways  of  getting 
a  living  was  the  breeding  certain  little  dogs, 
much  affected  by  his  richer  customers,  he 
was  wont  to  carry  one  in  each.  One  leg 
wore  hose  of  orange  tawny,  the  other  pur- 
ple ;  and  the  feet  had  on  them  severally,  a 
boot  of  undressed  leather,  and  an  embroi- 
dered pantofle. 

Laughing  at  the  droll  antics  and  smart 
sayings  of  Jonas  Tietape,  till  the  tears  made 
themselves  channels  down  his  floury  cheeks, 
sat  Cuthbert  Dredger,  the  stout  miller  of  the 
Seven  Meadows,  in  his  well-worn  leather 
jerkin,  high  boots,  and  well-stuffed  gallegas- 
kins  as  famously  covered  with  meal  as  was 
his  ruddy  face,  beard,  and  hair — whilst  on 
one  hand  of  him  stood  the  good  'dame,  his 
wife,  and  on  the  other  his  stalwart  son — as 
like  to  his  father  in  all  externals  as  is  one 
peascod  like  another — in  their  homely  suits, 
showing  such  signs  of  the  dusty  miller,  that 
even  the  shaking  of  their  sides  filled  the 
air  with  myriads  of  motes. 

In  close  neighborhood  to  the  stout  miller's 
son  sat,  spic  and  span  as  a  new-coined 
groat,  the  youthful  Margaret  Hippocras,  - 
better  known  of  the  good  folk  of  Stratford 
and  thereabouts,  as  Peg  o'  the  Twiggen 
Bottle — her  father  keeping  a  hostel  in  the 
town  so  called — though,  by  some  of  her  fa- 
miliars, she  was  often  entitled  Blinking  Peg, 
because  of  a  slight  infirmity  in  her  vision, 
approaching  nigh  unto  what  some  unman- 
nerly people  said  was  a  squint. 

Next  to  her  again  lolled,  almost  at  full 
length,  the  hurley  figure  of  Jasper  Broadfoot 
— the  ploughman  of  a  rich  farmer  in  the 
neighborhood — in  the  hugeness  of  his  pleas- 
ure, his  mouth  stretching  open  as  it  were 
from  ear  to  ear,  and  his  freckled  face  half 
hid  by  the  liberal  show  of  sandy  locks,  that 
curled  in  straggling  masses  around  it.  Two 
old  maiden  sisters  were  close  adjoining, 
sitting  up  as  straight  as  darts,  and  seeming 


8 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  be  almost  as  spare ;  their  sharp  noses  and 
chins  showing  a  manifest  longing  for  a 
nearer  acquaintance,  and  their  apparelling 
scrupulously  neat  and  clean,  as  though  put 
on  for  the  first  time ;  nevertheless,  they  had 
been  holiday  suits  with  them  any  time  these 
twenty  years*  They  were  screaming  and 
clapping  of  their  hands  in  infinite  contenta- 
tion  at  the  passing  scene ;  and,  indeed,  as 
absolute  was  their  content  at  all  such  mer- 
rymakings in  the  which  they  had  entered 
together  with  the  same  zest  since  they  had 
been  girls,  making  mutual  monstrous  exer- 
tions the  live-long  day  to  earn  a  decent  sub- 
sistence as  sempstresses,  and,  after  working 
hours,  enjoying  themselves  wherever  there 
was  a  fair  promise  of  creditable  pastime. 

Last  of  all  was  a  smart  little  varlet,  with 
a  pair  of  merry  dark  eyes,  lighting  up  as 
pleasant  a  face — albeit  the  complexion  was 
of  the  darkest — as  ever  the  sun  shone  on. 
Mis  well  knit  limbs  were  famously  dis- 
played in  his  plain  russet  suit,  and  he 
seemed  as  though  he  could  never  tire  of 
their  employment ;  for,  with  all  the  quick- 
ness of  an  eel,  he  was  thrusting  himself 
now  here,  now  tb,ere,  with  an  intent  as 
though  he  would  on  no  account  fail  to 
share  at  the  fullest  in  the  sport  that  was 
going  on. 

This  was  no  other  than  the  jolly  hatter, 
the  laughing  husband  of  the  merry  Joan : 
and,  whilst  she  was  now  stooping  down  in 
the  circle  around  her — they  being  all  en- 
gaged in  the  monstrous  pleasant  game  of 
"  hunt  the  slipper" — swearing  most  ear- 
nestly the  lusty  Goody  Poppet  had  got  the 
slipper  behind  her  ample  person,  Tommy 
Hart,  who  had  cleverly  contrived  to  get  hold 
of  it,  unexpectedly  gave  his  buxom  dame 
so  eore  a  smack  where  there  was  an  excel- 
lent fair  mark  for  such  a  purpose,  as  to  make 
her  regain  her  perpendicular  ere  you  .could 
count  one,  amid  the  loud  laughing  of  .the 
whole  party,  in  the  which  she  precisely 
joined,  with  a  heartiness  exceeded  by  none. 

"  Beshrew  thy  hand,  Tom,'.'  exclaimed 
she,  with  a  sort  of  mock  anger  in  her  laugh- 
ing ;  "  and  I  do  not  complain  to  the  Third- 
borough  of  thy  monstrous  heavy  blows,  I 
am  a  shorten  herring."  . 

1  lore,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  slipper 
gliding  behind  the  backs  of  divers  of  the 
circle,  she  made  a  sudden  pounce  upon  the 
tapster's  daughter,  but,  by  some  trick  of  the 
woman's  tailor,  her  foot  slipped,  and  she 
came  against  Jasper  Broadfoot  with  such 
force,  as  to  send  him  against  the  two  an- 
cient sisters,  who,  in  spite  of  their  exceed- 
ing uprightness,  were  speedily  put  on  a  level 
with  the  floor. 


"  A  murrain  on  thee,  wench !"  cried  her 
laughing  husband.  "  In  seeking  for  the 
slipper,  thou  must  needs  be  a  slipper  thy- 
self. Where  were  thine  eyes  to  lead  thee 
so  far  from  the  object  of  thy  search  ?  Per- 
chance, an  thou  canst  not  see,  thou  canst 
feel  ?" 

So  saying,  with  the  slipper  again  in  his 
hand,  he  took  her  smartly  over  the  toes. 

"  Oh,  thou  villain!"  exclaimed  she,  of  a 
sudden  throwing  herself  upon  him,  grap- 
pling him  with  both  arms  to  secure 
what  she  wanted ;  but,  lo !  ere  she  was 
well  down  she  felt  a  tap  on  the  shoulder, 
and,  directing  her  gaze  that  way,  she  be- 
held the  point  of  the  slipper  resting  there, 
as  if  held  by  some  one  behind  her.  She 
was  up  on  the  instant,  and  was  just  in  time 
to  see  it,  as  it  looked  to  her,  disappearing 
down  the  gaping  throat  of  Jonas  Tietape 
It  was  a  feat  of  conjuring,  such  as  he  was 
wont  on  an  occasion  to  amuse  his  wonder- 
ing gossips  with,  but  the  simple  Joan 
thought  she  could  not  miss  having  it,  and 
grappled  her  acquaintance  by  the  throat,  to 
make  him  disgorge  the  desired  mouthful, 
till  he  was  getting  black  in  the  face,  and 
she  distinctly  saw  it  in  the  hands  of  the 
young  ploughman,  flourished  within  an 
inch  of  her  nose.  Before  she  could  recover 
herself,  it  had  disappeared  she  knew  not 
whither. 

"  Never  saw  I  the  like  o'  this,  gossips !" 
cried  Joan,  somewhat  scant  of  breath,  and 
looking  in  a  huge  perplexity.  "  It  hath 
been  said  there  are  few  quicker  at  this 
pastime  than  am  I,  and  yet  have  I  been  toil- 
ing to  no  profit  this  half  hour  or  more.'' 

This  speech  elicited  no  more  sympathy 
than  might  be  gathered  from  a  general 
laugh  both  loud  and  long,  to  which  many,  of 
the  company  added  famous  commendations 
of  the  poor  woman's  patience  and  agility. 

"  I  do  think  thou  couldst  teach  a  horse  to 
eat  his  beans  with  a  toothpick,  dame,"  ob- 
served Jonas,  in  his  drollest  manner  ;  "  thou 
hast  so  persevering  a  way  with  thee." 

"  Slow  and  sure,  Joan,"  exclaimed  her 
husband,  approvingly. 

"  Nay,  good  fellow,"  quoth  the  old  miller, 
who  was  as  ready  as  any  at  a  jest,  "  had 
she  taken  such  .time  to  discover  a  husband 
as  she  hath  to  find  a  slipper,  I  doubt  much 
thy  fair  commodity  of  hats  would  have  seen 
a  mistress  in  her  this  side  of  domesday." 

"  A  husband,  quotha  !"  cried  Joan,  cun- 
ningly taking  a  sharp  scrutiny  of  the  circle 
around  her.  "  They  require  no  such  horri- 
ble painstaking  to  get  a  hold  of — Heaven  be 
thanked  !  Had  I  thought  my  Tom  had 
been  so  difficult  of  possessing,  I  would  as 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


9 


soon  have  gone  for  counsel  to  a  Bedlam 
beggar,  as  have  looked  beyond  my  nose  for 
him.  Ah,  goody,  I  have  thee  this  time  !" 

But  goody,  with  a  chuckle  that  made  her 
chin  quiver  like  a  goodly  aspen  tree,  exhibit- 
ed to  the  disappointed  Joan  her  two  empty 
hands. 

"  By  my  halidom,  I  could  have  sworn  I 
eaw  it  !"  exclaimed  she,  in  some  little  em- 
phasis, as  she  narrowly  watched  a  very  sus- 
picious movement  behind  the  two  ancient 
spinsters.  As  a  cat  looketh  after  a  mouse, 
did  she  continue  to  peer  at  their  motions, 
elily  affecting  the  whilst  to  have  nothing  so 
far  from  her  thoughts. 

And  thus  it  continued  some  little  time 
longer,  with  a  vast  expenditure  of  jests  from 
all,  and  such  antics  from  the  frolicsome  wo- 
man's tailor,  as  helped  the  general  mirth 
hugely.  It  so  happened  at  last,  however, 
that  Peg  o'  the  Twiggen  Bottle,  being  intent 
upon  a  complete  concealment  of  her  defect 
of  vision  from  hearing  some  pretty  flatteries 
poured  into  her  ear  by  the  young  miller,  had 
got  her  eyes  modestly  fixed  as  it  were  upon 
the  floor,  and  was  so  taken  with  the  atten- 
tions of  her  companion,  that  she  neither 
heard  nor  saw  the  efforts  of  her  other  neigh- 
bour to  induce  her  to  pass  the  slipper. 
Joan,  whose  looks  were  sharpened  by  re- 
peated failures,  detected  the  impatient  pok- 
ings  the  inattentive  Peggy  was  receiving, 
and  unexpectedly  dashed  upon  the  possessor 
of  the  slipper  before  she  had  lime  to  remove  it, 
and,  with  a  shout  of  exultation,  which  was 
swelled  by  that  of  all  the  circle,  she  caught 
hold  of  the  long-sought  prize,  and  waved  it 
over  her  head  in  triumph. 

The  first  use  she  made  of  it  was,,  though 
•with  infinite  good  humor,  to  repay  her 
husband  the  smacks  she  had  had  of  him, 
and,  malgre  his  attempts  to  escape  behind 
others  of  the  company,  she  desisted  not  till 
all  was  returned  with  a  handsome  interest, 
to  the  exceeding  good  entertainment  of  her 
several  guests.  Jonas  Tietape  must  needs 
put  his  unshapely  person  in  the  way,  mak- 
ing of  such  grimaces  as  would  have  un- 
settled the  solenmess  of  an  owl,  but  the 
slipper  spared  not  him  any  more  than  his 
host :  certes  he  got  it  in  places  quite  oppo- 
site to  what  the  giver  intended,  for  with  his 
antics  he  so  flung  himself  about,  that  what 
was  aimed  at  his  head  lighted  on  his  heels. 
He  was  as  nimble  at  his  tricks  as  a  kitten 
— now  with  his  heels  in  the  air  and  his 
hands  on  the  ground,  or  each  following  the 
other  like  the  sails  of  a  windmill,  whilst  the 
head  seemed  to  be  shifting  of  itself  into  all 
sorts  of  unnatural  positions,  with  such  ridi- 
culous looks  upon  the  ungainly  counte- 


nance, all  around  laughed  till  their  sides 
ached.  And  this  of  a  surety  did  not  lessen 
when  the  heads  of  two  little  dogs,  doubtless 
made  in  some  way  uncomfortable  by  his 
strange  movements,  were  seen  suddenly  to 
emerge  from  his  pockets,  with  looks  half  of 
curiousness  and  half  of  alarm,  making  a 
sharp  angry  yelp,  as  if  they  liked  not  such 
uneasy  motion. 

The  chamber  in  which  these  famous 
gambols  were  going  on,  albeit  no  other  than 
Dame  Hart's  kitchen,  was  as  proper  a  one 
to  sit  in  as  might  be  found  in  dwellings  of 
greater  note  than  that  of  the  jolly  hatter  of 
Stratford.  There  were  huge  rafters  went 
across  the  top,  whereon  was  fixed  a  rude 
rack  containing  divers  flitches  of  bacon. 
The  chimney  was  of  exceeding  capacious- 
ness, projecting  far  into  the  room,  having 
within  on  each  side,  a  commodious  bench 
for  the  lovers  of  the  chimney-corner,  to 
whom  the  close  neighborhood  of  the  fire- 
dogs  offered  most  choice  attractions.  Above, 
was  an  old  crossbow,  a  rusty  helmet,  a  stout 
sword  and  buckler,  and  a  quarter-staff 
worthy  of  the  Miller  of  Mansfield. 

On  a  shelf  were  arranged  an  excellent- 
show  of  clean  platters,  and  on  another  divers 
cooking  utensils  as  bright  and  clean  as 
scrubbing  could  make  them.  Bunches  of, 
dry  herbs  were  swinging  in  one  place,  and 
a  bag  with  seeds  close  upon  it.  A  goodly 
bundle  of  corn,  in  the  ear,  and  a  fair  bough 
of  hawthorn,  full  of  berries,  were  seen  not 
far  from  them  ;  a  skin  or  two  were  stretched 
out  and  drying  on  the  wainscot ;  there  was 
no  lack  of  blocks  and  irons  such  as  apper- 
tained to  the  hatter's  trade,  but  they  were 
evidently  put  away  for  the  nonce,  wherever 
good  room  for  them  could  be  found  ;  and  a 
space,  nigh  upon  a  yard  square,  naar  the 
chimney,  was  covered  with  the  choice  bal- 
lads of  the  time. 

A  large  oak  table  had  been  thrust  on  one 
side  to  allow  the  revellers  more  spac«\  and 
a  liberal  show  of  stools  were  huddied  to- 
gether in.another  corner.  A  huge  iron  pot 
was  swinging  over  the  firedogs,  to  which  a 
stout,  middle-aged  woman,  with  bare  arms, 
and  a  face  that  rivalled  them  in  ruddiness, 
ever  and  anon  came  out  of  some  adjoining 
chamber  to  look  to.  , 

On  one  occasion  she  was  accompanied 
with  an  exceeding  ragged  boy,  who '  looked 
not  to  be  more  than  some  six  or  eight  years 
old.  He  helped  to  carry  a  log  from  the 
wood-house  to  the  kitchen-fire,  which  he 
seemed  intent  on  with  so  monstrous  an 
earnestness  expressed  in  his  fat,  foolish 
visage,  that  it  drew  upon  •  him  the  good- 
humored  jesting  of  divers  of  the  company 


10 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


whilst,  on  a  sudden,  Jonas  took  him  by  the 
seat  of  his  soiled  and  worn-out  slops,  held 
him  at  arms'  length  above  his  head,  and 
made  such  monstrous  mouths  as  though 
about  to  make  a  meal  of  him  without  any 
grace  said.  The  boy  struggled  somewhat, 
to  the  great  endangering  of  his  sorry  gar- 
ments, that  were  so  patched  there  was  no 
telling  of  what  color  they  might  have  been, 
and  he  bawled  most  famously,  but  only  as 
it  seemed  to  the  heightening  of  the  mirth  of 
the  lookers-on. 

The  woman  observed  this  with  a  huge  in- 
diff'erency,  that  some  might  have  thought 
argued  little  of  the  mother  in  her;  though 
out  of  all  doubt  the  chubby,  dirty,  and  rag- 

Sed  little  urchin,  on  whom  the  frolicsome 
onas  was  playing  off  his  antics,  was  her 
child.  She  continued  her  attentions  to  the 
cookery,  notwithstanding  the  boy  occasion- 
ally set  up  so  main  a  cry  she  must  have 
been  monstrous  hard  of  hearing  had  she 
not  known  of  it  somewhere  nigh  upon  the 
end  of  the  street.  At  last  it  so  chanced,  his 
tormentor,  by  some  odd  contortions  of  all 
his  limbs,  thrust  his  unseemly  head  exactly 
upon  the  very  opposite  extremity  to  where 
nature  had  originally  placed  it,  and  hopped 
around  the  room  on  his  two  hands  like  a 
bird,  supporting  the  frighted  boy  on  his  legs, 
which  were  standing  above  his  head  like  a 
pair  of  monstrous  horns.  The  shouts 
which  this  feat  created  made  the  mother 
turn  from  the  pot  she  was  so  intent  on. 

"  Heart  o'  grace,  here's  a  sight  to  see  !" 
exclaimed  the  woman,  in  no  slight  astonish- 
ment, and  with  some  small  spice  of  ill- 
nature.  "  Launce,  lad !  o'  my  life,  thou 
ridest  in  a  strange  fashion  :  but  fair  and 
softly,  and  the  worst  beast  may  be  made  to 
go  its  best  paces." 

Notwithstanding  this  consolation,  the  boy, 
who  from  the  ordinary  state  of  his  apparel 
was  known  by  gentle  and  simple  as  Ragged 
Launce,  cried  more  lustily  than  ever :  yet 
was  his  fright  so  ludicrous  it  was  clean  im- 
possible for  any  to  care  about  releasing  him 
from  his  unpleasant  position  :  and  the  merry 
knave  continued  his  leaping  till  he  was 
tired. 

"  I  have  put  thee  to  most  unblessed  ex- 
tremities, friend  Launce,"  said  he,  as  he 
gravely  placed  him  again  upon  his  legs, 
and  with  a  mock  interest  appeared  to  ar- 
range in  the  best  fashion  the  boy's  dilapi- 
dated garments.  "  But  thou  hast  bad  habits, 
friend  Launce,"  he  continued,  pulling  the 
poor  boy's  linen  out  of  the  wide  rents  hi  his 
several  garments — "  bad  habits,  which,  al- 
beit neither  parson  nor  pedagogue,  it  is  my 
vocation  to  mend.  I  prythee  come  to  my 


dwelling  when  thou  hast  ceased  to  be  want- 
ed as  a  scarecrow,  and  I  will  do  thy  elbows 
all  the  service  my  craft  can  compass." 

"  In  sooth,  his  apparelling  be  none  o'  the 
best,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  show  of  gra- 
vity in  the  laugh  she  heartily  joined  in  with 
those  about  her,  "  nor  could  it  well  have 
been  so,  seeing  that  after  Dickon  o'  the 
Close  had  worn  it  seven  year,  he  gave  it  to- 
his  ploughman  Robin,  who  died  the  next 
sheep-shearing  of  the  sweating  sickness ; 
and  my  poor  husband,  that's  also  dead  and 
gone,  had  it  on  him  in  all  seasons,  thatch- 
ing or  ditching,  felling  or  weeding  from  the 
Martinmas  Master  Gosling's  brindled  cow 
tossed  Goody  Skillett  into  the  horse-pond, 
till  that  very  Allhallows  when  Sir  George 
Carew's  Irish  hound  was  drowned  in  the 
well ;  a  matter  of  three  year  and  a  half:  and 
since  then  Launce  hath  had  them  for  lack 
of  better." 

"  A  fine  choice  of  masters,  o'  my  life," 
cried  Tom  Hart  to  his  guests,  merrily.  "  I 
trust  there  may  be  no  danger  of  hats  serv- 
ing so  many." 

"'Nay,  Tom,  that  would  suit  us  but  ill,  I 
promise  you,"  answered  his  ready  help- 
mate, as  she  was  assisting  to  get  the  supper 
in  proper  forwardness.  "  Of  the  two,  I 
would  liefer  a  lack  of  heads  for  the  hats, 
than  a  lack  of  hats  for  the  heads.  For 
mine  own  part,  were  I  a  sovereign  princess, 
I  would  make  it  felony,  without  benefit  of 
clergy,  for  any  one  to  shelter  his  crown  in 
any  covering  whereof  another  man  hath  al- 
ready had  honest  advantages." 

"  That  is  to  say,  dame,"  observed  Jonas 
Tietape,  with  a  grin  of  surpassing  drollery, 
"  an  a  man  must  needs  take  to  other  men's 
hats,  he  should  have  no  head  to  support  his 
own  withal." 

"  Odds  pigs,  Jonas  !"  exclaimed  the  stout 
miller,  "  that  would  not  be  a  law  to  break 
on  a  sudden.  However  ill-lined  a  man's 
purse  may  be,  methinks  he  could  better  af- 
ford to  lose  his  hat  than  his  head." 

"  Ah !  feyther,  that  would  I  for  one  at 
all  times,"  answered  the  younger  Dredger, 
breaking  off  for  a  while  from  his  dalliance 
with  the  fair  tapster. 

"  I  warrant  you,"  observed  Jasper  Broad- 
foot,  opening  his  huge  mouth  with  a  horse- 
laugh such  as  might  have  disturbed  the  re- 
pose of  all  the  steeds  in  the  neighborhood. 

Jasper  Broadfoot  had  not  much  to  say; 
but  Jasper  Broadfoot  had  at  times  a  mon- 
strous deal  to  laugh,  and  his  little  say  wate 
ever  the  prelude  of  a  burst  of  mirth,  of 
which  the  end  seemed  more  problematical 
I  than  all  the  pages  of  that  famous  master  of 
figures,  Master  Euclid. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


11 


"Prythee  heed  not  snch  idle  fancies, 
good  gossips,"  here  observed  Goody  Pop- 
pet, with  an  air  the  while  that  spoke  an  in- 
finite satisfaction  with  her  fine  apparel,  the 
greater  portion  of  which  was  of  other 
people's  wearing.  "  There  be  no  harm  in 
putting  on  a  thing  that  fitteth  you — the 
more  especial  if  it  cost  nothing — though  it 
hath  been  worn  of  another." 

"  Truly  I  think  not,"  added  the  miller's 
wife,  who  did  not  disdain  a  cast  gown  from 
the  lady  of  the  manor,  or  any  other  wor- 
shipful person  within  five  miles  of  her, 
which  she  appeared  in  with  slight  regard  of 
the  laws  made  and  provided  against  the 
commonalty  wearing  what  was  allowed  only 
to  their  betters. 

"  Daar  heart,  doth  say  so,  iadeed !"  ex- 
claimad  Penelope  Tressle,  the  elder  of  the 
two  spinsters,  with  a  smile  of  some  am- 
biguousness  on  her  spare  visage.  "  For 
mine  own  part,  I  either  mislike  others  ap- 
parelling hugely,  or  it  misliketh  me,  foi»of 
other  than  mino  own  gear  have  I  never 
donned  since  I  have  known  the  use  of 
homespun  :  and  Honour  hath  been  afflicted 
with  the  like  foolishness." 

"  Ay,  that  have  I,"  said  her  younger  sis- 
ter, innocently,  "  and  I  thank  God  for  it." 

"  And  what  art  thou  thankful  for,  thou 
scarcecrow  ?"  cried  Tommy  Hart,  as  he 
caught  Ragged  Launce  up  by  the  arm,  and 
placed  him  on  one  of  the  stools,  where  in 
the  light  of  the  fire,  he  stood  half  abashed, 
with  one  finger  to  his  eye, -and  the  other 
hand  grasping  the  tattered  remnants  of  his 
lower  garment.  He  was  silent  for  awhile, 
even  thuugh  all  around  him  were  busy 
nuking  the  very  "bitingest  jests  they  could 
think  of  at  his  expense ;  and  laughing 
seemed  a  privilege  it  was  evident  none  cared 
to  be  deprived  of. 

"  Thou  hast  monstrous  cause  for  thank- 
fulness, friend  Launce,"  said  Jonas,  as  he 
was  soberly  intent  on  making  the  boy's  jer- 
kiu — which  was  a  world  too  large — sit  upon 
him  witli  some  pretensions  to  the  court  style ; 
ever  and  anon  standing  at  a  distance,  as 
though  to  admire  the  sit  of  it,  and  looking 
on  the  bystanders  with  that  air  of  satisfac- 
tion with  which  an  admirable  workman  is 
wont  to  shew  his  handicraft. 

"  What  art  thankful  for,  I  prythee  ?"  cried 
Tommy  Hart,  once  again. 

"  Methinks  I  have  no  great  call  for  thanks 
at  this  present,"  observed  Ragged  Launce, 
looking  steadfastly  on  the  cuff  of  his  jerkin  ; 
then,  suddenly  lifting  up  his  eyes  to  his 
questioner  with  a  famous  shrewd  look, 
added,  "  but  an  thou  let  me  have  a  fair  new 


have  such  notable  cause  for  thanks,  I  can- 
not help  being  thankful  the  rest  of  my  life.'* 

"  Why,  thou  cozening  rogue,  thou  !"  ex- 
claimed the  merry  hatter,  joining  heartily  in 
the  laugh  this  speech  raised  at  his  expense. 
"  But,  out  of  goodwill  to  thy  father,  to 
whom  I  owe  some  thanks,  the  fair  new  cap 
thou  shalt  have,  and  with  it  such  a  suit 
withal  as  thy  mother  Maud  and  that  grin- 
ning varlet  Jonas  can  provide  for  thee  out  of 
one  of  mine." 

This  announcement  was  received  with 
infinite  contentation ;  and,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, none  were  so  well  content  with  it  aa  ' 
Maud  and  her  ragged  boy,  of  whom  the 
latter  was  so  in  especial,  and  minded  not  a 
whit  the  many  rough  tricks  the  merry  knave 
kept  playing  upon  him.  In  the  meanwhile, 
Maud,  assisted  by  Dame  Hart  and  her  more 
matronly  gossips,  had  finished  her  cookery, 
and  got  it  spread  on  the  table  ready  for  the 
now  hungry  company,  who,  nothing  loath, 
sat  themselves  down  to  it  in  a  presently, 
and  were  soon  wondrous  busy  in  essaying 
the  several  dishes.  Nevertheless,  busy  as 
they  seemed  every  one  of  them,  their  mirth 
scarce  slacked  an  instant.  The  woman's 
tailor  appeared  to  have  a  greater  commodity 
of  tricks,  jests,  strange  grimaces,  and  odd 
distortions-  of  himself  than  ever  he  had, 
whereof  he  displayed  a  most  choice  store, 
till  some  could  not  eat  for  laughing,  and 
others  could  not  laugh  for  choking ;  and,  as 
for  drinking,  none  dared  so  much  as  put  a 
cup  to  his  mouth  in  his  sight,  for,  after  the 
resistless,  ludicrous  grimace  that  was  sure 
to  come  of  it,  a  hogshead  was  as  likely  to 
be  swallowed  as  a  mouthful. 

The  first  to  begin,  and  the  last  to  leave  off 
every  laugh  that  was  set  a-going  was  Tom- 
my Hart  or  his  fair  helpmate  ;  and  so  excel- 
lent an  example  was  not  like  to  be  lost  sight 
of  in  such  a  company;  whereof  the  conse- 
quence was,  the  black -pudding  cooled  on  the 
trenchers,  and  the  porridge  was  like  to  be 
sent  away  scarce  touched  by  any,  had  not 
some  space  intervened  between  the  fits  of 
mirth  that  were  so  general. 

Of  all  those  present  there  was  but  one 
who  looked  as  if  taking  any  interest  in  the 
meal  before  hi  m,  and  that  was  no  other  than 
Ragged  Launce.  He  sat  on  a  stool  cross- 
legged,  with  a  smoking  bowl  of  porridge  in 
his  lap ;  and  though  such  excess  of  mirth, 
shrieks,  and  shouts,  and  frantic  gesticula- 
tions proceeded  from  every  one  about  him, 
Launce  continued  at  his  porridge  as  grave 
as  a  lawyer  making  a  will  at  the  death-bed 
of  his  client,  blowing  every  burning  spoon- 
ful with  an  intense  energy  that  puffed  up  hia 


cap  to  my  head  to  wear  on  holidays,  I  will   dirty  fat  cheeks  as  big  as  those  of  a  trump. 


12 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


eter  at  the  sounding  of  some  monstrous  high 
note ;  yet,  in  his  eagerness  taking  of  it  so 
hot,  the  tears  ran  down  his  eyes  in  stream 
as  he  gulped  the  scalding  morsel.  But, 
when  he  had  finished  the  bowl,  there  was  a 
change,  I  warrant  you  !  In  an  instant  he 
was  as  alive  to  the  fun  as  any,  and,  of  the 
various  voices  that  burst  forth  at  every  fresh 
piece  of  exquisite  fooling  on  the  part  of  Jo- 
nas, the  shrill  treble  of  Ragged  Launce  was 
far  above  the  loudest. 

In  a  short  space,  he  was  called  upon  to 
help  to  remove  the  trenchers,  which  he  did 
with  an  exceeding  readiness,  taking  care, as 
he  turned  his  back  to  the  table,  to  empty  in- 
to his  gaping  jaws  whatever  eatable  was 
left  thereon. 

"  Launce  !"  shouted  Jonas  Tietape,  in  a 
voice  that  made  the  boy  drop  the  trencher 
he  was  then  carrying  away.  He  turned 
round  short,  and  picked  up  the  fallen  vessel, 
but  answered  not,  for  a  reason  doubtless  suf- 
ficiently to  the  purpose.  "Launce,  I  tell 
thee,  come  hither  !" 

The  boy  slowly  approached — albeit  with 
a  countenance  of  some  irresolution.  "  My 
trencher,  sirrah !  What  made  thee  remove 
it  without  any  request  so  to  do  ?" 

Launce  seemed  suddenly  suffering  from 
some  convulsive  action  of  the  face,  part  of 
which  looked  afflicted  with  an  awful  swell- 
ing. He  twisted  his  mouth  about  in  an  ex- 
ceeding odd  manner ;  but  instead  of  answer- 
ing, stared  very  hard  at  the  questioner,  and 
returned  the  trencher  to  the  table. 

"  Ah,  this  be  it  out  of  all  doubt !"  exclaim- 
ed Jonas,  "  but  what  witchcraft  had  conjured 
away  the  goodly  portion  of  exquisite  dump- 
ling that  was  on  it  but  a  moment  since  ?" 

Launce  looked  as  though  making  desper- 
.ate  efforts  to  answer.  The  corners  of  his 
mouth  were  seen  to  move  with  violent 
twitches ;  the  swelling  shifted  a  bit,  but  did 
not  diminish.  Nothing,  however,  came  of 
these  movements,  but  a  stare  more  fixed  and 
of  less  meaning  than  the  former  one. 

"  Hast  lost  the  use  of  thy  tongue,  knave .'" 
No,  it  was  his  teeth  he  had  lost  the  use  of. 
In  transferring  the  contents  of  the  trencher 
to  the  capacious  cupboard,  that  had  already 
received  the  unfurntfhing  of  sundry  others 
equally  well  provided,  he  had  on  the  sudden 
sent  his  teeth  with  such  force  into  the  thick 
piece  of  dough,  that  he  could  not  withdraw 
them,  and  he  could  neither  swallow  the  un- 
wieldly  mouthful,  nor  disengage  his  jaws  for 
the  purposes  of  speech.  In  short,  his  mouth 
was  as  firmly  closed  as  though  a  padlock 
had  fastened  it. 

"Alas,  gossips,  this  is  a  sad  business!" 
cried  Jonas,  looking  wondrously  doleful. 


"  The  loss  of  my  dumpling  I  care  not  so 
much.  Though  I  do  affirm  it  to  be  as  deli- 
cate eating  as  dumpling  ever  was.  Yet  the 
loss  of  this  poor  boy's  gift  of  speech  is  as 
deplorable  a  thing  as  can  well  be  thought 
of.  But  I  must  needs  essay  a  touch  of  mine 
art.  I  do  hope  to  recover  both  these  losses." 
Ragged  Launce  was  getting  more  uneasy 
every  minute.  His  face  had  become  mar- 
velously  hot  and  red,  and  his  grimaces  hor- 
ribly violent.  The  company  looked  in  si- 
lence it  is  true,  but  with  looks  of  such  mean- 
ing as  any  language  at  their  commandment 
could  not  half  so  well  have  expressed. 

The  tailor  with  great  gravity  drew  the 
boy  towards  him,  muttering  a  strange  jargon 
in  a  rapid  voice  that  made  Ragged  Launce 
tremble  to  his  shoes.  Suddenly  laying  the 
boy's  head  in  his  lap,  he  caught  hold  of  his 
nose  with  one  hand,  and  his  chin  with  the 
other,  and  drew  open  his  mouth,  exhibiting 
to  all  the  huge  lump  of  dumpling  that  seem- 
ed io  fill  the  whole  space  within. 

"  Behold  the  virtue  of  mine  art,  my  mas- 
ters!"  cried  Jonas  ex  ultingly.  "Lo!  I  have 
found  my  lost  dumpling."  A  laugh  long 
and  loud  testified  the  general  acknowledg- 
ment of  his  skill  as  a  conjuror.  Launce 
made  one  desperate  effort — a  swelling  rose 
in  his  neck  of  a  size  awful  to  look  on — his 
eyes  became  red  with  straining — tears 
gushed  over  his  dingy  cheeks — he  gasped 
as  though  like  one  taken  with  a  sudden  fit, 
and  then  drew  a  strong  breath.  "  O  my 
life,  I  knew  not  but  you  had  done  with  your 
trencher !"  said  he,  in  a  monstrous  eager- 
ness. 

"  Behold  the  virtue  of  mine  art v  my  mas- 
ters !"  again  exclaimed  Jonas,  in  the  same 
exulting  tone.  "  Lo !  I  have  found  the  lost 
speech." 

In  the  midst  of  the  roar  of  mirth  which 
came  on  the  heels  of  this  marvellous  discov- 
ery, there  was  heard  a  loud  knocking  at 
the  outer  door,  at  which  all  started,  some 
with  astonishment,  some  with  alarm,  and 
some  with  wonder.  Ragged  Launce  in  very 
fear  slunk  away  and  hid  himself  under  the 
big  settle,  but  failed  not  as  he  went  to  take 
with  him  a  huge  roasted  pippin  with  cloves 
in  it,  that  lay  with  others  close  at  hand  on 
the  table ;  but,  quick  as  he  had  done  it,  it 
escaped  not  the  eye  of  his  busy  mother,  who 
on  the  instant  pursued  him  with  the  ladle 
she  had  in  her  hand,  and,  as  he  was  duck- 
ing under  the  settle,  hit  him  so  sore  a  stroke 
with  it  on  his  pole,  he  set  up  a  cry  loud 
enough  to  alarm  all  the  watch  in  town. 
Nevertheless,  seeing  he  was  likely  to  have 
no  worse  usage,  as  the  enraged  Maud  for- 
tx>re  any  further  proceedings,  hearing  a  re- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


petition  of  the  rude  knocking  more  violent 
than  before,  he  quitted  his  crying,  and  with 
one  hand  rubbing  his  bruised  pate,  with  the 
other  he  thrust  the  pippin  into  his  mouth, 
and  soon  lost  all  sense  of  pain,  or  fear  either 
in  its  enjoyment. 

"Who  can  it  be?" 

"  What  can  any  seek  here  at  this  untime- 
ly hour  ?" 

"  It  cannot  be  thieves  surely." 

"Pray  Heaven  it  be  not  fire !" 

"  Hath  any  ill-mannerly  rogue  been  set 
on  to  disturb  our  pleasure  ?" 

"  Some  drunken  varlet  mayhap,  wh'"  '"ill- 
mistaken  his  lodging." 

"  Perchance  it  be  some  one  for  me." 

"  Nay,  I  expect  'tis  I  who  am  wanted." 

"  As  I  live,  it  was  an  awful  knocking !" 

"  An  it  should  be  anything  not  of  this 
world." 

"  Alack  !  do  not  say  so,  I  prythee  !" 

"  Mercy  on  us,  there  it  be  again !  Oh  it 
cannot  help  being  a  warning  for  us  to  pre- 
pare for  our  ends." 

And  thus  every  one  cried  out  something, 
and  every  one  imagined  something,  but 
none  looked  inclined  to  see  what  something 
it  was.  This  state  of  things  was  made  a 
thousand  times  worse  by  the  woman's  tailor 
suddenly  assuming  an  aspect  of  the  most 
absolute  affright  ever  witnessed,  whilst  at 
the  same  time  he  uttered  a  cry  so  terrible 
all  the  women  shrieked,  and  rushed  into  the 
arms  of  the  men  nearest  them  with  such 
wondrous  force,  more  than  one  was  borne 
to  the  ground,  and  the  rest  were  so  jostled 
together,  a  flock  of  timid  sheep  set  on  by  a 
dog  could  not  have  got  in  so  small  a  com- 
pass. 

Jonas  stood  aloof  from  the  fear-struck 
throng  with  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and  his 
mouth  at  its  utmost  stretch,  giving  vent  to 
so  boisterous  a  peal  of  laughing  as  even 
those  old  rafters,  familiar  as  they  were  with 
such  sounds,  had  had  no  knowledge  of. 

"Why,  thou  intolerable -faint  hearts!" 
exclaimed  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  get  pro- 
per command  of  his  speech.  "  If  it  be  any 
thing  less  substantial  than  Goody  Poppet's 
stout  wench,  with  her  lantern  to  see  home 
her  mistress,  I  have  no  more  brains  than  a 
three-hooped  pot."  Whereupon  the  merry 
knave  threw  open  the  door,  and  flying  like 
a  wheel,  turning  round  upon  his  hands  and 
feet,  he  passed  with  a  mischievous  chuckle 
through  the  next  chamber  lo  the  house-door, 
though  the  way  was  so  dark  yon  could  not 
see  your  hand  in  it. 

This  declaration  somewhat  pacified  the 
affrighted  company,  whereof  the  male  part 
Bcemed  the  readiest  satisfied  —  the  most 


scared  being  by  far  the  quickest  to  assume 
an  air  of  indifferency — the  miller  and  his 
son  boldly  saying  they  were  assured  all 
along  it  could  be  no  other  than  their  gossip's 
handmaid ;  but  Tommy  Hart  honestly  said, 
he  had  not  been  in  so  horrible  a  fear  all  his 
days,  and  vowed  he  would  never  rest  till  he 
had  served  that  "  snipttaffeta  fellow,"  as  he 
styled  the  tailor,  with  such  another  trick. 

As  they  were  rapidly  gaining  confidence, 
and  Goody  Poppet  was  preparing  lor  putting 
herself  under  the  guidance  of  her  usual  at- 
tendant in  dark  nights  to  return  home,  the 
_ioor  opened.  Every  one  expected  the  stout 
wench  so  well  known  to  them,  but  there 
presently  entered  one  who  was  no  more  like 
unto  her,  than  is  the  golden  sun  to  a  Ban- 
bury  cheese. 

The  hood  with  which  her  delicate  sweet 
face  was  pnwp)one(j  was  suddenly  thrown 
back  from  ner  shoulders  by  the  hand  of  Jo- 
nas Tietape,  who  had  entered  with  her,  and 
there  was  displayed  the  features  of  a  young 
girl,  of  not  more  than  twelve  years,  flushed 
as  though  with  some  great  exertion,  and 
wearing  withal  a  troubled  air,  that  did  give 
to  its  surpassing  loveliness  an  expression  so 
touching,  the  horridest  villain  could  not  help 
feeling  its  exquisite  influence. 

"Susannah!"  cried  Joan  Hart,  evidently 
in  a  wondrous  amazement  as  she  recogniz- 
ed her  youthful  visitor.  "  Why,  what  hath 
brought  thee  here  at  this  untimely  hour  ?" 

"  Truly  a  great  need  !"  replied  as  musi- 
cal soft  a  voice  as  ear  ever  heard  this  side 
of  heaven ;  and  then  she  wrung  her  dainty 
little  hands,  and  looked  so  pitiful,  all  present 
felt  their  hearts  melt  within  them.  »  "  An  it 
please  you,  good,  sweet  aunt,  you  return 
with  me  to  Shottery  on  the  instant." 

The  tender-hearted  Joan  stopped  not  for 
questioning.  Leaving  the  child  to  the  sym- 
pathy of  her  guests  she  flew  for  such  things 
as  were  needful  for  her  to  put  on  for  the 
journey,  and  before  the  more  inquisitive  of 
the  company  had  extracted,  from  amidst  her 
tears  and  sorrowful  exclamations,  aught  be- 
side her  having  run  all  the  way  over  the 
fields,  without  any  companion,  in  so  dismal 
a  night,  Joan  had  returned  ready  to  start. 
Her  husband  grasped  his  cudgel,  and,  hav- 
ing quickly  lighted  a  lantern,  and  put  him- 
self in  a  like  readiness,  he  bade  his  guests 
"  good-night,"  and  was  soon  anxiously  ac- 
companying the  fair  child  and  his  excellent 
helpmate  into  the  street. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


CHAPTER  II. 

All  I  have  done  is  little  yet  to  purpose, 

But,  ere  I  leave  him,  I  will  perceive  him  blush  ; 

And  make  him  feel  the  passions  that  I  do, 

And  every  true  lover  will  assist  me  in't, 

And  send  me  their  sad  sighs  to  blow  it  home, 

For  Cupid  wants  a  dart  to  wound  this  bosom. 

THE  LAWS  OF  CANDY. 

Fred.  She's  free  as  you  or  I  am,  and  may  have, 
By  that  prerogative,  a  liberal  choice 
In  the  bestowing  of  her  love. 
Lod .  Bestowing  ? 

If  it  be  so,  she  has  bestowed  herself 
Upon  a  trim  youth. 

THE  CAPTAIN. 

THE  musician  sat  turning  of  his  cittern, 
close  upon  where  sat  an  ancient  gentle- 
woman, with  whom  it  was  evident  he  was 
not  only  upon  terms  of  some  intimacy,  but, 
if  looks  and  courteous  words  denote  aught, 
the  exquisite  and  very  vehement  gallantry 
of  his  manner  towards  her  had  touched  hjr 
affections  somewhat.  Of  a  verity,  he  was 
a  man  like  enough  to  impress  a  woman's 
heart  with  a  senses  of  the  most  absolute  af- 
fectionateness,  for  not  only  had  he  in  visage 
and  person  such  gifts  as  are  usually  all- 
powerful  with  a  fair  lady,  the  which  were 
sjt  off  in  a  vqry  gallant,  peach-colored  suit, 
with  a  cloak  of  murray  velvet,  faced  with 
fur,  and  all  corresponding  appurtenances  ; 
but  there  was  that  in  his  look,  in  his  voice, 
and  in  his  every  motion — albeit  there  was  a 
marvellous  stillness  in  the  homage  and  ten- 
derness with  which  he  appeared  to  regard 
his  companion;  that  smacked  of  an  age  gone 
by — thin  spoke  him  to  be  of  no  common 
sort. 

Cortes,  the  tall,  antiquated,  stately  dame, 
who  looked  into  his  eyes  with  so  manifest  a 
conceit  of  ecstacy,  was  not  of  that  proper 
condition  that  would  in  ordinary  cases  at- 
tract so  admirable  a  gallant.  She  lacked 
youth  most  abominably  ;  and  of  charms  had 
she  no  more  than  would  serve  to  show  she 
was  not  quite  a  dressed-up-anatomy.  Her 
parchment  visage — albeit  there  was  paint 
enough  on  it  to  have  done  some  service  to- 
wards creating  any  Red  Lion  or  flaming 
Phojnix  worthy  of  being  the  pride  of  the 
whole  city — only  gave  signs  of  life  in  the 
constant  trick  she  had  of  forcing  her  mouth, 
which  resembled  a  hole  in  a  hose  that  had 
been  horribly  boggled  in  the  mending,  into 
the  fashion  of  smiling  ;  and  in  the  no  less 
continual  habit  of  hers,  of  raising  her 
sunken  eyes  from  the  edge  of  her  robe,  that 
stood  out  all  around  her  still  as  any  board,  un- 
to those  of  the  handsome  musician,  and  then 


as  suddenly  letting  them  fall  to  renew  their 
long  acquaintance  with  the  fading  pattern 
of  her  dress. 

Her  close  vest  and  round  ruff,  her  long 
waist  and  stiff  farthingale,  her  lace  cuffs 
and  trimmings,  with  her  gown  of  faded 
satin,  looked  as  though  done  on  stone  ;  and, 
had  it  not  been  for  a  sort  of  palsy,  which 
she  strove  to  disguise  by  keeping  her  chin 
fixed  in  her  left  hand,  as  though  it  were  in 
a  pillory,  that  gave  her  head  an  inconstant 
humor  of  motion,  the  curls  of  her  perriwig 
—  set  with  streamers  in  the  old  Venetian 
fashion,  with  a  feather  at  the  side — might 
as  easily  have  passed  for  a  cunning  piece  of 
statuary.  Her  right  hand,  however,  par- 
took not  of  such  stillness ;  for,  though  it 
was  close  on  winter,  and  a  pleasant  fire  of 
logs  was  burning  on  the  tire  beside  her, 
she  kept  it  beating  the  air  with  a  huge  fan 
very  vigorously ;  ever  and  anon  furling 
it  quickly,  and  tapping  of  her  companion 
playfully,  or  shaking  it  at  him,  when  his 
compliments  seemed  to  her  to  have  a  mean- 
ing in  them  which  appealed  somewhat  too 
directly  to  her  too  susceptible  nature. 

"Nay,  Master  Dulcimer,  thou  mu?t  in- 
deed," exclaimed  the  dame,  with  an  exceed- 
ing earnestness,  furling  her  fan  briskly,  and 
then  as  rapidly  opening  it  to  the  full  display 
of  a  most  moving  scene  from  the  romance 
of  Launcelot  du  Lac,  painted 'thereon. 

"  By  those  divine  and  love-darting  orbs, 
I  am  in  no  voice,"  replied  the  musician,  in 
a  tone  of  exquisite  melancholy,  as  he  struck 
two  or  three  tender  chords  upon  his  instru- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  thou  silly  flatterer,  thou  !"  cried  she, 
shaking  her  closed  fan  at  him,  though  with 
a  smirk  on  her  visage  that  would  have  as- 
sured a  less  observant  spectator  she  was 
well 'pleased  at  such  language.  "  But,  pry- 
thee,  tell  me .  not  thy  voice  is  like  to  fail 
thee,  for  I  have  set  my  heart  on  hearing 
this  ballad." 

"  A  villanous  cold,  an  it  please  you, 
sweetest  lady,"  said  the  gallant,  bending 
over  his  cittern  to  the  complete  hiding  hi  * 
face  for  the  nonce  from  the  keenness  of  her 
looks,  as  he  added,  in  a  sort  of  passionate 
whisper,  "  Sooth  to  say,  the  foolish  liking  I 
have  for  singing  o'nights  under  the  chamber 
that  holds  such  a  pearl  of  price,  hath  occa- 
sioned me  so  monstrous  a  hoarseness,  I 
doubt  I  have  more  notes  than  a  cuckoo." 

"  Dear  heart,  thou  shall  have  a  posset  on 
the  instant !"  exclaimed  the  enamored 
dame,  rising  with  as  much  state  in  her 
movements  as  tenderness  in  her  looks. 

"  Nay,  by  this  heavenly  light,  I  will  nevei 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


allow  it,  sweet  Mistress  Deborah !"  cried 
the  musician,  suddenly  rising  with  a  famous 
humility  in  his  countenance.  "  I  am  scarce 
fit  to  be  noticed  of  such  excellence." 

"  Thy  hoarseness  must  be  cured,  Master 
Dulcimer,"  said  the  lady,  curtseying  to  the 
very  ground  to  the  low  bending  of  the  gal- 
lant before  her,  as  he  with  the  deepest  air  of 
reverence  took  her  hand  to  lead  her  back  to 
her  seat,  from  which  she  had  got  a  pace  or 
two.  "  Believe  me,  Master  Dulcimer,  'tis 
the  exquisitest  posset  ever  made — the  sove- 
reignest  thing  on  earth  for  a  hoarseness. 
Her  gracious  highness  Queen  Mary,  of  glo- 
rious memory  hath  oft  applied  to  my  poor 
ability  for  the  concocting  of  it,  and  hath  ex- 
pressed '  wonderful  comfort  ere  she  had 
scarce  swallowed  a  mouthful." 

"  I  should  scorn  myself  ever  after,  could 
I  suffer  my  humbleness  to  be  raised  by  such 
matchless  goodness,  to  taste  what  the  high- 
est of  the  land  must  have  been  but  too  proud 
to  have  enjoyed  at  such  fair  hands." 

"  They  were  well  pleased  enough  doubt- 
less, Master  Dulcimer.  Not  only  her  late 
Highness,  who  honored  me  with  many  to- 
kens of  her  most  princely  regard,  but  that 
puissant  and  most  excellent  sovereign  Henry 
the  Eighth,  and  his  sweet  son,  the*  young 
King  Edward,  who  is  now  a  saint  in  Heav- 
en, as  likewise  her  present  Highness  the 
Queen's  Majesty,  hath  granted  me  many 
precious  favors  ;  for,  as  thou  art  I  know 
well  acquainted,  I  have  lived  among  princes 
and  nobles  all  my  days." 

"Of  a  surety,  that  accounteth  for  the 
princely  and  noble  air  thou  possesseth  so 
completely." 

"  In  sooth  I  know  not,"  said  the  lady  with 
another  majestic  bend  to  the  ground,  in  re- 
turn for  one  of  a  like  kind  which  followed 
the  civil  speech  of  her  gallant.  "  But  thy 
hoarseness,  Master  Dulcimer,  getteth  no 
remedy  all  this  while.  As  it  hath  been  got 
in  my  service,  I  cannot  but  endeavor  its 
cure  with  all  speed." 

At  this  she  was  again,  in  all  the  dignity 
of  a  queen,  sweeping  forward  to  procure  the 
promised  posset,  when  the  musician  once 
more,  with  a  reverence  even  more  respect- 
ful, and  a  concern  more  absolute  than  he 
exhibited  on  the  previous  occasion,  took  her 
hand  with  many  fine  spun  expressions  of 
humbleness,  and  led  her  back  to  her  seat. 
A  little  more  stately  colloquy  followed,  full 
of  flattery  on  one  side,  and  of  vanity  on  the 
other.  But  as  the  speech  of  Master  Dulci- 
mer was  evidently  getting  terribly  thick,  till 
it  became  more  like  the  croaking  of  a  raven 
than  the  voice  of  a  gallant,  she  became 
mcustrous  eager  the  posset  should  be  tried. 


At  last  when  she  found  the  flattering  hu- 
mility of  her  companion  was  in  no  way  to 
be  moved,  and  possibly  in  some  measure 
tired  of  the  many  bendings  to  the  floor,  her 
notions  of  proper  ceremony  bade  her  make 
in  return  for  the  many  equally  lowly  her 
gallant  honored  her  with  at  every  fine 
speech,  a  thought  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
entered  into  her  head,  the  which,  had  she 
not  been  so  intent  on  the  sweet  things  she 
heard,  would  have  found  a  place  there  at  the 
very  first. 

"  By  my  fay,  I  had  clean  forgot !"  said 
she  ;  then  raising  her  voice  to  a  pitch  some- 
what of  the  sharpest,  she  cried,  "  Mistress 
Varnon !  haste,  I  prythee,  and  make  a  pos- 
set for  worthy  Master  Dulcimer." 

This  speech  was  directed  to  a  most  comely 
maiden,  who  stood  concealed  from  view  in 
one  of  the  deep  windows.  Possibly  she 
had  gone  there  for  the  better  seeing  some 
music  she  held  in  her  hand ;  and  perchance 
the  youth  at  her  side  was  offering  what  as- 
sistance he  had  at  his  commandment  in  the 
proper  understanding  of  it,  but  methinks,  if 
thjs  had  been  the  case,  there  had  been  no 
such  need  as  there  seemed  for  the  passion- 
ate words  that. one  gave  the  other,  and  the 
deep  fondness  which  shone  in  their  looks, 
and  in  their  exceeding  closeness.  Surely, 
it  needed  not  the  youth's  hand  locked  in  that 
of  the  maiden,  whilst  the  other  arm  encom- 
passed her  girdle  with  so  firm  a  pressure, 
her  little  ruff  ever  and  anon  seemed  like  to 
be  crushed  against  his  jerkin,  for  the  proper 
understanding  of  music  of  any  kind ;  but 
this  was  not  aU.  These  two,  it  was  evi- 
dent, had  been  as  regardless  of  the  anti- 
quated dame  and  her  formal  gallant,  as  were 
that  goodly  pair,  of  them.  Their  loving 
dialogue,  for  such  it  was  out  of  all  doubt,  so 
filled  every  sense,  not  only  were  Their  com- 
panions lost  sight  of,  but  of  the  whole  world 
were  they  in  a  like  forgetfulness. 

"  Methinks  it  cannot  but  be  wrong,  my 
dear  lord,"  murmured  the  blushing  maiden, 
her  heart  beating  against  her  lover's  breast, 
like  a  bird  newly  caged  fluttering  the  bars 
of  its  prison-house.  "  'Tis  true  aunt  De- 
borah useth  me  with  exceeding  harshness, 
but  I  can  scarce  reconcile  me  to  the  part 
your  friend  is  playing,  which  cannot  but  end 
in  her  great  unhappiness,  and  to  leave  her 
in  a  state  of  such  terrible  disappointment  as 
must  needs  come  of  it,  when  all  is  discover- 
ed, looketh  to  me  cruel  and  unmaidenly." 

"  Tush,  sweet  heart !"  exclaimed  the  dis- 
guised gallant,  pressing  her  to  him  more 
fondly.  "  The  usage  you  have  at  her  hands 
is  such,  that  for  it  nothing  can  be  too  great 
a  punishment.  She  hath  employed  her  ut> 


16 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


most  for  the  complete  marring  of  your  hap- 
piness, merely  because  the  Queen  like^h  not 
my  Lord  Southampton  to  marry,  and  so 
leave  her  with  one  servant  the  less,  of  whom 
she  can  command  attentions  that  in  her  old 
age  she  should  have  never  thought  of;  and 
to  be  in  favor  with  her  Highness,  Dame  De- 
borah, hath  not  only  done  me  all  manner  of 
ill  offices  with  the  Queen,  but  hath  spoke 
of  you  to  her  in  so  horrible,  infamous  a  man- 
ner, as  your  pure  heart  can  have  no  notion 
of." 

"In  very  sooth  now,  dear  Wriothesley, 
hath  she  done  me  this  huge  unkindness  ?" 
earnestly  inquired  his  indignant  mistress, 
whilst  big  tears  trembling  on  the  long  lashes 
of  her  fair  eyes  did  most  eloquently  speak 
her  sense  of  her  kinswoman's  injustice. 

"As  I  live,  my  sweeting,  'tis  so!"  re- 
plied the  youth  with  a  like  earnestness.  "  I 
was  told  of  it  by  one  who  was  present,  and 
I  shortly  after  received  of  the  Queen  a  sharp 
rating,  with  numberless  proud  peremptory 
terms,  for  paying  any  sort  of  heed  to  one  so 
discreditably  spoken  of." 

The  lashes  of  the  fair  listener  became-  so 
heavily  laden  with  those  most  choice  pearls, 
that  they  could  no  longer  have  footing  there, 
and  came  stealing  over  her  downy  cheek  as 
if  well  inclined  to  linger  upon  such  dainty 
ground. 

"  Sweetest  life !"  whispered  her  lover 
with  increased  vehemency  of  love  at  the 
sight  of  her  tears.  "  There  is  no  bearing 
this  monstrous  tyranny.  Will's  stratagem 
is  the  very  properest  stratagem  that  could 
have  been  devised,  for  without  it  how  could 
I  have  had  access  to  thee,  my  life  !  my 
heart!  for  a  single  instant? — and  'tis  her 
own  unconsionable  vanity  that  is  to  blame, 
if  she  tak^  to  heart  at  the  discovery,  the  be- 
ing made  so  absolute  a  gull.  But  I  am  as- 
sured no  harm  will  come  of  it.  Her  heart 
is  as  stiff  as  her  stomacher,  and  she  hath 
about  as  much  feeling  as  hath  the  oak  floor 
«she  passeth  over  with  so  stately  a  step." 

Mistress  Varnon  wiped  away  the  tears 
that  rested  on  her  cheeks,  as  though  they 
meant  to  settle  there  all  their  days ;  but  she 
attempted  not  any  sort  of  reply. 

"  On  the  knees  of  my  heart,  I  beseech 
thee  secure  my  happiness !"  continued  the 
devoted  lover,  pressing  the  trembling  girl  to 
him  with  a  greater  shew  of  affectionateness 
than  ever.  "  I  have  all  things  in  readiness ; 
it  needeth  but  thy  consent  to  be  free  for  ever 
of  the  infamous  slanders,  and  continual  ty- 
rannies to  which  thou  hath  of  late  been  sub- 
jected." 

The  looks  of  Mistress  Varnon  were  fixed 
on  the  floor,  and  an  expression  of  indecision 


appeared  to  linger  over  her  exquisite  sweet 
countenance,  but  her  heart  was  beating  fas- 
ter than  she  thought  any  heart  had  done, 
since  the  world  was  made. 

"  Do  I  not  love  thee,  a  thousand  times 
better  than  life  !"  murmured  the  young  no- 
bleman in  a  tone  of  tender  melancholy,  it 
was  scarce  possible  for  one  of  her  loving  na- 
ture to  listen  to  unmoved.  "  In  honest  truth, 
my  whole  soul  is  so  wrapt  in  thy  infinite 
perfections,  if  thou  deny  me  the  precious 
gift  of  them,  I  shall  take  such  a  hatred  to 
my  miserable  life,  I  will  to  Ireland  on  the 
instant,  in  the  hope  some  rebellious  kern 
may  help  me  to  a  speedy  riddance  of  it." 

"  Nay,  that  thou  shall  never  do,"  replied 
the  loving  maiden,  in  tones  so  soft  and  low, 
and  trembling  withal,  they  could  scarce  be 
heard. 

"Wilt  consent,  then,  my  sweeting,  to 
what  I  have  in  my  exceeding  love  for  thee 
proposed?"  asked  her  lover,  with  a  look 
that  spoke  how  much  depended  on  her  an- 
swer. Her  lips  just  opened,  and  at  the  same 
moment  her  head  drooped  upon  his  shoulder. 
The  reply  can  only  be  guessed  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  was  received.  The  lover 
pressed  his  fair  companion  in  an  embrace, 
that  seemed  not  likely  to  be  ended  shortly  ; 
and  he  only  raised  his  lips  from  the  rosy 
resting-place  they  had  found  without  any 
effort  at  resistance,  when  her  name,  repeated 
in  her  aunt's  sharpest  tone,  and  a  warning 
cough  from  Master  Dulcimer,  awakened 
the  devoted  maiden  from  a  sense  of  bliss  to 
which  she  had  given  herself  up,  heart  and 
soul. 

Recovering  as  quickly  as  she  could  the 
music  that  had  dropped  from  her  hand  in 
the  ecstacy  of  her  feelings,  she  was  busily 
pointing  out  to  her  lover,  seemingly  equally 
intent  en  the  notes  as  herself,  a  passage 
which  they  were  trying  in  a  low  voice, 
when  the  tall  figure  of  her  kinswoman, 
handed  along  by  the  disguised  music-mas- 
ter, with  a  formality  that  made  any  great 
speed  impossible,  came  upon  their  hiding- 
place. 

"  Excellent  proper  scholars,  o'  my  life  !" 
exclaimed  the  pretended  Master  Dulcimer. 
"  Mistress  Varnon  proveth  herself  worthy 
of  the  lessons  of  her  most  admirable  sweet 
mistress." 

Here  followed  the  courteous  bend  that 
closed  every  such  sugared  compliment — the 
which  of  necessity  was  acknowledged  by 
another  from  the  lady  equally  ceremonious. 

"  In  sooth,  Master  Dulcimer,  I  must  needs 
own  she  is  a  close  scholar,  and  an  apt,"  re- 
plied the  antiquated  virgin ;  the  suspicions 
excited,  and  the  sharp  reproof  she  had  pre- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


17 


pared,  changing,  in  consequence  of  the 
timely  flattery,  into  smiles  and  good  will. 
"  And  she  hath  of  late  so  liked  thfe  singing 
of  madrigals,  she  is  no  less  impatient  than 
am  I  for  the  coming  of  yourself  and  boy  to 
help  us  in  the  indulgence  of  this  exquisite 
rare  pastime.  But  1  must  not  let  aught  in- 
terfere with  the  curing  of  your  hoarseness. 
Go,  Mistress  Varnon,  use  thy  utmost  skill 
in  the  making  of  my  choice  posset ;  prepare 
it  with  all  proper  speed  ;  and  take  with  thee 
Master  Dulcimer's  boy  into  the  garden  to 
help  thee  gather  the  herbs  that  are  neces- 
sary in  the  making  of  it." 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  young  lovers 
were  more  pleased  to  escape  from  the  room, 
than  was  the  stately  spinster  to  get  rid  of 
them.  She  had  a  little  scheme  in  her  mind, 
intended  to  force  her  companion  into  a  con- 
fession of  the  unconquerable  passion  she 
fancied  she  had  inspired  him  with,  for, 
though  he  had  said  many  tender  and  gallant 
things,  she  had  heard  nothing  of  a  sort  to  be 
compared  with  the  intensity  of  her  own  af- 
fection ;  but  his  reservedness  she  attributed 
to  his  modesty.  She  could  not  believe  him 
to  be  no  better  than  a  poor  musician.  In 
her  own  mind  there  was  no  conviction  so 
perfect  as  that  he  was  some  prince  or  other, 
so  smitten  with  her  attractions,  as  to  wil- 
lingly seek  disguise  to  obtain  the  pleasure 
of  her  sweet  society.  His  appearance,  his 
manners,  and  his  language,  she  had  for 
some  time  passed,  pronounced  to  be  as  a 
long  acquaintance  with  courts  could  alone 
obtain  ;  and  in  this  rare  delusion  she  fooled- 
herself  to  the  top  of  her  bent. 

She  considered  that  he  wanted  encour- 
agement, and  that  nothing  could  afford  it  so 
well  as  a  declaration  of  her  feelings  in  his 
favor.  How  to  bring  this  about  in  a  dis- 
creet and  maidenly  manner  she  had  long 
thought  of,  and  at  last  satisfied  herself  she 
had  conceived  a  plan  excellently  well  adapt- 
ed for  her  purpose.  She  had  scarce  well 
rid  herself  of  her  exquisite  fair  niece  and 
her  disguised  lover,  when  she  turned  a  gaze 
upon  her  companion  of  such  infinite  affec- 
tionateness,  as  no  language  can  do  justice 
to,  whereupon,  meeting  his  bright  glance, 
in  the  which  lurked — though  she  saw  it  not 
— a  look  of  sly  pleasantry,  she  as  suddenly 
cast  her  eyes  to  the  ground,  and  sighed  as 
though  her  heart  must  needs  break  in  a  pre- 
sently. 

The  seeming  musician  regarded  her  for 
a  moment  with  some  sort  of  compassionate- 
ness,  as  though  loath  to  carry  the  deception 
further;  but  the  very  absolute  ridiculous- 
ness of  the  love-sick  anatomy  before  him, 
together  with  what  he  knew  of  her  infamous 


behavior  to  her  gentle  kinswoman,  and  a 
remembrance  of  how  completely  the  happi- 
ness of  two  young  and  amiable  people  de- 
pended on  his  successfully  carrying  on  the 
jest,  satisfied  his  conscience  for  the  nonce  ; 
and  furnishing  his  looks  with  the  proper 
gravity,  and  his  carriage  with  the  customa- 
ry starchness,  he  bowed  himself  upon  her 
hand,  which  he  took,  into  his  own  with  a 
monstrous  show  of  gallantry,  and  in  words 
of  the  movingest  sort,  requested,  as  he  was 
denied  the  most  sweet  delight  of  entertain- 
ing her  with  his  voice,  she  would,  out  of  her 
marvellous  condescension,  lap  his  spirit  in 
that  rapture  he  never  failed  to  enjoy  to  an 
exquisite  excess,  when  listening  to  her  in- 
comparable performance. 

The  only  reply  she  gave  was  conveyed  in 
a  sort  of  hysteric  sob— a  sudden  casting  of 
her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  as  sudden  a  clasping 
in  both  her  own  of  the  hand  of  her  gallant — 
then  a  look  at  him  brimming  over  with  af- 
fectionateness — and  lastly,  a  sudden  move- 
ment with  stateliest  steps,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
him  all  the  way — to  the  virginals. 

"  Oh,  Master  Dulcimer !"  exclaimed  she, 
in  a  most  perturbed  voice  as  she  sunk  on 
the  seat  that  stood  before  that  instrument. 

Master  Dulcimer  said  never  a  word  ;  for, 
having  seated  her,  and  made  his  leg  with 
the  gravity  expected  of  him,  he  was  dili- 
gently employing  himself  in  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  Thomas  Morley's  "  First  Booke 
of  Ballets  to  five  Voyces,"  which,  with  va- 
rious other  madrigals,  pastorals,  roundelays, 
ayres,  and  catches  by  John  Bennett,  Thomas 
VVeelkes.  John  Farmer,  William  Bird,  John 
Dowland,  and  John  Wilbye ;  with  a  goodly 
heap  of  older  works  by  Sheryngham,  Davy, 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas  Phillips,  Fairfax, 
Cornish,  Turges,  Tudor,  and  Banister,  were 
partly  on  the  virginals,  and  on  a  stand  ad- 
joining. 

Whilst  thus  employed,  Aunt  Deborah  had 
time  to  recover  in  some  measure  from  the 
intense  pleasurable  bewilderment  into  which 
her  gallant  had  thrown  her,  and,  with  an  ex- 
ceeding audible  sigh,  and  a  marvellous  lov- 
ing glance,  she  began  a  few  bars  of  quaint 
and  pleasing  symphony.  Ere  she  had  pro- 
ceeded far,  however,  she  stopped. 

"  In  sooth,"  she  murmured,  with  a  smile 
that  might  have  been  becoming  enough 
some  forty  years  before  ;  "  in  very  sooth,  I 
know  not  what  to  sing." 

"  Such  exquisite  sweet  singing  as  thou 
singest  at  all  times,"  replied  her  companion, 
somewhat  enamoredly,  "  rendereth  the 
choice  of  but  slight  concern.  Be  assured, 
whatever  pleaseth  thee  to  sing,  shall  infi- 
nitely please  mo  to  hear." 


18 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


"  Excellent  Master  Dulcimer !"  exclaim- 
ed his  antiquated  mistress,  in  a  very  fervor. 

"  Hast  thou  no  moving  ballad,  most  ad- 
mirable Mistress  Deborah — no  touching  dit- 
ty that  should  express,  with  a  natural  force, 
the  desperate  passion  of  some  love-lorn 
heart?  Hast  thou— " 

"  Have  I  not,  sweetest  Master  Dulcimer !" 
replied  the  lady,  clasping  her  hands  power- 
fully together,  and  taftmg  another  sharp 
scrutiny  of  the  ceiling. 

"  A  song  of  such  ravishing  sort  must 
needs  command  my  very  deepest  attentive- 
ness,"  observed  the  disguised  musician. 

"  But  it  is  one  of  my  poor  contrivance," 
whispered  Aunt  Deborah,  her  look  again 
downcast.  "  A  trifle,  a  very  trifle,  dear 
Master  Dulcimer,  which  thy  superior  skill 
cannot  but  despise." 

How  the  gentleman  protested  the  great- 
ness of  his  opinion  of  any  production  from 
such  a  source,  may  readily  be  imagined  ; 
and  the  modest  depreciation  with  which  the 
lady  spoke  of  her  performance  ere  she  could 
be  got  to  commence  the  singing  of  it,  it 
needeth  no  great  stretch  of  fancy  neither  to 
have  a  proper  notion  of.  Suffice  it,  that, 
after  many  delays,  a  wonderful  display  of 
affection  in  her  looks,  and  with  a  constant 
fire  of  sighs  thut  ought  to  have  melted  the 
most  obdurate  heart,  Aunt  Deborah  betook 
herself  to  her  instrument,  and,  in  a  voice 
of  the  shrillest,  commenced  the  following 
words : 

AUNT  DEBORAH'S  DITTY. 

"  Honey-sweet  lips! — Most  tempting  fruit  that 

groweth, 

Fain  would  I  taste,  if  tasting  there  might  be  : 
Honey-sweet  lips ! — Most  rosy  flower  that 

bloweth, 
Fain  would  I  own,  if  such  might  bloom  for 

me. 

Oh,  doleful  strait ! — The  tree  doth  grow  so  high, 
I  might  o'er-reach,  would  I  such  fruit  devour  ; 
Oh,  sad  mischance  ! — The  plant  so  low  doth  lie, 
I  fear  to  fall  stooping  to  pluck  the  flower. 
Honey-sweet  lips !" 

It  was  with  a  great  to  do  the  disguised 
master  of  music  kept  the  grave  and  deeply- 
attentive  visage  he  had  all  along  command- 
ed; for,  in  sober  truth,  the  very  monstrous 
pas&ionateness  put  on  by  the  starched  and 
ceremonious  maid  of  honor  to  Her  High- 
ness Queen  Mary,  of  sanguinary  memory, 
was  so  extremely  ridiculous,  that  any  ordi- 
nary man  might  have  laughed  his  head  off 
ere  his  mind  would  have  well  got  rid  of  the 
humor  it  would  have  put  him  into.  Such 
turning  up  of  eyes — now  to  her  companion, 


and  anon  to  that  part  of  the  ceiling  tha 
directly  above  her  head — such  sugared 


at  was 
looks 

that  no  conserve  could  have  been  half  so 
sweet,  had  not  the  vessel  that  furnished  them 
had  more  in  it  of  the  fashion  of  the  empty 
gallipot  than  of  any  such  tempting  cates  as 
good  housewife's  do  put  in  them  —  such 
smiles  of  infinite  love  as  must  have  pene- 
trated the  very  core  of  a  millstone,  had  they 
beamed  on  any  thing  human,  of  whatsoever 
sort,  more  desirable  than  the  shrivelled-up 
lips  from  which  they  originated  —  such 
blushes  of  modest  bashfulness,  a  tithe  of 
which  would  have  sufficed  the  wants  of  St. 
Ursula's  eleven  thousand  in  any  extremity 
— such  sighs  as  no  undone  church-organ 
ever  gave,  whereof  the  bellows  lacked  wind 
beyond  all  toleration — such  devotion,  such 
prudence,  such  longing,  such  coyness,  such 
hope,  such  doubt,  and  such  fear,  were  never 
exhibited  in  the  singing  of  any  ditty  since 
the  beginning  of  time. 

Nevertheless,  the  assumed  Master  Dulci- 
mer leaned  on  the  virginals  ovei  against  the 
singer,  beating  of  the  time  as  it  were  with 
his  hand,  and  seeming  to  be  quite  rapt  with 
such  bewitching  minstrelsy — albeit,  las  mid- 
riff was  in  extreme  jeopardy  with  his  ef- 
forts to  restrain  his  mirth.  Peradventure, 
he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  though 
he  had  no  lack  of  encouragement  so  to  do, 
for  speech  gave  he  none  at  all ;  yet  the  suf- 
fusion of  his  eyes,  which  arose  from  his 
powerful  struggle  to  preserve  his  gravity, 
was  regarded  by  the  love-sick  Aunt  Debo- 
rah as  a  sure  sign  her  ditty  had  touched 
him  to  the  quick,  and  after  a  short  pause  to 
allow  time  for  it  to  produce  its  due  effect, 
she  proceeded : 

SECOND    VERSE. 

"  Tempt  me  no  more  ! — Wijh  excellence  so 

winning, 

Scarce  can  1  look,  and  not  as  soon  be  won  ; 
Tempt  me  no  more  ! — Though  knowing  nought 

of  sinning, 

With  such  sweet  sin  I  needs  must  be  undone. 
Oh,  sunless  joy  ! — Methinks  these  sugared  baita 

Do  hold  to  me  an  unresisting  lure  ; 
Oh,  nameless  bliss  ! — Methinks   there  honor 

waits, 

With  honest  bonds  to  make  my  wish  secure. 
Honey-sweet  lipa  !" 

Nature  could  hold  out  no  longer.  The 
assumed  Master  Dulcimer  was  just  on  the 
point  of  giving  way  to  those  powerful  in- 
clinations he  had  with  such  huge  difficulty 
withheld,  when,  as  the  singer,  with  amorous 
sighs,  and  looks,  blushes  and  smiles,  a 
thousand  times  more  exquisitely  ridiculous 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


than  those  which  accompanied  the  singing 
of  the  first  verse,  closed  her  ditty — as  it"  the 
pent-up  passion  she  had  so  long  kept  within 
proper  bounds  had  now  burst  its  barriers — 
she  had  no  sooner  got  to  the  last  note  than, 
with  an  energy  that  nigh  pressed  the  breath 
out  of  his  body,  she  on  a  sudden  threw  her- 
self forward  into  his  arms,  and  doubtless 
would,  if  she  had  dared,  have  helped  herself 
right  liberally  to  the  tempting  objects  that 
had  formed  the  burthen  of  her  song. 

The  gallant  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  he 
could  do  nothing  against  such  an  assault 
h^it  struggle  as  he  best  could  to  get  free  ; 
certes,  Aunt  Deborah  had  got  so  close  a  hold 
of  him,  and  he  was  placed  in  so  exceeding 
awkward  a  position,  his  liberation  looked  to 
be  no  easy  matter.  At  last  it  came  with  a 
quickness  he  h-td  hardly  dared  to  hope. 

Whilst  he  was  tugging  and  twisting  with 
more  vigor  than  gallantry  to  rid  himself  of 
the  embrace  of  his  antiquated  mistress,  the 
door  of  the  chamber  was  suddenly  burst 
open,  and  there  rushed  into  the  room,  seem- 
ingly out  of  breath  with  the  speed  he  had 
used  in  getting  into  it,  the  long-legged,  iron- 
visaged,  ancient  serving-man,  that  was  at 
once  her  steward,  groom  of  the  chambers, 
gardener,  bailiff,  cellarer,  clerk  of  the  kitch- 
en, running-footman,  and  a  good  score  of 
other  callings,  and  had  been  so  ever  since 
he  could  clean  a  trencher,  empty  a  flask,  or 
grow  a  salad. 

That  he  was  intent  on  the  saying  of  some- 
t'r.nor  of  the  very  utmost  consequence  there 
could  be  no  manner  of  doubt;  nought  but 
the  most  absolute  necessity  could  ever  have 
induced  a  serving-man,  used  to  the  rigorous 
formalities  of  so  stern  a  mistress,  to  break 
into  her  privacy  in  so  rude  a  manner  as  he 
had  done.  He  would  himself  have  thought 
the  world  was  at  an  end,  had  he  dared  to  do 
so  on  any  common  occasion.  But,  what- 
ever was  his  intent,  of  a  surety  he  said 
nothing,  for  he  had  scarce  got  well  into  the 
room,  when  he  stopped  short  in  his  speed  as 
though  he  had  seen  a  basilisk. 

He,  who  had  ever  regarded  the  stately 
Aunt  Deborah  with  an  awe  scarcely  less 
than  that  he  would  have  felt  standing  in  the 
presence  of  the  Queen's  Highness,  and 
would  as  soon  have  expected  to  have  dis- 
covered the  grave  Lord  Burghley  cutting 
p'irsss  in  Tothill  Fields,  as  his  proud  and 
formal  old  mistress  allowing  of  the  most  in- 
nocent familiarity  from  an  individual  of  the 
opposite  sex,  even  had  he  been  a  prince,  be- 
held her  in  a  situation  with  so  mean  a  per- 
son as  a  singing-master,  which,  to  put  on  it 
tiie  most  charitable  construction,  was  ex- 
ceeding equivocal.  He  was  struck  dumb 


with  surprise  and  consternation,  and  stood 
with  mouth  wide  agape,  and  eyes  staring 
with  all  their  power. 

But  how  did  Aunt  Deborah  take  this  un- 
timely interruption  ?  At  sight  of  her  serv- 
ing man,  from  whom  she  had  exacted  the 
respect  due  from  one  having  absolute  power 
and  empire,  she  was  nigh  ready  to  die  with 
rage,  vexation,  and  pride.  She  who  had 
set  herself  up  as  so  immaculate,  of  such 
wondrous  dignity,  of  such  unparalleled  per- 
fection in  all  things,  as  one  so  infinitely  su- 
perior to  those  around  her — she  was  not  to* 
be  approached  without  every  possible  show 
of  humility  and  reverence ;  to  be  detected 
by  her  own  serving-man  in  an  act  so  op- 
posed to  her  former  bearing,  as  having  ten- 
der dalliance  with  a  gallant,  was  shame  un- 
speakable. The  offence  of  finding  her  under 
such  circumstances  would  at  any  time  have 
been  beyond  forgiveness — bearing  the  rude 
character  the  old  man's  intrusion  did,  it  was 
deadly. 

The  affectionate  old  spinster  resumed  her 
starched  appearance  with  what  facility  she 
could,  and  livid  with  shame  and  anger,  she 
glared  upon  the  bewildered  and  terrified  do- 
mestic. "Begone,  rascal!"  cried  she,  in 
those  deep  tones  that  express,  much  more 
than  violent,  loud  exclamations  of  any  sort, 
the  powerful  feelings  under  which  the 
speaker  is  laboring.  "  Out  of  my  house ! 
Pack,  on  the  instant  I  An  I  see  thy  villa- 
nous  visage  another  hour,  I  will  have  thee 
scourged  out  of  my  presence !" 

"  But,  mistress  ! — prythee  my  lady  !"  ex- 
claimed the  serving-man,  trembling,  and 
pale  with  fear. 

"  Dost  dare  speak  to  me  ?"  replied  the 
enraged  dame,  stretching  out  her  arm  in 
the  direction  of  the  door ;  then  adding,  in  a 
higher  key,  "Begone,  knave  !" 

But  to  do  her  bidding  the  poor  man  had 
not  the  power.  His  knees  knocked  togeth- 
er, his  hands  and  head  shook  as  with  the 
palsy,  and  he  looked  as  one  about  to  give 
up  the  ghost. 

"  Strip  off  my  apparelling,  and  the  badge 
of  the  Varnons,  and  get  thee  hence  for  an 
unmannerly,  meddling  jacknapes." 

"  But  Mistress  Varnon  hath  run  off  with 
the  musician's  boy,  an  it  please  you  my  la- 
dy!" stammered  out  the  serving-man,  as 
well  as  his  fear  would  allow  him. 

Aunt  Deborah  gave  a  sudden  start  at  this 
intelligence,  and  her  paleness  was  visible,  in 
despite  of  her  paint. 

"  What  sayest,  fellow  ?"  demanded  she 
solemnly.  "  Dost  dare  to  say  a  Varnon  is 
capable  of  such  infamy  ?" 

The  man,  as  he  gained  courage,  told  his 


20 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


tale ;  which  was  to  the  effect  that,  as  he  was 
working  in  the  garden,  he  spied  the  musi- 
cian's boy  and  Mistress  Varnon  in  a  won- 
derful loving  humor,  and  thinking  their  be- 
havior marvellous  strange,  he  kept  an  eye 
on  their  movements.  They  seemed  for  a 
while  to  be  gathering  of  herbs,  but  made  no 
great  progress  in  their  labor.  In  their  ram- 
bles they  at  last  came  to  the  wicket  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  and  they  were  so 
loving  and  so  intent  on  each  other's  dis- 
course, they  took  no  heed  that  they  were 
'watched.  They  presently  opened  the  gate 
and  went  out,  and,  on  the  man's  going  there 
to  see  what  they  could  be  at,  which  he  did 
not  like  doing  too  quickly,  he  beheld  them 
both  galloping  away  on  fleet  horses. 

Aunt  Deborah  listened  in  a  state  of  breath- 
less amazement,  evidently  in  such  a  rage 
with  her  gentle  kinswoman,  her  anger 
against  the  serving-man  was  clean  forgot. 
She  was  uttering  the  bitterest  denunciations 
against  her  for  bringing  such  shame  upon 
her  family  by  her  intolerable  infamousness 
in  running  off  with  so  low  a  person  as  a 
musician's  boy ;  when  her  attendant  having 
obtitined  some  slight  sense  of  security, 
ventured  to  say  that  he  believed  the  musi- 
cian's boy  was  no  musician's  boy  at  all,  nor 
any  thing  of  the  sort,  for,  as  he  was  looking 
after  the  runaways  at  the  gate,  a  swash- 
buckler-looking knave,  in  a  terrible  swag- 
gering mood,  came  up  to  him,  and  bade  him 
tell  his  mistress  to  be  under  no  concern  for 
the  disappearance  of  the  young  lady,  for 
my  Lord  Southampton  had  her  safe,  and  that 
they  would  be  married  within  rive  minutes 
of  their  leaving  the  house.  Moreover,  he 
had  given  him  a  tester,  to  tell  one  Master 
Dulcimer  to  join  his  friend  instantly. 

"  Master  Dulcimer !"  screamed  his  mis- 
tress, looking  around ;  but  if  she  sought 
that  admirable  master  of  music,  her  eyes 
must  have  been  of  a  very  choice  sort  to 
have  seen  him,  considering  that  he  was  then 
on  a  swift  horse,  on  the  track  of  his  young 
friend,  and  the  lovely  partner  of  his  flight, 
having  made  the  best  of  his  way  out  of 
Aunt  Deborah's  house,  as  soon  as  h;;  found 
himself  released  from  her  too  affectionate 
embrace. 

The  love-sick  virgin  now  saw  that  she 
"had  been  cozened.  She  had  managed  to 
regain  her  huge  fan,  and  had  employed  it, 
in  its  wonted  manner,  with  great  diligence, 
when  she  suddenly  furled  it,  with  a  look  as 
full  of  hate  and  rage  as  might  have  be- 
longed to  a  Medusa,  broke  it  over  the  head 
of  the  astonished  menial,  and  stalked  out  of 
the  room,  desperately  intent  on  vengeance. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

Beware,  delighted  poets,  when  yo  i  sing, 
To  welcome  nature,  in  the  early  spring, 

Your  numerous  feet  not  tread 
The  banks  of  Avon  ;  for  each  flower 
(As  it  ne'er  knew  a  sun  or  shower) 

Hangs  there  the  pensive  head. 

D'AVENANT. 

Here  I  lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

"  Now,  dame,  prythee  put  forth  thy  beat 
housewifery,  for  amongst  our  company  this 
day  will  be  one  for  whom  I  have  an  especial 
respect." 

"  "Pis  Master  Shakspeare,  then,  I  lay  my 
life  on't." 

"  Ay,  that  is  it,  dame  ;  and  one  more  wor- 
thy of  ull  honor  either  amongst  such  as  be 
players,  or  with  folk  of  any  condition,  dis- 
tinction, or  goodness,  whatsoever,  we  are 
not  like  to  see  in  our  time,  I  promise  you." 

"  Marry,  he  shall  have  the  best  enter- 
tainment we  can  give  him,  and  with  such 
heartiness  of  good-will,  as  he  may,  per- 
chance, lack  in  a  braver  feast.  But  who 
have  you  provided  to  meet  him,  sweet  heart  ? 
for,  methinks,  there  should  be  some  choice 
in  the  company  which  one  so  esteemed  is 
required  to  grace." 

"  As  for  that,  dame,  I  can  but  ask  mine 
own  fellows  of  the  Fortune,  most  of  whom 
must  depart  with  me,  on  the  morrow,  for 
Windsor ;  and,  though  they  may  not  be  so 
approved  in  their  art  as  those  he  hath  been 
used  to  at  the  Globe,  I  doubt  not  at  all  he 
careth  for  Ned  Allen  sufficient  to  be  con- 
tent with  the  fellowship  of  such  humbler 
spirits  as  he  is  wont  to  have  at  his  board." 

"Heaven  be  good  to  him,  for  he  is  a.  most 
sweet  gentleman,  and  his  great  deserts  are 
not  like  to  suffer  discredit  from  an  honest 
woman's  prayers.  But  it  is  fit  we  should 
have  no  brawlers  nor  breedbates,  nor  ruf- 
fling braggadocios  amongst  us  to  disgrace 
him  and  ourselves ;  for,  if  I  mistake  not 
hugely,  there  are  such  to  be  found  among 
our  friends  of  '  The  Fortune ;'  and  it  will 
as  little  credit  you,  dear  heart,  who,  I  am 
proud  to  say,  hath  as  honest  a  name  in 
his  calling  as  hath  any  man,  and,  moreover, 
hath  as  fair  a  provision  for  his  living  as 
might  satisfy  some  of  higher  estate,  as  it 
will  honor  a  guest  who,  of  his  eminent 
qualities,  demandeth  at  your  hands  whatev- 
er respect  and  affection  it  may  be  in  your 
power  to  afford." 

"  Well  said,  sweet  heart !  O  my  life,  an 
excellent  proper  speech  !  And  as  it  regard- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


eth  my  state  and  prospects,  what  you  have 
said  be  as  true  as  truth  itself,  and  I  thank 
God  for  it,  and  will  never  abuse  his  favor, 
be  assured.  But  as  to  our  fellows,  there  be 
some,  I  am  afraid,  of  rather  a  graceless 
sort;  nevertheless,  I  think  not  of  them  so  ill 
that  they  will  show  their  unworthy  humors 
before  so  true  a  heart  as  Will  Shakspeare. 
I  must  needs  have  Ben  Johnson  for  one." 

"I  should  like  him  the  better,  could  he 
better  govern  himself;  for  he  can  be,  at 
times,  as  excellent  good  company  as  might 
be  desired.  But  he  is  not  free  from  envy 
of  another's  greater  good-fortune,  however 
assured  he  may  be  of  his  worthiness,  and 
hath  a  boisterous,  rude  way  with  him,  at 
times,  that  looketh  to  be  ever  intent  on  a 
quarrel." 

"  Nay,  dame,  speak  of  him  not  so  ill.  Ben 
is  a  king,  in  his  way." 

"  A  king,  i'faith,  that,  ever  and  anon, 
must  needs  be  using  of  his  sceptre  by  way 
of  cudgel,  for  the  better  showing  of  his  au- 
thority." 

"  Like  enough,  dame ;  nevertheless,  he 
is  too  great  a  personage  amongst  us  to  be 
slighted,  and  he  is,  besides,  well  known  to 
Will,  so  that  we  can  have  no  cause  for 
omitting  him." 

"  For  mine  own  part,  husband,  I  have  no 
wish  that  way  ;  indeed,  I  have  oft  found  in- 
finite pleasure  in  his  company ;  so  let  him 
come,  o'God's  name,  only  I  would  be  more 
content  were  1  assured  he  would  come  in  a 
fitting  mood.  But  who  else  shall  you  have 
to  meet  sweet  Master  Shakspeare  ?" 

"  Why,  dame,  I  cannot  but  have  Will 
Byrde ;  he  hath  a  most  exquisite  throat  for 
a  ballad,  of  any  one  of  my  acquaintance ; 
and  Humphrey  Jeffes,  he  playeth  the  viol 
like  a  master  ;  and  John  Shanke,  he  telleth 
a  good  jest  with  a  marvellous  proper  spirit ; 
and  Tom  Dowton,  he  knoweth  tricks  of 
conjuring  that  would  surprise  you  mightily ; 
and  Ned  Colbrand,  and  Francis  Grace,  and 
Samuel  Rowley,  they  sing  a  three-part  song 
in  a  manner  which  is  a  delight  to  hear ;  and 
Gabriel  Spencer " 

"  Surely  that  is  he  who  broke  the  con- 
stable's head." 

"  Ay,  but  none  of  us  are  constables,  sweet 
heart  !  so  our  head  will  be  in  no  danger." 

"I  warrant  you.  But  if  he  be  so  vio- 
lently disposed,  one  head  is  like  to  be  no 
more  respected  by  him  than  another." 

"  Fear  nought,  dame.  Gabriel  would  not 
harm  a  mouse  ;  but  there  doth  exist  such 
an  antipathy  between  a  constable  and  a 
player,  that  if  a  cracked  crown  come  of  it, 
it  is  no  marvel ;  and,  peaceable  man  as  I 
am,  if,  of  the  two.  one  is  to  be  hurt,  me- 


thinks  he  should  be  the  constable — there- 
fore Gabriel  deserveth  no  blame.  Besides, 
he  hath  many  commendable  gifts,  which 
should  make  him  good  company.  Possibly 
I  may  chance  to  fall  in  with  Armin,  or 
Massye,  or  some  other  choice  spirit,  whose 
tricks  and  jests  cannot  fail  to  garnish  our. 
entertainment  right  pleasantly." 

"  As  you  will,  dear  heart ;  but  fail  not  to 
have  sufficient  recourse  to  your  lute,  which, 
in  my  humble  thinking,  be  as  delicate  gar- 
nish for  a  friend's  banquet  as  any  honest " 
heart  need  desire." 

"  But  it  is  not  reasonable  all  should  be  so 
good  a  wife.  And  now  I  must  needs  be 
going.  I  have  pressing  business.  I  am 
ordered  to  bring  my  dogs  and  bears  to  court, 
for  her  majesty's  games.  Spare  neither 
pains  uor_pence,  Joan.  So  God  be  with 
you!" 

"  Good  bye,  sweet  heart ;  and  if  you  see 
my  father,  1  pray  you  give  him  my  love  and 
duty." 

"  I  will  not  fail,  and  will  strive  to  bring 
him  with  me  to  dinner  ;  for  I  know  he  will 
be  right  glad  to  meet  Master  Shakspeare." 

The  foregoing  dialogue  had  been  spoken 
by  persons  aiming  at  no  great  pretensions  in 
any  of  those  things  most  commonly  assum- 
ed. They  were  simple  of  heart,  and  simple 
in  manners  ;  had  been  married  long  enough 
to  know  how  to  appreciate  each  other's 
good  qualities,  and  to  conform  completely 
to  each  other's  tastes.  So  contented  a 
couple  was  not  often  to  be  met  with.  They 
had  no  ambition  in  dress,  in  great  company, 
in  fine  furniture,  or  in  gay  living ;  they 
cared  only  to  be  a  comfort  to  each  other, 
and  a  source  of  pleasure  to  those  around 
them.  Edward  Allen  had  lately  built  a 
playhouse  in  Cripplegate,  which,  as  with  a 
prophetic  eye  to  its  results,  he  named  "  The 
Fortune ;"  and,  having  married  the  daughter 
of  Phillip  Henslowe,  who  had  realized  a  for- 
tune by  his  gains,  as  the  master  of  a  com- 
pany of  players,  and  of  a  collection  of  dogs, 
bulls,  and  bears,  which  seemed  in  equal 
favor,  Allen  found  himself  obliged  to  take  a 
prominent  part  in  both  performances,  and 
was  now  hulloing  on  one  of  his  four-footed 
company  at  Paris  Garden,  and  anon  ap-- 
plauding  as  favorite  a  biped  at  the  Fortune 
playhouse. 

These  different  pursuits,  at  times,  made 
strange  confusion  in  his  speech.  Tj^ey 
would  then  so  mingle  in  his  thoughts,  he 
could  not  mention  them  with  the  qualities 
that  were  singular  to  each  and  every  one, 
but  would  speak  of  one  of  his  best  bears  as 
of  a  most  moving  tragedian  ;  whilst  he,  who 
had  drawn  floods  of  tears  from  a  crowded 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


audience,  was  mentioned  as  the  bravest 
dog  at  his  game  that  had  been  seen  any 
time  these  ten  years. 

His  wife,  though  she  had  been  bred,  as 
it  were,  in  one  continual  scene  of  worrying 
and  biting,  had  a  monstrous  dislike  of  all 
quarrelsomeness ;  but  the  baiting  of  bulls 
and  bears  she  had  been  so  used  to  look 
upon,  that  she  could  no  more  regard  it  as 
strife,  than  could  a  miller  decry  as  noise  the 
turmoil  of  his  mill-wheel.  She  could  see, 
with  infinite  contentation,  a  bull  pinned  to 
the  ground  by  a  savage  dog,  whilst  some 
of  his  fellows  were  being  tossed  in  the  air, 
yet  would  not  allow  the  cat  to  be  catching 
of  mice,  she  so  hugely  disliked  dumb  inno- 
cents to  be  harmed.  Amongst  her  friends 
she  was  universally  esteemed,  as  more  than 
ordinarily  grave  in  her  humor,  charitable, 
pious,  discreet,  and  kind;  and  if  her  hus- 
band thought  her  face  or  person  not  so  good 
as  those  of  many  women  of  his  acquain- 
tance, there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it  he  found 
her  heart  a  wondrous  deal  better  than  them 
all.  So,  as  it  must  needs  be,  Edward  Allen 
and  his  yokefellow  led  an  exceeding  happy 
life. 

Leaving  his  fair  helpmate  to  play  the 
part  of  the  good  wife,  which  she  was  wont 
to  perform  with  inch  perfectness  there  was 
not  room  for  the  finding  of  a  single  fault, 
the  courteous  reader  must  a  while  with  the 
husband,  whose  excellences  of  disposition 
were  no  less  admirable  ;  for,  having,  under 
the  care  of  his  fair  partner,  been  getting 
himself  ready  for  a  journey,  the  whole  time 
of  what  hath  been  set  down  of  their  dis- 
course, he  started  off  in  his  best  suit  and 
Cap,  and  making  forth  from  the  liberty  of 
the  Clink,  where  he  had  his  dwelling,  he 

Eroceeded  across  a  field  lying  towards  Lam- 
eth  Marsh,  called  Pedlar's  Acre,  where- 
in were  some  buildings,  towards  which  he 
made.  These  proved  to  be  the  ordinary 
habitations  of  certain  of  his  company  of 
beasts  before  they  were  suffered  to  make 
sport  at  the  Paris  Garden.  Here  he  re- 
mained not  long,  ascertaining  from  an  old 
woman  remaining  there,  that  his  father-in- 
law  and  partner  had  gone  off  with  his  best 
bears  and  dogs  to  the  Queen's  Majesty,  at 
Somerset  House.  Making  his  way  from 
thence  to  the  water-side,  he  jumped  into  a 
boat,  and  was  soon  crossing  the  river  with 
as  much  speed  as  a  pair  of  oars  could  make 
for  him. 

On  landing  at  the  stairs,  he  was  allowed 
to  pass  the  yeomen  there  on  guard,  for  they 
knew  him  well,  and  shortly  found  himself 
greeted  by  a  bullet-headed,  bald-pated,  old 
fellow,  with  legs  like  nine-pins,  a  body  like 


a  barrel,  and  a  face  as  glowing  as  the  flam- 
ing cinders  in  a  blacksmith's  forge.  He 
was  surrounded  by  a  motley  group,  some 
holding  dogs  and  some  bears,  and  there 
were  with  them  certain  officers  of  the 
queen's  household,  who  appeared  to  be  ex- 
ceedingly intent  on  what  was  going  for- 
ward. They  were  in  a  part  of  the  court- 
yard, where  a  post  had  been  set  up  over- 
against  the  window  of  the  queen's  privy 
chamber,  where  she  was  wont  to  regale 
herself  with  a  sight  of  the  sport.  At  other 
windows  that  commanded  a  view  of  the 
games,  were  groups  both  of  ladies  and  of 
gallants ;  whilst,  surrounding  the  spot  which 
contained  the  bear-keeper  and  his  beasts, 
was  a  throng  of  curious  people,  young  and 
old,  who  thought  themselves  fortunate  in 
being  able  to  see  the  queen  witness  such 
royal  pastime. 

The  new  comer  being  addressed  as  "  son 
Allen,"  in  a  rough  but  not  unfriendly  voice, 
by  the  person  just  alluded  to  ;  this  pointed 
the  latter  out  to  be  no  other  than  Phillip 
Henslowe,  the  most,  approved  master  of  the 
sports  of  the  Paris  Garden  all  London  could 
produce,  and  a  long-established  favorite  with 
its  good  citizens. 

After  a  few  words  of  cheerful  greeting, 
and  an  affectionate  inquiry  after  his  daugh- 
ter, which  elicited  the  loving  message  she 
had  sent,  the  old  man  set  his  son-in-law  to 
fasten  one  of  the  bears  to  the  post,  he  giv- 
ing directions  the  whilst  to  him  and  the 
holders  of  the  dogs,  and  ever  and  anon  ad- 
dressing the  beasts  themselves,  that  they 
should,  on  account  of  their  having  such 
noble  spectators,  exhibit  such  nobleness  of 
sport  as  should  make  them  worthy  of  so 
much  distinction.  Then  he  would  turn  to 
some  of  the  queen's  officers  about  him,  and 
lament  the  irreparable  loss  he  had  sustain- 
1,  in  the  last  winter,  of  two  of  the  very 
cleverest  bears  that  had  ever  come  out  of 
Muscovy.  He  told  how  they  had  been 
brought  over  to  him  when  cubs,  and  what 
absolute  pains  he  had  taken  with  their 
education,  till  they  had  become  the  most 
accomplished  bears  that  had  ever  hugged 
the  breath  out  of  a  mastiff.  And  then  he 
digressed  to  certain  of  his  dogs,  whose 
qualities  he  vaunted  as  excelling  that  of 
the  best  that  had  ever  been  known  in  the 
the  memory  of  man,  either  in  the  baiting 
of  bulls  or  bears ;  nay,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  they  were  of  such  unmatchable  cour- 
age and  fierceness,  they  would  as  lief  fly 
at  a  lion  or  a  tiger  as  at  more  accustomed 
prey. 

Old  Henslowe  did  not  want  listeners,  and 
tie  talked  with  the  air  of  one  who  takes  the 


subject  of  his  discourse  to  be  of  such  high 
consequence  it  can  admit  of  no  rivalry ; 
and  though,  like  all  his  fellows,  he  had  his 
jerkin  and  cap  off,  and  his  shirt-sleeve; 
tucked  up  above  his  elbows,  and  his  appa- 
relling was  in  every  way  the  reverse  of  the 
courtier,  he  lacked  not  attention,  nor,  it 
may  he  added,  respect ;  for  he  was  an  oracle 
.  in  these  matters,  and  they  were  in  such 
fashion,  there  were  few  at  court  who  de- 
sired not  to  have  some  knowledge  of  them. 
His  son-in-law  was  busily  engaged  in  fas- 
tening up  the  animal  that  was  first  to  be 
baited — a  hu^e,  shaggy  brute,  that  stared 
about  him  with  a  solemnness  of  visage  as 
of  a  justice  of  the  peace  at  the  least. 

He  had  scarce  done  this,  when  a  stir  in 
the  crowd  gave  notice  that  the  queen  was 
approaching ;  and,  sure  enough,  her  high- 
ness appeared  in  great  splendor,  closely  at- 
tended by  the  noble  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
then  first  in  her  favor,  and  surrounded  at  a 
convenient  distance  by  her  courtiers  and 
ladies  in  waiting.  Even,  at  that  distance, 
the  marks  of  age  and  decay  were  but  too 
visible  in  her  visage;  and,  moreover,  she 
wore  an  expression  of  inquietude,  which, 
despite  of  the  efforts  of  her  courtly  compa- 
nion who  stood  at  her  side,  after  she  had 
seated  herself  on  a  chair  of  state  placed  for 
her  at  the  window,  to  entertain  her  with 
such  discourse  as  he  knew  she  most  af- 
fected, scarcely  left  her  an  instant.  On 
her  appearance,  all  heads  were  uncovered, 
and  an  huzza  set  up,  which  caused  the 
dogs  to  bark,  and  the  bears  to  growl,  as  if 
they  must  needs  testify  their  loyalty,  and 
the  satisfaction  they  had  in  being  set  by  the 
ears  for  the  entertainment  of  such  exalted 
company. 

Presently  a  clear  circle  was  made  round 
the  bear  at  the  stake,  none  being  allowed  to 
come  within  it,  save  only  those  engaged 
with  the  dogs.  Old  Henslowe  took  by  the 
neck  one  of  the  powerfullest  of  his  mastiffs, 
and  showed  him  to  Bruin,  which  set  him  to 
growling  and  struggling  furiously  to  get  at 
him ;  and  Bruin  turned  his  solemn  visage 
towards  his  enemy,  with  a  glance  from  his 
eye  and  a  glisten  of  his  formidable  teeth, 
that  savored  of  any  thing  but  affection. 
The  old  man  aggravated  the  dog  by  shak- 
ing him  at  his,  prey,  and  sohoing  him  on, 
not  forgetting  to  remind  the  beast  that  the 
eyes  of  the  Queen's  Highness  were  upon 
him,  and  that  it  behoved  him  to  show  of 
what  high  blood  he  was,  and  who  had  been 
his  master. 

At  a  little  distance  his  son-in-law  was 
encouraging  another  dog  to  the  attack  by 
similar  means,  and  others  were  being  held 


in  readiness,  all  of  which  looked  desperately 
eager  at  the  sport.  Presently,  old  Hens- 
lowe let  loose  his  dog,  and  went  direct  at 
his  prey,  like  a  hawk  at  the  quarry  ;  but 
Bruin  was  an  old  hand  at  the  game,  and, 
standing  on  his  hind-quarters,  looked  ready 
for  his  assailant,  let  him  come  as  savage  as 
he  would.  The  mastiff  flew  at  his  throat, 
but  the  bear  knocked  him  aside  with  one 
of  his  fore-paws,  like  a  dexterous  fencer. 
He  made  another  spring,  which  would  have 
succeeded  better,  had  not  Bruin  got  him  in 
his  arms  with  so  fierce  a  hug  that  it  made 
him  squeak  for  it.  Before,  however,  he 
could  do  any  serious  hurt,  the  other  dog 
was  let  at  him,  and  Bruin  was  fain  to  let 
go  his  hold  of  the  first  to  defend  himself 
from  the  second. 

The  game  now  became  wondrous  excit- 
ing, for  the  dogs  were  eager  and  fierce,  and 
the  bear  marvellous  quick  in  his  movements, 
and  snapping  and  pawing  off  his  foes  with 
a  dexterousness  that  baffled  their  attacks 
and  won  him  great  applause.  The  audi- 
ence seemed  to  take  great  interest  in  the 
combat ;  even  her  highness  looked  as  though 
she  regarded  it  with  more  attentivenesa 
than  the  sugared  compliments  of  the  noble 
gentleman  at  her  side.  Hitherto  all  had 
looked  on,  with  too  much  respect  for  the 
great  personage  in  whose  company  they 
were,  to  attempt  any  interruption,  save  some 
hearty  commendation  now  and  then  from  one 
or  two  of  the  more  privileged ;  but  old  Hens- 
lowe, in  the  intensity  of  his  honest  pleasure 
in  the  fight,  clean  forgot  under  whose  aw- 
ful eyes  he  was,  and  made  the  air  resound 
again  with  his  plaudits,  which,  with  even- 
handed  justice,  he  bestowed  with  equal  ve- 
hemence now  on  one  party  and  now  on  the 
other.  Now  it  was  "Brave  dog!" — anon 
"  Brave  bear  !" — then  was  heard,  "  Well 
fought,  Jowler  ! — a  good  grip,  Pincher  ! — . 
closely  hugged,  Bruin  !"  and  the  like  en- 
couragements, which  seemed  to  have  vast 
effect,  for  the  dogs  worried  the  bear  with  a 
spirit  that  increased  every  minute,  and  the 
bear  seemed  every  minute  to  put  forth  a 
more  valiant  opposition.  Edward  Allen 
looked  on  with  quite  as  great  a  satisfaction, 
though  he  was  not  quite  so  boisterous  in 
giving  it  words  ;  yet  he  could  not  forbear 
once  remarking  to  a  bystander,  that  Bruin's 
action  was  of  the  true,  high,  Roman  dignity ; 
and  Jowler's  delivery  pointed  him  out  as  the 
first  tragedian  of  his  time. 

When  it  was  thought  the  bear  had  been 
sufficiently  worried,  and  the  dogs  appeared 
to  tire  of  the  sport,  they  were  put  on  one 
side,  and  another  bear  and  other  dogs  were 
brought  forward  to  supply  their  places. 


24 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


As  this  fight  was  but  a  repetition  of  that 
already  described,  methinks  there  be  no 
need  of  giving  here  any  account  of  it. 
Nevertheless,  it  afforded  as  abundant  con- 
tentation  as  the  other. 

It  so  chanced  an  odd  accident  put  an  end 
to  the  entertainment  in  the  most  summary 
fashion.  As  the  second  bear  was  being  re- 
leased from  the  stake,  he  slipped  his  collar, 
and  made  a  sudden  rush  at  the  cr9wd 
around.  After  so  much  fighting,  it  was 
not  supposed  he  could  be  in  any  very  ami- 
able mood,  so  his  unexpected  attack  threw 
the  whole  company  into  the  horriblest  fright 
the  eye  ever  beheld.  In  endeavoring  to  get 
themselves  out  of  his  way,  they  tumbled 
over  each  other  by  dozens :  in  the  confusion, 
the  dogs  broke  from  their  keepers  and  flew 
at  their  liberated  prey.  Old  Henslowe  and 
his  son-in-law  rushed  forward  to  part  them  ; 
but,  in  the  press,  they  were  knocked  down, 
and  bear,  dogs,  and  men  were  presently 
seen  struggling  on  the  ground  in  one  un- 
distinguishable  mass,  whilst  such  as  had 
the  use  of  their  legs  were  making  their  es- 
cape with  no  less  haste  than  alarm.  Her 
majesty  and  her  courtiers  got  themselves  to 
a  place  of  safety  with  much  more  speed 
than  dignity  ;  but  in  a  few  minutes,  the  up- 
roar ceased,  Bruin  was  recaptured,  and  the 
dogs  severally  secured.  It  may  readily  be 
believed  there  was  no  more  bear-baiting  be- 
fore her  highness  that  day. 

Henslowe  saw  his  beasts  depart  to  their 
habitations  with  their  attendants,  and  then, 
putting  on  his  jerkin,  accompanied  his  son 
Allen  to  look  for  his  expected  guests.  Much 
they  discoursed  by  the  way  on  the  state  of 
their  affairs — now  dilating  on  their  doings 
at  the  Fortune,  and  now  at  Paris  Garden  ; 
and,  from  what  passed  betwixt  them,  a 
goodly  lesson  might  have  been  learned  of 
the  relative  value  of  interludss  and  bear- 
baiting  ;  of  players  and  play-writers,  and 
bull.-;,  baars,  and  dogs  of  divers  kinds  and 
qualities.  Apparently  well  satisfied  with 
these  matters,  as  far  as  they  were  concerned 
with  them,  they  at  last  arrived  at  a  small 
way-side  inn,  near  the  Pimlico  fields,  as  you 
go  to  Chelsea,  much  frequented  by  honest 
citizens  with  a  taste  for  the  country,  and  a 
proper  enjoyment  for  curds  and  cream,  hot 
cakes,  and  a  gamo  at  bowls.  Instead  of 
going  through  the  house,  they  entered  at  an 
open  gate,  which  led  them  through  a  shady 
avenue  info  a  sort  of  garden,  having  bowers 
all  round  for  the  accommodation  of  the  com- 
pany. Here  was  a  swing,  and  several  other 
rustical  pleasures,  and  beyond  was  a  smooth 
bowling-green,  in  great  repute  for  the  neat- 
ness with  which  it  was  kept. 


Old  Henslowe  And  his  son  became  aware 
as  they  approached,  of  some  persons  being 
in  hot  ana  violent  dispute.  People  were 
seen  leaving  their  favorite  bowers,  some  with 
alarm,  and  some  with  curiosity.  The  swing 
was  deserted ;  the  climbing-pole,  the  skittles, 
and  the  butts  for  the  shooters  completely 
neglected ;  and  all  were  hastening  to  look 
into  the  cause  of  the  huge  uproar  which 
was  existing  in  the  bowling-green.  Among 
a  throng  of  persons,  some  of  whom  affected 
a  display  of  greater  bravery  than  was  usual 
amongst  the  regular  frequenters  of  "  The 
Shepherd  and  Shepherdess,"  whose  sharp 
speeches  and  ready  answers  had  more  than 
once  drawn  attention  to  them  from  the  more 
quiet  part  of  the  company,  there  was  seen, 
more  prominently  than  all  others,  a  sturdy, 
broad-faced,  stout-made  man,  not  ill  apparel- 
led, yet  seeming  to  be  careless  of  such 
things,  his  features  inflamed  with  passion, 
and  both  by  voice  and  gesture  showing,  as 
plainly  as  such  things  could,  that  he  was  in 
a  very  monstrous,  tearing  humor  with  some 
one.  Around  and  about  him  were  two  or 
three  of  his  companions,  evidently  striving 
all  they  could  to  pacify  him,  most  prominent 
among  whom  was  one  who,  by  his  appear- 
ance, was  a  person  of  worship,  though  this 
arose  as  much  from  his  having  so  goodly  a 
presence  as  from  wearing  handsome  gar- 
ments. 

A  little  in  the  rear  of  these  was  another 
group,  surrounding  a  man  of  a  middle  height, 
yet  of  a  well-knit  frame,  whose  face  was 
pale  with  passion.  It  might  be  seen,  from 
his  manner  and  language,  that  he  was  quite 
as  violent  as  the  other,  and  that  he  paid  as 
little  attention  to  the  representations  of  his 
companions  in  their  endeavors  to  restore  him 
to  good  humor.  An  indifferent  spectator 
could  easily  have  ascertained,  from  what  fell 
from  these  different  persons,  that  there  had 
been  a  violent  quarrel  during  a  game  at 
bowls  betwixt  two  of  a  party  of  players  who 
had  met  together  at "  The  Shepherd  and 
Shepherdess"  for  the  enjoyment  of  those 
innocent  pleasures  the  place  afforded.  The 
two,  it  appeared,  were  Benjamin  Jonson  and 
Gabriel  Spencer,  both  of  "  The  Fortune ;" 
the  former,  besides,  being  a  writer  of  plays 
of  singular  merit,  as  witness  his  admirable 
"  Every  Man  in  his  Humor."  Both  were  of 
marvellous  hasty  tempers,  and  exceedingly 
intolerant  of  the  slightest  opposition.  After 
taunting  each  other  with  terrible  provoking 
words,  they  got  so  inflamed,  that  they  were 
for  running  each  other  through  where  they 
stood ;  but  they  were  separated  by  some  of 
their  more  peaceable  companions,  and  made 
to  put  by  their  rapiers  ere  they  had  done  any 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


mischief— yet  not  without  the  giving  and 
receiving  of  a  challenge  to  settle  their  quar- 
rel the  naxt  day  in  Hoxton  Fields.  It  was 
hoped,  by  those  who  strove  most  to  reconcile 
them — particularly  the  person  just  spoken 
of,  who  was  addressed  sometimes  as  Will, 
and  sometimes  as  Master  Shakspeare — that 
the  matter  in  dispute  might  be  adjusted 
without  any  recourse  to  weapons  ;  and  they 
labored  assiduously  with  that  object  in  view. 
It  was  in  this  stage  of  the  proceedings 
that  old  Henslowe  and  his  son-in-law  ap- 
proached them.  The  later  thought  it  wisest 
to  take  no  notice  of  the  dispute  ;  and,  there- 
fore, in  a  cheerful  manner,  he  accosted  them 
all  and  severally,  which  behavior  of  his  was 
immediately  responded  to  by  the  greater  part 
with  every  sign  of  welcome  and  good  humor, 
for  the  purpose  of  calling  off  the  attention 
of  the  disputants  from  their  quarrel ;  and 
they  even  put  aside  their  squabble,  and  re- 
plied to  their  salutations  in  something  like 
a  friendly  spirit.  An  invitation  was  shortly 
after  proffered  to  them  by  Edward  Allen, 
which  was  as  heartily  received  as  given, 
and  in  a  presently  there  was  such  a  vast  ex- 
penditure amongst  them  of  harmless  frolick 
and  pleasantry,  that  it  appeared  to  the  peace- 
ful Allen  harmony  had  been  completely 
restored.  He  was,  however,  about  the  only 
one  in  the  company  under  that  impression, 
which  doubtless  arose  from  his  entire  igno- 
rance ,of  the  bitter,  taunting  speeches  that 
had  passed  betwixt  Ben  Jonson  and  Gabriel 
Spencer,  which,  it  was  well  known,  from 
their  turbulent -dispositions,  neither  would 
overlook. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  full  belief  that  the 
quarrel  was  a  trifling  one,  which  must,  of 
course,  be  entirely  forgotten  whilst  they  were 
enjoying  themselves  under  his  roof,  he  readi- 
ly joined  in  the  mirth  that  was  going  on 
around  him,  as  they  strolled  towards  West- 
minster, for  the  purpose  of  taking  boats  to 
Southwark.  They  engaged  two  boats ;  and 
it  was  so  managed,  that  Gabriel  should  pro- 
ceed in  one,  and  Ben  in  the  other,  and  there 
were  about  either,  one  or  two  judicious 
friends  who  tried  to  reconcile  them.  It  did 
not  appear  they  had  much  success,  for  both 
parties  continued  in  the  same  dogged  hu- 
mor— without  doubt  entertaining  feelings 
against  each  other  not  readily  to  be  removed. 
They  all  arrived,  without  further  adven- 
ture, at  Edward  Allen's  house  in  the  liberty 
of  the  Clink,  and  met  with  the  most  friendly 
of  welcomes  from  the  good  dame,  who,  in 
her  extreme  pleasure  at  seeing  of  her  father, 
seemed  determined  to  be  pleased  even  with 
those  she  least  liked  to  see.  She  had  got 
two  or  three  good  gossips  of  her  acquaint- 


ance of  her  own  sex  to  meet  her  husband's 
company,  and  had  greatly  excited  their  ex- 
pectations by  anticipating  the  monstrous 
satisfaction  they  were  to  find  in  the  society 
of  some  of  her  expected  guests,  particularly 
dilating  on  the  marvellous  sweet  qualities  of 
her  husband's  fast  friend,  Master  William 
Shakspeare,  of  "  The  Globe,"  whom  she 
made  no  disguise  in  averring  she  liked  with 
all  an  honest  woman's  partiality.  At  the 
entrance  of  her  husband  with  his  company, 
she  singled  out  Master  Shakspeare,  and 
made  him  known  to  these  her  friends  with 
such  warmth  of  gratification,  as  no  doubt 
would  have  rendered  somewhat  uneasy  a 
husband  less  satisfied  with  his  wife's  worthi- 
ness of  nature,  or  his  friend's  honorableness 
of  mind,  than  the  well-contented  Ned  Allen. 

The  reception,  and  the  efforts  they  were 
obliged  to  make  to  renew  an  acquaintance 
or  to  establish  one  with  the  fair  companions  . 
of  their  fair  hostess,  for  awhile  took  off  the 
attention  of  the  associates  of  Ben  Jonson 
and  Gabriel  Spencer ;  and  the  securing  of 
their  places  at  dinner,  the  satisfying  of  their 
several  appetites,  and  the  attentions  they 
thought  it  necessary  to  pay  to  their  female 
fellow-guests,  prevented  them  for  some  time 
noticing  their  behavior.  Nevertheless,  some 
time  before  the  meal  was  finished,  they  could 
not  help  regarding,  with  very  considerable 
alarm,  the  exceeding  strangeness  of  their 
conduct.  Gabriel  sat  pale  and  stately,  with 
a  sinister,  restless  look  glancing  from  his 
grey  eyes.  He  was  wont  to  be  a  good  feeder 
and  a  loud  talker,  but  all  marvelled  to  see 
he  ate  little  and  talked  less  :  Ben,  with  his 
broad,  red  face,  sat  over  against  him,  look- 
ing all  the  less  pleasant  for  the  gloomy  frown 
which  seemed  to  sit  on  it  immoveably.  He 
had  never  been  wont  to  neglect  eitner  his 
meat  or  his  liquor  ;  but  now  he  had  not  a 
maid's  appetite  in  courting  time ;  neverthe- 
less, he  neglected  not  the  good  wine,  of 
which  there  was  abundance,  but  poured  it 
down  as  though  he  was  laboring  under  a 
thirst  that  could  not  be  quenched,  or  made 
his  throat  a  funnel  for  the  purpose  of  noting 
how  quickly  good  liquor  would  run  down  it. 
The  excellent  housewife  had  put  forth  all  her 
skill  in  the  making  of  dainty  dishes  to  enter- 
tain her  husband's  guests,  as  she  believed 
they  deserved ;  and  the  result  was  a  banquet 
that  should  have  pleased  the  most  critical. 

There  certainly  was  no  lack  of  commen- 
dation from  the  well-pleased  guests.  Even 
the  dame's  good  gossips  eat  and  praised,  and 
praised  and  eat,  as  though  desirous  of  doing 
the  fullest  justice  to  their  entertainment. 
And  well  were  they  qualified  for  this,  for 
they  were  no  flaunting  madams  too  proud 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


and  ignorant  to  trouble  themselves  about 
domestic  matters.  They  were  simple, 
honest,  city  dames,  of  excellent  reputation, 
than  whom  none  knew  better  the  proper 
ordering  of  a  house,  and  all  that  showeth 
the  notable  true  housewife,  in  the  best  and 
kindliest  fashion.  Dame  Allen,  in  her  duty 
of  a  good  hostess,  was  diligent  in  seeing 
that  all  fared  well,  and  were  well  .satisfied 
with  their  fare.  Whilst  engaged  in  this 
office,  she  was  struck  with  the  uneasy  air 
and  strange,  unsocial  manner  of  the  quar- 
rellers  ;  but.  as  neither  of  them  were  of  her 
esteemed  acquaintance,  she  contented  her- 
self with  an  occasional  pressing  to  partake 
of  her  dainties,  and  then  directed  her  atten- 
tion to  such  as  she  regarded  with  more 
esteem.  Still,  ever  and  anon,  she  glanced 
at  the  two  with  a  curious  inquietude,  and 
busied  her  mind  with  marvelling  what  it 
was  that  made  them  appear  so  ill  at  ease,  in 
the  midst  of  such  general  contentation. 

At  last  the  meal  was  over,  the  table  clear- 
ed, and  again  spread  with  tankards,  and 
glasses,  and  wine,  and  sack,  and  cakes,  and 
comfits,  and  the  like  after-dinner  cates ;  and 
every  one  seemed  to  be  inclined  to  talk  to 
his  neighbor ;  some  ventured  upon  a  jest, 
and  all  looked  to  be  inclined  for  pleasantry 
and  good  fellowship  after  the  bias  of  their 
several  humors.  Old  Henslowe  talked  of 
the  notable  bulls  and  bears  he  had  seen  in 
his  day,  and  entered  into  some  spirited 
accounts  of  the  dogs  they  had  been  matched 
with.  His  daughter  chimed  in  with  anec- 
dotes of  the  savagest  of  these  animals, 
speaking  of  their  fiercest  encounters  as 
familiarly  as  might  another  of  her  sex  of 
the  sportiveness  of  kittens.  Her  worthy 
husband,  as  was  his  wont,  divided  his  dis- 
course so  much  between  quadrupeds  and 
bipeds,  that  there  was  no  knowing,  for  cer- 
tain, which  had  the  advantage  of  his  com- 
mendations. Others  spoke  of  news  from 
court  and  gossip  concerning  the  ill-repute 
into  which,  it  was  said,  the  Earl  of  Essex 
had  fallen  with  the  queen.  Shakspeare 
was  dividing  many  gentle  courtesies  and 
compliments  amongst  his  fair  hostess  and 
her  fair  friends,  as  it  seemed,  infinitely  to 
their  contentation.  Each  appeared  to  have 
something  to  engage  himself  withal,  and 
some  means  of  affording  entertainment  to 
himself  and  his  neighbors. 

Yet,  of  the  company,  there  must  be  ex- 
cepted  two,  for  Gabriel  Spencer  still  con- 
tinued his  sullen  reserve,  and  Benjamin 
Jonson  kept  up  his  wild  manner  and  frequent 
recourse  to  the  tankard  ;  in  addition  to  which 
he  began,  in  a  fierce,  taunting  manner,  to 
make  remarks  which,  though  riddles  to  most 


of  the  guests,  were  easily  seen  by  Gabriel, 
and  a  few  others,  to  be  levelled  at  him. 
The  flashing  eyes  and  increasing  paleness 
of  the  latter  warned  the  observant  that  there 
would  be  mischief  anon,  if  they  had  not  the 
wit  to  ward  it  off;  and  so  they  presently 
took  measures  that  should  direct  attention 
Isewhere.  They  chose  to  be  pressing  on 
their  host  for  a  taste  of  his  skill  on  the  lute, 
which,"  after  some  backwardness,  he  was 
induced  to  afford  ;  and,  of  a  surety,  he  well 
lamed  the  praises  so  liberally  bestowed  on 
liis  admirable  handling  his  instrument. 
Then  was  enjoyed  the  sweet  throat  of  Will 
Byrde ;  and  his  exquisite  ballad  was  scarcely 
nded  when  Humphrey  Jeffes  was  enforced 
to  show  the  goodly  quality  of  his  violdi- 
Gamba.  John  Shanke's  ready  jest  was 
qually  at  their  bidding ;  and  Tom  Dow 
ton's  tricks  of  conjuring  were  as  little  called 
for  in  vain.  Ere  the  last  of  these  marvels 
had  exhausted  the  astonishment  of  the  com- 
pany, the  three-part  song  of  Ned  Colbrand, 
Francis  Grace,  and  Samuel  Rowley,  was 
heard  in  all  its  grateful  harmony. 

The  thoughtful  few  who  so  judiciously 
sought  to  render  ineffective  the  evil  humors 
of  their  unfriendly  companions,  noticed,  not 
without  much  alarm,  that  neither  the  taste- 
ful playing  on  the  lute,  the  exquisite  ballad, 
the  famous  performance  on  the  viol,  jest, 
conjuring,  or  three-part  song,  had  any  effect 
on  the  angry  and  unsocial  spirits  who  sat 
amongst  them ;  and  they  began  to  experi- 
ence a  creeping  dread,  that  chilled  their  own 
efforts  to  keep  the  rest  sufficiently  amused. 
Of  these,  Master  Shakspeare  had  been  all 
along  the  most  active.  He  had  seen  that 
mischief  was  brewing  under  the  cloudy  brows 
of  his  two  angry  associates,  and  sought  all 
means  at  his  disposal  to  bring  them  into 
pleasanter  and  more  commendable  feelings ; 
but  the  evident  uselessness  of  his  labors 
began  to  be  painfully  conspicuous,  for,  mis- 
liking  the  strange  looks  and  behavior  of  Ben 
Jonson  and  Gabriel  Spencer,  Dame  Allen 
and  her  gossips  had,  one  after  another,  stolen 
out  of  the  chamber.  The  newsmongers  sat 
si'ent,  gazing  with  no  small  share  of  anxious- 
n<  ss,  at  the  singular  bearing  and  behavior 
o/  their  turbulent  friends.  The  singers 
forgot  their  voices,  and  the  musicians  their 
instruments  ;  the  jester  had  ceased  attempt- 
ing to  raise  a  laugh  at  his  quirks  and  quid- 
dities, and  the  conjurer  seemed  to  have  taken 
an  entire  leave  of  his  art — so  wrought  upon 
were  they  all  with  the  strangeness  of  the 
conduct  of  their  fellow-guests.  Old  Hens- 
lowe and  his  son-in-law  appeared  to  be  the 
only  persons  who  knew  not  the  feelings  that 
were  nourished  by  their  implacable  friends ; 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


27 


and  they  were  so  intent  upon  a  discussion 
respecting  the  best  age  at  which  bears 
should  be  first  brought  to  the  games,  as  to 
have  no  thought  or  care  for  anything  else. 

Shakspeare,  who  had  omitted  nothing  that 
might  reconcile  the  hostile  parties,  or  make 
them  forget  their  quarrel,  saw,  with  alarm, 
the  offensive  conduct  of  the  now  half-intoxi- 
cated Ben  Jonson ;  and  at  last  ventured,  in 
an  under-tone,  to  make  an  impressive  remon- 
strance to  him.  At  this,  the  other,  striking 
his  fist  on  the  table,  loudly  exclaimed,  with 
a  contemptuous  look  and  voice, "  Let  him 
go  hang !  Who  cares  for  such  a  white- 
livered  hound  ?"  The  words  were  scarce 
out  of  liis  mouth,  when  Gabriel  started  up, 
his  long  pent-up  passion  no  longer  to  be 
restrained,  and,  catching  in  his  hand  a  heavy 
tankard  that  stood  before  him,  he  sent  it, 
with  so  true  an  aim,  at  the  head  of  the  in- 
sulter,  that  it  knocked  him  off  his  stool.  A 
violent  scene  followed,  every  one  springing 
to  his  legs  in  confusion,  all  asking  questions, 
or  making  comments,  and  crowding  round 
either  the  prostrate  player  or  his  adversary. 
Henslowe  a'nd  his  son-in-law  seemed  as 
greatly  astonished  as  though  all  their  bears, 
bulls,  and  dogs,  had  joined  in  general  fight ; 
and  the  rest,  if  their  astonishment  was  less, 
their  anxiety  was  equally  painful. 

At  the  fir.-t  outcry,  Dame  Allen  and  some 
of  her  gossips  had  rushed  to  the  door,  in  as 
hugh  a  fear  as  women  are  wont  to  fall  into 
on  such  occasions,  to  learn  the  nature  of 
the  disturbance  ;  and  their  exclamations,-as 
may  well  be  believed,  did  not  tend,  in  any 
manner,  to  lessen  the  uproar  and  confusion. 
Poor  Dame  Allen !  terrible  was  her  disap- 
pointment at  the  result  of  an  entertainment, 
to  enjoy  the  superior  attractions  of  which 
she  had  invited  so  many  estimable  persons 
of  her  own  sex;  and  it  was  not  till  the 
worthiest  of  her  guests,  in  her  thinking,  had 
had  come  to  assure  her  that  there  was  no 
cause  to  be  under  any  alarm,  for  his  friend 
had  only  been  stunned,  and  was  in  a  fair 
way  of  perfect  recovery,  that  she  grew  to  be 
in  a  more  tranquil  state. 

Whilst  some  of  the  company  were  busy 
raising  the  fallen  man,  a  few  assembled 
about  the  other,  and,  partly  by  persuasion, 
partly  by  force,  got  him  out  of  the  room, 
and  thence  into  the  street.  On  coming  to 
himself,  Ben  was  monstrous  furious,  and  at 
first  could  not  be  pacified  in  any  manner, 
when  he  found  his  adversary  had  gone 
away  ;  but  in  the  end  he  became  less  vio- 
lent, and  finally  took  his  leave  of  his  host  as 
though  he  thought  no  more  of  the  matter. 
At  this  all  the  company  went  their  several 
ways,  with  an  abundance  of  friendly  good 


wishes  from  their  kind  and  cheerful  enter- 
tainers. They,  in  the  simplicity  of  their  t 
hearts,  fancied  that  the  quarrel  would  go 
no  farther ;  but  in  that  they  were  in  as 
great  error  as  ever  they  were  in  all  their 
days. 

Early  on  the  morrow,  two  men  were  seen 
walking  rapidly  together  in  the  direction  of 
Hoxton  Fields.  It  was  a  fair  morning  in 
September,  with  a  fine  cool  air,  and  the 
hedges  were  in  full  foliage,  showing  a  rare 
crop  of  berries,  and  a  no  less  pleasant  stock 
of  the  latest  flowers  of  the  season ;  and  the 
herds,  which  stood  in  groups,  hither  and 
thither,  were  breaking  their  fast  with  what 
looked  to  be  a  most  absolute  enjoyment  of 
their  meal.  Flocks  of  sparrows  and  finches 
were  flitting  from  spray  to  spray,  and  nu- 
merous bands  of  larks  were  whirling  over 
the  open  pastures.  The  distant  report  of  a 
gun  from  the  stubbles,  which  were  plainly 
discernible  in  the  landscape,  showed  that 
the  sportsman  was  abroad,  and  busy  at  his 
vocation.  The  two  men  walked  on  at  a 
brisk  pace,  as  hath  been  said,  the  one  look- 
ing exceedingly  fierce  and  sullen,  the  other 
wearing  a  melancholy  expression,  with  a 
visible  tinge  of  uneasiness. 

"  I  think,  Ben,"  exclaimed  the  first,  in  a 
serious  tone  of  voice,  "  it  would  be  as  well, 
your  honor  well  cared  for,  to  settle  this  un- 
happy dispute,  betwixt  you  and  Gabriel, 
without  the  shedding  of  blood." 

"  Tush,  Will ;  dost  take  me  for  a  cra- 
ven !"  exclaimed  the  other,  fiercely.  "  Am 
I  to  be  knocked  o'  the  pate  by  every  scurvy 
knave  that  lists,  and  care  for  nought  but  to 
patch  up  my  quarrel !  Zounds  !  shall  I, 
who,  as  it  were,  have  served  apprenticeship 
to  the  profession  of  arms,  and  that,  too,  with 
some  small  credit  to  myself  and  respect  of 
mine  enemies,  shall  I  be  a  mark  for  so 
worthless,  contemptible  a  fellow  as  this 
Gabriel  Spencer ;  to  be  flung  at  when  it 
suited  his  humor,  and,  when  I  have  had 
my  brains  nigh  upon  knocked  out,  present 
my  service  to  him  with  his  morning 
draught !  Nay,  I'll  put  my  tongue  in  pawn 
to  the  first  cur  who  seeketh  a  breakfast,  ere 
it  shall  give  its  assent  to  anything  so 
odious." 

"  I  admit  that  the  blow  is  an  affront  n<  t 
to  be  endured,"  observed  the  other,  whom 
the  understanding  reader  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  discovering  to  be  Master  Shaks- 
peare. "  But  surely  he  had  exceeding  pro- 
vocation." 

"  Provocation  be  hanged  !"  sharply  an- 
swered his  friend,  who  was  no  other  than 
Benjamin  Jonson.  "  Was  it  like,  after 
what  had  passed  that  I  could  sit  tamely  by 


28 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


and  see  so  vile  a  fellow  making  mouths  at 
me,  like  a  sick  ape  after  physic  !  Fore 
George,  I  had  a  month's  mind  to  cudgel  him 
as  lie  sat.  I  tell  thee,  Will,"  added  he,  in 
a  decided  tone,  "  the  knave  hath  crossed  me 
often.  I  like  not  his  humors.  I  am  ear- 
nest in  my  quarrel,  and  with  the  help  of  my 
good  rapier,  which  hath  done  me  yeoman's 
service  before  now,  I  will  bring  it  to  a  pro- 
per ending." 

Master  Shakspeare  knew  Ben  too  well  to 
expect  any  approach  being  made  to  the 
amicable  s'ettling  of  this  difference  in  his 
present  mood  ;  therefore,  he  wisely  held  his 
speech,  arid  the  two  continued  to  walk  on  in 
silence  till  they  turned  the  end  of  the  lane, 
which  bordered  on  the  fields  to  which  they 
were  proceeding.  As  they  were  advancing 
along  the  path  that  leads  across  one  of 
the  larger  fields,  they  became  aware  of  two 
persons  waiting  under  a  clump  of  trees, 
down  in  one  of  the  corners  of  it,  for  whom 
they  made.  They  were  so  intent  on  their 
discourse,  that  they  did  not  discover  the  ap- 
proach of  Ben  and  his  friend,  till  they  came 
close  upon  them,  and  overheard  the  follow- 
ing dialogue. 

"  Of  a  truth,  Captain  Swashbuckler,  you 
Bpeak  monstrous  temptingly  of  your  rapier." 

"  A  right  Toledo,  as  I  live,  worthy  Mas- 
ter Spencer.  But  that  I  have  confidence  in 
your  discretion,  I  would  not  have  told  you 
the  name  of  the  great  grandee  of  whom  I 
had  it."  V 

"  The  Duke  de  Medina  Sidonia,  I  think 
you  said,  to  whom  it  had  been  presented  by 
the  King  of  Spain." 

"  And  in  consequence  of  my  pressing  ne- 
cessities, and  of  my  exceeding  friendship  for 
you,  I  reduce  my  demand  of  forty  crowns, 
which  is  not  a  quarter  of  its  right  estimate, 
to  five,  which  I  would  not  of  any  one  else 
tike  for  the  loan  of  it." 

"  I  am  bound  to  you,  Captain  Swashbuck- 
ler, for  your  consideration,  and  for  standing 
my  friend  in  this  quarrel ;  and  I  willingly 
pay  you  the  sum  you  require." 

"  Thanks,  worthy  sir  ;  but  concerning  of 
this  little  matter  of  dispute  betwixt  you  and 
that  hectoring  bricklayer,  Benjamin  Jon- 
son,  be  you  under  no  manner  of  concern  as 
to  its  issue.  Remember  you  my  lessons — 
forget  not  your  punto  reverso — of  al)  tilings 
bear  in  mind  the  secret  thrust  I  took  such 
pains  to  inform  you  of — and  you  shall  have 
his  weapon  at  your  command  and  his  life 
at  your  disposal,  ere  you  have  exchanged 
half  a  score  of  passes  with  him.  I  remem- 
ber me,  as  well  as  if  it  was  but  yesterday, 
when  I  taught  the  noble  Earl  of  Leicester 
this  same  matchless  trick  of  fence  ;  and  I 


know  not  how  many  of  his  enemies  h*  over- 
threw by  employing  it  in  the  duello  with 
them.  But,  by  the  god  of  war,  here  come 
the  very  men  we  look  for !" 

Saying  this,  Captain  Swashbuckler  ad- 
vanced, and,  taking  off  his  hat  with  the  easy 
assurance  of  a  cast  captain,  saluted  the 
persons  who  approached  him.  His  broad, 
bronzed  face  was  not  made  a  whit  handso- 
mer for  the  patch  over  his  eye,  and  his  un- 
gainly shape  was  not  more  prepossessing 
than  his  aspect.  He  was  dressed  in  a  fa- 
ded suit  of  cinnamon,  with  a  goodly  ruff, 
wore  his  soiled  beaver  with  the  air  of  a 
commander,  and  strode  in  a  pair  of  worn- 
out  buff  shoes,  with  crumpled  roses,  as 
though  there  could  not  be  so  great  a  man  in 
the  world. 

After  salutation  and  mutual  introductions, 
Master  Shakspeare  and  he  stood  a  little 
apart  to  arrange  the  business  of  the  meet- 
ing. It  was  the  earnest  desire  of  the  for- 
mer to  bring  things  to  an  amicable  settle- 
ment, but  the  other  must  needs  show  him- 
self to  be  a  man  of  war,  and  talked  so  over- 
poweringly  of  the  affront  his  principal  had 
received,  and  entered  so  learnedly  into  the 
proper  proceedings  of  the  duello  in  such  ca- 
ses, that,  with  a  sad  heart,  Master  Shaks- 
peare found  he  could  not  prevent  the  fight 
both  parties  were  so  bent  upon. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  previous  to  the 
combatants  being  set  against  each  other,  on 
the  seconds-  measuring  their  rapiers,  "  the 
right  Toledo,"  which  Captain  Swashbuck- 
ler had  sold  his  friend,  was  found  to  be  sev- 
eral inches  longer  in  the  blade  than  the 
sword  of  Ben  Jonson.  Master  Shakspeare 
lustily  protested  against  such  a  weapon 
being  used,  and  was  in  hopes  this  inequality 
would  put  an  end  to  the  combat ;  but  Ben 
insisted  that  his  adversary  should  have  his 
own  weapon,  which  he  strongly  commended 
as  having  befriended  him  on  many  a  pinch, 
and  he  would  take  that  worn  by  his  friend, 
Will  Shakspeare,  which  was  of  the  same 
length.  The  latter  strove  to  prevent  this, 
but  all  his  objections  were  overruled  ;  and 
at  last  Ben  Jonson  and  Gabriel  Spencer 
found  themselves  opposite  each  other  with 
the  naked  blades,  as  the  former  had  ruled, 
crossed  in  front  of  them. 

Captain  Swashbuckler  appeared  even  less 
pleased  with  this  arrangement  than  Master 
Shakspeare,  but  they  both  drew  a  little  off 
from  the  combatants,  to  watch  and  wait  the 
issue  of  the  fight.  Ben  Jonson  looked  de- 
terminedly, yet  with  the  quiet  steady  glance, 
of  an  old  swordsman  ;  and  Gabriel  Spencer, 
though  he  was  somewhat  disconcerted  at 
the  disappointment  he  had  to  endure  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


being  deprived  of  the  advantages  he  might 
have  derived  from  so  choice  a  weapon  as 
that  which  had  had  the  honor  of  being  con- 
ferred by  the  King  of  Spain  on  so  distin- 
guished a  grandee  as  the  Duke  de  Medina 
Sidonia,  felt  such  confidence  in  the  lessons 
he  had  received  from  a  master  of  fence  so 
well  known  at  Paul's  as  Captain  Swash- 
buckler, as  to  be  perfectly  free  from  appre- 
hension for  himself.  But,  most  unfortu- 
nately for  him,  it  so  chanced'  that,  in  the 
very  beginning  of  the  duel,  after  a  few  pas- 
ses only,  and  before  he  thought  of  applying 
to  the  famous  secret  thrust  that  had  so  be- 
friended the  great  Earl  of  Leicester,  his  own 
weapon  was  turned  aside,  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  other  passed  through  his  body. 
Poor  Gabriel !  he  uttered  but  one  groan,  and 
fell  dead  at  the  feet  of  his  adversary. 

Master  Shakspeare  was  greatly  shocked, 
but  he  saw  at  a  glance  no  human  aid  could 
avail.  Ben  Jonson  seemed  no  less  dis- 
tressed ;  it  was  evident  he  was  terribly 
moved,  and  he  vowed  very  earnestly  he 
would  willingly  give  all  he  was  worth  in 
the  world  such  a  mischance  had  not  hap- 
pened. He  called  to  Captain  Swashbuck- 
ler to  help  to  bear  his  friend  out  of  the  field, 
but  the  noble  captain  had  thought  it  much 
better  to  bear  himself  out,  as  soon  as  he  be- 
held the  turn  things  had  taken,  and  was  no 
longer  within  hearing.  He,  however,  did 
not  forget  to  take  with  him  the  goodly  ra- 
pier, which  he  had  so  lately  sold  at  so  poor 
a  price,  in  the  fullest  conviction  that  its 
matchless  character  must  be  of  much  more 
advantage  to  a  living  teacher  of  fence  than 
to  a  dead  pupil. 

With  the  assistance  of  some  laboring  men 
from  an  adjoining  brick-field,  the  body  of 
Gabriel  Spencer  was  removed  to  a  fitter 
resting-place  ;  and  his  death  was  so  much 
spoken  of,  as  soon  as  it  became  known,  that 
Ben  Jonson  found  it  necessary  to  remove 
himself  as  far  from  the  scene  of  the  fatal 
quarrel  as  was  possible  for  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Let  me  crave 

Thy  virtuous  help  to  keep  from  grave 
This  poor  mortal,  that  here  lies 
Waiting  when  the  destinies 
Will  undo  his  thread  of  life. 

THE  FAITHFUL  SHEPHERDESS. 

INTO  a  certain  tenement  that  was  in  the 
village  of  Shottery,  must  we  now  introduce 
the  courteous  reader.  Certes,  this  same 


dwelling  was  none  of  the  stateliest,  yet  had 
it  very  fair  accommodations  for  those  who 
dwelt  therein,  and  an  exceeding  inviting  ap- 
pearance from  the  highway  before  it,  when 
the  twining  woodbine  which  covered  the 
porch,  and  clung  round  the  casements,  and 
about  every  part,  up  to  the  eaves,  with  infin- 
ite luxuriousness,  was  in  its  fullest  bloom — 
the  more  especial  when  there  was  a  fair 
posy  of  freshest  flowers  standing  in  some 
convenient  vessel  on  the  window-sill,  and 
through  the  open  door  there  could  be  seen  a 
glimpse  of  the  fruit-trees  in  the  garden,  in 
fullest  bloom,  or  with  store  of  pippins  and 
cherries  on  their  pleasant  boughs,  while, 
before  the  door,  two  rosy-cheeked  girls  sat 
with  an  exceeding  fair  show  of  diligence — 
the  one  knitting  of  hose,  and  the  other,  evi- 
dently, scarce  a  year  older,  spinning  at  her 
wheel,  ever  and  anon  looking  from  her  la- 
bors to  regard  or  give  some  sage  admoni- 
tions— marvellous  for  one  of  her  tender 
years — to  a  laughing,  shouting,  lovely  boy, 
twinned  at  a  birth  with  her  sister,  who  was 
romping  and  rioting  with  a  young  hound  of 
a  noble  breed,  at  a  little  distance,  the  two  . 
rolling  over  each  other  on  the  grass  with 
admirable  good  fellowship  on  both  sides, 
and  a  huge  outcry  of  mingled  barking  and 
shouting ;  and  presently  the  dog,  breaking 
away  from  his  companion,  and  standing  at 
some  little  way  off",  uttering  many  a  short 
joyful  bark,  and  wagging  of  his  tail  very 
famously,  watching  the  movements  of  his 
lovely  playfellow,  and  bounding  off  again 
as  the  boy  sought  to  lay  hold  of  him,  and 
repeating  these  antics  till  he  graciously  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  caught. 

Then  broke  out  afresh  the  noisy  play  with 
so  wild  an  uproar,  that  it  would  bring  out 
the  alarmed  mother  from  her  household- 
work,  and  thereupon  she  would  rate  the  boy 
and  the  dog,  for  their  blameableness  in  cre- 
ating so  horrid  a  din,  and,  more  than  all, 
rate  the  elder  sister  for  having  allowed  it. 
Whereof  the  result  would  be,  the  dog  would 
presently  look  as  grave  as  dog  ever  looked 
when  found  at  fault,  and,  spying  of  a  beggar 
at  the  end  of  the  village,  would  set  off  with 
a  monstrous  eagerness  down  the  road  to 
show  his  extreme  watchfulness ;  the  boy 
would  return  to  the  task  he  had  been  con- 
ning, ere  weariness  made  him  fling  it  aside 
for  choicer  entertainment ;  and  the  elder 
girl,  after  many  loving  words,  endeavoring 
to  impress  on  the  truant  the  exceeding  pro- 
fitableness of  book  over  play,  would  continue 
her  spinning,  and  her  discourse  with  her 
sister  on  divers  matters  seeming  to  be  of  the 
most  absolute  importance,  which  had  been 
so  rudely  interrupted. 


so 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


By  the  time  the  matron  had  left  the  door, 
the  dog  had  returned  to  his  accustomed 
place  before  the  house.  At  first  he  put  on 
mi  exceeding  discreet  behavior,  only  ven- 
turing to  cast  a  wistful  glance  at  his  fellow 
culprit,  when  tired  of  scratching  at  his  ears, 
biting  at  his  tail,  snapping  at  the  flies  that 
ventured  in  his  neighborhood,  or  following 
any  of  those  employments  most  in  request 
among  dogs  of  all  degrees,  when  not  in- 
clined for  sleep,  food,  or  other  occupation. 
For  awhile  the  head,  so  rich  in  shining 
curls,  of  his  playfellow,  was  not  raised  from 
his  task  ;  but  ere  long  it  was  slowly  lifted 
up. 

As  soon  as  the  child's  eyes  met  those  of 
his  fast  friend,  the  latter  left  off  what  he  was 


been  leading  a  horrible  ungodly  life,  in  all 
sorts  of  riotous  ill-living — taking  little  note 
of  his  poor  wife  and  sweet  young  family, 
save  once  in  a  way  or  so  coming  to  see 
them. 

Then,  if  the  intelligencer  were  a  woman, 
which  was  like  enough,  and  a  careless  and 
unthrifty  wife,  which  was  not  impossible, 
she  would  be  monstrously  indignant  at  the 
barbarousness  of  husbands,  saying  that,  aa 
far  as  she  knew,  one  was  not  a  whit  better 
than  another ;  wives  were  to  be  slaves  for- 
sooth, and  to  be  cast  aside  like  old  garments 
not  fitting  to  be  worn  when  the  occasion 
served,  while  their  dissatisfied  partners  did 
nought  but  find  fault  and  give  trouble. 

Much  more  to  the  same  purpose  was  like 


then  about ;  his  tail  was  in  motion  on  the  j  to  follow,  was  her  companion  inclined  to 
instant ;  at  first  slowly  and  softly,  then  j  listen,  but  it  most  frequently  happened  she 
beating  of  the  ground  with  monstrous  vig-  was  brought  back  to  the  proper  subject  of 
orous  thumps,  as  he  ventured  on  a  subdued  j  inquiry,  and  then  proceeded  to  communicate 
bark.  Anon,  some  little  encouragement  j  numberless  interesting  particulars  relating 
covertly  given  by  the  boy,  set  him  leaping  j  to  the  persons  whom  she  had  before  men- 
around  him,  at  a  short  distance,  making  it  ( tioned  ;  and  the  stranger,  unless  he  sought 
less  and  the  bark  louder  as  the  other  in-  •  other  information,  went  away  with  the  im- 
creased,  the  evidence  he  could  not  avoid  pression  that  of  all  the  base,  idle,  careless, 
showing  of  the  pleasure  with  which  his  •  profligate  husbands,  unnatural  fathers,  and 
playmate's  proceedings  were  regarded.  It  intolerable  worthless  varlets,  one  Will 


was  rarely  the  temptation  was  long  resisted. 
The  task  was  again  cast  aside,  and  they 
were  presently  frolicking  together  with 
more  noisy  enjoyment  than  ever. 

Such  was  the  scene,  with  occasional  tri- 


Shakspeare  was  the  worst,  out  of  all  doubt. 
But  the  other  tale  was  of  an  exceeding 
different  complexion,  inasmuch  as  it  de- 
scribed the  said  Will  as  being  the  son  of  a 
respectable  Burgess  of  Stratford  ;  some  time 


fling  variations,  that  had  every  sunny  morn-  j  since  Alderman  and  High  Bailiff  of  that 
ing  for  the  last  year  or  two,  been  presented  town,  a  youth  well  esteemed  of  many  for 
to  the  ordinary  wayfarer  when  passing  j  his  singular  fine  talent  in  the  writing  of 
through  the  quiet  village  of  Shottery.  Did  :  ballads  and  plays,  who  was  inveigled  into  a 
it  appear  he  was  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  marriage  ere  he  was  eighteen,  by  an  artful 
and,  struck  by  the  singular  beauty  and  in- 1  cozening  jade  nigh  upon  old  enough  to  be 
telligence  of  the  children,  must  needs  in-  ,  his  mother,  whose  temper  was  of  that  in- 
quire to  whom  they  belonged,  he  was  sure  !  tolerable  sort  he  was  forced  to  fly  his  native 
to  hear  one  of  two  monstrous  different  sto-  j  town,  rather  than  endure  any  more  of  it, 
ries — perchance  both.  i  and  seek  his  fortune  in  London,  where  his 

One  was,  that  the  mother  was  the  daugh-  j  marvellous  skill  and  learning  so  wrought 
ter  of  an  honest  yeoman,  whose  sons  lived  upon  the  Queen's  Highness,  it  was  said  she 
in  the  house  higher  up  the  road,  where  the  would  have  had  him  right  willingly  to  have 
family  of  the  Hathaways  had  dwelt  time  been  her  husband,  had  he  not  had  already  a 
out  of  mind,  and  that  Anne,  instead  of  mar-  j  wife  of  his  own.  Nevertheless,  this  stood 
rying  some  person  of  substance  and  repute  so  little  in  the  way  of  his  advancement  that 
among  her  neighbors,  as  was  expected  of  his  fortune  was  made  presently  by  her 
her,  and  as  she  might  have  done,  had  she  j  Highness,  who  would  scarce  let  him  out  of 
so  desired — there  being  no  lack  of  such  her  sight,  and  it  was  with  much  ado  he 


anxious  to  be  connected  with  so  worthy  a 
man  as  John  Hathaway — had  taken  up 
with  a  young  fellow  from  Stratford  (whose 
father  was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse),  so 
wild  in  his  courses  that,  after  stealing  of 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  deer,  beating  his  men, 
and  numberless  worse  offences,  he  abandon- 
ed Iris  wife  and  his  three  children,  and  joined 


could  escape  from  her  to  attend  to  the  wants 
of  his  young  family,  who  with  their  mother 
he  maintained  with  so  liberal  an  exhibition, 
taking  for  her  the  house  in  which  she  then 
dwelt,  and  filling  it  with  comforts  such  as 
no  woman  of  her  condition  had  experienced, 
that  she  was  envied  of  all  the  wives  in  the 
village. 


the  players  in  London,  where  he  had  since  I      Should  the  teller  of  this  tale  be  a  man 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


31 


as  is  not  unlikely,  and  had  a  thriftless  idle 
baggage,  with  a  goodly  spice  of  the  shrew 
in  her,  for  a  wife,  which  many  men  have 
had  before  now,  he  will  at  this  point  of  his 
discourse  speak  terrible  bitter  things  of  the 
wretchedness  of  husbands  that  have  such 
vile  jades  for  to  be  their  helpmates,  and  if 
the  strangar  check  him  not,  it  is  like  he 
will  be  mons  rous  moving  upon  his  own 
grievance  in  this  particular,  till  he  do. 

He  will  then  straightway  be  ready  to  take 
his  oath  on  it,  so  loving  a  husband  and  ten- 
der a  father  as  Master  Shakspeare  never 
lived  in  this  world  ;  that,  despite  his  dame's 
crabbedness,  artfulness,  and  folly,  he  had 
tried  all  things  to  induce  her  to  be  a  good 
wife  to  him  ;  and  that  on  his  children  he  so 
doatecl,  he  lavished  his  whole  gains  in  the 
bringing  of  them  up  tenderly.  The  boy  in 
especial  he  had  such  proud  hopes  of,  it 
was  said  he  had  writ  a  play  wherein  he 
was  made  to  be  no  less  a  person  than  the 
Prince  of  Denmark.  Thereupon  the  stran- 
ger would  quit  the  place  in  the  opinion  that 
the  said  Master  Shakspeare  was  made  up 
of  every  wonderfullest  excellence,  and  was 
so  fortunate  withal,  save  in  the  matter  of 
his  wife,  that  he  could  not  but  envy  him  his 

gifts- 
Whereabouts  lyeth  the  truth  betwixt  these 
contrary  statements,  the  courteous  reader 
will  doubtless  be  able  in  some  sort  to  deter- 
mine. 

It  hath  been  discovered  by  some  prying, 
impertinent  jackanapes  or  another,  that  the 
bright  source  of  all  that  we  have  of  splen- 
dor, clearness,  and  excellence  in  things  visi- 
ble, hath  on  it  divers  unsightly  spots.  If 
that  face  which  is  of  such  wondrous  bril- 
liance no  gaze  can  be  fixed  on  it  for  long 
and  not  blinded,  be  so  disfigured,  it  is  utter 
foolishness  to  expect  the  fairest  and  perfect- 
fectest  thing  in  nature  to  be  free  of  speck  or 
flaw.  f 

The  sun  throweth  out  his  golden  beams 
with  so  unmeasured  a  prodigality  that  none 
save  such  poor  inquisitorial  critical  knaves, 
who,  if  allowed  to  see  a  hair's  breadth  be- 
yond their  noses,  must  do  so  only  to  find 
fault  with  what  most  helpeth  them  in  the 
use  of  their  sight,  would  be  so  horribly  un- 
grateful as  to  point  out  any  small  defect  in 
him  visible  only  after  intolerable  prying  and 
searching,  quite  regardless  of  the  prodigious 
heap  of  benefit  all  derive  at  his  hands. 

Wherefore,  in  portraying  of  certain  spots 
in  this  our  intellectual  sun,  or  rather  such 
as  do  so  appear  when  viewed  in  ignorance 
of  the  circumstances  which  produced  them, 
the  which  becometh  proper  and  necessary 
for  the  full  understanding  of  the  subject — it 


behoveth  all  who  read,  to  be  mindful  of  the 
inca.culable  advantages  placed  at  our  dis- 
posal by  the  infinite  generousness  of  his 
nature,  and  if  there  should  be  any  grievous 
error  mixed  up  with  such  bountiful  store  of 
good,  let  us  straightway  regard  with  a  proper 
humility  the  knowledge  that  the  sweetest, 
I  gentlest,  noblest  of  God's  creatures  could 
1  nfct  escape  the  debasing  touch  of  evil. 

Peradventure,  this  blemish,  if  any  there 
be,  shall  ba  none  so  great — at  least  it  must 
needs  leave  good  warrant  for  the  exercise 
of  our  charity. 

In  the  blooming  daughter  of  the  honest 
yeoman  of  Shottery,  of  a  surety,  there  was 
no  lack  of  womanly  tenderness.  Yet  so 
frequently  did  her  womanly  vanity  under 
evil  counsel  get  the  better  of  her  better  qual- 
ities, it  was  rarely  the  latter  were  allowed 
their  natural  influence. 

To  one  of  so  sensitive  a  sort,  as  he  to 
whom  the  church  had  given  her,  whose  as- 
pirations pointed  to  such  fine  issues,  and 
whose  affections  could  embrace  only  what 
was  most  choice,  such  intractableness  as  she 
exhibited  must  needs  have  produced  in  him 
a  sense  of  intolerable  discomfort. 

In  the  very  flush  of  youth,  possessed  of  all 
those  personal  gifts  that  do  most  attract  a 
loving  woman's  eye,  and  having  such  prodi- 
gal graces  of  mind  and  heart  withal,  as  wo- 
man never  yet  resisted,  it  is  like  enough  his 
nature  was  as  ready  to  meet  the  love  he  had 
sought  so  earnestly  with  such  little  profit, 
as  were  the  natures  of  all  such  fond  and 
loveable  creatures  with  whom  he  chanced  to 
associate,  eager  to  assist  him  to  its  attain- 
ment. 

Directly  it  chanced  he  had  the  means  at 
his  commandment,  his  thoughts  turned  to- 
wards a  suitable  provision  for  his  wife  and 
young  family.  He  had  the  pleasant  cottage 
in  which  they  had  since  dwelt  at  Shottery 
taken  for  them,  and  furnished  with  all  things 
useful  and  proper  in  abundance,  and  their 
several  wants  were  so  fully  considered,  nt> 
family  in  the  village  were  so  well  cared  for. 
.  He  never  allowed  a  year  to  pass  without 
|  paying  them  a  visit,  at  which  times,  as  may 
well  be  imagined,  he  was  not  like  to  come 
!  empty-handed.  Indeed,  so  prodigal  was  he 
1  in  the  giving  of  such  things  as  children 
most  desire,  and  so  many  other  ways  had  he 
of  winning  their  young  hearts,  his  coming 
was  looked  for  by  them  all  with  monstrous 
eagerness  ;  but  not  more  anxious  were  they 
for  his  return,  than  was  he  to  be  amongst 
them,  for  so  loving  a  father  was  he,  it  mat- 
tered not  what  pleasures  and  honors  awaited 
him  among  his  many  excellent  noble  pat- 
rons and  friends,  wher  the  time  approached 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


for  his  customary  visit,  he  was  as  impatient 
to  be  on  the  road,  as  ever  was  lover  to  meet 
his  mistress. 

That  he  loved  them  all  was  most  mani- 
fest ;  but  of  his  three  children,  there  was 
one  whom  he  loved  with  so  infinite  and  ab- 
solute a  devotedness,  it  moved  every  heart 
that  saw  it.  This  was  his  only  son  Ham- 
net.  The  helpless  infant,  the  tottering  chifd, 
and  the  romping  boy,  were  regarded  by  him, 
as  the  fond  lather  year  after  year  saw  him 
take  on  himself  these  several  characters, 
with  an  intensity  of  interest,  such  as  none 
but  a  dealing  parent  can  have  any  thought 
of.  His  affection  became  a  passion — the 
powerfullest  impulse  of  his  existence.  His 
thoughts  seemed  to  tend  in  one  direction 
with  a  constancy  that  was  rivalled  only  by 
the  ever-steady  compass. 

Fame,  wealt  h,  friends,  and  all  the  other  cov- 
etable  enjoyments  of  life  he  sought  for  only 
as  a  means  of  elevating  this  lovely  boy  into 
a  manhood  that  might  find  its  place  among 
the  proudest  df  the  land,  and  insure  for 
many  generations  living  evidences,  readily 
obtaining  high  fortune  and  distinction,  that 
the  name  of  Shakspeare  was  not  of  a  per- 
ishable sort. 

Oft  and  oft  would  his  musings  take  unto 
themselves  shapes  whereof  the  purport  was 
his  son's  greatness  in  some  one  way  or 
another ;  and  he  would  further  delight  his 
humor  by  imagining  such  glorious  scenes 
whereof  this  most  precious  boy  was  the 
chief  feature,  as  one  of  such  wondrous 
qualities  of  heart  and  mind  could  alone 
conceive. 

As  he  grew  up,  so  grew  the  love  with 
which  he  was  regarded  by  his  proud,  affec- 
tionate, and  exceeding  sanguine  father.  His 
wants  were  ministered  to  with  a  hand  that 
left  no  room  for  an  unsatisfied  desire  of  any 
sort  to  have  a  moment's  existence.  The 
anxious  parent,  when  he  last  parted  from 
him,  not  only  charged  divers  his  zealous 
friends  at  Stratford  and  thereabouts,  to  watch 
over  his  safety  and  happiness,  as  was  his 
wont  on  such  occasions,  but  provided  that 
his  education  should  be  carried  on  with  all 
possible  advantages,  having  secured  as  an 
instructor  for  him  that  excellent  ripe  scholar, 
the  learned  Vicar  of  Stratford,  Master  Rich- 
ard Bi  field. 

Hamnet,  now — no  longer  the  romping 
child  who  loved  far  better  than  aught  else 
in  the  world  beside  a  tumble  in  the  grass 
with  Talbot,  who  had  been  his  faithful  friend 
and  ready  playmate  from  earliest  infancy — 
was  a  thin  tall  boy,  in  his  thirteenth  year, 
who,  as  regularly  as  any  clock  in  the  parish, 


morning  and  afternoon  with  his  satchel 
strapped  over  his  jerkin,  intently  conning 
of  a  book  that  was  in  his  hand,  halting  not, 
nor  turning  to  the  right  or  left,  let  there  be 
what  attraction  for  one  of  his  age  there  might, 
but  proceeding  direct  to  the  vicarage,  there 
to  say  his  daily  tasks  to  Master  Bifield.  And 
on  his  return  home — it  was  not  as  other  boys 
would,  when  let  loose  from  school,  in  disor- 
derly rioting — and,  like  enough,  any  mis- 
chief that  looked  easiest  to  do,  but  walk- 
ing the  same  serious  pace,  and  as  earnestly 
studying  his  book  as  on  his  leaving  home. 
Even  when,  on  approaching  the  village,  his 
old  favorite  came  bounding  towards  him 
with  his  well-rernembered  joyful  bark,  the 
only  recognition  he  had  of  the  studious  boy 
was  an  affectionate  pat  or  two  from  his  dis- 
engaged hand,  as  the  dog  leaped  on  him, 
and,  without  moving  his  gaze  from  the  page, 
he  would  continue  his  walk  to  his  mother's 
door,  his  hand  resting  on  his  four-footed 
friend,  who  now  walked  sedately  at  his  side, 
ever  and  anon  casting  a  glance  at  the  pale 
face  of  his  once  rosy  playfellow,  and  giving 
a  low  whine,  that  seemed  to  express  a  very 
monstrous  concern  at  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  him. 

The  amusements  to  which  his  sisters  in- 
vited him,  with  abundance  of  sweet  entrea- 
ties and  caresses,  and  the  sharp  dissatisfac- 
tion of  his  mother,  at  ever  finding  him  poring 
over  some  book  or  another,  were  as  little 
efficacious  in  making  any  alteration  in  his 
excessive  studiousness.  The  commendation 
he  had  of  his  excellent  instructor,  for  his 
diligence  and  forwardness  in  all  manner  of 
learning,  and  the  exceeding  pleasure  as 
Master  Bifield  told  him  frequently,  it  would 
be  to  his  losing  father  to  find  him  so  godd  a 
scholar,  made  him  so  exert  himself  to  ad- 
vance rapidly  in  his  studies,  that,  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  he  seemed  intent  on  noth- 
ing but  the  learning  of  everything  he  could 
be  set  at. 

Proud  was  the  master  of  such  a  pupil.  In 
truth,  he  was  too  proud  of  him  to  be  suffi- 
ciently discreet.  He  had  been  a  scholar  all 
his  life  long — poor  in  this  world's  gear,  but 
rich  in  virtue,  learning,  and  all  good  gifts ; 
and  so  conspicuous  were  his  merits,  that, 
when  the  former  schoolmaster  was  summa- 
rily sent  from  an  office  he  had  too  long  dis- 
graced, such  recommendation  of  his  fine 
parts  was  made  to  the  patron  of  the  vicar- 
age, as  caused'  that  very  estimable,  pious 
gentleman  to  bestow  it  on  him,  to  the  great 
and  lasting  profit  of  the  parishioners. 

Long  and  severe  study  had  made  sad  in- 
roads in  his  health,  ere  he  commenced  his 


might  be  met  on  the  road  to  Stratford  every  new  duties  ;  and  the  heavy  labors  he  set 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


himself,  to  undo  the  many  mischiefs  caused 
by  the  disreputable  acts  of  his  predecessor, 
wrought  on  his  constitution  still  further  evil. 
He  disregarded  severity  of  weather,  and  all 
other  inconveniences  whatsoever,  in  the  do- 
ing of  the  various  pious  offices  he  might  at 
any  time  or  season  be  called  upon  to  per- 
form. This,  in  time,  reduced  him  to  a  mere 
skeleton  in  appearance  ;  and,  though  yet  in 
the  prime  of  life,  so  feeble  in  body  was  he, 
he  was  scarce  ever  able  to  do  more  than 
the  least  laborious  of  his  customary 'duties. 
As  he  complained  not  to  any  one,  and  was 
ever  of  a  cheerful  disposition,  none  took  him 
to  be  in  so  bad  a  case  as  he  was  ;  but  the 
sunken  cheek  and  eyes,  emaciated  frame, 
and  constant  teazing  cough,  were  signs  that 
ought  not  to  have  been  disregarded. 

At  last  he  got  so  much  worse,  he  was  fain 
to  take  to  his  bed.  Nevertheless,  such  was 
his  love  for  Hamnet,  he  would  have  him  say 
his  tasks  at  his  bedside  with  the  young 
scholar's  accustomed  regularity,  and  com- 
mend him,  and  set  him  further  lessons,  and 
discourse  with  him  on  all  matters  wherein 
he  lacked  intelligence,  though  the  sick  man 
was  scarce  able  to  move  a  limb,  or  use 
his  voice  above  a  whisper.  Surely  such  a 
sight  hath  rarely  been  seen  as  presented 
itself  every  morning  and  afternoon  in  the 
vicar's  antique  chamber. 

Perchance,  on  his  first  entering,  the  boy 
would  have  with  him  some  choice  fruit  of 
his  own  plucking,  or  dainty  posie  of  his  own 
gathering,  or  some  other  choice  thing  or 
another  to  please  the  sick  man's  eye  or  pal- 
ate, and  with  these  in  his  hand  he  would 
first  dutifully  present  them  to  his  master, 
not  forgetting  the  while  to  ask  earnestly 
whether  he  was  mending ;  and  then,  having 
received  all  proper  thanks  and  the  necessa- 
ry reply,  he  would  put  the  flowers,  or  what- 
ever it  might  be,  where  he  thought  his  mas- 
ter would  be  best  pleased  to  have  them,  and 
then  take  his  accustomed  place  and  begin 
his  proper  task.  In  sooth,  it  then  became 
a  scene  of  no  ordinary  interest. 

There  was  the  zealous  master,  pale  as 
any  ghost,  lying  supported  by  pillows,  one 
shrunken  arm  and  bony  hand  resting  on  the 
coverlet,  his  eyes  brightening  as  he  noticed 
the  exceeding  aptness  of  his  diligent  scho- 
lar, who,  with  visage  having  but  little  more 
warrant  of  health  in  it,  stood  by  the  sombre 
tapestry  at  the  bed's  head,  affectionately  and 
reverently  regarding  his  excellent  instruc- 
tor, as  he  repeated  without  a  fault  the  vari- 
ous lessons  he  had  been  tasked  with.  This 
done,  Hamnet  would  seek  to  do  the  sick 
man  all  manner  of  loving  offices,  which  the 
other  took  as  though  he  would  have  them 
3 


done  by  none  other  than  he ;  and,  when 
there  was  nothing  left  to  do,  the  scholar 
looked  as  loth  to  go  as  was  the  master  to 
have  him  depart.  But  at  last  came  an  af-, 
fectionate  fear,  expressed  by  the  sick  man, 
that  the  boy's  mother  would  needs  be  made 
more  anxious  for  his  safety  than  was  right 
he  should  make  her,  delayed  he  his  depar- 
ture any  longer ;  and,  with  heartfelt  bles- 
sings on  the  one  side,  and  as  fervent  pray- 
ers on  the  other,  the  two  would  separate  for 
that  day. 

This  went  on  for  some  weeks,  Master 
Bifield  making  some  small  progress  towards 
recovery,  though  still  too  feeble  to  leave  his 
chamber,  when  it  chanced  that  one  morn- 
ing, at  the  usual  hour,  marvellous  as  it  was, 
the  punctual  scholar  made  not  his  appear- 
ance. The  worthy  vicar  at  first  thought  he 
might  have  been  stayed  by  his  mother ; 
then  he  fancied  he  had  gone  with  his  sisters 
to  some  distance,  and  had  not  got  back  in 
time  to  get  to  the  vicarage ;  and  then  made 
for  him  some  other  excuse  equally  reasona- 
ble. But  still  he  came  not. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by,  to  the  prodig- 
ious surprise  of  the  good  priest,  and  almost 
to  the  exhausting  of  a  very  plentiful  stock 
of  reasons  for  Hamnet's  absence,  and  yet 
the  boy  was  no  nearer  his  place  by  his  mas- 
ter's bedside  than  at  first.  Thus  proceeded 
the  day — a  most  uneasy  one  to  Master  Bi- 
field, and  it  was  succeeded  by  as  restless  a 
night. 

The  morning  found  him  not  less  san- 
guine of  the  coming  of  his  beloved  scholar 
than  he  had  been  the  day  previous ;  but, 
when  the  school-hour  arrived,  and  Hamnet 
came  not,  his  master  became  exceeding 
troubled,  and  at  once  despatched  his  at- 
tached, but  somewhat  too  querulous,  domes- 
tic to  Shottery,  to  inquire  the  cause  of  the 
boy's  extraordinary  absence. 

Master  Bifield  had  been  lying  in  his  bed, 
monstrously  troubled  in  his  thoughts  con- 
cerning the  absence  of  his  diligent  and  af- 
fectionate young  scholar,  waiting  with  pro- 
digious anxiety  the  return  of  Esther,  when 
he  heard  a  step  he  knew  to  be  hers ;  but,  to 
his  huge  disappointment,  the  lighter  and 
more  welcome  sound  of  Hamnet's  footsteps, 
did  not  accompany  it.  Presently  the  door 
of  his  chamber  opened,  and  there  entered 
thereat  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  Esther,  clad 
with  her  usual  extreme  neatness,  and  wear- 
ing a  visage  of  more  than  ordinary  serious- 
ness and  melancholy  concern. 

As  soon  as  the  vicar  caught  sight  of  her, 
he  raised  himself  up  a  bit,  with  a  look  of 
exceeding  alarm.  "  Hast  seen  him  ?  Why 
doth  he  not  come  ?  Doth  aught  ail  the  bov  ? 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Prythee  sit  down  and  rest  thyself,  good  Es- 
ther, after  thy  walk;  and  let  me  know,  as 
speedily  as  thou  canst,  what  keeps  Hamnet 
from  the  vicarage.  When  will  he  come  ? 
ffath  lie  his  lesson  ready?  I  trust  he  will 
be  here  anon." 

Esther  did  not  sit.  She  saw  something 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  things  nighest 
her  master  she  liked  not.  She  busied  her- 
self awhile  in  putting  them  more  conven- 
iently, and  of  all  the  questions  asked  of  her, 
ehe  replied  but  to  the  last,  and  that  was  with 
a  shaking  of  the  head,  that  looked  of  such 
bad  import  to  the  sick  man,  he  seemed 
struck  with  a  sudden  fear. 

"Nay,  I  trust  in  God's  love  no  ill  hath 
happened  to  him !"  cried  he,  with  all  the 
fervor  of  the  excellent,  proper  Christian  he 
was ;  but  seeing  that  his  messenger  con- 
tinued her  employment  as  though  she 
would  delay  uttering  what  she  liked  not  to 
say,  and  that  her  aspect  took  on  it  a  more 
painful  shade  of  seriousness,  he  caught  her 
by  the  arm,  and  added,  in  the  most  moving 
accents  ever  heard :  "  I  prythee,  good  Es- 
ther, tell  me  what  aileth  the  boy  ?  Some 
slight  thing  or  another  of  which  he  shall  be 
well  presently  ?  I  may  expect  his  coming 
a  week  hence  at  the  farthest  ?" 

This  elicited  not  the  reply  he  wished,  for 
Esther  was  too  moved  to  commence  her 
task  as  an  intelligencer.  The  anxiety  of 
the  sick  man  mounted  to  an  agony,  and,  with 
features  blanched  with  affright,  he  gasped 
out  "  Esther,  Esther !  prythee  tell  me  not 
that  sweet  boy  is  dead  !" 

"  Nay,  master,  it  hath  *not  come  to  that 
yet,"  replied  she,  in  a  tone  she  intended 
should  be  consolatory.  "  But,"  she  added, 
thinking,  now  it  had  come  to  this  push,  it 
were  better  the  truth  should  be  known  at 
once,  "an  if  1  know  aught  of  such  matters, 
the  poor  boy's  days  are  numbered  in  this 
world.  God  help  him  !" 

She  then  proceeded  to  state  how  evident 
to  every  one's  observation  the  young  scho- 
lar's health  had  been  rapidly  sinking  under 
his  too  great  study,  and  that,  after  getting 
wet  to  the  skin  in  a  sudden  rain,  on  return- 
ing home,  he  sat  in  his  damp  things  study- 
ing his  morrow's  lesson,  till  he  was  taken 
with  a  terrible  shivering  fit.  He  was  put 
to  bed,  but  in  the  morning  he  was  in  so  bad 
a  state,  the  apothecary  was  sent  'for  from 
Stratford,  who  pronounced  him  to  be  in  the 
most  imminent  danger,  since  when  he  had 
been  getting  worse  every  hour,  and,  to  all 
appearance,  could  not  live  many  days. 

"  This  is  all  that  is  to  be  got  of  poring 
over  books,"  added  Esther,  emphatically. 
"  And  this.  Master,  hath  brought  you  to  a 


bed  of  siclaiess,  and  hath  been  this  many  a 
year  wearing  out  your  life  by  inches,  as  I 
have  warned  you  so  oft.  But,  alack  !  alack ! 
my  painstaking  hath  been  to  such  small 
profit,  that  you  have  not  only  been  destroy- 
ing of  yourself  with  such  pestilent  things, 
but  have  allowed  this  poor  boy,  under  your 
own  eyes,  to  waste  his  sweet  young  life 
away,  after  the  same  horrible  fashion. 

Hitherto  the  sick  man  had  kept  staring  at 
his  companion,  too  bewildered  at  the  sudden 
blow  to  have  the  use  of  any  sense  save  that 
of  hearing.  But,  as  she  finished  her  speech, 
the  truth  of  what  she  had  stated  flashed 
upon  his  mind,  and  the  enormity  of  the  mis- 
chief he  had  done  presented  itself  to  him  so 
overpoweringly,  that  he,  with  a  sharp  cry, 
clasped  his  hands  together  and  sunk  in  a 
swoon  on  the  bed. 

Esther  flew  to  him  on  the  instant,  and 
with  the  tender  interest  of  a  mother  adminis- 
tered such  remedies  as  she  knew  were  of 
most  efficacy  in  such  cases.  As  soon  as 
he  recovered"  his  senses,  he  seemed  to  have 
a  strength  he  had  not  known  a  long  time, 
and  called  for  his  apparel.  In  vain  his  faith- 
ful attendant  attempted  to  dissuade  him  from 
his  intention,  but  he  would  attend  to  no  sug- 
gestions or  apprehensions.  Dressing  him- 
self as  quickly  as  he  might,  talking  the 
while  as  though  to  himself,  now  bitterly  con- 
demning his  own  negligence  of  Hamnet 'a 
health,  and  then  breaking  out  into  the  fond- 
est praises  of  his  promising  scholarship,  he 
took  his  staff  in  his  hand,  left  his  chamber, 
walked  out  of  the  vicarage  with  a  step  he 
had  not  known  any  so  firm  these  ten  years, 
and  proceeded  the  directest  way  to  the  cot- 
tage at  Shottery. 


CHAPTER  V. 

If  thou  be  scorn'd, 

Disdaine  it  not :  for  preachers  grave 
Are  still  dispis'd,  by  faces  hornde, 

When  they  for  better  manners  crave. 
That  hap,  which  fails  on  men  divine, 
If  thou  feele,  doe  not  repine. 
A  GLASSE  TO  VIEW  THE  PRIDE  OF  VAIX-GLOBIOUS 
WOMEN. 

"  A  FEW  words,  John,  and  we  must  needs 
part.  Heaven  only  kuoweth  whether  it 
may  be  our  fortune  to  meet  again ;  but, 
however  it  shall  chance,  I  am  fully  per- 
suaded— I  thank  God  very  heartily  for  an 
assurance  so  comfortabre  to  a  mother — you 
will  do  no  discredit  to  your  bringing  up.  In 
sooth,  you  are  a  notable  good  youth,  and 

seem  like  enough  to  keep  your  honored  fa- 

-.  : 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


35 


ther's  name — blessed  be  his  memory !  in 
fair  repute  as  long  as  it  shall  be  in  your 
keeping." 

"  I  trust  so,  good  mother.  I  will  do  all 
that  I  needs  can  that  you  shall  have  not  one 
minute's  discomfort  from  my  behavior." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  my  dear  boy.  In  sooth, 
the  knowledge  of  your  well-disposedness  is 
my  great  solace  and  contentation  in  this 
trying  hour.  I  have  provided  you,  without 
sparing  cost  or  care,  with  such  learning  as 
you  had  the  greatest  liking  for ;  and  you, 
having  made  choice,  of  your  own  free  will, 
of  the  calling  or  profession  of  medicine — as 
excellent  proper  choice  as  could  have  been 
made — I  have,  as  is  already  known  to  you, 
entered  into  such  arrangements  with  one  of 
the  notablest  London  physicians,  for  your 
sojourning  with  him  until  you  have  com- 
pleted your  necessary  studies  in  the  treating 
of  diseases,  in  the  nature  of  simples  and  the 
like — for  the  which  I  think  it  but  right  I 
should  tell  you,  I  have  taxed  my  means,  to 
the  utmost,  that  you  may  use  whatsoever 
diligence  you  have,  they  be  not  rendered  un- 
profitable." 

"  That  will  I,  rest  assured.  It  would  be 
a  villanous  ill  return,  methinks,  for  your  ex- 
quisite sweet  goodness  to  me  at  all  times, 
were  I  to  be  amiss  in  any  thing." 

•'  You  know  not  what  temptations  may 
assail  you  in  that  great  city  whereto  you 
are  going — the  which,  I  grieve  to  say,  hath 
the  horriblest  bad  character  ever  heard — for 
you  have  been  brought  up  so  homely,  in 
these  retired  parts,  no  bruit  of  such  could 
have  reached  you." 

"  I'  faith,  it  mattereth  not,  sweet  mother. 
You  have  taught  me — I  give  you  my  very 
heartiest  thanks  for  it — to  know  good  from 
evil,  to  follow  the  one  and  eschew  the  other ; 
and  that  will  suffice,  let  me  go  where  I 
will." 

"  I  hope  and  trust,  with  all  my  heart  and 
spirit,  it  may." 

Thus  spoke  mother  and  son  on  the  eve  of 
a  parting  that  seemed  like  to  be  of  some 
duration  ;  and,  after  entering  more  into  par- 
ticulars in  the  way  of  cautions,  the  anxious 
parent  allowed  her  son  to  receive  her  last 
caress  and  her  blessing  ;  and,  in  company 
with  a  steady,  middle-aged,  serving-man, 
that  had,  in  better  times,  lived  at  livery  at 
Ids  father's  board  the  best  part  of  his  life,  he 
was  allowed  to  go  his  way. 

Simon  Stockfish  had  managed  to  get  the 
loan  of  two  steeds  for  their  journey ;  one 
for  his  young  master,  and  the  other  for  his 
own  riding.  He  had  done  all  that  he  could 
to  make  them  worthy  of  the  occasion,  but 
with  exceeding  small  profit,  for  Dapple  and 


Jack  were  two  as  worthless  and  misshapen 
brutes  as  were  ever  rode.  Dapple — the  one 
his  master  chose,  was  an  iron-gray,  as  an- 
cient a  piece  of  horseflesh  as  you  shall  see 
any  day,  rising  nigh  upon  sixteen  hands, 
and  so  bony  withal,  the  poor  youth  looked 
to  be  striding  a  tombstone ;  and  his  head  • 
was  so  long  and  narrow,  his  ribs  so  promi- 
nent, such  a  goose-rump  had  he,  and  hia 
tail  was  so  short  and  stiff,  for  it  was  nothing 
but  a  stump  with  two  or  three  hairs,  it  may 
well  be  imagined  the  horseman  was  not  en- 
vied of  other  equestrians. 

Simon  followed,  on  Jack,  a  little,  black, 
stiff-necked,  rough  and  ragged  cart-horse's 
colt,  with  long  mane  and  tail,  pretty  well 
off  for  flesh.,  but  so  heavy  and  unwieldy 
withal,  that  when  he  trotted — which  seemed 
his  only  quick  pace,  and  one  not  easily  to 
get  him  into — his  hoofs  clattered  on  the 
ground  like  monstrous  hammers  on  an  an- 
vil. As  Simon  was  a  sturdy  knave,  whose 
belt  encompassed  a  fair  rotundity  of  body, 
his  weight  was  not  like  to  make  his  steed's 
paces  any  the  lighter,  added  to  which,  he 
carried  behind  him  his  master's  wardrobe, 
at  his  holsters  a  brace  of  heavy  pistolets, 
and  at  his  side  a  formidable  rapier ;  but  the 
jolting  he  got,  and  the  unseemliness  of  the 
animal  he  bestrode,  seemed  not  to  incon- 
venience him  in  any  manner. 

H£  retained  an  immoveable  visage  of 
such  dignity  as  he  thought  best  became  one 
who  was  entrusted  with  the  guardianship 
of  his  young  master,  and  riding  at  a  re- 
spectful distance,  yet  near  enough  to  be  at 
band  when  need  required  it,  he  cultivated 
bis  ordinary  humor  of  taciturnity  whilst 
cogitating  on  the  constant  attentiveness  ne- 
cessary on  his  part  to  secure  his  old  mas- 
ter's only  son  from  the  dangers  which,  he 
believed,  were  sure  to  beset  him  on  his  jour- 
ney to  London. 

But  all  this  time,  what  were  the  reflec- 
tions of  John  Hall  ?  The  young  student  of 
medicine  was  now  fairly  on  his  road  to  for- 
tune. Was  he  anticipating  his  career,  and 
seeing  a  brilliant  prospect  of  court  patients, 
and  liberal  fees  ?  Was  his  mind  turned  the 
other  way,  recalling  the  many  admirable 
pleasant  hours  he  had  enjoyed  in  the  famil- 
iar scenes  he  was  now  leaving ;  perchance, 
never  to  see  again  ?  Was  he  regretting  the 
parting  with  his  fond  mother,  or  fixing  on 
iiis  attention  the  excellent  advice  he  had 
ust  heard  from  her,  touching  his  behavior 
with  such  young  persons  of  her  sex  as  he 
might  be  about  to  associate  with  ?  • 

He  was  neither  thinking  of  the  past  nor 
the  future ;  lamenting  his  separation  from 
a  dealing  parent,  nor  caring  in  the  leasi 


30 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


whether  he  was  or  was  not  to  mingle  with 
women  of  any  sort.  In  honest  truth,  he 
was  merely  intently  questioning  of  himself 
whether  mustard,  made  with  verjuice,  very 
sharp,  and  somewhat  thick,  was  the  proper- 
est  remedy  for  a  quartan-ague. 

Thus  proceeded  the  two  for  sundry  miles, 
not  without  exciting  some  curiousness  from 
every  one  they  met,  and  a  few  jeers  from 
such  rude  and  rustic  persons  as  are  sure  to 
be  found  in  every  highway,  conducting  of 
themselves  as  though  they  had  a  patent  for 
sauciness.  The  young  physician  was  often 
roused  from  his  .deep  studies  by  some  un- 
mannerly waggoner,  or  insolent  groom, 
shouting  out  certain  inquiries  as  to  the 
number  of  years  that  had  elapsed  since  his 
steed  had  had  a  feed  of  corn  ;  and  a  sturdy 
beggar  clapped  his  dish  on  his  head,  and 
fell  on  his  marrowbones,  in  a  seeming 
ecstasy  of  devotion  as  the  youth  passed  him, 
crying  how  blessed  he  was  in  being  allowed 
a  sight  of  one  of  the  very  cattle  with  which 
Nebuchadnezzar  had  gone  to  grass. 

At  first,  John  Hall  had  given  no  thought 
of  the  appearance  he  cut  on  so  sorry  an  an- 
imal ;  and,  as  regarded  his  own  apparelling, 
was  well  content  with  the  cap  and  feather, 
the  sober  suit  of  russet,  and  the  stout  boots 
and  gloves  he  had  on  ;  but  at  last,  hearing 
of  so  many  scurvy  terms  applied  to  his 
horse,  he  got  ashamed  of  it,  and  would  haye 
preferred  going  the  journey  on  foot,  had  it 
been  possible.  He  knew,  however,  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  but  to  make  the  way  as 
short  as  possible  ;  therefore  he  put  his  spurs 
to  the  lank  sides  of  the  poor  beast,  and 
urged  him  to  the  top  of  his  speed. 

if  it  was  ridiculous  to  see  the  tall,  gaunt, 
misshapen  tiling  that  had  been  provided  for 
the  young  traveller's  riding,  proceeding  at  a 
walk,  it  was  a  thousand  times  more  so  when 
he  was  displaying  his  anatomy  in  his  awk- 
ward attempt  at  a  canter,  i^ndered  the  more 
ludicrous  when  Simon  Stockfish  came  after 
on  the  ugly  brute  he  had  under  him,  the 
which  he  was  urging  him  to  use  his  heavy 
heels  with  such  expedition  as  would  serve 
to  keep  him  at  a  convenient  distance  from 
the  other.  Whether  it  was  the  clattering 
of  this  brute's  iron  hoofs,  or  the  loud  shout 
set  up  when  passing  them  by  a  miller  and 
his  wife  going  together  on  one  horse  to  mar- 
ket, that  startled  the  old  grey,  is  not  known ; 
but  certain  is  it  he  took  fright,  and  put  his 
old  bones  to  such  good  use,  as  made  all  who 

held  him  marvel  exceedingly. 

Simon  Stockfish,  in  no  small  alarm,  strove 
he  could  to  get  nigher  to  his  master; 

d,  what  with  the  spur  and  the  horrible 
discordant  noises  set  up  by  all  who  were  in 


sight  of  fhe  travellers,  the  young  hone  cot 
as  much  frightened  as  the  old  one,  and  set 
off  after  him,  striking  fire  from  his  hoofa 
every  time  they  oame  on  the  hard  ground, 
and  making  such  a  din  with  his  heels  as 
was  deafening  to  hear. 

Simon  pulled  his  statute  cap  over  his 
brows,  that  it  should  not  fall  off  his  head ; 
and  then,  digging  his  knees  into  Jack's  fat 
sides,  and  grasping  his  long  mane  with  one 
hand  as  the  other  held  the  reins,  kept  his 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  figure  of  his  young 
master,  who  sat  firmly  in  his  seat.  The  in- 
creased clattering  behind  him,  and  the 
shouts  and  screams  by  which  he  was  as- 
sailed on  ah1  sides,  did  not,  as  may  easily 
be  believed,  serve  to  lessen  Dapple's  fear ; 
and,  therefore,  the  two  continued  their 
course  to  the  huge  amusement  of  some,  and 
the  no  less  alarm  of  others,  for  many  miles. 

As  they  passed  through  the  villages,  the 
casements  were  thrown  open,  and  aspects 
of  alarm  and  wonder  projected  through  them. 
The  pigs  rushed  one  way,  the  geese  fled 
another.  The  parish  bull  galloped  bellow- 
ing to  the  gate  that  looked  into  the  road, 
with  the  cows  at  his  heels.  The  sheep  hud- 
dled together  to  what  they  thought  the  safest 
corner  of  the  field.  The  tinker's  ass  set  up 
a  hideous  bray,  as  he  rose  affrighted  from 
his  bed  of  nettles,  in  the  pound,  and  the 
fowls  took  refuge  on  the  top  of  the  cage ; 
whilst  the  children  got  out  of  the  way  with 
all  possible  speed,  and,  when  the  danger 
was  passed,  saluted  the  cause  of  it  with  the 
full  energy  of  their  lungs,  and,  like  enough, 
the  more  mischievous  sort  took  to  throwing 
of  stones  ere  the  horsemen  were  well  out  of 
ieir  neighborhood. 

At  last  the  travellers  came  to  a  wide 
aeath,  through  which  was  a  road  that  con- 
tinued for  several  miles.  And  now,  as  they 
were  not  assailed  by  the  screams  and  shout- 
ngs  which  accompanied  their  flight,  be- 
;ause  of  their  nor  meeting  any  one,  save  an 
old  woman,  driving  her  pig  to  the  next  town, 
who  fled  opposite  both  ways  over  the  heath, 
as  soon  as  Dapple  and  Jack  became  visible, 
and  both  the  horses,  being  horribly  tired  of 
;he  exertions  they  had  made,  never  having 
jeing  so  put  to  it  all  their  lives  before,  they 
gradually  slackened  their  speed  till  each 
resumed  the  sober  pace  with  which  he  had 
started. 

John  Hall  looked  for  his  attendant,  and 
spying  him  at  the  customary  distance,  with- 
out a  word  said,  for  from  a  natural  shyness 

was  not  much  given  to  speech  with  any 
one,  he  returned  into  the  train  of  studious 
reflection  the  running  away  of  his  goodly 
steed  interrupted.  Simon  Stockfish  belie1' 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


37 


hia  charge  in  safety ;  and  he  was  so  con- 
tent, he  also,  without  any  manner  of  diffi- 
culty, and  with  as  little  commodity  of  phrase, 
fell  again  into  thinking  of  the  dangers 
that  threatened  his  young  master,  whereof 
the  imminent  one,  from  which  he  had  but 
now  escaped,  he  marvelled  hugely  he  had 
not  expected. 

So  intent  did  they  soon  become  in  their 
several  thoughts  as  to  be  totally  regardless 
of  all  around.  The  student  of  medicine 
was  canvassing,  in  his  mind,  the  question 
whether  Galen  or  Hippocrates  were  the  bet- 
.ter  authority  in  the  treatment  of  fevers, 
when,  of  a  sudden,  he  felt  himself  rudely 
seized  by  the  arm  and  leg,  and  in  a  moment 
was  on  the  ground,  and  completely  in  the 
power  of  two  exceeding  suspicious-looking 
tatterdemalions.  Simon  Stockfish,  at  the 
same  time,  was  cudgelling  of  his  brains  to 
find  the  best  method  of  securing  his  young 
charge  in  safety  to  his  journey's  end,  when 
he  was  pounced  on  in  a  like  manner ;  and, 
ere  he  could  touch  a  weapon,  was  complete- 
ly at  the  mercy  of  his  rude  captors. 

The  incautious  travellers  looked  mon- 
strously astonished,  as  may  readily  be  sup- 
posed, at  finding  of  themselves  in  a  situa- 
tion so  little  to  be  coveted.  They  had  not 
noticed  that  darkness  was  fast  approaching, 
and  they  seemed  to  have  been  quite  regard- 
less of  the  many  miles  of  desolate  heath 
they  had  to  pass  ere  they  could  arrive  at  the 
place  appointed  for  their  night's  lodging.  It 
standeth  to  reason  also,  that  they  were 
equally  ignorant  of  the  neighborhood  of  the 
rude  knaves  who  had  so  suddenly  sprung 
upon  them  out  of  a  hollow  made  by  digging 
for  sand,  that  was  close  upon  their  path, 
where  they  apparently  had  lain  in  ambush. 

Neither  spoke  a  word,  their  ordinary  po- 
verty of  speech  being  in  no  way  improved 
by  the  unexpected  peril  in  which  they  found 
themselves,  but  gazed  with  looks  made  up 
of  astonishment,  doubt,  and  fear,  at  eacli  of 
the  scowling,  villanous  countenances  of 
which  they  liad  just  made  the  unwelcome 
acquaintance.  Nothing  there  were  they 
likely  to  find  to  afford  them  comfort  of  any 
sort ;  nor,  from  a  glance  of  their  soiled, 
patched,  and  rent  apparelling,  could  it  be 
supposed  they  would  gain  any  greater  de- 
gree of  contentation.  And  when  their  eyes 
met  the  threatening  weapons,  each  villian 
held  over  them  huge  knives  and  heavy 
clubs,  they  presently  gave  themselves  up  to 
be  as  dead  men  as  ever  were  measured  for 
their  coffins. 

It  was  not  long  before  their  rude  captors 
proved  to  them  what  little  benefit  they  were  , 
like  to  receive  at  their  hands  ;  for,  with  di-  ( 


vers  horrible  oaths  and  demands  to  each, 
which  were  but  too  intelligible  to  them,  and 
with  sundry  strange  phrases  to  each  other, 
neither  Simon  nor  his  young  master  could 
tell  the  meaning  of,  they  took  to  plundering 
them,  the  which  they  did  with  such  famous 
expedition,  that  in  a  minute  or  so,  man  and 
master  were  as  naked  as  ever  they  were 
born. 

After  some  discourse,  however,  amongst 
themselves,  the  robbers  made  them  put  on 
garments  they  threw  off  for  that  purpose  ; 
and  when  the  young  physician  had  got  his 
legs  into  a  pair  of  greasy  slops  big  enough 
for  a  Hollander,  and  a  tattered  jerkin,  that 
looked  to  have  been  measured  for  the  Colos- 
sus of  Rhodes,  and  Simon  Stockfish  had 
placed  over  his  limbs  a  suit  of  faded  velvet, 
exceedingly  ragged,  patched,  and  soiled, 
that  might  have  suited  one  half  his  size, 
they  were  savagely  bid  to  go  with  their 
plunderers,  on  their  peril  making  any  noise 
or  attempting  to  escape. 

All  then  left  the  ordinary  road,  and  struck 
into  a  narrow  track,  numbers  of  which  ap- 
peared to  traverse  the  heath,  crossing  each 
other  in  all  directions  ;  and  this  they  follow- 
ed, through  the  innumerable  windings 
whereof  it  seemed  to  consist,  for  a  good 
mile,  keeping  a  perfect  silence  the  whilst. 
To  prisoners  so  surrounded,  escape  was 
out  of  the  question.  They  came,  at  last,  to 
a  stagnant  pond,  whereat  they  halted  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  one  of  the  knaves,  on  whose  vis- 
age gallows  was  written  in  as  legible  char- 
acters as  ever  were  met  with,  put  his 
knuckles  to  his  mouth  and  blew  so  shrill  a 
whistle,  it  seemed  to  Simon  and  his  master 
to  pierce  their  very  ears.  This  had  scarce 
been  done  when,  at  a  great  distance,  an- 
other was  heard  in  reply.  John  Hall  look- 
ed in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  but 
nothing  met  his  eye  but  a  wide  expanse  of 
heath,  all  beyond  being  wrapped  in  mist  that 
looked  as  though  it  would  shortly  shroud 
the  whole  neighborhood  in  darkness. 

At  this  the  thieves  turned  into  another 
bye-path,  two  of  their  company,  as  before, 
riding  the  tired  steeds  of  their  disconsolate 
captives,  and  the  others  keeping  close  to 
their  elbows.  Having  proceeded  thus,  nigh 
upon  a  quarter  of  a  mile  without  sight  or 
sound,  beyond  what  hath  already  been  des- 
cribed, Simon  Stockfish  was  startled  by  the 
sudden  rising  from  the  ground  close  behind 
him,  where  he  had  hitherto  lain  concealed 
in  the  thick  fern  that  grew  there,  a  boy,  who 
appeared  scarcely  to  have  reached  his  tenth 
year.  His  visage  was  exceeding  dusky, 
with  piercing  black  eyes,  and  having  an 
abundance  of  dark  hair  hanging  confusedly 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


about  his  neck  and  shoulders.  His  feet  and 
legs  were  bare,  his  head  without  covering  of 
any  sort,  and  such  pitiful  rags  as  he  had  on 
could  barely  be  called  garments. 

Saying  something  which  was  very  He- 
brew to  the  captives,  but  was  answered  in 
a  like  jargon  by  one  of  their  dishonest  com- 
panions, the  child  instantly  made  a  loud 
noise  so  like  the  barking  of  a  shepherd's 
dog,  that  the  young  student  of  mediclm 
imagined  some  animal  of  the  sort  was  at 
his  heels.  He  had  not  done  this  a  minute 
when  a  like  cry  was  heard  at  a  distance — 
the  boy  then  dropped  at  his  length  into  the 
fern  as  quickly  as  he  had  risen  from  it,  and 
the  rest  proceeded  along  a  path  scarcely 
visible.  They  met  with  no  one,  and  little 
likelihood  was  there,  as  it  seemed  to  the 
poor  distressed  prisoners,  of  such  meeting  ; 
when,  as  they  came  under  an  ancient  tree 
whereof  a  few  branches  bore  leaves  its 
withered  stem  gave  no  sign  of,  a  shaggy 
grey  head  and  grizzly  beard  were  thrust 
out  of  the  rotten  trunk,  and  the  leader  of 
the  party  was  addressed  in  the  same  strange 
language  that  Simon  Stockfish  and  his 
young  master  had  so  recently  heard. 

Some  conversation  followed  betwixt  the 
confederates,  whereupon  the  person  in  the 
hollow  tree  took  to  hooting  like  an  owl, 
which  he  did  so  to  the  life,  any  one  might 
have  believed  an  owl  was  close  at  hand. 
The  sound  had  hardly  been  uttered,  when  it 
was  replied  to  as  though  a  similar  bird 
was  not  far  off,  and  then,  with  a  few  unin- 
telligible words,  which  doubtless  comprised 
Borne  direction,  the  grizzly  head  and  beard 
were  withdrawn  into  the  tree,  and  once 
more  the  party  proceeded. 

They  went  not  a  hundred  yards  before 
they  approached  a  deep  sand-pit,  concealed 
from  view  till  any  one  came  close  upon  it, 
by  thick  brushwood  growing  all  around  the 
brink.  The  leader  pushed  his  way  through 
this,  by  a  track  it  looked  impossible  could 
be  discovered  by  any  who  knew  it  not. 
All  at  once  a  voice  demanded  something, 
and  so  close  at  hand  was  it,  it  appeared  to 
come  from  amongst  them,  yet  was  no  one 
visible,  notwithstanding  both  the  captives 
glanced  in  all  directions.  A  reply  was  given 
by  the  one  who  had  acted  as  leader,  and 
shortly  after  John  Hall  and  his  serving-man 
found  themselves  descending  a  narrow  zig- 
zag path  of  great  steepness.  The  barking 
of  dogs  below  became  now.  audible  even  to 
the  deafest  of  the  party  ;  and  then  the  deep 
voice  of  a  man  calling  them  roughly  to  hold 
their  peace. 

As  they  got  lower  down,  they  might  have 
beheld  two  or  three  tents  of  soiled  and 


patched  canvas,  rendered  almost  black  by 
long  exposure  to  all  sorts  of  weathers.  Then 
in  one  place  there  was  perceptible  a  huge 
fire  ourning,  with  a  monstrous  kettle  over 
it,  and  several  figures  grouped  around ; 
further  off,  a  large  mastiff-bitch  chained  to 
a  stake,  with  two  or  three  meaner  dogs  at 
large  close  by,  barking  with  all  their  might, 
till  a  terrible  tall  fellow  left  the  fire,  and 
with  a  huge  whip  belabored  them  so  heart- 
ily, it  stopped  their  tune  presently  ;  never- 
theless, as  the  strangers  approached,  they 
one  and  all  kept  ever  and  anon  snapping, 
snarling  and  growling,  as  though,  as  they 
dared,  they  would  do  them  some  horrible 
mischief. 

Upon  reaching  level  ground,  the  thieves 
and  their  prisoners  were  welcomed  with  a 
riotous  chorus  of  shouts  and  acclamations, 
sundry  scurvy  jests  were  passed  and  an- 
swered, but  no  violence  was  offered  to  the 
captives  save  by  an  old  hag,  who  was  su- 
perintending the  cookery,  and  hit  Simon 
Stockfish  a  smart  blow  over  his  pate  with  a 
wooden  ladle  she  held  in  her  baud,  because 
he  replied  not  to  some  question  of  hers,  he 
could  not  understand  a  word  of,  the  which 
seemed  exquisite  pleasant  sport  to  divers  of 
her  associates  of  both  sexes,  for  they  set  up 
a  loud  laugh.  The  clamor  they  made 
suddenly  brought  out  of  the  bettermost  of 
the  tents  a  person  who  had  evidently  some 
authority  over  them,  for,  as  soon  as  they 
heard  his  voice,  as  it  appeared  abusing 
them  for  creating  of  such  a  din,  they  at  cnoe 
became  as  dumb  as  fishes,  and  slunk  out  of 
the  way  as  quietly  as  they  could. 

This  man  by  his  look  and  bearing  assum- 
ed to  be  of  a  superior  sort.  He  was  of  a 
dark  visage,  somewhat  of  the  Moorish  cast, 
with  beard  and  hair  of  a  deep  black,  and 
eyes  of  a  like  tint,  but  so  terribly  piercing, 
the  horriblest  swaggerer  that  ever  was  stvn 
in  Finsbury  Fields  must  have  been  awed  by 
a  glance  of  them.  In  figure  he  was  as 
well  limbed  as  the  finest  gallant  at  Court, 
and  though  his  apparelling  was  nothing 
more  than  a  stout  suit  of  buckram,  it  sat 
on  him  better  than  did  the  prodigalest  show 
of  braveries  on  many  of  greater  state.  He 
looked  not  to  be  more  than  thirty  at  the 
most,  and  was  in  the  full  pride  of  vigorous 
manhood,  tall,  stout  of  limb,  with  an  eye 
like  a  hawk,  and  the  tread  of  a  conqueror. 

Examining  the  strangers  with  a  search- 
ing glance,  as  he  approached  them,  he 
sharply  addressed  the  man  who  had  appear- 
ed the  leader  of  the  party  by  whom  they 
had  been  attacked.  The  answer  he  re- 
ceived seemed  only  to  set  him  on  a  severer 
scrutiny,  and  he  regarded  the  student  of  medi- 


, 


SECRET  PA 


33 


^rc  T 
cinefor  a  few  moments  in  silence.    His 

black  brows  at  first  were  knit  fiercely,  and 
his  swarthy  visage  wore  an  aspect  of  mis- 
trust and  disquietude ;  but  as  his  gaze 
rested  on  the  pale,  thoughtful  countenance 
of  John  Hall,  his  look  grew  gradually  less 
threatening,  until  there  appeared  in  it  so 
much  of  sympathy  as  would  have  given 
confidence  to  the  youth  had  he  observed  it. 
This,  however,  he  could  not  have  done,  see- 
ing that,  with  a  sense  of  apprehension  his 
situation  gave  some  warrant  for,  as  soon  as 
he  beheld  the  flashing  eyes  of  the  person  so 
intently  observing  him,  he  fixed  his  own  on 
the  ground. 

The  other  then  turned  his  gloomy  visage 
towards  Simon  Stockfish,  but  the  honest 
Berving-man  shrunk  not  from  his  fiery  gaze, 
as  his  master  had.  He  put  his  ordinary 
grave  face  on  tho  matter,  as  though  he  was 
as  much  at  home  under  such  sharp  glances 
as  under  the  mild  looks  of  the  studious 
youth  beside  him.  Nevertheless  was  his 
mind  exceedingly  busy. 

"  How  now,  knave  !"  exclaimed  he  of  the 
dusky  visage,  finding  the  man  kept  a  coun- 
tenance under  his  scrutiny,  as  if  it  was  iron 
or  stone,  and  took  not  his  eyes  off  for  a  sin- 
gle moment.  "  I'll  warrant  thou5!!  know  me 
again  after  this  long  perusal  of  me."  Si- 
mon still  steadily  gazed  on  the  terrible 
bright  eyes  before  him,  but  said  never  a 
word. 

"Fool !"  continued  the  man,  savagely 
enraged  as  much  at  Simon's  taciturnity  as 
at  his  indifference  to  his  threatening  looks. 
"  Hast  never  a  tongue  in  thy  head  ?  Speak, 
fellow,  or  I'll  have  thy  coxcomb  mauled  in 
such  fashion  as  will  make  thee  have  cause 
to  hold  me  in  remembrance  thy  life  long." 

"  What  dost  want  of  me  ?"  asked  the 
other,  in  a  quiet  tone  without  altering  his 
features  a  jot. 

'"  I'faith,  not  much,  seeing  that  my  hawks 
have  left  not  a  feather  on  thee  worth  pluck- 
ing," replied  his  questioner,  a  smile  passing 
over  his  comely  features.  "  I  merely  seek 
at  thy  hands  some  small  intelligence,  which 
thou  hadst  best  give,  and  give  quickly. 
Whence  comest  thou,  and  where  art  going  ?" 

Simon  Stockfish  paused  ere  he  answer- 
ed. He  thought  that  the  safety  of  his  be- 
loved master's  only  son  now  depended  on  his 
prudence,  and  was  determined  to  be  won- 
derfully cautious,  that  nothing  he  said 
should  bring  the  youth  into  any  jeopardy- 

"  I  came  whence  I  was  sent,"  said  Simon, 
very  quietly,  "  and  I  am  going  on  a  lawful 
journey." 

"  Why,  thou  peremptory  slave,  dost  dare 
give  such  words  to  me !"  exclaimed  the 


. 

other,  his  dark  visage  instantly  becoming  a 

thousand  times  more  gloomy. 

It  was  evident  that  Simon's  notions  of 
prudence  were  of  a  strange  sort.  However, 
he  now  thought  to  anger  a  man  in  whose 
power  his  young  master  was,  ought  to  be 
avoided,  and,  by  a  plan  that  looked  to  him 
wondrous  politic,  he  sought  to  put  himself 
on  better  terms  with  him. 

"  I  ask  not  thy  business,  and  see  not  why 
thou  shouldst  demand  mine,"  observed  the 
serving-man,  with  his  ordinary  gravity, 
"  notwithstanding  there  be  divers  thy  very 
worshipful  good  friends,  to  whom  any  cer- 
tain intelligence  of  thee  would  be  right  wel- 
come, or  I  am  hugely  mistaken." 

"  Ha  !  dost  know  me,  fellow  ?" 

"  Exceeding  well,"  answered  Simon,  dis- 
regarding the  angry  scowl  now  fixed  on 
him.  "  Thou  art  Black  Sampson,  king  of 
the  gipsies — at  least,  so  thou  wert  called  at 
the  'sizes,  where  I  saw  thee  tried  for  sheep- 
stealing — but  I  was  heartily  glad  afterwards 
when  1  heard,  by  the  Hue  and  Cry,  that 
thou  hadst  broke  prison  the  day  before  .they 
were  to  have  hanged  thee." 

Simon  Stockfish  was  not  a  whit  happier 
in  his  notions  of  what  was  politic,  than  he 
found  he  had  been  in  his  ideas  of  prudence. 
The  scowl  of  the  recognized  gipsy  grew 
every  moment  more  threatening,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  fearfully,  when  he  heard  the 
ignominious  fate  alluded  to,  which  had  so 
nearly  overtaken  him.  With  a  horrible 
imprecation,  he  seized  the  astonished  ser- 
ving-man by  the  throat — and  it  looked  at 
first  terribly  as  though  he  would  throttle  him, 
but  he  suddenly  gave  him  a  swing  that  sent 
him  forcibly  to  the  earth,  several  paces  dis- 
tant from  where  he  had  stood,  and,  after 
shouting  in  a  savage  mood,  some  directions 
to  his  lawless  associates,  Black  Sampson 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  presently  disappear- 
ed within  the  tent  whence  he  had  come. 

The  command  was  obeyed  almost  as  soon 
as  uttered,  and  the  hapless  travellers  found 
themselves  rudely  seized,  and  their  hands 
tightly  bound  behind  them  by  a  group  of  the 
most  villanous,  hang-dog,  rascal  thieves  that 
could  be  met  with  any  where.  John  Hall 
had  heard  all  that  had  passed,  but  was  so 
taken  by  surprise,  he  could  make  no  interfe- 
rence in  behalf  of  his  thoughtless  compan- 
ion, and  suffered  himself  to  be  roughly 
handled  by  the  gipsies  without  either  com- 
plaint or  resistance. 


40 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

Why,  thou  simple  parish  ass,  thou,  didst  thou 
never  see  any  gipsies  ?  These  are  a  covey  of 
gipsies,  and  the  bravest  new  covey  that  ever 
constable  flew  at. 

BEN  JONSON. 
For,  when  Dame  Nature  first 

Had  framde  hir  heavenly  face, 
And  thoroughly  bedecked  it 

With  goodly  gleames  of  grace, 
It  lyked  her  so  well ; 

Lo  here,  quod  she,  a  piece 
For  perfect  shape  that  passeth  all 
Apelles1  work  in  Greece. 

GASCOIGNE. 

THE  two  sat  for  some  time  on  the  ground 
in  silence,  with  reflections  none  of  the  plea- 
santest.  All  the  gang  appeared  to  have  left 
them,  when  they  had  grown  tired  of  the 
pastime  they  had  found  in  their  unresisting 
victims.  Jeers  unanswered,  and  ill-usage 
unresisted,  soon  becomes  sorry  sport :  and, 
after  the  roughest  of  their  company  had  put 
them  within  the  length  of  the  savage  mas- 
tiff-bitch, saying  of  certain  words  to  the 
brute — which  she  seemed  to  understand  on 
the  instant,  for  she  crouched  down  and 
fixed  her  eyes  on  them,  as  though,  moved 
they  an  inch,  she  would  tear  them  to  pieces 
— they  drew  off,  all  of  them  to  another  part 
of  the  pit. 

The  young  student,  by  degrees,  recovered 
from  the  amazement  and  fear  in  which  he 
had  been  thrown,  and  began  to  consider  the 
perilous  situation  in  which  he  was  placed. 
He  had  ascertained  that  he  was  a  prisoner 
in  an  encampment  of  the  Rommanees,  or 
gipsies.  Of  their  leader  he  had  heard,  for 
his  name  was  the  terror  of  all  the  country 
round  for  twenty  miles.  He  was  called 
Sampson,  from  his  huge  strength,  and 
Black,  from  his  dark  visage ;  and  this  name 
was  as  well  known  in  cottage  and  hall  as 
Guy  of  Warwick,  or  Robin  Hood.  He  had 
the  subtlety  of  the  fox,  and  daring  of  the 
lion  ;  and  so  skilfully  did  he  commit  his  de- 
predations, that  nothing  could  be  traced  to 
him,  although  there  never  was  any  hesita- 
tion in  pronouncing  Black  Sampson  to  be 
the  malefactor. 

There  was  much  of  mystery  and  romance 
in  the  tales  that  were  circulated  over  thecoun- 
try  about  him,  which  his  handsome  features, 
noble  figure,  and  courteous  bearing  of  him- 
self, whenever  at  fairs  and  wakes  he  chose 
to  mingle  with  the  villagers  and  townsfolks 
such  festivals  always  brought  together,  were 
sure  to  increase.  He  won  all  the  prizes 
at  cudgel-play,  wrestling,  and  all  country 
eports  whatever;  and  he  had  ever  borne 


his  good  fortune  with  such  exceeding  good- 
humor,  it  seldom  gave  umbrage  to  any.  It 
so  chanced,  however,  that  his  ordinary  good 
fortune  once  forsook  him — not  in  games, 
for  that  would  not  have  mattered  so  much, 
but  in  crime. 

There  was  a  shepherd  on  a  neighboring 
farm  named  Wattie  Elliott,  from  over  the 
border,  as  fine  a  fellow  of  his  inches  as  the 
race  of  Elliotts  ever  boasted  of.  He  had 
missed  one  of  his  flock.  Nothing  could  ex- 
ceed his  vigilance  and  care,  yet  it  was  barely 
a  week  when  he  missed  another. 

Wattie  had  many  reasons  for  wishing 
to  capture  the  depredator  of  his  master's 
flock.  His  own  honesty  might  be  suspect- 
ed, were  the  knave  allowed  to  escape  with 
his  booty  a  third  time.  He  was  as  certain 
Black  Sampson  was  the  thief  as  he  was  of 
his .  own  existence,  and  his  inclination  to 
catch  him  was  wonderfully  sharpened  by 
the  recollection  of  the  broken  head  he  got 
of  him  at  the  last  cudgel-play.  Wattie  was 
a  shrewd  fellow,  and  feared  nothing  in 
human  shape,  and  he  had  a  son  now  close 
upon  manhood,  as  strong,  as  active,  as  sharpj 
and  as  bold  as  himself,  on  whose  crown 
Black  Sampson  had  left  a  similar  token  of 
his  mastery  at  cudgelling. 

The  father  and  son  kept  watch  almost 
day  and  night,  and  put  in  practice  certain 
notable,  clever  schemes  for  the  detection  of 
the  sheepstealer  ;  but  the  king  of  the  gipsies 
was  a  match  for  both  of  them  ;  and  tired,  as 
it  were,  of  their  useless  labors,  they  seemed 
all  at  once  to  slacken  in  their  vigilance. 
They  gave  out  they  were  going  that  night 
to  the  next  town  to  bring  an  addition  to 
their  master's  flocks  he  had  purchased  of  a 
farmer  there,  leaving  their  place  to  be  filled 
by  a  lad,  whose  carelessness  was  well 
known,  and  were  seen  at  dusk  proceeding 
in  the  direction  they  had  stated. 

Two  hours  afterwards,  whilst  the  boy  was 
intently  amusing  himself  hunting  water-rats, 
a  man  was  stealthily  approaching  the  folded 
flock.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  caution  he 
exhibited  as  he  crept  along  the  shadow  of 
the  hedges,  stopping  frequently  to  listen. 
Save  the  bleating  of  the  sheep,  he  could 
hear  nothing  but  the  barking  of  the  dog,  set 
on  by  the  boy  to  catch  the  vermin,  and  his 
occasional  shouting — but  both  boy  and  dog 
were  completely  hid  from  view. 

After  awhile,  he  lightly  threw  himself 
over  the  gate,  and  discovered  his  prey  in  the 
adjoining  field,  to  get  at  which  there  waa 
but  one  way — by  leaping  the  only  part  of 
the  fence  that  was  not  impassable.  He 
was  the  best  leaper  in  the  whole  country 
round  ;  but  the  high  thick  hedge  and  deep 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ditch  that  surrounded  the  field,  except  in 
this  place,  was  not  to  be  attempted. 

Before  leaping  it,  he  seemed  to  think  it 
necessary  to  examine  the  other  side,  and, 
by  great  difficulty,  attained  such  a  place  on 
the  bank,  that  he  had  a  full  view  of  the 
place  where  he  must  alight,  and  the  sheep 
close  at  hand,  in  the  most  convenient  place 
possible  for  abstracting  one  without  attract- 
ing attention.  After,  as  it  seemed,  satisfy- 
ing his  extreme  caution,  he  went  a  few 
paces  back,  took  a  quick  run,  and  sprung 
over  the  gap  without  touching  a  twig; 
nevertheless,  on  coming  to  the  ground,  the 
turf  broke  from  under  him,  and  he  found 
himself  in  a  pit  that  had  with  extreme  cun- 
ning been  prepared  by  the  vigilant  shepherds. 

"  Hurrah  !  We  ha'  gotten  him  at  last !" 
shouted  the  elder  Elliott,  springing  from  his 
concealment  in  the  branches  of  a  pollard, 
close  on  the  spot,  at  the  same  moment  with 
his  equally  active  son ;  and  then  both  flung 
themselves  upon  the  athletic  gipsy.  "Hold 
thee  grip,  lad !  Hold'n  fast !  Body  and 
bones,  keep'n  under  thee  !" 

There  was  a  fearful  struggle.  The  gipsy 
was  taken  at  a  disadvantage ;  but  never  was 
his  immense  strength  seen  so  palpably  as 
in  his  efforts  to  throw  off  of  him  his  two 
powerful  assailants.  They  held  him  as 
dogs  do  a  bnll — the  father  encouraging  his 
son,  and  the  son  putting  forth  all  his 
strength  to  assist  his  parent.  A  few  impre- 
cations only  burst  from  the  detected  sheep- 
stealer,  as  he  strove  with  the  force  of  a 
giant  to  free  himself  from  the  grasp  of  the 
shepherds.  The  perspiration  stood  in  big 
drops  on  his  dusky  forehead,  and  every  limb 
was  strained  till  the  flesh  seemed  to  take  on 
itself  the  hardness  of  iron. 

Young  Wattie  Elliott  appeared  to  dis- 
commode the  struggling  gipsy  the  most.  He 
had  obtained  a  powerful  hold,  in  which  he 
commanded  both  his  captive's  arms,  and  the 
tremendous  exertions  the  latter  made  to  roll 
over  him,  and  free  his  pinioned  limbs,  were 
baffled  by  the  young  man's  caution  and 
strength. 

"  Ha  !  Sampson,  my  mon,"  said  old 
Elliott,  "  thou  art  in  the  grip  o'  the  Philis- 
tines, and  if  thou  dost  ever  get  free,  except 
with  the  hangman's  help,  thou  mayst  split 
thy  wame  with  laughing  at  all  o'  the  name 
o'  Elliott." 

"Ha!  ha!"  shouted  the  gipsy,  in  tones 
like  some  devil  incarnate,  as  the  scream  of 
death  from  the  youth,  who  had  held  him  so 
long  and  well,  mingled  with  it.  "  That 
laugh  thou  hast  now  heard  !"  He  had  at 
last,  by  one  desperate  effort,  disengaged  his 
right  arm  from  the  young  shepherd's  em- 


brace, and  in  the  next  moment  the  knife  the 
sheep-stealer  had  in  his  girdle  was  buried 
in  the  heart  of  his  hrave  opponent. 

But  the  homicide  was  not  free.  The 
hold  young  Elliott  had  had  of  the  gipsy  was 
still  unloosened,  and  all  in  vain  were  the 
tremendous  struggles  the  latter  made  to 
shake  it  off,  that  he  might,  have  the  better 
chance  of  escaping  from  the  father,  which 
he  doubted  not  he  could  now  easily  do.  Old 
Elliott,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  son's 
blood,  raised  a  piercing  cry  of  agony,  and 
sprung  upon  his  murderer  with  the  fury  of 
a  maniac. 

He  struck  at  him  with  his  clenched  fists, 
tore  his  hair,  dashed  his  head  against  the 
earth,  as  regardless  of  the  severe  wounds 
he  received  from  the  villain's  knife  as  though 
they  inconvenienced  him  not  at  all.  Per- 
haps, loss  of  blood  might  at  last  have  weak- 
ened his  efforts,  but  the  fearful  cry  he  had 
uttered  brought  to  his  assistance  some  hinds 
who  were,  according  to  the  plan  he  had  de- 
vised for  the  capture  of  the  sheep-stealer, 
on  their  way  to  join  him,  and  the  murderous 
efforts  of  Black  Sampson  were  at  once  put 
a  stop  to  by  a  stunning  blow  on  the  head 
from  the  heavy  staff  of  the  first  who  reached 
the  spot. 

The  li ving  Wattie  Elliott  was  with  great 
difficulty  drawn  from  the  unequal  conflict, 
and  he  had^hardly  been  placed  on  level 
ground  when  he  swooned  away :  but  it  was 
a  still  greater  difficulty  to  move  the  dead 
Elliott,  whose  hold  was  as  a  vice.  The 
strength  of  all  there  could  not  unclasp  the 
embrace  of  the  corpse,  and  it  was  not  till  they 
took  unusual  means  that  they  succeeded  in 
their  endeavors.  The  youth  had  done  his 
father's  bidding  in  a  terrible  earnest  fashion. 
He  nad  held  so  fast,  Black  Sampson  could 
not  have  released  himself  of  his  own  means 
had  he  strove  ever  so. 

The  gipsy  was  tried  for  the  murder,  not 
for  sheep-stealing,  as  Simon  Stockfish  had 
said — perchance  thinking  the  truth  might 
be  unpalatable — but,  as  the  serving- man 
had  rightly  declared,  had  escaped  from 
prison  the  day  preceding  that  appointed  for 
his  execution.  Wattie  Elliott  recovered  of 
his  wounds,  but  when  he  heard  the  mur- 
derer of  his  son  had  escaped,  he  swore  a 
deadly  oath  he  would  hunt  him  night  and 
day  until  he  had  had  his  heart's  blood. 

Black  Sampson,  previous  to  this,  had 
been,  as  hath  already  been  stated,  popular 
with  every  one  ;  but  now  he  dared  not  show 
his  face,  so  general  was  the  execration  in 
which  his  name  was  held.  In  truth,  he  had 
become  a  changed  man.  He  had  lost  his 
cheerful  humor,  that  had  made  him  such 


42 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


pleasant  company,  and  had  grown  gloomy, 
savage,  and  distrustful  of  all  around  him. 
Occasionally,  to  those  he  affected,  he  would 
appear  in  a  better  mood ;  but  he  was  ordi- 
narily sullen,  capricious,  and  given  to  fits  of 
ungovernable  passion. 

John  Hall  had  heard  what  hath  here  been 
stated,  and  kept  ruminating  on  these  matters 
without  drawing  from  them  anything  of 
pleasure  or  consolation.  Simon  Stockfish 
had  heard  all  this  and  much  more  to  boot. 
The  gossip  of  the  whole  country  round, 
concerning  certain  marvellous  adventures 
of  these  Rommanees,  in  which  figured  a 
most  lovely  creature  of  that  strange  race, 
and  was,  as  may  be  supposed,  the  subject 
of  infinite  speculation  to  such  as  could  get 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  her.  Simon's 
thoughts  were  busy  with  a  thousand  strange 
stories,  and  the  unpleasantness  they  created 
was  not  a  whit  lessened  by  the  behavior  of 
the  savage  brute  that  kept  guard  over  him 
and  his  young  master. 

There  seemed  such  a  fascination  in  the 
snake-like  eyes  of  the  mastiff-bitch,  that  he 
could  not  take  his  own  eyes  off  her.  To 
the  curious  spectator,  the  brute  might  have 
seemed  to  have  been  carved  out  of  the 
marble  stone,  so  motionless  did  she  stand  ; 
but  Simon  could  see  something  in  the 
steady  glare  of  her  organs  of  sight  he  felt 
assured  might  in  a  moment  prove — in  a 
manner  he  liked  not  at  all — that  not  only 
was  she  flesh  and  blood,  but  those  she  kept 
watch  over  were  of  a  like  material.  In 
sober  truth,  Simon  was  horribly  afraid  the 
the  fierce-looking  animal  would  spring  on 
him  and  tear  him  to  pieces  ;  therefore,  lor  a 
wonder,  his  thoughts  kept  no  longer  any 
account  of  his  young  master's  peril — his 
own  seeming  so  imminent  he  could  regard 
nothing  else. 

During  this  interval,  the  night  had  been 
gradually  closing  in,  and  the  only  light 
which  illumined  the  scene  was  from  the 
huge  fire,  where  stood  the  caldron  already 
alluded  to.  This  was  at  some  distance  from 
the  prisoners,  who  might  have  considered 
themselves,  but  for  the  watchful  mastiff  so 
unpleasantly  close  to  them,  quite  unregarded 
by  the  gipsy  brotherhood,  whom  they  could 
see  in  various  groups  ;  some  sitting,  some 
standing,  some  lying  their  lengths  on  the 
ground,  eating,  drinking,  playing  of  cards 
and  tric-trac,  but  all  taking  no  more  heed 
of  them  than  if  they  had  been  stocks  or 
stones.  They  could  also  hear  the  murmur 
of  their  conversation  one  with  another,  now 
shouting,  anon  laughing,  with  presently  a 
eilence  broken  only  by  one  a  whistling  a 


morrice,  or  some  other  mui  muring  of  a  pas 
sionate  ballad. 

How  long  this  state  of  things  might  have 
remained,  God  only  knoweth ;  but  to  the 
huge  comfort  of  Simon  Stockfish,  it  was 
suddenly  put  a  stop  to  by  the  re-appearance 
of  Black  Sampson,  who  strode  from'  the 
tent,  now  wearing  a  slouched  hat,  and  car- 
rying in  his  hand  a  stout  cudgel,  and  made 
direct  to  his  prisoners. 

"  1  am  sorry  you  have  met  with  molesta- 
tion, young  sir,"  observed  he,  directing  of 
his  speech  to  John  Hall,  with  a  courteous 
manner,  "  but  my  rascals  are  rough  and 
rude,  and  are  like  enough  to  meddle  with 
other  folks'  goods  in  a  way  that,  I  am  will- 
ing to  believe,  is  none  of  the  civilest.  Per- 
chance, some  amends  may  be  made  for  the 
hindrance  you  have  experienced." 

Here  he  busied  himself  awhile  in  un- 
fastening the  chain  of  the  mastiff,  who  by 
many  canine  demonstrations  testified  her 
delight  at  her  master's  presence. 

"I  would  be  right  glad,"  gravely  observed 
the  young  student,  "  to  be  put  in  a  way 
for  the  pursuing  of  my  journey  to  London." 

"  Ah,  that  he  would,  worthy  Master 
Sampson  —  God  he  knows,"  exclaimed 
Simon  Stockfish.  His  fears  relieved  by  the 
attention  of  the  mastiff  being  drawn  off  him, 
his  thoughts  turned  at  once  to  a  considera- 
tion of  the  proper  means  to  be  employed  for 
the  liberation  of  his  young  master,  and  he 
thought  it  would  be  admirable  policy  to  take 
advantage  of  Black  Sampson's  present 
amiable  mood. 

"  Hold  thy  malapert  tongue,  knave,  or  I'll 
give  thee  such  a  rubbing  down  with  this 
goodly  napkin,  as  shall  make  thee  infinitely 
careful  to  avoid  such  napery  the  rest  of  thy 
days." 

This  ominous  speech  from  the  murderer 
of  Wattie  Elliott,  assisted  by  a  significant 
flourish  of  the  very  formidable  weapon  he 
had  in  his  hand,  and  a  menacing  growl  from 
the  mastiff,  who  seemed  waiting  only  for  a 
signal  from  her  master  to  be  at  his  throat, 
made  Simon  Stockfish  quake  in  his  shoes. 

"  Nay,  I  meant  no  offence,  o'  my  life  !" 
cried  he,  in  as  humble  a  tone  as  he  could  put 
on,  "  and,  for  mine  own  part,  I  am  satisfied 
you  are  of  no  such  crabbed  disposition  as  I 
have  been  told  you  are,  and  that  Wattie 
Elliott's  rnurd " 

A  heavy  blow  on  the  head  stopped  the 
incautious  serving  man's  speech,  and  laid 
him  at  his  length  at  the  feet  of  the  enraged 
gipsy. 

"  'Sblood !"  exclaimed  he,  looking  to  be 
in  a  monstrous  passion.  "  Dost  think  I  will 
be  bearded  by  such  a  sorry  ass  as  thou  ?" 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


43 


Then,  turning  to  divers  of  his  company,  who 
were  approaching  the  spot,  attracted  doubt- 
less by  their  leader's  violence,  he  shouted. 
"  Keep  me  these  hated  Busne  in  close  prison 
till  I  return  ;  and,  mark  me,  an  they  seek  to 
escape,  cut  their  villanous  throats."  A 
moment  after  he  had  unloosed  the  dog,  and 
was  seen  with  her  rapidly  bounding  up  the 
path  that  led  out  of  the  pit. 

It  was  some  time  before  Simon  Stockfish 
recovered  from  the  stunning  blow  he  had 
received,  and  then  he  found  himself  stretch- 
ed on  his  back,  on  a  rude  sort  of  bed  made 
of  fern,  that  was  in  one  of  the  tents,  his 
head  bound  up,  and  his  arm  bandaged.  There 
was  a  dull,  aching  pain  in  his  head,  and  a 
strange  feeling  of  sickness,  but  this  was  all 
the  inconvenience  he  experienced.  As  he 
opened  his  eyes,  they  fell  on  the  'anxious 
countenance  of  his  young  master,  who  was 
standing  over  him  in  his  own  proper  gar- 
ments, feeling  his  pulse.  The  only  other 
person  in  the  place  was  an  old  crone,  who, 
by  the  lamp  she  carried  in  her  hand,  he 
could  observe  was  of  the  peculiar  dark  vi- 
sage of  the  wandering  people,  into  whose 
power  they  had  fallen,  and  was  dressed 
somewhat  in  the  Eastern  fashion,  though 
her  apparelling  was  of  the  coarsest.  She, 
too,  was  regarding  him  ;  and  with  an  ex- 
ceeding curiousness. 

"  I  doubt  not,  with  my  teaching,  thou 
wouldst  in  time  become  a  skilful  leech,"  ob- 
served she,  turning  to  John  Hall,  on  noticing 
the  signs  of  recovery  in  his  fellow-captive. 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  good  dame  !"  courteously 
replied  the  young  physician.  "  Thou 
seemest  especially  well  versed  in  the  treat- 
ment of  green  wounds,  and  in  the  employ- 
ment of  simples  of  all  kinds." 

"  I  warrant  you,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
very  evident  satisfaction  in  herself,  "  and 
where  wouldst  seek  such  knowledge,  if  not 
from  Rujia,  the  mother  of  the  Rommanees, 
to  whom  for  three-score  years  the  heavenly 
influences  have  been  made  more  familiar 
than  to  any  other  of  our  tribe,  since  we 
wandered  from  the  sunny  clime  wherein,  as 
our  traditions  tell,  we  were  a  mighty  people. 
But  thou  hast  thyself  not  been  unattentive 
to  the  marvels  that  are  continually  around 
thee.  It  was  well  for  this  poor  Busno  thou 
wert  by,  or  the  stroke  of  our  chief  would 
have  spoiled  him  for  this  world.  As  the 
stars  may  witness  for  me,  though  I  have  had 
to  mend  much  of  his  marring,  I  have  not  had 
one  instance  of  such  eminent  mischief  as 
this  looked  to  be." 

At  this  moment,  a  gipsy  woman  hastily 
entered  the  tent,  looking  wondrously  dis- 
turbed, and,  after  some  few  words  passed 


between  them  in  their  strange  language, 
she,  who  had  called  herself  Ruj  a,  placing 
the  lamp  in  the  hand  of  the  young  student", 
and  bidding  him  give  the  wounded  man  a 
posset  she  had  just  before  made  for  him, 
followed  the  one  who  had  summoned  her 
out  of  the  tent. 

John  Hall  quietly  put  in  practice  the  di- 
rections he  had  heard,  and  Simon  Stockfish 
as  quietly  submitted  to  them  ;  but  the  one 
could  not  keep  from  reflecting  upon  the 
knowledge  he  had  got  of  simple  surgery 
from  the  ancient  gipsy-woman's  discourse, 
as  she  assisted  him  in  dressing  the  wound  of 
his  luckless  attendant ;  and  much  he  mar- 
velled that  neither  Hippocrates,  nor  Galen, 
nor  Mathias  Carnax,  nor  Alexius  Paedo- 
montanus,  nor  Canonherius,  nor,  in  short, 
any  writer  of  his  acquaintance,  ancient  or 
modern,  had  given  any  note  whatever  of 
such  things ;  whilst  the  other  marvelled  to 
find  himself  in  that  strange  place,  and  to 
hear  the  grave  discourse  that  had  just  pass- 
ed between  his  young  master  and  a  gipsy 
beldame.  After  indulging  in  all  manner  of 
inward  questioning  as  to  how  these  matters 
came  about,  he  arrived  at  the  interesting 
discovery  that  he  had  got  his  head  broke, 
for  not  being  sufficiently  mindful  of  his 
tongue,  just  as  the  posset  began  to  have  its 
proper  effect  upon  him,  and  thereupon  he 
tell  into  a  sound  sleep. 

John  Hall  sat  himself  down  on  a  stool 
that  was  there,  over-against  his  patient,  and 
was  deeply  intent  on  a  volume  of  Aristotle 
he  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  carrying 
about  with  him — it  was  so  especial  a  favo- 
rite— when  his  studies  were  suddenly  broken 
in  upon  by  his  being  seized  by  the  arm,  and 
urgently  desired  to  go  on  the  instant,  with 
his  so  recent  instructress,  in  a  case  of  life  or 
death. 

The  book  of  the  young  physician  was  in 
his  pocket  in  a  moment,  and  he  in  readiness 
to  go  wherever  he  might  be  wanted.  After 
certain  hasty  injunctions,  seemingly  of  a 
mysterious  import,  which  did  not  in  any  way 
enlighten  him  as  to  the  nature  of  the  case 
that  demanded  his  assistance  so  urgently,  his 
guide  led  him  out  of  the  tent,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  found  himself  in  another,  in  all 
respects  a  direct  opposite  to  the  one  he  had 
left. 

It  was  furnished  not  only  with  all  manner 
of  comforts,  but  there  was  in  it  even  an  air 
of  luxury,  that,  as  may  be  supposed,  surprised 
him  greatly.  There  was  a  floor  of  boards, 
with  a  small  yet  rich  Turkey  carpet  in  the 
centre,  a  handsome  bedstead  quaintly  carved, 
with  chairs  of  a  like  pattern  covered  with 
velvet  Or-  »  table  near  the  bed,  both  of 


44 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


which  had  the  goodliest  covers  eye  ever  be- 
held, were  a  saver  lamp  burning,  of  very 
ancient  make,  as  was  also  the  deep  dish  of 
the  same  metal  close  to  it  with  dried  fruit, 
and  the  flask  which  stood  by  a  tall  Venetian 
glass.  On  one  of  the  chairs  was  a  lute,  and 
a  theorbo  stood  in  the  corner.  An  ewer 
and  basin  of  antique  china,  with  sundry 
articles  for  the  toilet,  were  on  a  further  table, 
having  on  it  the  whitest  of  napery ;  and  an 
empty  cradle,  with  furniture  of  a  like  white- 
ness, was  close  against  it.  Some  few  articles 
of  wearing  apparel  were  scattered  here  and 
there,  and  on  a  large  oak  chest  were  a  quar- 
ter staff  and  a  long  rapier. 

But  the  object  on  which  John  Hall's  at- 
tention was  quickly  engrossed  was  a  very 
beauteous  and  very  young  creature,  seeming 
in  age  to  be  but  a  child.  Yet  it  was  evident 
she  was  a  mother,  for  none  but  such  could 
exhibit  such  terrible  deep  grief  over  the  babe 
she  held  close  pressed  to  her  breast,  ever 
and  anon  unclosing  of  her  arms  to  gaze  at 
the  pallid  rigid  aspect  there  presented  to  her, 
and  then,  uttering  a  wild  cry  of  distress,  and 
pressing  the  senseless  infant  still  closer  to 
her  breast,  frantically  paced  about,  making 
of  all  manner  of  moving  exclamations. 

A  profusion  of  dark  glossy  hair  fell  in 
disorder  about  her  dusky  neck  and  shoulders ; 
she  was  divested  of  her  outer  garment,  and 
wore  but  a  sort  of  loose  jacket  and  petticoat, 
whereof  the  only  thing  worthy  of  note  was 
that  the  materials  were  exceedingly  fine  and 
white.  Yet  did  all  this  negligence  the 
greater  set  off  the  perfect  loveliness  of  her 
countenance  and  person.  Her  full  dark 
eyes  brimming  with  tenderness,  her  exqui- 
site rosy  mouth,  delicate  pearly  teeth,  her 
dainty  small  hands,  her  rounded  arms,  and 
tender  swelling  bosom,  were  all  apparent  to 
the  enamored  gaze ;  added  to  this,  she  show- 
ed a  pair  of  dusky  feet,  of  such  marvellous 
beauty,  the  sight  whereof  would  have  ravish- 
ed an  anchorite. 

The  young  physician  was  sufficiently 
amazed  at  what  he  saw.  He  gazed  curi- 
ously, and  with  no  slight  interest,  but  he 
would  have  done  the  like  had  this  exquisite 
object  been  created  of  marble  or  wood.  A 
few  words  from  Rujia  quickly  put  his  indif- 
ference to  a  hard  trial,  for  scarce  had  they 
been  uttered,  when  the  young  beauty  sud- 
denly rushed  to  him,  knelt  at  his  feet,  and, 
in  the  absolutest  passion  of  tears  and  prayers, 
besought  of  him  to  restore  to  her  the  babe. 

At  tliis  he  felt  woridrously  moved.  In- 
deed his  heart  beat  quicker,  and  a  moisture 
came  into  his  eyes  ;  and  he  was  so  confuset 
by  the  suddenness  and  energy  of  the  appeal. 
he  scarce  knew  what  he  would  be  at 


Nevertheless,  he  presently  became  himself 
Ike  a  grave  and  careful  physician,  made 
sertain  inquiries,  and  closely  examined  the 
state  of  his  little  patient.  As  the  mother 
'eared  it  was  dead,  infinite  was  the  conten- 
tion of  her,  when  he  pronounced  the  child 
;o  be  in  a  fit  only  ;  and,  when  he  bade  her 
to  be  of  good  cheer,  for  he  would  recover  it 
jresently,he  had  such  prodigal  store  of  blese- 
'ngs,  the  remembrance  of  them  brought  him 
;omfort  all  his  life  after. 

Thereupon  he  issued  his  orders  promptly, 
and  spoke  so  convincingly,  yet  so  modestly 
withal,  his  directions  were  followed  without 
a  question  or  doubt,  and  the  still  senseless 
hild  was  given  into  his  hands  by  the  young 
mother,  with  the  trust  of  her  entire  heart, 
to  be  done  with  as  he  thought  proper.  She 
watchetl  him,  however,  with  an  earnest 
attentiveness,  that  looked  as  though  her  own 
ife  hung  on  the  issue,  and  when,  after  the 
child  had  been  placed  in  a  vessel  of  hot 
water  for  some  minutes,  he  fetched  his 
jreath,  she  seemed  herself  to  breathe  for  the 
first  time. 

How  delightedly  she  beheld  the  color 
returning  to  the  pale  lips,  and  animation  to 
the  fixed  eyes,  words  have  no  power  to  tell. 
Her  joy,  however,  at  last  became  s"o  exces-  . 
sive,  that  on  the  young  physician's  declaring 
his  little  patient  to  be  fully  recovered,  ske, 
caught  hold  of  the  astonished  youth  by  the 
hand,  and  pressed  it  to  her  heart ;  then  she 
fetched  from  off  her  finger  a  ring  of  curious 
workmanship,  with  a  fair  stone  set  therein, 
and  placed  it  on  one  of  his,  with  wondrous 
.great  heaps  of  thanks  and  blessings,  and 
finally  she  snatched  her  child,  now  crying 
lustily  in  the  arms  of  Rujia,  who  was  intent 
on  dressing  it,  and,  after  a  prodigious  deal  of 
crying,  laughing,  and  caressing,  she  stilled 
its  cries  with  that  sweet  nourishment,  which 
Nature,  out  of  her  very  infinite  bounty, 
bestoweth  on  every  tender  mother. 

Whereupon  there  was  a  silence  of  some 
few  minutes.  John  Hall  was  so  bewildered, 
he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  power  of  speech  ; 
Rujia  busied  herself  in  striving  to  put  the 
place  in  some  order,  muttering  all  the  while  ; 
and  the  fond  young  mother  was  in  too  happy 
a  mood  to  speak.  After  a  few  minutes  the 
young  physician  became  aware  that  an  ani- 
mated conversation  was  going  on  betwixt 
his  two  companions,  and,  although  he  under- 
stood never  a  word  that  was  said,  the  youth 
could  perceive  by  many  signs  that  he  was 
the  subject  of  their  talk. 

Presently  he  was  courteously  asked  his 
name,  and  bid  to  show  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
whereupon  much  note  was  took  of  it  by  both 
women;  the  younger  in  especial  tracing  the 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


lines  upon  it  with  as  much  attentiveness  as 
concern. 

"  Thy  palm  telleth  but  a  sad  story,"  ob- 
served she.  "  Sore  trials  await  thee.  Thy 
heart  will  be  fiercely  wrung ;  but,  take 
courage,  sweetheart ;  though  there  be  much 
deep  suffering  denoted  in  these  lines,  there 
is  happiness  in  an  ample  measure  at  the  end. 
Nevertheless,  be  assured,  whatever  ill  be- 
tide thee,  Xariqua  is  thy  fast  friend,  and 
with  all  her  heart  will  help  thee  at  thy  need. 
I  prythee  take  my  best  wishes,  good  Master 
Hall,  and  be  not  overcast  when  thou  and 
misery  become  bedfellows.  When  thy  time 
cometh;  thy  good  fortune  will  be  so  great, 
all  thy  previous  suffering  must  be  considered 
as  of  no  account." 

Before  he  could  recover  from  his  surprise, 
the  old  gipsy  woman  had  led  him  out  of  that 
tent  into  the  one  he  had  previously  quitted. 

There  he  found  Simon  Stockfish  just 
awaking  from  a  refreshing  sleep,  and  when 
Rujia  bade  them  make  haste  as  they  loved 
their  lives  and  liberties,  the  faithful  serving- 
man  sprang  from  his  couch,  put  on  his  own 
garments,  which,  like  his  master's,  had  been 
restored,  and  declared  himself  ready  to  start 
that  moment.  He  had  experienced  such 
uncivil  treatment  since  he  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  bold  outlaws,  that  he  was 
right  glad  to  take  advantage  of  any  oppor- 
tunity that  offered  to  get  his  young  master 
away  from  such  rascally  company. 

Neither  was  John  Hall  loath  to  go. 
Nevertheless,  from  some  strange  cause  or 
another,  he  felt  exceeding  desirous  of  know- 
ing something  concerning  the  young  and 
beautiful  creature  with  whom  he  had  by 
such  singular  chance  become  acquainted. 
He  at  last  got  so  much  the  better  of  his 
natural  timidity  as  to  express  his  surprise, 
that  one  so  very  young  and  comely  should 
be  a  gipsy. 

It  would  doubtless  have  been  better  had 
he  held  his  peace,  for  it  brought  on  him  so 
fierce  a  torrent  of  abuse  from  the  old  hag, 
for  the  most  part  in  her  own  language,  and 
she  looked  so  savagely,  he  would  have  been 
right  glad  had  he  not  been  so  bold ;  but  when 
she  bade  them,  as  they  valued  their  wretched 
lives,  keep  close  on  her  footsteps,  for  she 
was  about  to  put  them  in  the  way  of  escape, 
adding  something  in  her  own  jargon  which, 
had  they  known  its  tendency,  they  would 
have  hesitated  trusting  themselves  with  her 
— they  gave  themselves,  without  a  word 
said,  entirely  to  her  guidance,  and  she  led 
them  quickly  yet  cautiously  from  the  tent, 
out  of  the  pit  by  a  path  different  from  the 
one  by  which  they  had  arrived.  They  saw 
not  a  creature  of  any  kind,  nor  heard  sign 


of  such,  till,  after  threading  a  very  narrow 
and  intricate  path,  they  came  to  a  green  hoi' 
low,  wherein,  to  the  infinite  great  joy  of 
Simon  Stockfish,  they  beheld  their  two  good- 
ly steeds,  Dapple  and  Jack,  whose  loss  had 
added  marvellously  to  the  uneasiness  his 
master's  capture  had  created  in  Simon's 
mind. 

Their"  somewhat  uncivil  guide  showed 
them  where  their  harness  and  other  property 
were  hid,  and  assisted  them  to  bridle  and 
saddle, — the  while  giving  them  directions 
as  to  the  road  they  were  to  pursue  ;  then, 
bidding  them  to  use  their  utmost  speed,  if 
they  wished  to  save  their  worthless  lives, 
she  disappeared  behind  a  clump  of  brush- 
wood. Simon  Stockfish  had  just  finished 
fastening  the  belt  round  his  body  which  held 
fast  his  master's  stock  of  apparel,  and  had 
got  one  foot  in  the  stirrup,  when,  hearing  a 
savage  growl,  he  quickly  turned  round,  and 
there,  but  a  few  yards  from  him,  looking  in 
the  moonlight  more  ferocious  than  ever,  he 
beheld  the  mastiff  bitch  that  had  so  lately 
put  him  in  such  imminent  bodily  fear. 

He  was  paralysed.  He  felt  sure  his  more 
brutal  master  could  not  be  far  off,  and  the 
fate  of  Wattie  Elliott  stared  him  in  the  face 
in  all  its  horrors.  Uttering  two  or  three 
sharp  clear  barks  that  rung  on  his  ears  like 
a  death  knell,  the  dog  was  bounding  in  all 
its  savage  fury  towards  him,  when,  ere  half 
the  distance  was  passed,  she  was  seen  to 
spring  in  the  air,  with  a  piercing  howl  of 
agony,  as  the  loud  report  from  an  arquebus 
close  at  hand  burst  upon  the  ear,  and  she 
fell  to  the  ground  horribly  mangled  and  dead 
as  a  stone. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant  there  appeared 
at  the  opposite  sides  of  the  hollow,  two  per- 
sons— one  was  quickly  recognized  by  the 
alarmed  travellers  as  their  unpleasant  ac- 
quaintance, Black  Sampson, — who  no  soon- 
er caught  sight  of  the  man^>ver-against  him, 
than,  as  if  seized  with  a  sudden  panic,  he 
turned  quickly  round  and  ran  off  at  his 
utmost  speed ;  whereupon,  the  other  mut- 
tering distinctly  the  words,  "  Blood  for 
blood  !"  flourished  his  weapon  over  his  head, 
and  started  at  a  desperate  rate  in  pursuit. 

The  latter  was  Wattie  Elliott.  Neither 
the  young  physician  nor  his  companion  cared 
to  watch  the  result  of  the  race,  but  instantly 
sprung  into  their  saddles  ;  and  their  steeds, 
alarmed  at  the  report  of  the  piece,  put  them- 
selves to  their  swiftest  pace. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

If  your  worshippe  vouchsafe  to  enter  the 
Bchoole  doore,  and  walke  an  hour  or  twaine 
within  for  your  pleasure,  you  shall  see  what  I 
teache,  which  present  my  schoole.my  cunning, 
aud  myselfe  to  your  worthy  patronage. 

THE  SCHOOLS  OF  ABUSE. 

THE  pretended  Master  Dulcimer  was  re- 
joicing, as  such  noble  hearts  only  can,  at  the 
success  which  attended  his  efforts  to  secure 
the  heart's  wish  of  his  young  friend  and 
patron,  having  just  witnessed  his  secret 
marriage  with  that  admirable  fair  young 
creature,  Mistress  Varnon.  He  had  also 
another  source  of  satisfaction,  having  suc- 
ceeded in  effecting  the  liberation  of  his  friend 
Ben  Jonson,  who  had  been  put  in  prison  for 
the  death  of  Gabriel  Spencer,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding intent  on  his  ordinary  duties' at  the 
playhouse  in  the  Blackfriars,  amusing  him- 
self monstrously  by  the  way  in  imagining 
the  distress  of  that  exceedingly  starched  and 
antiquated  damsel,  Aunt  Deborah,  on  dis- 
covering she  had  not  only  been  deprived  of 
.her  beautiful  kinswoman,  with  whom  she 
had  so  long  been  wont  to  play  the  terrible 
tyrant,  but  had  lost  her  sworn  servant  also, 
who  had  obtained  entire  possession  of  her 
virgin  heart. 

Truly,  if  ever  man  looked  in  a  contented 
mood,  that  was  he,  and  it  shone  in  his  wor- 
shipful sweet  countenance  with  such  ex- 
ceeding brilliancy,  'that  such  of  the  way- 
farers who  took  note  of  him  as  he  walked, 
who  knew  not  his  extreme  worthiness,  eith- 
er by  personal  knowledge  or  general  repute, 
set  down  in  their  minds,  on  the  first  glance, 
he  must  needs  be  as  thoroughly  happy  as 
any  man  this  side  of  Heaven.  But  few  men 
of  his  day  were  better  known  both  amongst  the 
citizens  and  gallants  ;  and,  as  he  had  quitted 
his  disguise  of  the  master  of  music,  he  was 
recognized  as  he  passed  along  the  crowded 
streets ;  and  the  courteous,  cheerful  manner 
in  which  he  doffed  his  beaver  to  simple  and 
gentle  ;  the  blushing  girl  and  the  wrinkled 
tlame,  and  in  sooth  to  persons  of  all  condi- 
tions who  looked  as  though  they  were  well 
pleased  at  the  sight  of  him,  assured  them 
of  his  infinite  happiness  and  contentation. 

Marvel  not.  gentle  reader,  they  were  in 
pome  measure  deceived.  It  is  not  so  huge 
a  wonder  as  it  may  appear ;  for  divers  in- 
stances have  occurred  where  the  face  hath 
been  dressed  in  smiles,  and  the  heart  in  sack- 
cloth and  ashes.  We  cannot  be  said  to  be 
masters  of  ourselves  when  we  are  riot  mas- 
ters of  our  affections,  and  these  are  matters 
the  mastery  whereof  the  wisest  men  have  not 


5een  able  to  obtain.  There  hath  been  nrtablo 
nstances  of  minds  framed  in  the  best  school  of 
wisdom,  teeming  with  good  intent,  and  full  of 
virtuous  resolution,  that  by  a  combination 
of  ill  circumstances  have  been  forced  into 
the  surrendering  of  their  natures  to  an  at- 
tachment which  cannot  be  openly  encour- 
aged without  a  sensible  disrespect  of  the 
world  and  of  themselves.  Such  feelings, 
of  a  surety  are  not  to  be  justified,  are  not  to 
ae  tolerated  ;  yet  do  they  come  about  in  such 
a  manner  a,s  often  to  make  such  as  have  the 
ill-fortune  to  entertain  them,  more  to  be 
pitied  than  blamed.  Methinks  there  can 
scarce  be  any  object  more  worthy  of  com- 
miseration than  a  noble  nature  enslaved  by 
an  unlawful  passion,  struggling  betwixt  the 
xtraordinary  admirableness  of  the  fair  crea- 
ture he  cannot  but  devote  himself  to  heart 
and  soul,  and  the  natural  self-condemnation 
which  he  must  feel  in  allowing  the  existence 
of  a  state  of  things  of  such  infinite  unprofit- 
ableness to  either  party. 

Whether  Master  Shakspeare  had  got 
himself  entangled  in  this  hopeless  mesh,  our 
information  at  thisvtime  doth  not  state.  It  is 
but  known  that  occasionally  he  was  given 
to  long  fits  of  perfect  abstraction,  when  his 
features  wore  a  sad  and  troubled  air ;  and 
he  would  act  as  though  he  were  but  an  ac- 
countable creature,  given  to  wild  fancies, 
and  exceeding  strange  resolves.  Anon  he 
would  burst  out  of  the  gloom  which  these 
humors  created,  and  exceed  all  warrantable 
grounds  in  lightness  of  behavior,  endeavor- 
ing to  excuse  his  late  sadness  by  affirming 
he  slept  ill  o'  nights,  and  was  tormented  by 
fearful  dreams. 

Of  a  surety  he  had  dreams,  and  they 
might  well  be  considered  by  him  of  a  fearful 
sort.  In  part,  they  were  the  dreams  of  his 
early  youth ;  but  the  loving  faces  that  haunt- 
ed his  sl^ep  many  a  midsummer  day  by  the 
stream  side,  beneath  an  antique  tree,  or  on 
some  mossy  bank  retired  from  the  public  eye, 
though  they  wore  the  same  features  of  ever- 
lasting beauty,  possessed  an  expression  of 
the  very  deepest  sorrow ;  the  exquisite  sweet 
harmonies  which  of  old  were  wont  to  intox- 
icate his  mind  with  unutterable  joy,  now,  by 
their  mournful  and  melancholy  cadences, 
filled  him  with  a  most  painful  sadness  ;  and 
instead  of  the  floral  treasures  which,  with 
every  cheerful  hue  and  pleasant  form,  threw 
around  him  an  atmosphere  of  light  and  per- 
fume, he  beheld  nothing  but  rue  and  rose- 
mary, willow  and  cypress,  nightshade,  and 
the  like  sort  of  plants,  the  gloomy  posies  of 
death. 

When  he  woke,  it  was  with  an  apprehen- 
sion of  impending  evil  he  could  not  readily 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


divest  himself  of;  yet,  not  caring  to  be 
thought  superstitious,  he  would  strive  to 
cast  it  off  by  giving  himself  up  to  the  very 
wildest  flights  of  an  untameable  spirit.  That 
he  had  some  secret  source  of  huge  disqui- 
etude, a  shrewd  observer  might  have  pre- 
dicted from  these  premises ;  albeit,  his  beha- 
vior was  ever  of  so  noble  a  sort  as  to  win 
the  hearts  of  all  around  him,  and  his  admira- 
ble cheerful  temper  did  so  often  and  so 
pleasantly  make  itself  manifest. 

However  this  may  have  been,  it  is  certain 
that  the  mood  in  which  Master  Shakspeare 
went  on  his  way  to  the  playhouse,  after  a 
friendly  leave-taking  of  the  young  Lord 
Southampton  and  his  loving  bride,  was,  to 
all  appearance,  as  contented  a  one  as  any 
happy  man  ever  had.  After  sufficiently 
amusing  of  himself  with  thinking  of  his 
antiquated  mistress,  he  fell  into  a  train  of 
pleasant  anticipations  of  the  prodigal  heaps 
of  happiness  in  store  for  his  estimable  kind 
friend,  and  marvellous  was  the  contentation 
it  gave  him.  From  this  he  presently  took 
to  considering  of  his  own  affairs  ;  and,  in 
the  happy  humor  he  then  was,  it  was  in  no 
way  surprising  his  thoughts  should  light 
upon  the  most  comfortable  part  of  them — his 
sweet  young  son. 

He  recalled  the  great  solace  and  pride  he 
had  taken  in  the  handsome  boy  at  his  last 
visit,  what  rare  gratification  he  had  experi- 
enced in  noting  his  aptness  for  study,  his 
warm  affectionateness  and  well-disposed- 
ness  in  all  things ;  and,  after  he  had  suffi- 
ciently basked  in  the  sunshine  of  the  past, 
he  would  find  for  himself  a  still  more  sunny 
future,  and  enjoy  its  glowing  horison  with 
more  intense  transports  than  he  had  yet 
known. 

It  so  chanced  that  as  he  was  proceeding 
through  Cheap,  nigh  unto  the  conduit,  quite 
regardless  of  every  one  thing  in  the  world, 
save  his  own  pleasant  thinking,  on  a  sudden 
his  waking  dream  was  broken  in  upon  by 
some  one  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  and  ac- 
costing him  in  a  strange,  wild,  and  confused 
manner.  On  turning  round,  he  beheld  a 
man  of  decent  apparelling,  for  all  it  seemed 
slovenly  pat  on  and  travel -stained,  with  an 
aspect  which,  though  marked  in  strong  lines 
with  exhaustion  and  alarm,  bore  in  it  so 
much  of  native  benevolence,  that  the  wor- 
thiness of  the  owner  scarce  admitted  of  a 
doubt. 

"  Master  Bifield  !"  exclaimed  his  old  ac- 
quaintance; looking  on  him  with  a  famous 
surprise  and  pleasure,  "  O'  the  dickens,  what 
hath  brought  thy  reverence  in  this  ungodly 
place  ?"  And  thereupon  he  shook  hands 
with  him  very  heartily,  and  expressed,  in  his 


exquisitest  manner,  his  gratification  at  the 
sight  of  him,  swearing  he  should  have  no 
other  inn  than  his  own  dwelling,  in  the 
Clink  Liberty,  and  that  not  an  ordinary  in 
the  city  should  boast  of  having  entertained 
him,  for  he  would  share  with  none  living  so 
cove.table  a  pleasure,  and  much  more  of  the 
same  courteous  sort,  seasoned  with  all  man- 
ner of  choice  jests  and  excellent  pleasant 
conceits  ;  the  priest  the  whilst  saying  never 
a  word  to  all  his  numberless  questions  and 
courtesies,  for,  in  truth,  he  was  so  bewil- 
dered at  finding  him  in  so  happy  a  mood,  he 
knew  not  how  to  begin  the  task  he  had  set 
himself. 

"  And  how  goeth  on  the  schooling  ?"  cried 
he,  in  his  most  joyous  tone  ;  "  and,  more  es- 
pecially, how  goeth  on  the  scholar  ?''  The 
worthy  priest  winced  at  the  question,  and, 
in  huge  confusion  and  distress,  commenced 
stammering  out  a  few  unintelligible  words. 

"  Heart  o'  me  !"  exclaimed  the  happy 
father,  slapping  his  companion  familiarly  on 
the  shoulder,  "  'tis  the  old  story.  Hamnet 
is  a  prodigy  and  a  phoenix,  and  promiseth  to 
be  wiser  than  Solomon,  and  worthier  than 
the  best  saint  of  them  all.  Well,  if  it  must 
needs  be,  I  would  as  lief  see  him  a  bishop 
as  any  thing.  He  shall  to  Oxford  anon, 
where  I  have  friends  willing  to  do  him  any 
service  in  getting  him  snug  quarters  with 
that  most  admirable,  bountiful  hostess — holy 
Mother  Church.  But,"  added  he,  "  dost  not 
think  the  profession  of  arms  better  bacorneth 
the  name  of  Shakspeare  than  that  of  a 
clerk  ?  His  ancestor  did  yeoman  service  at 
the  bloody  field  of  Bosworth :  if  Hamnet 
have  a  like  spirit,  which  I  doubt  not  at  all, 
I  see  nought  to  prevent  his  becoming  a 
captain.  '  Perchance,  if  he  be  one  of  a 
greatly  adventurous  disposition,  he  shall 
take  to  seeking  new  lands  in  the  far  ocean, 
and,  as  li  kely  as  not,  come  home  a  mighty 
admiral.  What  dost  think — eh,  man?  Why, 
thou  art  mute  as  a  fish  !" 

"  Oh,  Master  Shakspeare !"  at  last  ex- 
claimed the  other,  in  accents  that  seemed 
to  come  from  the  uttermost  depths  of  his 
heart. 

"  Why,  how  now,  my  old  friend  !"  said  his 
friend.  "  Were  I  not  used  as  I  am  to  thy 
pale  visage,  I  would  swear  something  aileth 
thee.  O'  my  life,  thou  lookest  as  melan- 
choly as  the  stuffed  owl  in  Sir  John  Clop- 
ton's  blue  parlor.  But  come  with  me  to  my 
lodging,  and  I  doubt  not,  ere  we  have  emp- 
tied together  a  flask  of  my  choice  Canary, 
I  will  have  the  owl,  so  thoroughly  washed 
out  of  thee,  thou  shalt  be  glad  to  forswear 
melancholy  ever  after."  Thereupon,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  seemed  intent  on  dragging 


43 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


the  vicar  by  the  arm,  the  which  seemed  only 
to  make  him  the  more  distressed. 

"  Nay,  worthy  sir,  excuse  me,  I  pray  you," 
replied  Master  Bifield.  "  I  have  other  busi- 
ness. I  am  in  no  humor — I — I — " 

"A  fig  for  thy  humor  !"  cried  his  com- 
panion, his  face  irradiated  with  the  spirit  of 
good  fellowship,  as  he  still  strove  to  pull  him 
along.  "  If  I  cannot,  of  mine  own  accord, 
make  thy  humor  fit  the  entertainment,  the 
which  I  have  done  so  oft,  why  there  is  Will 
Kempe,  against  whom  the  most  unsocial  of 
humors  standeth  not  the  tithe  of  a  minute  ; 
and  Ned  Allen,  who  is  good  company  for 
my  Lord  Justice  and  I  know  not  how  many 
more  choice  ones,  who  shall  be  as  familiar 
with  thee  as  sworn  gossips.  Prythee,  come 
at  once." 

"  I  would  to  God  there  were  no  reason  for 
my  denial  "  muttered  the  vicar,  in  increased 
trouble  of  mind. 

"  That  there  cannot  be,"  answered  his 
friend,  "  for  thou  hast  no  unreasonable  scru- 
ples, and  thou  mayst  be  assured,  where  I 
lead  thee,  there  shall  be  nothing  discreditable. 
Come,  I  am  in  haste  to  drink  Hamnet's 
h  alth,  which  I  know  thou  wilt  pledge  as 
fervently  as  myself." 

"  Oh,  Master  Shakspeare !"  exclaimed  the 
good  priest,  as  he,  in  a  sort  of  frenzy  of 
grief,  convulsively  seized  the  parent  of  his 
beloved  scholar  by  the  hand,  and  pressed  it 
between  both  his  own.  "  I  pray  you  call  to 
your  aid  all  the  philosophy  and  patience  ne- 
cessary for  the  hearing  of  ill  tidings." 

"  Eh,  what  dost  say  ?"  cried  Master 
Shakspeare,  hurriedly.  "  111  tidings  ?  thou 
canst  have  no  ill  tidings  for  me." 

"  In  honest  truth,  they  are  the  worst  a 
loving  father  ever  heard." 

"  On  thy  life,  man,  speak,"  said  the  other, 
as  if  oppressed  with  some  desperate  fear. 
"  Keep  me  not  on  the  rack.  Surely,  nothing 
hath  happened  to  my  sweet  son  ?" 

"  There  hath,  indeed.  He  hath  been  ail- 
ing some  time,  and — it  wringeth  my  heart 
to  tell  it — I  saw  not  that  the  closeness  of 
his  pursuit  of  learning  was  secretly  under- 
mining his  health.  I  knew  not  that  every 
triumph  he  achieved  over  the  difficulties  of 
study  was  at  the  expense  of  his  precious 
life.  Perchance,  my  neglect  was  culpable. 
Believe  me  I  shall  never  cease  to  accuse 
myself  for  my  fatal  remissness  ;  but  had  I 
observed  anything  likely  to  excite  appre- 
hension, I  would  have  sacrificed  my  own 
worthless  life  a  thousand  times  rather  than 
any  harm  should  have  come  to  him.  Alack ! 
alack !  he  was  heedless,  and  I  was  blind. 
He  having  missed  school  a  whole  day,  and 
hearing  he  was  sick,  I  lost  no  time  in  get- 


ting to  Shottery.  Oh,  worthy  sir,  I  saw  a 
terrible  moving  sight.  I  beheld  the  best, 
the  sweetest  scholar  master  eve/  had, 
stretched  in  a  raging  fever,  with  a  strange 
and  unconnected  speech,  pale  as  a  corpse, 
and  wasted  to  an  anatomy.  I  got  me  a 
horse  as  soon  as  I  might,  to  bring  you  to 
him  ;  for  the  doctors  assured  me  he  had  not 
many  hours  to  live.  Master  Shakspeare, 
my  excellent  good  friend  !"  here  suddenly 
exclaimed  the  vicar,  in  a  monstrous  state  of 
alarm,  "  I  pray  you  stare  not  so  wildly  at 
me  !  What  hath  so  blanched  your  cheeks 
and  lips  ?  Alack  !  alack !  the  heavy  news 
hath  broken  his  noble  heart.  Help,  masters, 
help!  I  have  not  strength  to  save  him 
from  falling." 

Assistance  was  quickly  rendered,  but  it 
was  long  before  the  unhappy  father  recover- 
ed sufficiently  from  the  shock  to  be  sensible 
of  what  was  required  of  him ;  but  when  he 
did,  he  lost  not  a  moment  of  time.  The 
swiftest  saddle  horses  were  instantly  sought 
for ;  and,  accompanied  by  Master  Bifield,  in 
as  napless  a  mood  as  himself,  lie  rode  day 
and  night  on  the  road  to  Stiatford,  at  the 
top  of  their  speed. 

He  spoke  scarce  a  word  the  whole  way. 
His  faculties  seemed  to  be  stunned  by  the 
terrible  intelligence  he  had  heard,  and  he 
appeared  to  be  animated  but  by  one  wish — 
that  of  getting  to  Shottery  in  time  to  see  his 
son  before  he  died.  The  good  vicar  watch- 
ed him  anxiously ;  performing  all  friendly 
offices,  but  forbearing  from  speech,  seeing 
how  completely  his  humor  lay  towards 
silence. 

How  different  was  this  to  all  former  jour- 
neyings  of  his  to  the  fondly  cherished 
scenes  of  his  early  griefs  and  pleasures ! 
There  was  scarce  any  noticeable  part  of 
this  oft-traversed  road  that  could  not  have 
called  up  whole  hosts  of  pleasant  remem- 
brances, and  many  a  fellow-traveller  had  he 
entertained  with  admirable  choice  stories,  of 
strange  adventures  he  had  had,  or  curious 
scenes  he  had  witnessed  in  those  parts  in 
former  times.  Not  a  village  but  had  its 
narrative,  and  hardly  an  inn  of  any  re- 
pute, all  along  the  road,  but  was  made 
to  furnish  most  excellent  entertainment; 
and  his  fortunate  companion  at  last  could 
not  help  fancying  he  had  either  fallen  in 
with  a  second  Boccaccio,  or  a  twin  brother 
of  that  exhaustless  teller  of  stories,  whose 
invention  supplied  continuous  amusement 
for  a  thousand  and  one  nights. 

The  case  was  now  altered  with  a  ven- 
geance. Master  Shakspeare  was  company 
for  no  one,  not  even  for  himself;  and  he 
passed  by  every  familiar  place  as  though  ho 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


49 


were  in  a  strange  land,  that  had  not  in  it  a 
feature  worthy  of  remark. 

But  though  he  was  so  scant  of  speech,  is 
it  to  be  presumed  he  had  a  similar  lack  of 
thought  ?  Perchance,  and  like  enough,  his 
mind  was  monstrous  busy  with  all  manner 
of  miserable  reflections,  touching  the  la- 
mentable state  of  his  dear  son.  The  most 
subduing  fears  might  have  got  possession  of 
him,  and  the  imminence  and  unexpectedness 
of  the  danger  have  given  to  such  fears  a 
profound  and  entire  sway.  Mayhap  he 
might  allow  himself  to  hope  things  were 
not  so  bad  as  they  were  represented,  and 
then,  as  in  the  usual  course,  small  hopes 
leading  to  large  ones,  his  thoughts  would 
presently  make  for  themselves  a  prospect  as 
fair  as  that  which  he  had  at  various  occa- 
sions so  fondly  regarded.  But  his  aspect 
was  not  one  that  hath  a  reasonable  fami- 
liarity with  agreeable  anticipations.  It  ex- 
pressed a  settled  grief,  such  as  cannot  hold 
any  acquaintance  with  consolation. 

It  did  not  escape  the  eye  of  his  watchful 
companion,  that  he  suffered  greatly ;  and, 
desirous  of  shortening  the  sway  of  his  un- 
happy friend's  reflections  as  much  as  was 
possible,  he  made  most  strenuous  exertions 
to  bring  their  journey  to  a  quick  ending.  His 
endeavors  met  with  such  success,  that,  in  a 
space  which  then  appeared  incredible,  the 
exhausted  travellers  reached  the  cottage  at 
Shottery. 

As  he  drew  near  the  object  of  his  deep 
love,  the  agitation  of  the  miserable  father 
became  so  great  that  it  was  with  much  ado 
the  worthy  priest  could  keep  him  in  any 
sort  of  governance ;  and,  when  they  were 
on  the  threshold  of  the  sick  chamber,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare,  though  but  a  minute  since 
so  terribly  impatient,  felt  as  though  he  dared 
not  enter.  He  was  overpowered  with  his 
apprehensions.  A  sickness  of  the  soul 
smote  him  so  terribly,  the  strong  man  was 
subdued,  and  all  the  father  in  him  seemed  to 
lay  with  so  heavy  a  load  upon  his  heart,  he 
could  neither  breathe  nor  move. 

His  excellent  pious  friend  saw  in  how  sad 
a  taking  he  was,  and  administered  to  him 
such  cheering  encouragement,  that,  in  a 
brief  space,  he  felt  sufficiently  invigorated 
to  proceed.  The  latch  was  raised,  and, 
like  one  embarking  on  a  perilous  Venture, 
he  entered  the  chamber  of  his  sick  child. 
A  glance  at  that  wan  face  would  have  as- 
sured any  but  a  doting  parent  that  death 
had  there  set  his  seal,  and  was  nigh  at  hand, 
waiting  to  place  the  instrument  in  his 
greedy  coffers  :  but,  seeing  him  alive,  after 
such  dreadful  agony  of  fear  as  he  had  scarce 
a  moment  since  experienced,  appeared  to 
4 


render  Master  Shakspeare  unconscious  of 
his  son's  imminent  danger ;  and,  as  Ham- 
net,  immediately  his  father  approached,  re- 
cognised him  with  a  joyful  cry,  his  appre- 
hensions left  him,  he  dropped  down  beside 
the  bed,  took  the  outstretched  little  hand, 
and,  with  an  exhaustless  prodigality  of  fond 
exclamations,  covered  it  with  kisses,  whilst 
tears  of  exquisite  sweet  pleasure  rushed 
from  the  fountains  of  his  love,  and  did  freely 
force  their  way  over  his  manly  cheeks. 

The  poor  fond  father  was  for  awhile  left 
to  the  full  enjoyment  of  such  feelings,  and 
was  only  roused  from  them  by  noting  some- 
thing strange  pushing  against  him,  and  his 
hand  quickly  after  touched  by  something 
warm.  It  was  the  faithful  hound,  Talbot ; 
who,  seeing  his  master,  instead  of  the  rio- 
tous demonstrations  of  joy  with  which  he 
was  wont  to  greet,  him,  by  that  wondrous 
instinct  often  shown  by  these  sagacious 
brutes  on  like  occasions,  had  noiselessly 
moved  towards  him,  and  began  licking  of 
his  hand,  soon  after  which  he  showed  the 
same  affectionateness  to  the  hand  of  his  at- 
tached playmate — the  whilst,  as  though  he 
knew  the  misfortune  that  was  impending, 
he  wore  the  pitifullest  look  eye  ever  saw — 
now  turning  it  towards  Master  Shakspeare, 
and  anon  towards  Hamnet. 

"Poor  Talbot !  Brave  Talbot !"  exclaim- 
ed his  master,  patting  him  on  the  head — for, 
in  very  truth,  that  was  all  he  could  say  or 
do,  he  was  so  moved. 

"  Poor  Talbot !"  murmured  the  sick  child, 
the  only  words  he  had  uttered,  that  showed 
he  was  conscious  of  what  was  going  on 
around  him,  since  he  had  been  ill ;  and,  at 
hearing  whiph,  the  faithful  dog  seemed 
marvellously  disturbed,  for  he  whined  in  a 
low  voice,  once  more  licked  the  hands  of  the 
father  and  son,  and  then  proceeded  slowly 
to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  he  placed  him- 
self so  that  he  could  see  the  faces  he  had 
regarded  with  so  fixed  a  sorrow. 

Ever  since  his  playfellow  had  been  con- 
fined to  his  chamber,  Talbot  had  fixed  him- 
self in  that  place,  whence  neither  threats, 
not  caresses,  nor  temptations  of  any  sort, 
could  remove  him.  He  refused  his  food,  he 
took  no  notice  of  any  of  the  family,  or  of  the 
different  visiters  who  entered  and  went  out. 
His  eyes  were  upon  the  visage  of  his  fast 
friend  and  pleasant  associate  in  so  many 
rare  sports,  with  a  disturbed  and  anxious 
expression ;  and,  though  all  this  time  the 
sick  boy  had  taken  no  manner  of  notice  of 
his  devotion,  in  consequence  of  not  being 
sensible  of  his  presence,  he  continued  his 
vigilant  watching,  night  and  day.  as  though 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


he  were  as  handsomely  rewarded  as  his 
fidelity  had  so  often  been. 

After  this  long  disregard  of  him,  it  may 
easily  be  imagined  with  what  feelings  |»e 
heard  himself  recognized  by  the  sick  boy, 
and  the  exceeding  comfort  with  which  he 
returned  to  his  place  of  watching :  never- 
theless, though  he  wore  for  a  moment  a 
look  of  infinite  contentation,  as  he  continued 
to  gaze  upon  the  features  he  loved  so  well, 
whereon  the  animation  that  had  been  given 
to  them  by  the  entrance  of  Master  Shak- 
speare  was  rapidly  disappearing,  and  they 
were  assuming  an  aspect  of  the  most  terri- 
ble sort,  it  was  easy  to  see  the  poor  brute 
was  getting  fearfully  anxious,  and  his  look, 
no  less  strongly  than  his  movements,  be- 
spoke the  greatness  of  his  distress. 

This  change  in  Hamnet  had  not  been  re- 
garded by  his  fond  parent ;  for  his  attention 
had  been  taken  off  his  son  by  his  weeping 
mother,  who,  with  a  total  abandonment  to 
sorrow,  had  thrown  herself  into  his  arms. 
Such  passionate  lamentations  broke  from 
her  as  soon  as  she  could  find  her  speech, 
that,  though  her  husband  strove  with  all  the 
affection  of  better  times  to  bring  her  to 
reason,  it  was  to  marvellous  little  profit. 

To  add  to  his  trouble,  at  this  trying  mo- 
ment, he  found  himself  in  a  like  manner 
called  upon  by  the  no  less  lively  sorrow  of 
a  fair  young  girl  who  was  with  her,  whom 
he  could  not  fail  of  recognizing  as  his 
daughter  Judith,  the  twin  sister  of  his  be- 
loved Hamnet.  He  pressed  both  of  them 
in  his  arms,  and  strove  to  console  them  with 
the  best  arguments  at  his  commandment. 

He  looked  about  him  as  though  he  missed 
some  one,  and  his  gaze  presently  lighted 
upon  the  lovely  countenance  and  graceful 
person  of  his  elder  daughter — the  same  who 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  courteous 
reader,  at  the  dwelling  of  her  kinsman,  little 
Tommy  Hart,  in  Stratford.  She  stood  at 
some  distance,  with  no  other  sign  of  grief 
in  her  than  a  most  anxious  countenance  ; 
rega/ding,  with  deep  attention,  the  sallow 
visage  of  a  little  man  in  a  threadbare  suit 
—  no  other  than  the  Stratford  apothecary — 
who  was  in  another  part  of  the  chamber, 
conversing  with  Master  Bifield  ;  and  it  was 
easy  to  see,  from  the  effect  of  his  speech 
on  the  worthy  vicar,  that  what  he  heard 
troubled  him  exceedingly. 

Fothecary's  stuff  had  done  him  no  man- 
ner of  good,  and  though  he  was  nursed  by 
his  sister  Susanna  with  untiring  love  and 
attention — his  mother  and  Judith  being  so 
overpowered  with  their  fears  for  him,  as  to 
be  incapable  of  rendering  any  useful  assis- 
tance in  the  s'ck  chamber,  it  advantaged 


him  not  at  all.  Susanna  appeared  the  least 
moved  at  her  brother's  illness  of  any  about 
him,  but,  young  as  she  was,  she  saw  the 
necessity  of  keeping  her  feelings  under 
control,  that  she  might  the  better  be  enabled 
to  tend  him  with  that  care  his  case  so  much 
required.  Therefore,  had  she  been  his  care- 
ful nurse,  never  leaving  the  chamber,  an 
never  closing  her  eyes,  from  the  first  mo- 
ment she  had  been  made  aware  of  the  dan- 
ger of  the  case. 

Hearing  her  name  called  by  her  father, 
she  hurried  to  receive  his  caresses,  and  re- 
turned them  with  a  most  devoted  heart, 
though  with  as  sorrowful  a  one  as  any  pre- 
sent. She  had  been  as  anxious  to  receive 
them  as  her  sisfer,  but  had  stood  aloof,  that 
her  brother  might  have  all  his  attention, 
knowing  how  much  he  needed  it.  She  now 
spoke  not  a  word  of  lamentation  ;  indeed, 
her.  young  heart  was  too  full  for  speech  of 
any  sort,  but  her  straining  embrace  and 
tearful  gaze  touched  her  father  more  deeply 
than  did  the  noisy  grief  that  Judith  and  her 
mother  continued.  This  was  not  the  first 
time  he  had  observed  in  her  signs  of  a  truly 
feminine  nature — exceeding  delicacy,  the 
truest  affectionateness,  and  the  noblest  self- 
denial — and  these  had  endeared  her  to  him 
exceedingly.  The  measure  of  her  own  af- 
fection for  her  father  was  of  the  prodigalest 
sort — the  remembrances  of  his  smiles  and 
commendations  feeding  her  love,  till  it  took 
on  it  a  strength  marvellous  at  her  early 
youth.  It  may,  therefore,  be  conceived 
with  what  absolute  affection  they  mingled 
their  caresses  at  a  time  so  trying. 

But  the  intense  gratification  Susanna  ex- 
perienced whilst  receiving  such  sweet  proof 
of  her  father's  love  for  her,  could  not  for  a 
moment  render  her  forgetful  of  her  beloved 
patient,  whose  features  now  getting  of  a 
deadly  paleness,  were  for  a  very  brief  sea- 
son enlivened  with  a  fault  smile,  as  he 
gazed  on  his  father  and  sister  ;  and  she  had 
just  succeeded  in  drawing  his  attention  to 
Hamnet,  when  the  eyes  of  the  sick  scholar 
turned  towards  his  revered  master,  who  at 
that  moment  was  directing  towards  him  a 
glance  of  the  terriblest  distress  and  anxiety, 
and  there  seemed  a  meaning  in  them,  which 
the  good  priest  quickly  interpreted,  and  aa 
speedily  sought  to  act  upon. 

He  advanced  to  the  bed  with  a  solemn 
and  distressed  air,  and  knelt  beside  it.  At 
this  moment  it  was  that  Master  Shakspeare 
looked  again  upon  his  son,  and  the  terrible 
change  his  countenance  had  undergone  in 
the  last  few  minutes  his  attention  had  been 
I  taken  off  it,  seemed  to  pierce  his  soul  like  a 
barbed  arrow.  He  saw  now  he  must  hope 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


no  more ;  and,  with  an  agony  that  appeared 
to  be  crushing  both  heart  and  brain,  he  fell 
on  his  knees,  still  clasping  the  little  hand, 
that  all  this  fearful  time  had  rested  so 
quietly  in  his  own.  The  attention  of  the 
rest  of  the  family  was  by  this  movement  di- 
rected to  the  countenance  of  the  dying 
boy,  on  seeing  which  his  mother  covered 
her  face  with  her  apron,  and  sunk  in  a 
swoon  on  the  nearest  chair,  and  Judith  fell 
on  her  knees  before  her,  hiding  her  face  in 
her  lap. 

Susanna  had  softly  and  quickly  made  her 
way  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  where, 
kneeling  down,  with  the  remaining  hand  of 
her  beloved  brother  clasped  in  both  her  own, 
she  joined  fervently  in  the  fervent  prayer 
Master  Bi field  had  commenced.  How  mov- 
ing was  the  scene  the  chamber  of  the  sick 
scholar  then  presented  I  There  were  on 
two  or  three  shelves  he  had  himself  fixed  on 
the  panel,  the  books  he  had  conned  with  such 
loving,  yet  such  fatal  diligence.  It  was  as 
simple  .a  chamber  as  scholar  ever  had,  hav- 
ing nought  in  it  but  the  truckle-bed  whereon 
its  poor  occupant  then  lay,  a  small  table  at 
which  he  was  wont  to  write  and  study,  now 
having  on  it  in  divers  vessels  certain  medi- 
caments of  the  apothecary's  compounding, 
and  a  chair  whereon  the  child  sat  during 
his  long  studies. 

The  only  casement  it  had  looked  into 
the  orchard,  where  he  had  got  many  a  task 
by  heart,  poring  over  it  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree  ;  and  the  door  opened  into  his  mother's 
chamber,  wherein  were  now  several  rela- 
tions and  friendly  acquaintances,  some  of 
whom  were  peering  in  with  grave  and  dis- 
tressed visages.  Hanging  upon  a  peg  was 
his  satchel,  and  nigh  it  the  gay  cap  and 
feather  his  fond  father  at  his  last  visit  had 
brought  him  for  holiday  wear.  The  rest  of 
his  apparelling  had  been  neatly  folded  up 
by  his  good  sister  Susanna,  and  put  away 
in  a  chest  that  stood  at  the  furthest  corner 
of  the  room,  from  which  the  apothecary  had 
gone  to  take  his  hat  and  stick,  seeing  the 
case  of  his  patient  was  now  beyond  all  re- 
medy, but,  on  hearing  the  solemn  words  of 
Master  Bifield,  be  reverently  bent  his  knees, 
and  stayed  where  he  was. 

The  countenance  of  that  excellent  good 
man  was  elevated,  and  bore  the  expression 
of  a  martyr  passing  from  life  to  immortality, 
with  a  joyful  hope  that  holdeth  pain  at  de- 
fiance. The  light  fell  full  upon  it,  and  the 
ravages  that  disease  and  care  had  made 
there  were  painfully  visible.  Yet,  as  with 
clasped  hands  and  uplifted  eyes,  he  implor- 
ed the  Divine  custody  for  the  spirit  that  was 
about  to  pass  away,  his  passionate  moving 


eloquence  appeared  so  to  excite  him,  that 
to  those  who  beheld  him  from  the  next 
chamber,  he  seemed  to  possess  a  greater  de- 
gree of  strength  than  they  had  seen  in  him 
for  many  years  past. 

Then  with  a  still  greater  heartiness  he 
prayed  for  forgiveness  for  the  great  sin  he 
had  committed  by  his  negligence,  and  broke 
out  in  a  confused  passion  of  grief  and  self- 
condemnation,  whereof  the  burthen  was,  he 
had  sacrificed  the  sweetest  excellent  scholat 
master  ever  had,  and  thereupon  the  tears 
ran  down  his  cheeks — the  pitifullest  sight 
eyes  ever  looked  on — and,  lastly,  he  finish- 
ed his  discourse  with  a  like  urgent  appeal 
as  that  with  which  he  had  commenced  it, 
dilating  on  the  child's  worthiness  of  Heaven, 
with  such  a  power  of  language,  that  at  last 
it  became  evident  his  feelings  were  over- 
powering him.  He  could  only  at  intervals, 
and  with  a  sort  of  frenzied  earnestness,  ut- 
ter a  few  words  of  loving  praise,  which  be- 
came fainter  and  fainter,  till  at  last  his 
head  sunk  on  his  hands,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  continuing  the  prayer  in  silence,  too  ex- 
hausted for  further  speech. 

There  had  been  no  other  sounds  during 
this  discourse,  but  the  sobbing  of  some  of 
the  women,  and  the  laborious  breathing  of 
the  sick  boy.  His  look  bad  been  cast  up- 
ward from  the  first  moment  Master  Bifield's 
voice  became  audible  ;  as  it  grew  interrupt- 
ed, the  breathing  grew  less  distinct,  and  ad 
the  former  ceased,  there  was  heard  in  the 
deep  silence  that  then  reigned  throughout 
the  chamber,  the  horriblest  of  all  sounds,  the 
death-rattle.  Master  Shakspeare  uttered  a 
cry  of  agony,  and  took  to  be  so  frantic, 
three  strong  men  were  necessary  to  tear  him 
from  the  chamber,  and  at  the  same  instant, 
the  faithful  TaJbot  set  up  a  long  and  pier- 
cing howl,  which  never  left  tSe  remem- 
brance of  those  who  heard  it. 

Yet  the  saddest  thing  of  all  remains  to  be 
told.  After  the  chamber  had  been  cleared 
of  the  afflicted  relatives,  Master  Bifield  still 
remained  in  silent  devotion,  which,  as  might 
be  supposed,  none  liked  to  disturb.  At  last 
the  apothecary  said  something  to  one  of 
Master  Shakspeare's  friends  who  was  pre- 
sent. On  this  hint  they  both  approached  to 
where  he  knelt,  and,  not  receiving  any  an- 
swer to  certain  words  with  which  they  ad- 
dressed him,  they  each  took  him  by  the  arm, 
and  held  back  his  head. 

A  long  and  wasting  illness,  followed  by 
several  days'  violent  exertion  to  both  mind 
and  body,  had  brought  him  to  so  low  a  state 
that  the  suffering  and  labor  he  had  put  him- 
self to  during  those  last  few  moments,  had 
sufficed  for  the  utter  extinction  of  his  feeble 


52 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


life  ;  and,  as  it  looked  to  those  who  witness- 
ed, the  master  so  honored,  and  the  scholar 
so  doted  on,  concluded  their  loving  studies 
by  taking  their  way  to  heaven  hand  in  hand. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

We  present  men  with  the  ugliness  of  their 
vices  to  make  them  the  more  to  abhore  them  ; 
as  the  Persians- use,  who,  above  all  sinnes  loath- 
ing drunkennesse,  accustomed  in  their  solemne 
feasts  to  make  their  servants  and  captives  ex- 
tremely overcome  with  wines,  and  then  call 
their  children  to  view  their  nasty  and  loathsome 
behaviour,  making  them  hate  that  sinne  in 
themselves,  which  shewed  so  grosse  and  abho- 
minable  in  others. 

AN  APOLOGY  FOR  ACTORS. 

WHETHER  Dapple  and  Jack  liked  as  lit- 


don,  which  place,  it  was  like  enough,  they 
intended  surprising ;  whereof,  the  conse- 
quence was,  a  hue  and  cry  was  presently 
despatched  to  the  Privy  Council,  describing 
the  appearance  of  the  enemy  in  the  most 
imposing  array,  and  messengers  sent  to 
alarm  the  district  for  miles  round,  and  take 
measures  for  its  defence. 

Perfectly  unconscious  of  the  sensation 
they  were  creating,  the  travellers  continued 
their  course ;  their  desire  to  place  them- 
selves out  of  the  reach  of  Black  Sampson, 
occupying  their  thoughts,  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  other  things  whatsoever ;  and  they 
did  not  begin  to  feel  secure  till,  just  as  the 
day  began  to  break,  they  rode  into  the  yard 
of  "  The  Golden  Dragon,"  at  Uxbridge. 

A  lame  ostler  was  perceived,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  lantern  which  he  carried, 
grooming  a  horse.  A  heavily-laden  waggon 
stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  yard,  and  divers 


tie  the  neighborhood  of  the  gipsy  encamp-  goodly  packages,  with    pack-saddles,  and 
ment  as  their  riders,  there  is  no  knowing  I  other  stable-gear,  lay  about.     Doubtless  the 


for  a  certainty  ;  but,  judging  by  the  unac- 
customed pace  at  which  these  two  goodly 
steeds  went,  and  the  extraordinary  long 
time  they  continued  it,  there  seemeth  some 
grounds  for  so  thinking.  It  may  readily  be 
imagined  no  effort  was  made  to  check  their 
fleetness.  In  sooth,  if  ever  horse  and  man 
were  of  one  mind,  the  old  grey  and  the 
youthful  physician  were,  out  of  all  doubt, 
and  in  this  agreement  of  opinion  they  were 
closely  copied  by  the  stalwart  serving-man 
and  his  rough,  heavy-heeled  colt. 

They  made  so  huge  a  clatter  in  the  dead 
of  the  night,  as  to  cause  infinite  alarm  to 
some  of  the  rustical  sort  of  people  whose 
habitations  they  passed  by,  divers  of  whom 
fell  readily  into  the  conceit  that  it  could  be 
no  other  than  an  army  of  bloodthirsty  Spa- 
niards intent  on  ravaging  the  whole  king- 
dom. Others  took  it  to  be  a  rising  of  the 
Papists  for  the  cutting  of  Protestant  throats. 
A  few  were  no  less  certain  that  it  was  no 
other  than  an  army  of  thieving  Scots ; 
whilst  certain,  who  affected  a  greater  wis- 
dom, put  it  down  to  witchcraft,  and  shook 
in  their  beds  for  an  hour  after. 

Whilst  passing  through  one  straggling 
hamlet,  an  alarm-bell  was  rung  by  the  sex- 
ton, who  happened  to  be  returning  from  a 
roaring  carouse  with  the  parish  clerk,  at 
the  neighboring  sign  of  "  The  Foaming 
Tankard ;"  and  these  worthies  took  their 
oaths  on  it,  a  few  hours  after,  before  the 
borough  reeve  and  his  equally  frightened 
partners  in  authority,  that  they  had  witness- 
ed a  host  of  horsemen,  nigh  upon  a  thou- 
sand or  two,  dashing  along  with  full  speed, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  on  the  highroad  to  Lon- 


whole  inn  was  in  as  peaceable  a  state  as 
ever  inn  was  a  minute  since ;  but,  directly 
Dapple  and  Jack  rushed  clattering  over  the 
stones,  all  show  of  quiet  was  at  an  end. 

Haifa  dozen  carriers'  dogs  began  bark- 
ing and  yelping,  as  though  trying  against 
each  other  the  fierceness  of  their  noise,  and, 
presently  after,  out  rushed    their   several 
masters  at  different  doors,  each  with  a  lan- 
tern and  a  heavy  cudgel,  fearing  nothing 
less  than  that  their  bales  were  being  rifled. 
The  shouting  and  uproar  they  made  had  the 
effect  of  bringing  into  the  gallery  which 
went  round  the  yard,  and  at  every  one  of 
the  doors  and  casements,  mine  host   and 
hostess,  with  all  their  guests  and  servants, 
with  spits,  guns,  rapiers,  and  various  other 
deadly  arms — some  but  half-dressed,  and 
others  with  nought  on  but  what  they  were 
sleeping  in — here  and  there  one  carrying  a 
light,  believing  they  were  about  to  be  robbed 
and  murdered  at  the  least.     But,  when  the 
carriers  held  up  their  lanterns  to  the  intru- 
ders, who  were  as  much  astonished  at  the 
strangeness  of  their  reception  as  were  the 
people  of  the  inn  alarmed  by  their  sudden 
appearance,  and  saw  in    what  peaceable 
guise  they  came,  and,  moreover,  when  they 
heard  the  chorus  of  loud  laughter,  and  the 
various  rude  jests  which  came  from  the  car- 
riers, as  they  observed  the  goodly  speci- 
mens of  horseflesh  on  which  the  travellers 
were  mounted,  they  presently  returned  to 
their  beds,  assured  of  the  safety  both  of  their 
purses  and  their  lives. 

Simon  Stockfish  was  by  no  means  of  a 
quarrelsome  humor — perchance  the  perils 
his  young  master  had  already  escaped  im- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


53 


the  more  deeply  on  his  mind  the  ne- 
cessity of  keeping  out  of  broils — so  that, 
•whilst  John  Hall,  under  the  guidance  of 
mine  host,  went  his  way  into  a  comfortable 
chamber,  the  careful  serving-man,  unheed- 
ing the  taunts  that  were  levelled  at  his 
skill  in  horseflesh,  proceeded  to  get  his 
beasts  the  nourishment  and  repose  they 
needed  ecfually  with  their  riders. 

The  young  physician  soon  found  himself 
discussing  a  pleasant  meal,  and  relating  to 
a  circle  of  marvelling  listeners  of  both  sexes 
the  strange  adventure  that  had  befallen  him 
with  the  king  of  the  gipsies.  Thereupon 
arose  amongst  them  much  curious  talk  re- 
lating to  Black  Sampson  and  his  comely 
leman ;  and  many  marvellous  things  were 
said  of  both,  and  the  outlaws  also,  which 
greatly  increased  the  astonishment  Master 
Hall  had  experienced  from  the  knowledge 
of  them  he  had  himself  with  so  much  peril 
obtained. 

In  the  end,  a  soldier-sort  of  man,  who  had 
a  patch  over  one  eye,  and  a  complexion  like 
unto  the  bark  of  a  tree,  and  whose  pate  was  as 
bald  as  though  it  had  just  been  cleanly  shaved, 
though  his  grey  beard  was  as  ample  as 
need  be,  promised  the  youthful  traveller  his 
protection  on  the  remainder  of  his  road, 
vowing,  fore  gad,  he  would  make  any  vil- 
lanous  Rommanee  meat  for  dogs,  who  should 
venture  to  touch  a*  hair  of  his  head  whilst  in 
his  company.  This  being  said  with  a  terri- 
ble fierce  air,  and  a  blow  on  the  hilt  of  his 
rapier  that  sent  the  blade  into  the  scabbard 
with  a  great  noise,  as  the  captain  turned  on' 
his  heel,  and  marched  with  imposing  strides 
to  his  own  chamber,  was  not  without  its  due 
effect.  Although  this  personage  was  a 
stranger  to  the  travellers,  he  was  none  to 
the  reader. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Simon  Stockfish  was 
doing  his  best  for  the  comfort  and  conveni- 
ency  of  Dapple  and  Jack,  apparently  pru- 
dently heedless  of  the  sauciness  of  his  rude 
associates.  It  may  here  be  remembered 
that  his  having  had  his  crown  so  recently 
cracked  by  his  endeavoring  to  show  his  no- 
tions of  what  was  most  prudent  and  politic, 
had  a  wonderful  influence  towards  shaking 
his  opinion  of  the  excellence  of  such 
notions,  to  say  nought  of  the  little  good 
they  had  done  the  object  for  whose  peculiar 
benefit  and  security  they  were  entertained  : 
therefore,  he  held  his  peace,  as  a  secure 
means  of  offending  none,  and  in  no  slight 
degree  prided  himself  on  the  subtlety  of 
such  behavior. 

Alack-a-day  !  such  subtlety  appeared  to 
be  poorly  estimated  by  his  unmannerly 
companions,  who,  enraged  by  what  they 


called  his  sullen  humor,  at  hearing  of  their 
merry  jests  at  his  expense,  one  jostled  him, 
and  then  another  jostled  him,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment they  all  commenced  pushing  him  vio- 
lently from  one  to  another,  with  a  huge  up- 
roar of  sportive  shouts  and  cries,  till  there 
seemed  no  spot  where  he  could  be  allowed 
to  stand,  and  every  bone  in  his  body  was 
as  tender  as  an  over-boiled  chicken.  Then 
a  tall  strapping  fellow  emptied  upon  him  a 
huge  bucket  of  water,  and,  after  fixing  the 
vessel  on  his  head,  the  carriers,  one  and  all, 
set  up  a  loud  horse-laugh,  and  led  their 
several  beasts,  as  quickly  as  they  might, 
out  of  the  inn-yard. 

Poor  Simon,  soaked  to  the  skin,  and  sore 
in  every  limb,  whilst  drying  of  his  garments 
at  the  kitchen-fire,  and  breaking  his  long 
fast  on  the  goodly  meal  provided  for  him, 
was  sadly  puzzled  at  the  difficulty  he  found 
in  behaving  so  as  to  scape  harm,  and  was 
fast  inclining  to  the  conviction  that  he  was 
living  in  a  villanous  world,  where  no  honest 
serving-man  could  hope  to  exist  with  whole 
bones. 

As  the  valiant  personage  alluded  to  Jin  a 
preceding  page  intended  leaving  the  Golden 
Dragon  by  nine  of  the  clock  that  morning, 
that  he  might  be  in  the  good  city  of  London 
at  a  convenient  hour  of  the  same  day,  for 
the  transacting  of  a  certain  important  busi- 
ness, with  no  less  a  person  than  the  Lord 
Mayor,  on  which  he  was  bound,  our  tired 
travellers  were  allowed  a  fair  rest ;  and 
whilst  one  is  sleeping  in  the  chamber  set 
apart  for  him,  and  the  other  is  obtaining  as 
sound  a  slumber  stretched  on  a  hard  bench 
in  the  chimney-corner,  methinks  it  will  be 
an  admirable  opportunity  for  making  tms 
worthy  better  known  to  the  courteous  reader 
than  he  is,  which  cannot,  in  common  policy, 
be  let  pass. 

Titus  Swashbuckler,  sometime  an  an- 
cient, above  which  dignity  he  never  rose, 
notwithstanding  it  hath  been  his  good  plea- 
sure nigh  upon  a  score  of  years  to  be  styled 
captain,  was  as  well  known  in  e\ery  ordin- 
ary in  the  city  as  the  conduit  in  Eastcheap. 
How  he  lived  was  oft  a  mystery  to  many, 
but  that  he  did  live,  and  with  very  tolerable 
accommodations,  the  many  who  beheld  him 
on  his  customary  stool,  in  one  or  other  of 
these  houses  of  entertainment,  eating  and 
drinking  evidently  to  his  heart's  content, 
were  satisfied  there  was  no  manner  of 
doubting. 

Certes,  his  apparelling  never  looked  to  be 
of  the  newest,  and  his  linen  often  showed  a 
marvellous  inclination  for  the  buck-basket, 
but  as  he  took  on  himself  the  character  of  a 
cast-captain,  these  signs  were  never  regard- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


cd  as  marvc  llous,  and  as  he  had  the  faculty 
of  making  himself  agreeable  to  any  one  who 
Beemed  capable  of  paying  his  reckoning, 
and  never  attempted  to  of&nd  such  as  look- 
ed in  good  odour  with  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, he  grew  speedily  to  be  as  well  liked 
as  any  one  of  his  calling. 

It  Ls  said  that  his  principal  source  of  sub- 
sistence was  teaching  the  use  of  the  rapier 
and  dagger ;  for  in  Paul's  Walk  his  bills 
might  often  be  seen,  offering  to  teach  any 
kind  of  weapon,  and  challenging  all  comers 
at  fence  for  a  thousand  crowns.  Where  he 
was  to  find  a  thousandth  part  of  this  sum 
was,  six  days  out  of  seven,  as  complete  a 
puzzle  as  ever  was  the  sphinx  to  the  learn- 
edest  scholar  in  Christendom,  but  greater 
difficulties  never  troubled  the  valiant  cap- 
tain. His  challenge  was  repeated  as  often 
as  it  got  defaced  and  torn  down ;  and  as 
none  of  the  celebrated  swordsmen  in  Eu- 
rope, Asia,  Africa,  and  America,  to  whom  it 
was  particularly  directed,  seemed  desirous 
of  obtaining  the  said  handsome  wager  of 
him,  he,  doubtless  very  disconsolately,  was 
i'orced  to  content  himself  with  teaching  the 
youth  of  London,  for  the  trifling  considera- 
tion of  sixpence  a  lesson,  those  marvellous 
tricks  of  fence  which  had  got  for  him  so  ex- 
ceeding terrible  a  name,  none  dared  enter 
the  lists  with  him. 

This  teaching,  therefore,  was  considered 
to  be  his  chief  means  of  living,  though  it 
had  been  noised  abroad  that  the  cast-cap- 
tain, whenever  there  was  a  likelihood  of 
gain,  would  have  recourse  to  numberless 
other  arts  in  less  credit  with  the  world.  He 
pretended  to  teach  all  the  delicate  mysteries 
of  the  duello,  as  practised  in  the  first  courts 
of  Europe,  and  was  ready,  for  a  proper  re- 
compense, as  had  been  the  case  with  the  un- 
fortunate player,  to  be  the  second  of  any 
gentleman  desirous  of  showing  the  most  ex- 
act familiarity  with  these  important  obser- 
vances :  nay,  if  he  had  fitting  remunera- 
tion, he  \v<  >uld  be  glad  to  take  up  any  man's 
quarrel,  no  matter  how  bad  a  cause  he  had. 

Then,  should  any  gallant  want  a  blade  of 
exceeding  good  repute,  he  would  have  one 
ready  at  your  hand  in  a  presently  ;  one  of 
a  thousand,  so  sweet  a  temper,  so  rare  an 
edge,  neither  Damascus  nor  Toledo  had  seen 
such  choice  metal ;  indeed,  on  his  honor,  it 
was  given  him  in  such  a  famous  battle,  by 
some  great  general  of  the  enemy,  whom  the 
fortune  of  war  had  made  his  prisoner,  and 
he  would  not  part  with  it  did  he  not  esti- 
mate your  worth  and  valour  so  highly. 
Thereupon  he  would  ask,  perchance,  fifty 
gold  pieces,  swearing  the  whilst  it  was  of 
inestimable  value,  and,  noting  your  indiffer- 


ence to  purchase,  would  speedily  bring 
down  his  demand  to  a  matter  of  a  few  shil- 
lings, insisting  on  it  he'd  let  you  have  it  al 
so  poor  a  price  out  of  pure  affection.  May- 
hap, you  are  at  last  induced  to  buy  it,  and 
in  good  time  discover  this  matchless  weapon 
to  be  as  good  a  blade — for  toasting  cheese 
withal — as  any  you  are  like  to  meet  with. 

Such  was  Titus  Swashbuckler,  as  he 
rode  out  of  the  yard  of  the  Golden  Dragon 
by  the  side  of  John  Hall ;  after  having,  as  a 
matter  of  especial  favor,  allowed  his  new 
acquaintance  to  pay  his  score  of  two  shil- 
lings and  eightpence,  at  the  inn,  protesting, 
very  heartily,  on  the  honor  of  a  soldier,  he 
had  not  so  much  as  a  doit  in  his  purse,  he 
having  thoughtlessly,  the  night  before,  on 
being  applied  to,  emptied  its  contents  into 
the  hat  of  a  poor  fellow,  who  had  fought  by 
his  side  at  the  taking  of  Cadiz,  and  was 
then  in  the  utmost  extremity  of  want. 

As  they  jogged  on  together,  the  captain 
entertained  his  young  companion  with  the 
most  wonderful  tales  of  battles  and  sieges  ; 
in  the  which  nothing  appeared  so  evident 
as  the  narrator's  exceeding  valor.  Among 
other  tilings,  he  stated  how  he  had  lost  h.s 
eye,  when  with  a  few  other  daring  spirits 
he  was  in  the  act  of  boarding  a  galleon  iu 
the  Spanish  main — a  villanous  Spaniard 
having  thrust  it  out  with  a  pipe — but,  find- 
ing his  listener  did  not  enter  into  these  spir- 
it-stirring recollections  with  the  interest  he 
expected  and  desired,  and  did  not  show  the 
least  anxiety  to  become  possessed  of  the  in- 
comparable weapon  that  had  been  the  favor- 
ite rapier  of  no  less  a  hero  than  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  and  had  been  presented  by  his 
widow  to  her  deceased  husband's  brother  in 
amis,  Captain  Titus  Swashbuckler,  at  that 
hero's  particular  request  in  his  dying  mo- 
ments, the  valiant  captain  felt  a  wish  to 
learn  something  more  of  his  fellow-traveller 
than  the  little  he  at  present  knew,  before  he 
expended  any  more  of  his  eloquence  upon 
him. 

Such  an  inclination  was  easily  gratified, 
being  directed  upon  one  so  candid  and  un- 
suspecting ;  and  the  young  student  of  me- 
dicine, in  a  few  words,  told  the  valiant  cap- 
tain who  he  was,  for  what  object  he  was 
travelling,  and  whither  he  was  going. 

"  By  this  sword,  this  is  strange  indeed  !" 
exclaimed  the  master  of  fence,  with  every 
appearance  of  excessive  astonishment. 
"  How  exceeding  fortunate  it  is  that  I  have 
met  you  on  your  journey,  Master  Hall." 

"  Why  so,  good  Captain  ?"  inquired  the 
youth. 

"  Fore  George  !  if  there  be  one  man  wita 
whom  I  am  more  familiar  than  another,  it  is 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


mine  estimable  worthy  friend  Master  Doc- 
tor Posset.  Why,  we  are  sworn  brothers  ! 
Many  a  gay  carouse  have  we  had  together, 
I  promise  you;  for  the  Doctor,  i'faith,  be- 
longeth  to  the  fraternity  of  jolly  dogs,  and 
doth  the  order  no  small  credit." 

The  young  student  did  not  think  this 
character  any  recommendation ;  for  his 
opinion  of  what  a  skilful  physician  should 
be  did  not  harmonize  at  all  with  the  im- 
pression made  by  his  companion's  descrip- 
tion of  the  man  with  whom  he  was  about  to 
commence  a  finishing  course  of  study  in 
medicine,  previous  to  seeking  a  degree. 

"  I  tell  you.  my  worthy  young  Escula- 
pius,"  continued  the  valiant  captain,  "  you 
have  met  with  especial  good  fortune  in 
having  made  choice  of  so  admirable  proper 
an  instructor.  He  is  a  rare  fellow,  this 
Doctor,  and  one  in  as  absolute  repute  for 
his  skill  with  the  sick,  as  for  his  pleasant- 
ness with  the  hale.  Many  a  bottle  have  we 
cracked  together,  and  shall  again  as  long 
as  there  shall  be  any  virtue  in  good  wine." 

"  Hath  he  many  patients  ?"  inquired  John 
Hall,  very  coolly. 

"  By  this  sword,  he  hath  such  store  of  pa- 
tients, I  know  not  they  who  have  not,  at 
some  time  or  other,  sought  to  obtain  benefit 
at  his  hands." 

The  young  student  began  to  feel  more  re- 
conciled. 

"  You  cannot  help  being  wondrous  con- 
tent with  your  condition,  my  young  friend," 
remarked  the  ancient.  "  You  will  find  the 
Doctor  such  excellent  company,  and  one  so 
learned,  withal,  in  the  flavor  of  choice  wine, 
you  are  not  like  to  meet,  search  where  you 
will." 

"  I  do  not  much  need  such  knowledge," 
answered  the  young  physician,  gravely ; 
"  and,  methinks,  a  practitioner  of  physic 
ought  to  have  studies  of  a  very  different 
sort." 

"  Fore  George,  well  said !"  cried  the 
soldier,  who  was  of  so  amiable  a  disposi- 
tion, he  never  differed  with  a  person  on 
whose  purse  he  had  any  design.  "This 
same  drinking  must  needs  be  of  huge  detri- 
ment to  the  proper  study  of  medicine ;  and, 
for  mine  own  part,  I  cannot  believe  one  jot 
of  what  the  idle  world  reports  concerning 
the  doctor's  fondness  for  good  wine.  Indeed, 
this  world  is  so  villanously  given  to  lying, 
it  must  needs  be  the  safest  policy  never  to 
believe  a  word  one  hears.  On  mine  honor 
as  a  soldier,  I  take  the  doctor  to  care  as 
little  for  wine,  as  the  gravest  physician  of 
them  all.  He  would  scorn  to  take  more 
than  became  him.  But  if  you  are  not  like 


to  meet  temptations  to  intemperance,  you 
will  find  in  his  house  seductions  less  easily 
to  be  withstood." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  youth,  in  some 
alarm.  , 

"  Out  of  all  doubt,  Master  Doctor  !"  cried 
the  other,  in  a  joyful  tone.  "  This  learned 
physician,  let  me  tell  you,  hath  a  daughter 
just  of  an  age,  a  form  and  countenance  that 
would  make  a  man's  heart  melt  within  him, 
were  he  ever  so  little  given  to  the  dear  sex. 
And  the  little  fiery  god  play  not  the  very 
devil  with  you  ere  you  have  been^a  week 
under  the  same  roof  with  her  exquisite 
lustrous  eyes,  I  am  no  master  of  fence." 

"  I  care  little  for  these  things,"  quietly 
replied  the  student,  on  whom  his  mother's 
grave  entreaties  touching  his  behavior,  which 
were  almost  the  last  words  she  spoke  to  him, 
now  exercised  their  fullest  influence. 

The  valiant  captain  stared  with  all  hig 
solitary  eye.  To  meet  with  a  young  man 
for  whom  martial  stories  had  no  interest, 
wine  no  attraction,  and  who  was  indif- 
ferent to  the  charms  of  woman,  seemed  so 
extraordinary  that  he  could  scarce  credit  his 
senses.  Believing  that  no  good  was  to  be 
got  by  exercising  his  talents  upon  such  in- 
sensible materials,  he  was  about  to  enter- 
tain the  idea  of  getting  rid  of  such  unprofi- 
table society,  when  the  remembrance  of  the 
two-and-eightpence  he  had  already  pocketed 
induced  him  to  continue  his  exertions. 

"  I  doubt  not  you  are  a  master  of  your 
weapon,"  observed  the  cast  captain.  "  Nay, 
that  warlike  look  and  bearing  you  have  with 
you  telleth  me  you  are  as  perfect  a  swords- 
man as  any  one  of  your '  years.  Fore 
George,  here  is  a  pretty  soldier  spoiled  !" 

Now,  John  Hall  had  as  little  of  the  soldier 
in  him  as  you  might  hope  to  find  in  an  apple 
custard  ;  and,  instead  of  a  warlike  look  and 
bearing  wore  the  peaceablest  air  possible. 

"  Perchance,  you  have  killed  your  enemy 
now  already,"  added  his  companion.  "  Heart 
o'  me,  I  am  sure  on't!" 

"  In  sooth,  you  misjudge  me  hugely," 
replied  the  student.  "  My  vocation  is  to 
cure,  not  to  kill ;  and  so  little  do  I  know  of 
the  soldier's  art,  that  I  am  as  ignorant  of 
the  sword  as  the  babe  that  hath  not  yet  seen 
the  light." 

"  This  is  strange  indeed !"  observed  the 
captain,  as  though  monstrously  astonished. 
"  As  I  live,  I  would  not  have  believed  a  tittle 
of  it,  had  you  not  told  it  me  yourself.  Why, 
how  dost  intend  to  live,  sweet  sir  ?  A  youth 
of  your  goodly  appearance,  that  must  needs 
associate  with  gallants  of  the  court,  and 
young  citizens  who  are  as  familiar  with  their 


66 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


weapons  as  with  their  toothpicks — why  you 
cannot  but  be  a  lost  man,  know  you  not  how 
to  stand  on  your  defence." 

"  I  will  take  heed  I  give  offence  to 
none ;  then,  of  a  surety,  I  must  escape 
harm." 

"  Fore  gad  !  such  a  thing  was  never 
known,"  added  the  master  of  fence,  vehe- 
mently. "  It  be  as  necessary  for  a  man  to 
know  his  weapon  as  to  know  his  alphabet ; 
nay,  in  mine  opinion,  the  weapon  deserveth 
to  be  considered  the  most  essential  of  the 
two,  for  with  it  a  man  shall  not  only  be  able 
to  keep  his  life  secure,  but  shall  carve  for 
himself  a  way  to  fortune,  reputation,  and  his 
mistress'  favor,  which  the  extremest  cun- 
ning in  letters  cannot  effect." 

The  young  student  rode  on,  apparently 
but  little  interested  in  his  companion's  argu- 
ment, but  he  offered  no  opposition  to  what 
he  had  just  advanced. 

"I  will  give  you  an  instance,  Master 
Esculapius,"  he  continued,  "  of  the  exceed- 
ing importance  of  being  skilled  in  noble 
swordmanship.  When  I  was  in  Spain,  with 
the  forces  of  my  very  excellent  good  friend 
and  admirable  commander,  the  Earl  of  Essex, 
who  with  that  valiant  admirable  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  the  thrice  noble  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
and  in  short  nigh  upon  all  our  chiefest  offi- 
cers, had  of  me  their  well  known  cunning 
of  fence,  I  was  sent  on  a  mission  of  import- 
ance, being  considered  one  of  the  few  fit  to 
be  employed  on  such  high  occasions,  as 
much  for  my  daring  valor,  as  for  my  ripe 
experience  in  martial  affairs.  I  was  pro- 
ceeding alone  through  the  outskirts  of  Cadiz, 
intent  on  the  performing  of  my  mission  with 
credit,  when,  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  a 
convent,  I  became  aware  of  an  ambuscade 
of  villanous  Spaniards — nigh  upon  a  dozen 
— in  sooth,  I  will  not  assert  there  were  not 
thirteen — but  they  were  the  horriblest  cut- 
throat dogs  I  had  ever  met.  I  promise  you 
my  rapier  was  in  my  hand  in  a  second,  and 
ere  you  could  count  one,  1  had  stretched  two 
of  my  assailants  at  my  feet." 

"  Still  your  foes  were  too  numerous  for 
one  man  to  combat  with ;"  said  John  Hall, 
innocently.  "  Methinks  there  could  be  no 
great  difficulty  in  some  of  them  taking  you. 
from  behind,  whilst  you  were  defending  your- 
self in  front." 

"  Under  ordinary  circumstances,  I  grant 
you,"  readily  returned  the  cast-captain. 
"  But  you  should  take  into  consideration  my 
wonderful  mastery  of  my  weapon,  which 
hath  enabled  me  to  triumph  over  all  the 
most  distinguished  swordsmen  from  every 
part  of  the  civilized  globe,  whom  I  have 
overcome  by  a  secret  stroke  it  is  not  possible 


for  any  one  to  withstand,  however  great  a 
master  of  fence  he  may  be." 

"  I  knew  not  that,  valiant  captain,"  ob- 
served the  young  physician,  seemingly  in 
some  surprise. 

"  Fore  George,  I  could  have  guessed  as 
much  !"  replied  the  redoutable  Swashbuck- 
ler. "  But  to  the  telling  of  my  tale.  Such 
was  the  quickness  of  my  eye,  and  the  ex- 
cellence of  my  guard,  that  my  opponents 
could  not  touch  me  any  one  of  them*  and 
their  numbers,  by  their  jostling  together, 
made  them  unable  to  defend  themselves,  as 
they  otherwise  might,  against  my  quick  and 
fatal  thrusts.  One  by  one  they  dropped 
around  me,  till  three  only  were  left,  when, 
feeling  somewhat  tired  by  my  great  exer- 
tions in  this  unequal  fight,  I  sought  some 
mean  or  another  of  bringing  the  combat  to 
a  speedy  close.  And  what  think  you,  sweet 
sir,  I  did  ?" 

"  In  sooth,  I  know  not,"  said  the  student. 

"  This  was  it,"  answered  the  ancient,  with 
a  very  commendable  gravity.  "  I  employed 
all  the  strategy  of  which  I  was  master  to 
set  my  assailants  in  a  line,  and  then,  sudden 
as  a  flash  of  lightning,  with  one  terrible 
lunge,  I  pinned  my  three  Spaniards  against 
the  wall." 

"  That  was  marvellous  indeed !"  exclaim- 
ed John  Hall,  with  a  tone  and  look  of  pro- 
digious surprise. 

"  By  this  sword,  I  held  them  as  easily  as 
so  many  larks  on  a  skewer,"  added  the 
master  of  fence.  "  Now  this  sheweth  how 
absolutely  necessary  it  is  for  every  one  to 
have  a  perfect  knowledge  of  his  weapon. 
I  must  needs  have  the  teaching  of  you,  Mas- 
ter Hall.  It  must  not  be  allowed  that  one 
who  holdeth  himself  so  handsomely,  should 
be  at  the  mercy  of  every  lewd  fellow,  who 
chooseth  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him.  When 
you  have  so  little  chance  with  one,  if  you 
should  be  set  upon  by  numbers,  as  was  I, 
you  would  be  cut  to  pieces  presently." 

"  Methinks,  I  am  little  likely  to  be  in  such 
peril,"  said  the  youth, "  seeing  I  am  not  a 
valiant  captain  like  yourself,  and,  having  no 
intention  of  voyaging  to  Spain,  I  must  needs 
be  safe  from  Spanish  ambuscades." 

•'  I  doubt  it  not.  Master  Hall,  I  doubt  it 
not;"  quickly  replied  Swashbuckler.  "But 
a  man  who  hath  not  a  proper  degree  of  skill 
in  the  handling  of  his  weapon,  standeth  no 
better  chance  in  England  than  elsewhere. 
The  highways  are  beset  with  villanous  cut- 
purses—desperate  unruly  thieves,  who  get 
together  in  companies  and  despoil  the  travel- 
ler, both  of  his  life,  and  of  whatever  he  hath 
about  him." 

"  Can  skill  with  the  sword  avail  the  travel- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


«7 


ler  if  these  cut-purses  be  armed  with  pis- 
tolets  ?"  inquired  the  young  physician. 

"  Out  of  all  doubt,"  answered  the  other, 
with  as  perfect  a  confidence  as  ever  was 
seen.  "  If  you  will  be  taught,  1  will  show 
how  one  may  defend  himself  at  any  odds 
against  such  rascal  fellows,  and  run  every 
one  through  the  body,  by  my  infallible  secret 
stroke,  ere  he  have  time  to  pull  a  trigger." 

"  I  knew  not  the  use  of  the  sword  could 
be  made  of  such  advantage,"  observed  the 
young  physician. 

"  Truly,  there  is  no  telling  the  marvel  the 
skill  I  teach  can  be  made  to  perform,"  grave- 
ly asserted  the  master  of  fence.  "  One  fact 
is  worth  a  volume  of  discourses.  I  have  so 
often  stretched  these  cut-purse  villains  in 
the  dust,  when  they  have  set  on  me  in  a 
body,  that,  be  they  ever  in  such  great  num- 
bers, they  durst  not  come  a  near  me.  The 
last  acquaintance  I  had  of  them  was  in  Tot- 
hill  Fields,  when  two  sturdy  knaves  set  on 
me  with  a  sword  and  dagger,  and  two  more 
took  to  their  pistolets,  seeking  to  get  a  sure 
aim.  What  think  you  I  did  in  this  strait  ?" 

"  It  seemeth  to  me  past  telling,"  said  the 
other. 

"  Like  enough,  good  youth ;"  answered 
Swashbuckler.  (>  I  thought  a  long  time 
how  I  could  with  great  dexterity  escape  from 
these  miscreants,  and  made  use  of  a  master- 
stroke of  policy  for  that  purpose." 

"  After  what  fashion,  valiant  captain  ?" 

"  This  was  the  manner  of  it,  Master  Hall. 
I  did  so  skip  and  so  jump,  and  so  dodge 
about,  that  they  with  the  pistolets  could  get 
no  aim  at  me,  without  putting  their  fellow 
rogues  to  imminent  danger :  so  they  all 
spread  themselves  to  have  at  me,  and  were, 
as  I  could  see,  exceeding  eager  for  my 
destruction.  Seeing  they  with  the  pistolets 
right  over-against  each  other,  I  gave  them 
good  opportunity  for  aiming,  whilst  I  allow- 
ed the  sword  and  dagger  men,  whom  I  had 
got  in  a  like  opposite  situation,  to  prepare  a 
fatal  spring  at  me.  Watching  my  time,  on 
a  sudden  I  jumped  clean  away  from  them. 
And  what  think  you  followed  ?" 

"  Perchance,  they  made  after  you." 

"  Fore  George,  they  were  in  no  case  for 
moving  a  step !  The  sword  and  dagger 
men  fell  thrust  through  by  each  other's  hands 
at  the  same  moment  of  time  they  with  the 
pistolets  shot  each  other  through  the  head." 

"  As  I  live,  a  most  strange  thing!"  ex- 
claimed the  youth  very  much  astonished. 

"  But  what  sort  of  company  have  we 
here  ?"  he  added,  pointing  to  some  men 
who  seemed  to  be  making  towards  them  in 
the  direction  they  were  proceeding:  "now, 
if  they  chance  to  be  cut-purses,  valiant  cap- 


tain, methinks  they  had  best  away  with 
themselves  as  they  are  wont  to  do  at  the 
sight  of  you,  as  quick  as  they  can — else 
your  exceeding  skill  with  your  weapon  must 
needs  be  their  entire  destruction." 

Captain  Swashbuckler  at  this  directed  his 
gaze  where  he  was  required,  and,  after  a 
few  minutes  sharp  scrutiny,  suddenly  put 
spurs  to  his  horse  and  turned  at  full  speed 
down  a  bye  lane  ;  but  whilst  John  Hall  was 
marvelling  at  this  strange  behavior,  he  notic- 
ed the  men  who  were  approaching  quicken- 
ing their  pace  towards  him,  and  seeing  they 
were  armed  and  of  a  very  vagrant-like  ap- 
pearance, he  looked  to  his  weapons.  As 
they  rushed  towards  him  with  threatenings 
and  imprecations,  he  had  just  time  to  be  on 
Ms  guard,  and,  one  of  the  villains  attempting 
to  seize  his  bridle,  he  let  fly  at  him  presently, 
and,  doubtless  wounded  him,  for  he  fell  back 
into  the  arms  of  one  of  his  associates. 

It  was  evident  that  neither  Dapple  nor 
Jack  had  ever  so  slight  an  acquaintance  with 
the  munitions  of  warj  for,  as  in  a  previous 
instance  of  a  similar  sort,  on  the  instant  they 
heard  the  report  of  the  pistolet,  they  started 
off  with  a  desperateness  that  rendered  futile 
all  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  cut-purses  to 
lay  a  hold  on  their  riders ;  the  old  horse 
giving  one  of  the  rascals  so  sharp  a  kick  as 
senfhim  to  the  ground,  yelling  like  a  dog 
that  hath  got  his  tail  jammed  in  a  door-way. 
Simon  Stockfish  had  not  passed  unprofi- 
tably  the  time  taken  up  by  the  discourse  of 
his  master  with  the  cast-captain.  He  had 
been  thinking  with  a  wondrous  intentness 
on  the  best  means  of  securing  his  young 
master's  safety  till  he  got  him  securely  hous- 
ed in  the  dwelling  of  the  famous  Doctor 
Posset,  in  Barbican ;  after  imagining  all 
sorts  of  evils  it  was  possible  for  him  to  meet 
during  the  remainder  of  his  journey,  and 
every  possible  kind  of  remedy  for  one  and 
all  of  them,  he  had  just  come  to  the  sage 
conclusion,  founded  on  the  little  profit  he  had 
got,  of  the  ability  to  help  him  in  his  need, 
that  it  would  be  discreetest  to  let  things  take 
their  course,  when  the  firing  of  the  pistolet 
and  the  uncontrollable  fury  of  his  steed  put 
an  end  to  his  reflections.  For  some  time,  he 
had  quite  enough  to  do  to  endeavor  to  keep 
his  seat,  and  probably  this  inability  to  inter- 
fere secured  his  master's  safety  and  his  own. 
They  pursued  the  rest  of  the  way  without 
any  adventure  worth  naming ;  not,  however, 
without  Dapple  and  Jack  creating  a  vast 
deal  of  attention  wherever  they  appeared ; 
and,  after  some  difficulty,  the  young  phy- 
sician found  out  the  place  of  his  destination. 
Those  goodly  steeds  were  at  once  sent  to 
proper  stables,  that  they  might  have  a  suffi- 


58 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


cient  rest  previous  to  their  return  to  their 
owners  the  next  day,  in  the  careful  custody 
of  Simon  Stockfish. 

John  Hall  was  so  fortunate  as  to  meet 
his  instructor  in  the  art  and  mystery  of  medi- 
cine, within  a  few  doors  of  his  dwelling. 
Dr.  Posset  appeared  to  be  a  little  man,  of  a 
lively  temperament,  having  grey  hair,  grow- 
ing very  thin,  carefully  curled ;  his  short 
beard  being  looked  after  with  equal  affection. 
His  eyebrows  were  very  thick,  and  jutting 
out  exceedingly,  under  which  were  a  pair 
of  keen,  hawk-like  eyes.  A  thick  and  mis- 
shapen nose,  and  a  mouth  of  a  moderate 
size,  drawn  in  by  loss  of  teeth,  completed 
the  list  of  his  principal  features.  His  dress 
was  a  sober  suit  of  plum-colored  cloth,  with 
falling  band  and  ruffles  ;  hose  of  the  same 
color ;  a  velvet  cap,  without  a  feather ;  and 
square-toed  shoes,  without  roses ;  and  these, 
with  a  long  staff  in  his  hand,  tipped  with 
ivory,  made  up  the  distinguishing  marks  of 
his  apparelling. 

On  first  spying  him,- Dr.  Posset,  as  though 
in  no  manner  of  doubt  as  to  his  man,  gave 
him  a  hearty  welcome,  inquired  after  his 
good  mother,  and  how  he  had  borne  the 
journey,  and  hoped  they  should  be  excellent 
friends,  and  that  tbe  youth  might  find  with 
him  as  pleasant  a  home  as  the  one  he  had 
left. 

The  house  wherein  the  student  was  about 
to  find  a  dwelling  seemed  to  him  a  fair  edi- 
fice, though  bearing  an  antique  and  some- 
what gloomy  aspect.  The  chambers  above 
the  ground  floor  projected  into  the  street, 
and  much  rude  carving  was  observable 
round  the  door  and  over  the  lower  casement ; 
a  rude  figure  representing  the  goddess  Hy- 
geia,  carved  in  oak,  was  displayed  at  full 
length,  with  all  her  proper  attributes,  in  a 
prominent  place  above  the  door ;  whilst  a 
head  of  Galen,  in  monstrous  dingy  colors, 
was  slung  in  an  iron  frame  in  front  of  it. 
Above  the  front  story  projected  another,  with 
much  the  same  sort  of  wide  casements,  all 
black  with  time  and  weather  stains  ;  and  in 
the  shelving  roof,  there  seemed  to  be  one  or 
two  more,  though  of  a  much  smaller  sort. 

The  houses  adjoining  were  of  the  same 
respectable  sort,  belonginf  to  persons  of 
pubstance  and  credit,  most  of  them  having 
some  sort  of  sign  to  distinguish  the  calling 
of  the  tenant;  and,  as  bravely-apparelled 
gallants,  discreet  gentlewomen,  and  citizens 
of  fair  repute,  were  seen  going  in  and  out 
of  them,  there  could  be  no  manner  of  doubt 
but  that  Barbican  was  a  place  peopled  by 
thriving  and  respectable  citizens. 

John  Hall  followed  his  conductor  through 
the  door,  which  he  opened  with  a  latch,  and 


found  himself  in  a  capacious  hall,  having 
chambers  to  the  right  and  left,  distinguish- 
able by  the  open  doors  which  led  into  them  ; 
and  there  was  a  staircase  at  the  further  end, 
the  lower  part  being  seen  through  another 
open  door  at  the  left,  corresponding  with  a 
closed  door,  or  rather  wicket,  at  the  right, 
formed  in  an  oaken  partition  of  some  eight 
or  ten  feet  high  ;  the  upper  part  of  the  stair- 
case being  visible  above  it ;  the  wicket  lead- 
ing to  the  back  premises,  and  the  other  door 
to  the  chambers  above. 

John  Hall  had  scarcely  time  to  notice 
these  particulars,  when  his  attention  became 
completely  engrossed  by  a  number  of  persons 
grouped  about  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Stretch- 
ed at  her  full  length  on  the  steps,  her  head 
supported  in  the  lap  of  an  elderly  female  of 
a  monstrous  sharp  visage,  a  younger  one 
sitting  at  her  feet,  whilst  a  stout  youth  had 
firm  possession  of  her  arms,  lay  a  girl, 
evidently  just  entering  upon  her  career  of 
womanhood. 

She  appeared  rather  of  a  tall  stature,  with 
limbs  somewhat  large,  though  by  no  means 
ungraceful,  well-rounded  arms  and  bust, 
being  in  a  low,  tight  bodice,  were  at  least 
sure  of  being  regarded  admiringly ;  and  her 
dainty  farthingale  disclosed  sufficient  of  her 
ancles  to  prove  they  were  no  less  commend- 
able. Her  features  bespoke  nothing  of  a 
singular  comeliness,  but  they  were  seen  to 
no  sort  of  advantage,  the  eyes  being  fixed, 
the  nostrils  dilated,  the  mouth  opening  and 
shutting  as  though  with  sudden  spasm--, 
and  the  complexion  pallid,  whilst  the  abun- 
dance of  her  glossy  hair  strayed  in  confusion 
over  her  forehead  and  shoulders. 

She  made  a  strange  mumbling  sound,  and 
threw  out  her  arms  by  sudden  starts,  which 
he  who  grasped  them — albeit  he  did  not 
seem  to  lack  strength — had  much  ado  to 
keep  under  his  commandment.  Anon  she 
would  strive  to  overthrow  those  who  held 
her,  by  some  prodigious  effort  of  strength, 
which  it  was  with  exceeding  difficulty  they 
could  withstand  ;  and  failing  in  this,  burst 
out  into  a  monstrous  passion  of  laughter  so 
long  and  loud,  it  was  as  though  all  Pande- 
monium were  moved  by  some  devilish  jest ; 
and,  after  this,  straightway  commenced  talk- 
ing eagerly  the  strangest  stuff  ever  heard, 
the  which  was  only  brought  to  an  ending  by 
a  sudden  and  mighty  dashing  of  herself  as 
though  to  escape,  which  was  soon  followed 
by  another  wild  scream  of  laughter  more 
fierce  than  ever. 

Near  her  stood  one  with  a  vessel  of  water, 
which  was  being  sprinkled  on  her  face, 
whilst  another  held  burnt  feathers  to  her 
nose,  and  a  third  was  approaching  with 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


some  kind  of  madicine  in  a  glass.  Other 
remedies  were  suggested  by  her  distressed 
companions,  but  she  minded  them  none  at 
all,  for  she  struggled,  and  screamed,  and 
gabbled,  and  laughed  with  increasing  fury. 
Whilst  John  Hall  gazed  on  this  scene 
with  the  most  absolute  astonishment,  it 
seemed  to  fill  his  conductor  with  nothing  but 
vexation,  for  he  spoke  impatiently,  now 
wringing  his  hands  and  casting  up  his  eyes, 
and  anon  pacing  up  and  down  with  his 
hands  behind  him. 

All  at  once  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  less 
tearing  humor.  At  this  the  young  man  bent 
his  head  near  the  ear  of  the  sick  girl,  and, 
whispering  with  an  impressing  earnestness, 
as  though  calling  to  her,  the  name  of  "  MiJ- 
licent."  He  had  scarce  done  so,  when  she 
replied,  in  a  faint  and  languid  voice,  and 
thereupon  commenced  a  dialogue  between 
the  two,  the  one  asking  how  she  felt,  and 
what  she  would  have  done  for  her  ;  and  the 
other  answering  she  was  better,  and  desired 
nothing  so  much  as  to  be  taken  to  her 
chamber. 

Preparations  were  soon  made  for  carrying 
her  wishes  into  effect,  the  youth  seeming  to 
take  nearly  ail  the  burthen  of  her  conveyance 
upon  himself. 

It  was  easy  to  guess  that  the  sick  girl 
was  the  physician's  daughter ;  the  elder 
female  was  a  neighbor,  following  the  trade 
of  a  capper,  in  Golden  Lane  ;  the  other  was 
a  young  friend  ;  the  youth  was  an  appren- 
tice to  Dr.  Posset  of  more  than  a  year's 
standing ;  and  the  others  were  certain  ac- 
quaintances of  the  physician's — neighbors 
and  gossips — invited  by  him,  to  welcoma 
amongst  them  the  young  scholar,  whose 
studies  he  was  about  to  superintend. 

As  the  young  physician  watched  the  re- 
treating form  of  the  fair  Millicent  up  the 
Blairs,  was  he  recalling  the  seductive  charac- 
ter of  the  one  who  was  about  to  be  his  near 
associate  for  a  long  period,  which  he  had 
heard  from  the  estimable  Captain  Swash- 
buckler ?  It  did  not  recur  to  his  mind,  for 
a  single  moment.  He  thought  only  of  what 
was  writ  in  a  certain  part  of  Galen  on  the 
subject  of  epilepsy. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

You  neede  not  goe  abroade  to  bee  tempted  : 
you  shall  bee  intised  at  your  own  windowes. 
The  best  councel  that  I  can  give  you  is  to  keepe 
at  home,  and  shun  all  occasion  of  ill  speech. 

THE  SCHOOLS  OF  ABUSE. 

4 

WE  may  not  tarry  with  tho  bereaved  fath- 


er longer  than  will  suffice  for  the  reader's 
proper  understanding  of  his  unutterable  sor- 
row. By  the  death  of  his  so  deeply  beloved 
son,  Master  Shakspeare's  heart  was  smote 
as  though  the  king  of  terrors  had  dealt 
therein  his  fiercest  dart.  He  recovered  so 
far  as  to  follow  to  its  last  resting-place  all 
that  remained  of  the  form  which  had  so  long 
been  the  chiefest  object  in  every  ambitious 
dream,  with  a  seeming  marvellous  calm  and 
patience ;  but  when  he  heard  the  clods  of 
earth  rattle  against  the  little  coffin,  there 
rushed  into  his  mind  so  vast  a  sense  of  the 
sumless  love  there  buried  and  lost  for  ever, 
that  his  oppressed  brain  could  not  bear  tlis 
burden  of  it,  and  he  straightway  fell  into 
such  a  passionate  frenzy,  it  was  with  a  mon- 
strous to  do  he  could  be  got  home ;  and  o>-1y 
with  many  strong  men's  help,  day  and  ni-;it, 
could  he  be  kept  to  his  chamber.  How 
wildly  he  raved  ;  how  piercingly  he  called 
on  the  remorseless  tomb  to  give  up  its 
youthful  tenant ;  how  fiercely  he  waged  war 
on  divers  shadowy  powers,  which,  in  his 
fantasy,  kept  from  him  his  heart's  best 
treasure ;  and  how  urgently  he  prayed  to 
what  seemed  to  him  the  unnatural  callous 
natures  that  set  at  nought  a  father's  agony, 
and  could  not  be  moved  by  a  father's  love — 
it  passeth  the  skill  of  my  rude  p3n  to  say. 
Perchance,  of  those  whose  eyes  wander  over 
these  pages,  there  shall  be  some  whose  af- 
fections have  been  uprooted  after  the  rude 
fashion  which  marked  the  love  of  this  nobb 
gentleman  for  his  sweet  Hamnet,  and  can 
readily  conceive  the  manifold  workings  of 
so  terrible  tempestuous  an  earthquake  of  the 
heart ;  but,  doubtless,  there  shall  be  many 
who  know  nothing  of  these  things.  God 
keep  them,  to  their  lives'-  end,  in  so  proper 
an  ignorance ! 

We  must,  however,  state  that,  partly  from 
the  sympathy  which  this  huge  affliction  cre- 
ated for  miles  round,  now  directed  to  the 
promising  scholar,  anon  to  the  diligent  an,{ 
well-pleased  master,  and  then  to  the  doting 
father,  and,  from  the  respect  felt  generally 
for  one  of  such  blameless  life  as  the  de- 
ceased vicar,  and  for  one  of  so  many  ad- 
mirable qualities  as  William  Shakspeare, 
there  was  at  the  funeral  so  numerous  an 
assemblage  as  had  never  been  known  be- 
fore to  have  congregated  on  such  an  oc- 
casion. 

Not  only  did  the  gentry  of  the  neighbor- 
hood attend,  but  every  one  of  the  corporation 
of  Stratford,  from  the  high  bailiff  to  the 
humblest  of  the  burgesses,  with  every  proper 
sign  of  mourning,  joined  in  the  melancholy 
procession.  Honored  with  the  sincere  re- 
grets of  rich  and  poor,  and  such  a  bountiful 


60 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


store  of  tears  from  man,  woman,  and  child, 
as  though  their  deaths  were  regarded  as  a 
public  calamity,  they,  who  had  been  so  long 
and  intimately  connected  by  a  mutual  love 
of  learning,  were  on  the  same  day  consigned 
to  their  narrow  homes.  Though  it  may  be 
said  of  them,  that  they  brought  their  studies 
to  a  most  sorry  ending — that  their  eager  pur- 
suit of  wisdom  led  them  only  to  that  un- 
matchable  dreary  state  where  alone  wisdom 
hatli  no  privilege — who  shall  aver  that,  in 
those  groves  of  everlasting  verdure,  which 
hath  in  so  many  good  men's  minds  been  con- 
sidered the  abiding-place  of  all  intelligent 
spirits  that  have  passed  away  from  this 
lower  world,  that  diligent  and  affectionate 
scholar  is  not  at  this  very  moment  of  time 
3r~oying  the  inestimable  lessons  of  the  mas- 
ter by  wiiom  he  was  so  truly  loved  ? 

It  was  long  after  the  churchyard  was  de- 
serted, when  every  one  of  that  goodly  as- 
semblage by  whom  it  had  been  tilled  were 
in  their  own  more  enviable  homes,  reflecting 
on  the  affliction  that  had  visited  the  .cottage 
at  Shottery,  one  mourner  still  lingered  about 
the  grave  of  Hamnet  Shakspeare.  It  was 
Talbot. 

The  poor  hound  had  managed  to  escape 
from  the  outhouse — where,  since  the  death 
of  his  young  playmate,  he  had  been  care- 
fully yet  kindly  confined — by  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  absence  at  the  funeral  of  the 
affectionate  creature  who  had  shewn  such 
friendly  heed  of  him.  Talbot  never  failed 
to  recognize  the  attentions  and  caresses  of 
the  gentle  Susanna,  but  the  food  she  brought 
was  left  untouched,  and  the  tears  with  which 
the  sorrowing  girl  mingled  her  persuasions  to 
take  the  tempting  morsels  she  put  before  him 
elicited  no  other  sign  of  his  attention  than 
an  uneasy  whine. 

By  what  singular  instinct  it  was,  on 
breaking  from  his  bonds  and  displacing  a 
loose  board,  he  made  direct  for  the  church- 
yard, cannot  be  explained  any  more  than  his 
immediately  selecting  the  exact  spot  beneath 
which  lay  all  that  remained  of  one  with 
whom  he  had  had  such  heaps  of  pleasant 
sport.  A  short  time  after  he  was  discover- 
ed howling  the  piercingest  tones  ever  heard, 
whilst  making  prodigious  efforts  to  tear  up 
the  soil  that  rested  on  Hamnet's  coffin.  To 
drive  him  or  coax  him  out  of  the  church- 
yard was  found  impossible,  till  Susanna, 
having  discovered  his  escape,  on  her  pYo- 
ceeding  at  her  return  home  to  tempt  him 
once  more  with  some  nice  morsel,  hurried 
in  search  of  him,  and,  with  infinite  trouble, 
at  last  succeeded  in  getting  him  away. 

It  was  only  by  the  constant  care  and  exqui- 
site loving  kindness  of  this  gentle  girl  that  the 


life  of  the  poor  hound  was  saved.  For  a  long 
lime  Talbot  looked  but  the  skeleton  of  what  he 
was.  Deeply  must  he  have  grieved  for  the 
loss  of  his  fast  friend  and  playmate.  He 
never  again  ventured  near  the  churchyard ; 
but,  when  allowed  to  wander  where  he 
chose,  he  would  take  every  possible  pains  to 
avoid  it.  And,  after  the  lapse  of  many 
months,  having  accompanied  some  of  the 
family  in  that  direction,  he  stopped  at  one 
of  the  gates,  and  set  up  so  pitiful  a  howl,  it 
moved  all  who  saw  him. 

Advancing  somewhat  in  time,  it  must  now 
be  stated,  that,  stretched  on  a  bed  in  a  cham- 
ber, the  which  may  readily  be  recognized  as 
the  one  in  which  young  Hamnet  died,  al- 
though it  had  since  seen  divers  alterations, 
lay  the  heart-broken  father,  slowly  recover- 
ing from  the  moral  and  physical  effects  of 
the  fatal  blow  at  his  happiness  he  had  so 
unexpectedly  received.  His  eyes  were  open, 
and,  though  dimmed  by  sorrow  and  long 
sickness,  still  shone  with  that  fine  spirit 
whereby  so  many  worthy  actions  of  his  had 
been  influenced :  his  face  was  exceeding 
pale  and  much  wasted  ;  but  the  benevolence 
that  might  be  read  in  its  expression,  like  a 
written  language,  was  as  visible  as  ever ; 
and  the  intelligence  that  spoke  as  intelligi- 
bly from  his  noble  forehead  as  though  it  were 
the  powerfullest  eloquence  ever  heard,  was 
such  as  neither  grief  nor  illness  had  any 
power  over. 

He  gazed  about  him  somewhat  strangely, 
leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  perchance 
for  obtaining  a  better  survey  of  his  cham- 
ber, and  his  eyes  wandered  over  all  its  ob- 
jects, but  could  not  be  said  to  rest  on  any, 
till  it  fell  upon  a  plot  of  pansies  that  grew 
in  a  box  outside  the  open  casement,  and 
were  then  in  full  bloom.  A  yellow  butter- 
fly— that  common  sign  of  summer  and  sun- 
shine— was  hovering  over  the  pretty  blos- 
soms, on  which  it  presently  descended. 

These  familiar  shapes,  that  speak,  too,  so 
cheerfully  of  life  and  its  most  exquisite 
sources  of  enjoyment,  did  not  present  them- 
selves to  the  mind  of  the  sick  man  without 
bearing  with  them  those  marvellous  lessons 
with  which  Nature,  in  her  exceeding  love, 
refreshes  the  weary  and  heals  the  wounded 
spirit.  Though  the  goodliest  edifice  that 
doting  affection  ever  raised  out  of  the  most 
excusable  feelings  of  pride  and  ambition 
had  been  overthrown  to  its  very  foundations, 
and  the  poor  architect  stood  overwhelmed 
and  stunned  with  the  completeness  of  his 
ruin,  scarce  had  he  recovered  the  faculty  of 
seeing,  when  he  became  sensible  that  life 
had  still  hopes,  and  Nature  bounties,  and  with 
such  help  more  secure  fabrics  might  be  built 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


61 


up  of  nearly  as  fair  proportions  and  lofty 
elevation. 

As  he  continued  his  gaze  on  the  pansies, 
Master  Shakspeare's  thoughts  fell  out  of 
that  disordered  state  in  which  they  had  so 
long  been  left  to  wander,  and  gradually  grew 
into  a  wholesome  regularity.  That  they  led 
him  to  the  pleasant  mossy  banks,  and  the 
sweet  shady  nooks  where,  in  times  past,  he 
had  first  sought  to  indulge  that  sympathy 
for  the  beautiful  which  had  linked  so  indis- 
solubly  all  his  exquisitest  feeling  to  nature, 
can  be  no  marvel ;  that  they  convinced  him 
that  all  the  enjoyments  sought  by  him  out 
of  the  wide  range  of  unrivalled  pleasures 
she  offers  to  such  as  devote  themselves  to 
her  service,  were  not  only  profitless,  but 
deeply  mischievous,  is  likewise  no  more  than 
natural :  and  that,  at  last,  they  directed  him 
for  the  future  to  place  his  whole  reliance  on 
those  means  of  happiness  still  at  his  dis- 
posal, as  having  in  this  pursuit  neither  vex- 
ation nor  trouble  of  any  sort  whatever,  is 
the  probablest  thing  that  could  be  thought  of. 

Whether  this  happened  or  not,  certain  it 
is  that  a  more  cheerful  aspect  took  posses- 
sion of  the  sick  man's  features.  He  seemed, 
by  some  effort  of  his  will,  to  lift  his  mind 
from  the  earth,  and,  extricating,  it  from  the 
fearful  wreck  which  death  had  made  of  his 
affections,  elevate  it  on  those  proud  aspira- 
tions which  had  so  often  borne  it  out  of  sight 
of  base  earthly  things.  Then  it  was  that  the 
fluttering  insect  rose  from  its  flowery  resting- 
place  beside  the  casement,  and  soared  into 
the  air,  rising  gradually  before  the  sick 
man's  eyes,  till  it  had  gone  out  of  sight,  as 
though  aiming  at  the  very  highest  heaven. 

Whilst  pondering  on  this  apparent  prom- 
ise, Master  Shakspeare  was  aware  of  a  door 
opening,  and  with  a  step  so  soft,  she  seemed 
to  be  treading  on  the  very  air,  and  a  look 
of  deep  interest,  that  gave  but  another  gentle 
touch  to  the  gentle  expression  of  her  beauty, 
Susanna  entered  the  chamber.  At  the  first 
glimpse  he  had  of  her  he  recognized  the 
graceful  form  that  had  been  wont  to  pre- 
sent itself  in  so  many  affectionate  ways  to 
his  bewildered  senses,  but  he  could  not  have 
known  the  admirable  attentive  nurse  she  had 
been. 

It  was  marvellous  to  behold  the  exceeding 
care  with  which  the  fond  girl  had  watched 
over  her  parent  throughout  his  terrible  mal- 
ady ;  of  a  truth,  he  owed  his  recovery  to  her 
patient  and  unceasing  regard  of  him.  A 
conviction  of  such  an  obligation  entered 
his  mind  as  she  carefully  approached  the 
bed,  and  with  it  came  the  consoling  thought, 
so  much  love  would  go  far  to  replace  the  i 
monstrous  loss  he  had  sustained. 


As  she  took  note  of  the  improvement  so 
visible  in  her  patient's  appearance,  she 
smiled  in  such  sort  as  plainly  proved  how 
greatly  it  was  to  her  contentation.  The 
father  unclosed  his  eyes — which  he  had  shut 
at  his  child's  approach — and  the  affectionate 
joy  that  shone  so  brightly  in  her  sweet  coun- 
tenance had  so  powerful  an  effect  on  him, 
that  he  presently  threw  his  arms  round  her, 
and  pressed  her  in  a  fond  embrace.  Al- 
though Susanna  was  somewhat  taken  by 
surprise,  the  endearing  expressions  she  heard 
soon  assured  her,  and  she  speedily  gave  her- 
self up  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  those  deli- 
cious moments. 

To  be  loved  was  all  her  gentle  nature  de- 
sired, but  had  hitherto  desired  in  vain.  Her 
mother's  affection  was  fixed  exclusively 
upon  her  sister.  Judith  appeared  to  love 
no  one,  not  even  her  too  indulgent  mother. 
Hamnet's  whole  soul  was  engrossed  by  his 
books,  and  her  father,  though  always  kind, 
seemed  to  have  no  affection  to  spare  out  of 
the  heap  he  lavished  on  her  brother.  Fail- 
ing in  these  quarters,  she  had  strove  hard  to 
endear  herself  to  Talbot,  but  the  heart  of 
the  noble  hound  was  so  entirely  that  of  his 
playfellow,  that  she  found  her  exertions  to 
win  him  to  herself  were  fruitless.  Disap- 
pointed though  she  was  in  her  desires,  it 
made  not  the  slightest  change  in  her  dispo- 
sition ;  whilst  every  one  seemed  cold  and 
careless  to  her,  she  was  gentle  and  kind  to  all. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  imagined,  that  the 
pleasure  with  which  she  received  the  ca- 
resses of  her  father  was  of  as  perfect  a  sort 
as  ever  existed.  She  had  not  dared  to  hope 
to  be  made  so  happy.  Indeed,  she  had  al- 
most despaired  in  her  pursuit,  knowing  how 
little  was  to  be  expected  from  her  mother  and 
sister,  and  believing  her  father's  affections 
to  be  buried  in  the  coffin  of  his  beloved 
Hamnet.  But  the  conversation  by  which 
the  well-pleased  parent  now  skilfully  brought 
out  his  daughter's  disposition,  assured  her,  by 
the  commendation  of  her  it  elicited,  that  there 
was  at  least  one  heart  in  the  world  whose 
love  she  might  obtain. 

After  this  he  mended  fast,  and  bid  fair  to 
be  a  whole  man  again  speedily ;  which,  to 
be  sure,  was  in  a  great  measure  owing  to 
the  loving  care  and  heedfulness  of  his 
daughter  Susanna — the  only  one  in  the 
hous%  who  troubled  herself  about  him  in 
any  way  worthy  of  notice.  To  be  sure, 
her  mother  did,  at  times,  pay  him  some  at- 
tentions, and  Judith  would  stay  with  him 
awhile  when  there  was  no  great  temptation 
to  entice  her  away ;  but  to  a  heart  such  as 
his,  affection  of  this  sort  gave  him  anything 
but  satisfaction. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


It  was  about  a  week  or  so  after  this  col- 
loquy, that  three  old  dame?,  each  equally 
short  of  stature  and  stout  of  flesh,  with 
visages  alike  in  the  marvellous  fieryness 
that  shone  in  them,  like  so  many  yulelogs  in 
a  blaze,  and  a  similar  showiness  in  their 
several  apparelling,  sat  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
cottage  at  Shottery,  as  though  they  had  just 
come  in,  and  were  intent  on  resting  them- 
selves after  a  walk.  These  were  near  rela- 
tives of  Master  Shakspeare's  wife ;  three 
sisters,  somwhat  notorious  for  causing  strife 
wherever  they  went. 

Susanna  was  making  bread  at  a  goodly 
sized  dough-trough  on  one  side  of  the 
chamber,  standing  on  a  stool  the  while,  and 
her  mother  and  sister  were  tiring  of  them- 
selves as  though  about  going  on  a  journey. 
But  though  the  old  dames  were  resting  their 
limbs,  their  tongues  got  no  rest,  I  promise 
you ;  nay,  it  more  than  once  chanced,  they 
all  talked  together,  and  so  fast  withal,  it 
looked  as  though  they  had  each  got  so  much 
to  say,  Aunt  Frateapace  in  especial,  and  so 
little  time  to  give  it  utterance,  all  must  needs 
out  at  once.  In  this  chorus  they  were,  ever 
and  anon,  joined  by  the  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, Susanna  alone  holding  her  peace;  and 
she,  too,  continuing  her  labors  apparently 
as  little  regarded  of  the  rest  as  though  she 
were  a  good  thousand  miles  away. 

"  By  my  halidom,  Anne,  an  I  had  a  hus- 
band, I'd  see  him  hanged  ere  I  would  be 
plagued  by  his  humors !"  said  she  in  the 
yellow  bodice  with  a  crimson  kirtle,  tossing 
up  her  pincushion  nose  in  a  monstrous  dis- 
dainful manner,  as  though  she  had  smelt 
carrion.  "  A  fine  thing,  truly,  for  a  poor 
woman  to  be  the  slave  of  every  tyrannical 
tearing  fellow  it  may  be  her  ill  hap  to  have 
married  !  It  is  fit  a  wife  should  have  her 
recreations  and  her  pleasures,  and  have  ever 
about  her  those  who  are  her  true  friends 
and  gossips,  and  engage  in  all  manner  of 
sports  and  revels  she  can  get  to ;  and  in  no 
case  is  it  proper  for  her  to  be  kept  to  her 
home  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  making  herself  a 
worthless,  pitiful, 'poor  drudge  from  day  to 
day,  and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end.  All 
saints'  days  and  holidays,  and  all  manner  of 
festivals  and  merrymakings,  she  ought  to 
enjoy  to  her  heart's  content ;  and,  if  any 
pragmatical,  peremptory  husband  sought  to 
prevent  it,  she  should  value  him  no^more 
than  a  cracked  flea — that's  my  thinking," 
and  the  old  dame  laid  an  emphasis  on  her 
last  words,  slapped  her  closed  fist  against 
her  open  palm,  ami,  looking  as  fierce  as  a 
ferret,  turned  short  round  on  her  stool  to- 
wards her  associates,  as  though  there  could 
be  no  appeal  to  so  famous  an  argument. 


"  Truly,  Aunt  Gadabout,  we  poor  women 
are  hardly  used,"  observed  the  still  fair  Anne, 
eyeing  her  comely  features  complacently  in 
a  small  mirror  she  held  in  her  hand — an  ob- 
servation they  had  heard  from  her  when  on 
the  same  subject  any  time  this  dozen  years. 

"  Hardly  used,  quotha  !"  mumbled  ano- 
ther, as,  with  her  hands  resting  on  her  knees, 
and  her  body  bending  forward  on  the  settle 
where  she  sat,  she  shook  her  head,  as 
though  it  was  took  with  a  sudden  ague. 
"  Had  Peter  Prateapace  ventured  on  such 
unbearableness,  I'd  a  used  him,  i1  faith  !" 

".  Now  it  should  be  known  that  the  said 
Peter,  whilst  he  was  in  the  flesh,  would  as 
soon  have  ventured  on  taking  on  himself  the 
very  slightest  appearance  of  a  husband,  as 
of  claiming  kin  with  the  Pope.  It  so 
chanced,  however,  that  once  having  grown 
valiant  by  sitting  over-late  at  his  cups,  with 
a  noted  scorner  of  scolds  and  termagant 
shrews,  he  came  home,  and  dared  to  bid  his 
wife  bring  him  a  pot  of  small  ale,  and,  on 
her  refusing,  bade  her  go  hang  for  a  jade. 
The  next  morning,  on  his  coming  to  his  so- 
ber senses,  the  consequences  looked  so  torri- 
ble,  he  went  and  incontinently  drowned  him- 
self in  the  mill-stream. 

"  Hardly  used,  quotha  !"  she  continued, 
in  the  same  triumphant  strain.  "  Lord  war- 
rant us  !  an  all  women  had  my  will,  Anne, 
they  should  follow  their  own  humors  with 
such  infinite  perfectness,  they  should  have 
nothing  to  wish  for  in  that  matter,  and  snap 
their  fingers  on  all  men  whatsoever.  By'r 
lady  !  methinks  'tis  a  good  thing  for  wives 
to  be  held  in  subjection  of  their  husbands — 
to  be  thwarted,  and  vexed,  and  put  upon  as 
though  they  were  fit  for  nought  but  to  bear 
fardels  enough  to  break  their  backs,  whilst, 
forsooth,  their  precious  helpmates  are  to  look 
on  and  find  fault.  Were  the  best  man  that 
ever  wore  a  head  to  attempt  ordering  of  me, 
or  interfering  with  my  pleasures,  ere  he  were 
a  day,  an  hour,  a  minute  older,  an  his  face 
were  not  as  well  scratched  as  though  it 
had  been  thrust  through  a  bramble-bush,  it 
should  be  a  marvel  indeed,  I  promise  you 
— I  warrant  he  should  be  in  no  mood  lor  a 
second  attempt  of  the  sort." 

"  But  I  have  such  an  infinite  lack  of  spir- 
its," added  Anne, "  and  am  so  weak  and  fear- 
ful withal,  such  violent  courses  would  only 
succeed  in  doing  me  a  mischief." 

"  Alack,  poor  lamb  !"  cried  the  other,  in  a 
commiserating  mood.  "  But  this  is  the 
real  grounds  of  it  all.  Were  she  not  of  such 
poor  health,  she  would  be  more  kindly  used, 
but  he  taketh  advantage  of  her  weakness  to 
treat  her  scurvily.  I  never  could  affect  the 
fellow.  He  was  ever  a  proud,  bombastical, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


63 


fustian  knave.  I  protest  I  liked  him  not  from 
the  first  hour  I  saw  him  ;  and,  since  he  hath 
been  a  player — save  the  mark — he  hath  be- 
come so  intolerable  fantastical  and  indiffer- 
ent, and  putteth  on  himself  so  monstrous 
nice  a  behavior,  and  so  smooth  a  discourse, 
I  would  as  lief  lie  in  a  butter-woman's  bas- 
ket as  within  earshot  of  him." 

Susanna  heard  this  disparagement  of  one 
whom  her  young  heart  regarded  as  the  kind- 
est and  best  of  human  beings,  with  pain  ; — 
but  she  said  never  a  word,  continuing  knead- 
ing of  the  dough  as  though  she  had  no  in- 
terest in  the  discourse — even  her  mother 
seemed  to  like  not  such  plain  speaking. 

"  Nay,  Aunt  Breedbate,  you  do  him 
wrong,"  she  said,  "  I  have  seen  no  such  be- 
havior in  him." 

"  All.  child  !  I  warrant  me  there  is  a  good 
deal  thou  hast  not  seen  of  his  goings  on,"  re- 
plied the  old  dame,  with  an  air  of  exceeding 
mystery.  "  Wished  I  to  speak,  I  could  say 
something  on  tliat  matter  marvellously  to 
the  purposa ;  but  I  am  not  like  to  cause  mis- 
chief betwixt  man  and  wife.  To  be  sure,  it 
is  said,  '  What  God  hath  joined  let  no  man 
put  asunder,'  which  hath  no  allusion  of  any 
sort  to  women,  so  they  may  be  left  to  do  as 
they  please  in  it.  Nevertheless,  I  am  so 
great  an  enemy  to  evil  speaking,  I  hate  any 
one  who  cannot  keep  what  they  know  of  ano- 
ther's ill  deeds  to  themselves.  Monstrous 
mischiefs  have  come  of  the  idle  employment 
of  slanderous  tongues,  and  the  fair  fame  of 
the  best  are  at  the  mercy  of  such.  For  mine 
own  part,  ere  I  would  take  to  speaking  ill 
of  any  one,  albeit,  though  he  were  as  vil- 
lanous  as  a  Jew,  and  there  should  be  no 
other  subject  for  speech,  I  would  be  dumb 
for  a  week.  Therefore,  the  horrible  wick- 
edness your  notable  fine  husband  has  fallen 
into  must  go  untold  forme." 

"  What  horrible  wickedness  hath  he  done, 
Aunt  ?"  inquired  Anne,  in  a  tone  of  alarm. 
"  Prythee,  let  me  know  it.  Nay,  I  will  not 
stir  a  step  till  I  have  heard  it  all." 

"  'Tis  but  sailor's  news,  child,"  observed 
Aunt  Gadabout,  consolingly.  "  Knewest 
thou  men  as  truly  as  do  I,  thou  wouldst 
marvel  at  no  news  of  this  sort,  were  it  ever 
so  black.  There  is  no  treachery  they  will  j 
not  act  to  the  spoiling  of  us  poor  women —  j 
there  is  no  injury  they  will  not  do  against 
us.  One  and  all,  they  are  a  vile,  abomina- 
ble, uncivil,  abandoned  set  of  profligate  mon- 
sters and  wretches — that's  my  thinking," 
and  again  the  old  woman  twisted  herself 
half  round  her  seat  with  a  slap  against  her 
palm,  and  a  look  that  conveyed  in  it  her  con- 
viction that  what  she  had  stated  there  could 
be  no  gainsaying. 


"  But  I  must  and  will  know  what  he  hath 
done  amiss,"  exclaimed  Anne,  determinedly 
— a  mood  by  no  means  unusual  to  her. 

"  What  matters  it  ?"  cried  the  relict  of 
Peter  Prateapace,  as  she  again  poked  her 
body  forward,  and  commenced  shaking  of 
her  head  with  an  air  of  wondrous  meaning. 
"  Be  assured,  Anne,  that  there  never  yet  was 
any  thing  done  by  our  precious  partners 
worth  a  woman  troubling  her  head  about.  I 
warrant  you  they  know  better  than  to  be 
doing  of  any  mischief.  Marry,  an  any  such 
essayed  to  play  his  tricks  upon  me,  I  would 
so  maul  him  he  should  not  know  whether  he 
stood  on  his  head  or  his  heels  for  the  rest  of 
his  days." 

"  A  plague  on  you  all !"  cried  Anne,  ve- 
hemently. "  Tell  me,  on  the  instant,  what 
hath  been  done,  or  I  will  have  no  more  to 
say  to  either  of  you  from  this  hour."  There- 
upon in  her  passion  she  tore  her  dress,  after 
several  idle  attempts  to  make  it  please  her. 
Susanna  still  continued  intent  on  her  bread- 
making,  but  she  was  terribly  ill  at  ease. 

"  Well,  if  I  am  so  commanded,  I  cannot 
get  off  saying  it,"  observed  Aunt  Breedbate, 
with  a  look  of  as  absolute  indifferency  as 
ever  was  seen.  "  But  it  must  on  no  account 
be  bruited  that  you  had  your  intelligence 
from  me,  for  I  would  not  have  it  thought  I 
could  speak  ill  of  any  one  for  mines  of  wealth. 
Though  I  like  him  so  little,  I  should  be  loath 
to  set  you  against  him.  For  my  own  part," 
she  added,  with  a  marked  emphasis, "  /hate 
meddling  and  mischief-making." 

"  Marry,  yes,  and  so  do  other  folk,  Sister 
Breedbate,  quite  as  much,"  observed  Aunt 
Prateapace,  rather  sharply. 

"  Sister  Prateapace,"  exclaimed  the  other, 
evidently  taking  some  offence  at  the  inter- 
ruption, and  regarding  the  interrupter  with  a 
monstrous  severe  look. 

"  Ay,  1  maintain  it !"  cried  Sister  Prate- 
apace,  so  little  abashed  as  to  meet  the  gaze 
with  one  of  a  like  severity.  "  /  hate  med- 
dling— perchance,  a  wondrous  deal-  more 
than  they  who  are  ever  a  boasting  of  their 
misliking  it,  and  yet  all  their  lives  long  are 
in  the  constant  humor  of  meddling." 

"  Why,  thou  slanderous  jade  thou,  how 
darest  thou  affirm  I  am  in  a  constant  humor 
of  meddling  ?"  screamed  Sister  Breedbate, 
her  red  face  turning  purple.  Here  seemed 
a  great  likelihood  of  quarrelling  betwixt  the 
two  sisters  ;  nevertheless,  no  one  interfered. 
In  truth,  these  squabbles  were  such  every- 
day matters  betwixt  these  two,  that  had  they 
met  without  disputing,  it  would  have  been 
accounted  a  marvel. 

"  Prythee  hold  thy  peace,  Sister  Pratea- 
pace !''  said  Aunt  G'adabout,  turning  round 


64 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


towards  her,  with  a  sour  visage.  "  Thou  art 
ever  making  words."  Sister  Gadabout, 
whenever  these  squabbles  took  place,  was 
famous  for  sitting  still,  and  ever  and  anon 
saying  something  to  one  or  other,  which  add- 
ed exceedingly  to  the  existing  ill  feeling  be- 
twixt them.  Mayhap,  this  was  as  pleasing 
to  her  as  was  the  constant  quarrelling  agree- 
able to  the  other  two ;  for,  it  cannot  be  ima- 
gined, they  would  take  so  much  trouble  to 
find  a  cause  of  strife,  preferred  they  a  more 
peaceable  living.  "  I  know  not,  in  this 
world,"  continued  she,  "  one  of  so  cursed  a 
temper." 

"  Cursed  enough,  truly !"  added  Aunt 
Breedbate.  "  Heaven  preserve  me  from 
such  shrewishness,  say  I !" 

"  So-  said  Goodman  Breedbate  a  week 
after  his  marriage,  when*  he  could  no  longer 
abide  the  horrible  misery  he  had  fallen 
into,"  replied  Aunt  Prateapace,  with  a  fa- 
miliar nod  of  her  head  to  her  angry  sister. 
"  Doubtless,  since  his  precious  helpmate 
drove  him  away  from  his  home,  by  her  intol- 
erably violent  torfgue — forty  year  come  Lam- 
mas— he  hath  had  no  inclination  to  return, 
and  have  more  of  it.  Truly,  he  hath  had  a 
blessed  escape !" 

"  Blessed  escape,  quotha !"  cried  the  other, 
scarce  able  to  speak,  she  was  in  so  deadly  a 
rage.  "  Metbinks  thou  hast  had  a  blessed 
escape  of  the  hangman.  It  is  not  all  wives 
who  push  their  husbands  into  mill-streams, 
who  are  so  fortunate." 

"  I  marvel,  Sister  Breedbate,  thou  shouldst 
utter  so  horrible  a  slander,"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Gadabout,  turning  as  sharply  to  her  as  she 
had  a  minute  since,  to  the  other.  "  Of 
all  villanous  traducers,  thou  art  surely  the 
worst." 

"  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  the 
widow  of  Peter  Prateapace,  as  coolly  as  you 
please.  "  But  as  it  is  in  her  nature,  it  can- 
not well  be  helped.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
greatly  to  be  lamented  she  should  be  so  in- 
tent on  mischief  as  to  injure  her  nearest  of 
kin,  rather  than  refrain  from  evil  speaking. 
It'  she  must  needs  have  some  villany  to  talk 
of,  I  doubt  not  she  would  find  enough  for 
her  complete  contentation  in  certain  scanda- 
lous proceedings  that  took  place,  I  know  not 
how  many  years  since,  wherein  one  Barna- 
by  Rackstraw,  a  club-footed  thatcher,  of  no 
great  repute,  from  Wilmington,  was  en- 
gaged with  a  notable  shrew,  well  known  in 
these  parts,  who  drove  her  husband  from  his 
home,  and "  . 

"  Why,  thou  horrible  malefactor,  thou  !" 
screamed  the  other,  jumping  off  her  seat  as 
though  bitten  sharply  by  some  hungry  cur, 
and  shaking  her  clenched  fist  so  furiously,  it 


seemed  like  to  loosen  her  knuckles  for  the 
next  month  to  come.  "  Dost  dare  to  say 
such  monstrous  things  of  me.  Had  I  been 
as  familiar  with  Barnaby  Ra.ckstraw  as 
wert  thou  with  Ephraim  Clods,  the  one- 
eyed  delver " 

"  Ephraim  Clods  !"  observed  her  sister, 
like  one  who  is  striving  to  recollect  some- 
thing. u  Ah  !  I  remember  me.  The  poor 
man  hath  been  dead  this  thirty  year.  A 
worthy  soul  and  an  honest.  He  liked  a 
race  of  ginger  in  his  ale  as  well  as  ere  a 
man  in  Warwickshire,  and  was  smothered 
by  the  falling  of  the  earth  when  he  was  dig- 
ging a  well  for  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  at  the 
New  Place.  What  of  him,  good  sister  ?" 

"  What  of  him  !"  cried  Aunt  Breedbate, 
getting  more  passionate  from  observing  the 
other's  composedness.  "  What,  is  it  not 
notorious " 

"  His  one  eye  ?"  inquired  Aunt  Pratea- 
pace. "  I'  faith,  yes.  It  was  almost  as 
much  talked  of  as  a  certain  club-foot  after 
it  had  been  seen  in  the  grey  of  the  morn- 
ing  " 

What  further  scandal  might  have  been 
said  cannot  now  with  any  accurateness  be 
ascertained,  for  a  stop  was  suddenly  put  to 
this  sharp  speech,  and  to  the  sharp  reply 
which  it  was  easy  to  see  was  on  the  point 
of  breaking  forth,  by  the  opening  of  the 
door,  and  the  appearance  there  of  a  noble- 
looking,  soldier-like  gentleman,  very  bravely 
apparelled.  He  seemed  to  have  passed  the 
best  of  his  years — his  hair  and  beard  being 
plentifully  sprinkled  with  those  tokens  of  age 
to  which  the  rich  are  subject  equally  with 
the  poor.  Nevertheless,  his  eyes  had  a  mer- 
ry, wanton  twinkle  in  them,  which,  with  the 
careless  expression  of  his  fine  mouth,  and 
somewhat  prominent  nose,  showed  such  to- 
kens gave  him  no  manner  of  uneasiness. — 
His  visage  was  of  a  fresh,  sanguine  com- 
plexion, and  wrinkled  somewhat — but  of  all 
doubt  belonging  more  to  the  court-gallant 
than  to  the  country  gentleman — the  which 
looked  more  apparent  when  the  observer  re- 
garded his  goodly  hat  and  feather,  with  a 
jewel  set  in  it  of  the  last  fashion  ;  his  hand- 
some doublet,  and  rich  satin  trunks,  with 
other  bravery  of  a  like  sort,  not  forgetting 
the  very  soldier- like  quality  of  his  rapier  and 
dagger. 

In  his  company  was  a  fair  youth,  of  some 
sixteen  or  seventeen  years,  nearly  as  tall  as 
he,  and  quite  as  bravely  clad.  Nevertheless, 
though  so  young,  his  look  lacked  the  bash- 
fulness  and  ingenuousness  which  are  wont 
to  be  seen  in  a  youthful  face. 

"With  your  leave,  mistress!"  cried  the 
elder,  very  gallantly,  as  he  stepped  up  to 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


65 


Anne,  then  fully  equipped  for  her  journey 
and  gave  her  a  right  courtly  salute. 

"  With  your  leave,  mistress  !"  cried  th 
younger,  quite  as  gallantly  stepping  up  tc 
Susanna,  and  favoring  her  in  a  like  man 
ner. 

"  By  Ovid,  mistress,  thy  lips  are  very  sn- 
gar !"  exclaimed  the  old  gallant,  in  a  seem- 
ing passionate  manner. 

"  Worthy  Sir  George,  I  am  much  bounden 
to  you,"  respectfully  replied  Anne,  with  her 
best  courtesy.  Thereupon  the  knight  pro- 
ceeded, with  the  same  courteous  manner,  to 
salute  her  three  aunts,  who  were  standing 
up,  all  smiles  and  courtesies,  striving  as 
hard  as  they  might  to  look  as  innocent  as  so 
many  lambkins ;  and,  ac  che  compliments  Sir 
George  uttered,  dropping  a  courtesy  to  the 
ground,  and  each,  as  simple  as  a  maid,  spoke 
her  thanks. 

"  By  mine  own  captive  heart,  mistress, 
there  is  no  honey  like  to  those  most  ravish- 
ing sweet  lips  !"  exclaimed  the  young  gal- 
lant. The  gentle  Susanna,  however,  took 
not  her  salute  as  quietly  as  did  her  mother. 
Her  face  and  neck  were  presently  the  hue 
of  the  rosiest  flower  eye  ever  beheld  ;  and, 
instead  of  acknowledging  the  compliment  in 
some  simple  maidenly  phrase,  she  stood  as 
if  ready  to  sink  into  the  ground  with  shame- 
fulness,  and  fixed  her  beautiful,  fair  eyes  on 
her  taper  fingers  as  though  the  flour  which 
clung  to  them  was  some  villanous  thing  or 
another  that  might  witness  against  her  very 
disparagingly. 

"  What,  Cousin  Hugh  ! — art  planet- 
struck  ?"  cried  Sir  George,  slapping  the 
youth  on  the  back,  as  he  approached  the 
abashed  maiden,  doubtless  with  the  intent 
of  behaving  to  her  in  the  same  courtly  fa- 
shion as  he  had  used  to  the  others.  "  I'  faith, 
but  methinks  thou  hast  good  cause  for  it," 
added  he,  gazing  on  her  blushing  beauties 
with  no  less  admiration  than  had  his  young 
cousin ;  then,  addressing  her  with  more' 
show  of  sincerity  than  he  had  employed  to- 
wards the  others,  he  continued,  "  I  pray  you 
suffer  an  old  soldier,  who  hath  just  returned 
from  a  long  and  arduous  service  amongst 
barbarous  Irish  kerns  and  gallow-glasses,  as 
a  fit  recompense  for  all  the  dangers  he  hath 
passed,  to  taste  so  tempting  a  cate  as  that 
most  delicate  rosy  mouth."  Thereupon  the 
knight  drew  Susanna  towards  him,  and, 
stooping  down  as  he  took  off  his  jewelled 
hat,  saluted  her  with  as  great  an  air  of  re- 
spect as  she  had  been  the  daughter  of  a  so- 
vereign prince. 

'  And  who  is  this  tercel  gentle  ?"  inquired 
Sir  George. 
"  An  it  please  you,  Sir  George,  she  is  no 


other  than  mine  own  daughter,"  replied 
Anne. 

"  What,  a  child  of  my  excellent  worthy 
friend  Will  ?r'  asked  he,  turning  to  her  again 
with  a  pleased  astonishment. 

"  Indeed  is  she,  an  it  please  your  lord- 
ship's goodness,"  said  Aunt  Prateapace, 
bustling  forward  with  some  officiousness  ; 
"  which  cannot  be  gainsayed  of  any  man, 
gentle  or  simple,  seeing  they  be  as  like  as 
are  two  peas  in  the  same  pod." 

tt  He  must  needs  be  a  marvellous  happy 
man,"  observed  the  knight. 

"  Ay,  that  is  he,  Til  be  bound,"  here  put 
in  Aunt  Gadabout  with  some  eagerness. — 
"  Your  honorable  worship  doth  not  know  the 
happiness  he  hath.  I'  faith,  he  shall  be  as 
happy  as  a  sand-boy,  an  it  will  be  your  wor- 
ship's desire." 

"  Truly,  my  good  dame,"  answered  Sir 
George,  "  if  he  be  as  happy  as  he  deserves 
to  be,  he  can  have  nothing  to  wish  for." 

"Lord  warrant  us,  there  is  a  notable 
sweet  saying  now  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Breed- 
bate,  her  harsh  features  subdued  as  nearly 
into  an  expression  of  cheerfulness  as  was 
possible.  "  I  would  the  worthy  man  were 
here,  to  hear  your  honor's  estimation  of 
inn." 

"  Tell  me  where  he  is,  I  prythee,  for  I 
must  needs  have  speech  with  him,"  said  the 
might. 

"  Judith  !"  cried  Anne  to  her  younger 
daughter,  who  stood  at  her  side,  striving  in 
vain  to  court  the  notice  of  either  of  the  gal- 
ants,  "  show  those  noble  gentlemen  to  the 
orchard,  where  your  father  is." 

But  Judith  seemed  not  inclined  to  do  any 
hing  of  the  sort.  Indeed,  fancying  herself 
o  have  been  neglected,  she  immediately  de- 
ermined  not  to  stir  a  step.  She  was  again 
•equested  by  her  mother,  but  seemed  as 
hough  she  heard  it  not,  for  she  kept  making 

rf  in  her  dress,  as  though  that  should  be 
ler  only  employment. 

Nay.  an  it  be  your  good  pleasure,  dame," 
aid  Sir  George,  observing  the  child's  reluo 
,ance, "  let  our  guide  be  our  sweet  acquaint- 
mce  here." 

"  An  it  please  you,  noble  sir,"  murmured 
usanna,  who  had  recovered  somewhat  of 
ler  confidence,  and  was  desirous  her  sister 
hould  be  noticed,  "  my  sister  Judith  will 
villingly  fulfil  your  honorable  wishes." — 
She  had,  however,  scarce  uttered  the  words, 
vhen  the  spoiled  child  no  less  rudely  than 
riefly,  put  a  negative  on  her  assertion.  Su 
anna  then,  to  take  off*  all  attention  from 
uch  uncivilness,  at  once  led  the  way  out 
f  the  house,  and,  opening  the  wicket  of  the 
rchard,  pointed  to  a  figure  seated  reading 


66 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


beneath  a  tree  at  some  distance,  and  with  a 
humble  yet  graceful  courtesy,  returned  to 
put  her  bread  into  the  oven. 

The  two  gallants  proceeded  quickly  to- 
wards the  tree,  and  there  assuredly  was 
Master  Shakspeare,  and  there  also  at  his 
feet  was  Talbot,  each  apparently,  in  the 
other's  society,  forgetful  of  the  great  loss 
they  had  sustained.  Both  rose  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  strangers,  with  a  manner  as 
though,  in  their  secret  hearts,  they  took 
their  coming  as  an  unseasonable  interrup- 
tion to  their  meditations,  the  poor  hound  re- 
tiring backward  a  little  as  though  he  was  in 
no  mood  for  any  familiarities  :  a  touching 
contrast  to  the  cheerful  mariner  with  which 
he  was  ever  wont  to  welcome  any  of  his  mas- 
ter's friends. 

"  Sir  George  Carew  !"  exclaimed  Master 
Shakspeare,  his  pallid  features  brightening 
under  the  influence  of  the  most  cheerful  of 
smiles,  as  he  seized  the  hand  that  was 
stretched  out  for  him,  and  shook  it  very 
heartily. 

"  And  your  fast  friend,  be  assured,  Will," 
aaid  Sir  George,  with  a  famous  sincerity  ; 
"  and  here  is  cousin  Clopton,  who  is  going 
with  me  to  court,  and,  if  it  please  her  maj- 
esty, he  shall  smell  powder  anon — that  is, 
if  he  hath  stomach  for  fighting,  and  liketh 
his  kinsman  for  his  commander." 

"  I  am  assured  Master  Clopton  will  do 
credit  to  his  ancestors,"  observed  Master 
Shakspeare,  courteously  ;  "  and,  with  so 
notable  an  example  before  him  for  all  the 
qualities  of  good  soldiership,  as  he  hath  in 
Sir  George  Carew,  his  career  in  arms  must 
needs  be  a  glorious  one." 

"  That  is  kindly  said,  Will,"  replied  the 
knight,  "  and  kindly  meant,  I  will  wager  my 
life  for  it,  else  it  would  not  have  been  spoken 
by  so  generous  a  spirit  as  Will  Shakspeare. 
But  cousin  Clopton  must  to  the  wars,  and 
endeavor  with  his  sword  to  gain  what  divers 
of  his  family  have  lost.  Here  hath  'the 
New  Place'  been  sold  that  hath  belonged  to 
them  since  old  Sir  Hugh  built  it  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  the  Seventh,  all  for  the  lack  of  a 
little  pestilent  coin.  There  is  strange  news 
at  court,  Will,"  added  Sir  George,  taking 
Master  Shakspeare  by  the  arm,  and  walk- 
ing with  him  apart.  "  My  Lord  South- 
ampton  " 

"  What  of  him  ?"  eagerly  cried  the  other. 

"  He  hath  been  so  rash  as  to  wed  Mis- 
tress Varnon,  despite  her  Higlmess's  com- 
mands to  the  contrary." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Master  Shakspeare,  im- 
patiently. 

"And  the  Queen  in  great  wrath  hath 
lodged  them  both  in  the  Tower.  I  fear  me 


neither  will  escape  easily,  for  it  is  said  she 
is  more  furious  against  them  than  was  she 
with  Raleigh  for  a  like  offence.  I  grieve 
for  the  sweet  lady  he  hath  chosen,  and  I 
grieve  for  him  also,  for  in  truth  I  liked  him 
well." 

"  He  had  a  heart,  Sir  George,  as  noble  as 
his  name  !"  cried  his  companion  with  a  deep 
earnestness. 

"  Ay,  that  he  had,  I  am  assured.  And  he 
was  a  true  friend  to  you,  Will,  for  I  have 
oft  heard  him  speak  of  you,  as  though  no 
other  man  was  so  well  esteemed  of  him." 

"  He  had  a  most  princely  disposition,  and 
ever  acted  towards  me  no  less  worthily  than 
he  spoke,"  said  his  friend. 

"  Well !  I  wish  him  well  out  of  his  pres- 
ent lodging !" 

"  Amen,  Sir  George,  with  all  my  heart !" 

"  There  is  the  most  singular  business 
connected  with  this  marriage  that  ever  was 
heard  of,"  added  the  knight,  in  a  livelier 
tone.  "  It  is  said  my  lord  could  not  have 
succeeded  in  his  measures,  had  he  not  got 
important  assistance  from  a  certain  master 
of  music,  who — mark  the  exquisite  policy 
of  it,  Will — got  admittance  to  the  house  of 
the  lady's  kinswoman —  as  ancient  a  piece 
of  goods  as  ever  was  met  with  ;  and,  what 
think  you  ?  by  this  hand,  he  brought  my 
lord  with  him,  and  by  means  of  some  dis- 
guise passed  him  off  as  his  boy ;  and,  to 
keep  the  old  gentlewoman's  attention  from 
the  lovers,  did  pursue  a  suit  of  his  own  to 
her  with  such  vehemency,  that  speedily  she 
had  neither  eyes,  heart,  nor  tongue,  for 
any  but  the  master  of  music.  She  hath 
made  such  bitter  complaints  to  the  Queen 
of  the  jest  that  hath  been  played  her,  that 
her  Highness  became  in  a  towering  passion, 
and  issued  orders  for  his  instant  apprehen- 
sion— vowing  he  should  smart  for  it ;  but 
the  wonder  of  it  is,  search  hath  been  made 
throughout  the  kingdom  with  a  most  minute 
description  of  this  Master  Dulcimer's  per- 
son, manners,  and  dress,  and  there  hath 
been  no  such  a  musician  seen  or  heard  of." 

Master  Shakspeare  had  a  great  to  do  to 
maintain  the  unconcern  and  gravity  of  his 
aspect,  during  this  speech.  At  last  he  mas- 
tered his  inclination  for  mirth,  and  quietly 
inquired  if  those  who  had  been  in  search 
of  the  master  of  music  had 'found  trace  of 
him. 

"  None,  and  the  mystery  is  such,  it  hath 
been  shrewdly  hinted,  my  lord  hath  had  re- 
course to  the  powers  of  darkness,  and  the 
ancient  damsel  is  now  frightening  herself 
out  of  her  seven  senses  with  the  horrible 
apprehension  she  hath  been  enamored  of  the 
devil." 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


67 


At  this  Master  Shakspeare  could  contain 
himself  no  longer,  but  he  burst  out  into  as 
hearty  a  laugh  as  ever  was  heard,  in  the 
which  Sir  George  Carew  joined  in  as  per- 
fect an  abandonment,  and  they  too  contin- 
ued for  some  time  longer  making  light  of 
Aunt  Deborah's  passion.  Nevertheless,  one 
was  more  concerned  than  he  appeared,  for 
the  news  of  Lord  Southampton's  imprison- 
ment in  the  Tower,  with  the  exquisite  sweet 
creature  he  had  married,  was  exceeding  ill 
news  to  him,  and  he  scarce  heard  of  it,  ere 
he  fell  to  considering  the  best  means  for  se- 
curing his  liberation. 

The  penalties  he  had  already  drawn  up- 
on himself  in  seeking  to  secure  his  friend's 
happiness,  he  thought  not  of  for  a  moment. 
He  remembered  only  the  prodigal  kindness 
with  which  that  friend  had  regarded  him, 
when  such  behavior  was  of  the  highest  con- 
sequence to  the  advancement  of  his  fortunes, 
and  that  the  generous  spirit  to  whom  he 
was  so  indebted  was  chafing  within  the  mis- 
erable compass  of  four  stone  walls. 

AH  this  time  Master  Clopton  was  striving 
earnestly  to  be  on  good  acquaintance  with 
Talbot,  but  for  a  long  space  his  commenda- 
tions and  pattings  were  little  heeded.  In- 
deed, as  though  the  poor  beast  wanted  no 
such  company,  he  more  than  once  removed 
himself  from  the  young  Squire's  neighbor- 
hood ;  but  the  latter  would  by  no  means  be 
so  easily  kept  at  a  distance,  for  he  liked  the 
noble  appearance  of  the  dog.  Talbot  had 
too  good  a  heart  to  resist  long  any  seeming 
kindness  where  he  suspected  no  ill,  and  at 
last  the  "Ho  Talbot!''  "Brave  Talbot!" 
was  listened  to  with  the  wave  of  the  tail 
which  denoteth  satisfaction  in  such  animals, 
and  a  little  while  after  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  handled  with  more  familiarity  than 
he  would  previously  have  suffered.  In  the 
end,  the  two  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  toler- 
able understanding. 

After  Sir  George  Carew  had — for  he 
would  take  no  denial — made  Master  Shaks- 
peare promise  to  join  a  few  friends  on  a  cer- 
tain day,  who  were  corning  to  eat  venison 
with  him  at  Clopton  Hall,  ere  he  returned 
to  the  wars,  they  walked  leisurely  to  the 
house,  young  Clopton  and  Talbot  following 
at  a  little  distance.  They  were  in  he  gar- 
den, when  they  were  suddenly  stopped  by 
hearing  through  an  open  casement  close  to 
which  they  had  approached,  a  musically 
sweet  voice  carolling  the  following  ditty. 

THE  BEGUILING  OF  THE  BIRD. 

*  What  ho,  silly  wanton !  why  would'st  thou 

away, 
With  thy  feathers  so  glossy  and  fine  ? 


Here  are  cates  of  the  best,  come  and  taste  them 

I  pray, 

Come  enjoy  this  brave  feast  whilst  'tis  thine." 
So  spoke  a  bold  fowler — (in  sooth  a  fair  speech) 

His  nets  the  while  spreading  with  care  ; 
But  the  bird  'mongst  the  branches  kept  out  of 

his  reach, 
And  would  not  be  caught  in  the  snare. 

"  Ah  me,  what  a  carol !"  he  cunningly  said, 

As  her  throat  gave  its  tones  sweet  and  clear. 
"  Oh,  I  would,  matchless  singer,  thou  wert  not 
afraid, 

Half  thy  skill  now  escapeth  mine  ear." 
Well  pleased  with  his  praises,  now  closer  she 
drew, 

Her  song  in  his  hearing  to  get ; 
As  he  flattered,  still  nearer  and  nearer  she  flew, 

And,  lo  !  was  enclosed  in  the  net !" 

Sir  George  peeped  through  the  casement. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  chamber  but  Su- 
sanna. She  was  left  alone  as  usual,  whilst 
her  aunts  and  her  mother  and  sister  were 
gone  a-pleasuring  and  there  was  she  solac- 
ing herself  at  her  spinning-wheel  with  a 
spirit  as  blithe  as  her  voice  was  melodious. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Eche  is  not  lettred  that  nowe  is  made  a  lorde, 

Nor  eche  a  clerke  that  hath  a  benefice  : 
They  are  not  all  lawyers  that  plees  do  recorde, 
All  that  are  promoted  are  not  fully  wise, 
On'suche  chaunce  now  fortune  throws  her 
dice. 

BARCLAY'S  SHIP  OF  FOOLS. 

Oh !  sister  An,  what  dremes 
Be  these  that  me  tormente  !     Thus  afraide. 
What  new  come  gest  unto  our  realme  ys  come  ! 
SURREY'S  VIRGIL. 

"  LAUNCELOT  !"  bawled  a  sharp  voice,  in 
as  loud  a  pitch  as  ever  angry  woman  used. 
No  reply  followed.  "  Launce,  I  say  !  thoa 
lazy  varlet,"  continued  she,  lowering  of  her 
key  not  a  jot.  ''•  Here  it  be  five  o'clock,  and 
thou  abed.  An  thou  art  not  a  stirring  in  a 
presently,  I'll  cudgel  thee  within  an  inch  of 
thy  life !" 

"  Coming,  mistress  !"  replied  a  boy,  rais- 
ing himself  on  his  elbow  from  a  heap  of 
rushes  and  shavings  in  the  corner  of  an 
upper  chamber  in  the  roof  of  the  house, 
lighted  only  by  a  small  window.  The  coarse 
coverlet  that  fell  from  his  shoulders  disclos- 
ed to  view  the  same  fat,  foolish  visage,  that 
was  made  known  to  the  reader  in  the  open- 
ing chapter  of  this  volume,  as  belonging  to 
a  boy  known  throughout  Stratford  as  Rag- 


68 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ged  Launce.  His  mouth  now  was  extend- 
rng  itself  in  a  yawn  which  threatened  to 
make  the  little  nose  above  it — the  point 
whereof,  by  nature,  had  a  singular  inclina- 
tion upwards— dissolve  into  the  chubby  red 
cheeks,  that  with  no  particular  show  of 
cleanliness  pressed  against  it  on  either  side. 
An  arm,  wrapped  in  a  shirt  sleeve,  no  less 
soiled  than  ragged,  was  about  the  same  time 
drawn  out,  and  the  hand  commenced  scratch- 
ing, with  a  lazy  motion,  a  head,  evidently 
unused  to  other  comb  or  brush  than  the 
owner  had  store  of  at  his  fingers'  ends. 

There  was  scarce  light  sufficient  to  dis- 
tinguish the  candle-end  stuck  in  a  bottle 
that  was  upon  an  old  box,  the  ballads  against 
the  wall,  or  the  rude  drawings,  with  a  bit 
of  charcoal,  that  covered  every  side  of  the 
room,  whereof  the  principal  seemed  to  be 
that  of  a  woman  in  divers  ridiculous  atti- 
tudes, and  undesirable  situations.  Never- 
theless, besides  these,  a  few  articles  of 
wearing-apparel  lay  in  disorder  upon  the 
floor,  with  a  goodly  commodity  of  nut-shells, 
apple-cores,  cherry-stones,  small  bones,  bits 
of  crust,  cheese  -  parings,  and  the  like, 
doubtless  the  remnants  of  sundry  feasts 
gone  by,  which  the  sole  inhabitant  of  the 
chamber  had  enjoyed  in  solitary  contenta- 
tion. 

Launce  still  reclined  on  his  elbow,  in  a 
state  half  asleep  and  half  awake.  Yawn 
followed  yawn  with  little  intermission ;  and 
the  scratching  of  the  head  was  only  occa- 
sionally varied  by  a  slight  rubbing  of  the 
knuckles  against  the  eyes,  or  a  stretching 
out  of  the  arm  to  its  full  extent.  In  short, 
he  went  through  all  the  manoeuvres  of  one 
who  hath  been  disturbed  in  his  slumber  ere 
he  hath  had  enough  of  it,  and  is  marvelous- 
ly  inclined  to  obtain  the  deficiency.  In  the 
last  yawn,  his  elbow  slipped  from  under 
him,  and  his  head  quietly  dropped  upon  it ; 
the  outstretched  arm  sunk  at  his  side,  and 
in  a  moment  he  was  in  as  deep  a  sleep  as 
tired  apprentice  ever  had. 

Mayhap  he  was  dreaming  of  some  good 
sport  with  his  fellows,  in  a  holiday  stroll 
to  Pimlico  Path,  or  a  famous  pennyworth 
for  his  own  particular  delectation  all  among 
the  pleasant  fields  of  Islington.  Yet  it  mat- 
tered not  of  what  his  dream  might  be,  for  he 
was  scarce  well  into  it  when  he  was  dis- 
turbed with  so  main  a  ory  that  he  jumped 
clean  out  of  the  coverlet,  to  the  manifest 
disclosure  of  certain  lower  garments  of 
coarse  texture,  much  the  worse  for  wear, 
of  the  which  he  had  not  taken  the  trouble 
to  divest  himself  when  seeking  of  his  proper 
rest  the  previous  night. 

•'  Launce  !    Launce  !    thou  lazy  catiff ! 


I'D  rouse  thee,  I  warrant  me,  ere  thou  art  a 
minute  older." 

"  [  be  tiring  myself,  mistress,  and  shall  be 
down  straight,  and  it  please  you,"  replied 
the  boy,  in  a  mild,  deprecating  kind  of  voice, 
as  he  left  off  awhile  scratching,  and  rub- 
bing, and  stretching  of  himself — ever  and 
anon  giving  a  slight  shiver,  as  though  he 
were  none  of  the  hottest,  to  twitch  up  his 
darned  hose  and  patched  breeches,  bearing 
witness  of  many  a  soil  and  much  hard  ser- 
vice. 

"  I'll  tire  thee,  by  the  rood  !"  exclaimed 
the  same  female  who  had  spoken  before. 
"  Did  I  not  tell  thee  over-night  to  be  up  be- 
times, because  of  my  desiring  to  go  with 
my  worthy  neighbors  to  see  the  Queen's 
Highness  enter  the  city  returning  from  a 
progress,  and,  as  I'm  an  honest  woman,  this 
is  the  fifth  time  thou  hast  played  me  the 
sluggard's  trick  since  my  first  calling.  But 
an  I  be  tricked  any  more  in  this  sort,  I'll 
give  my  head  to  play  at  bowls  with." 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  mistress,  1  be  putting 
on  my  jerkin  !"  cried  the  apprentice,  with  a 
very  monstrous  earnestness,  as  he  caught 
up  that  part  of  his  apparel  from  the  floor, 
and  proceeded  to  put  his  arms  through  the 
sleeves  with  something  more  of  wakeful- 
ness  than  he  had  shown  heretofore.  Whilst 
so  employed,  he  seemed  to  listen  attentively. 
Apparently  all  was  quiet  in  the  lower 
chamber,  for  he  slackened  considerably  in 
his  hurry  of  apparelling  himself,  and  the 
earnestness  of  his  features  gave  place  to  a 
roguish  impudency  and  boyish  cunning. 

"  The  old  hawk  sticks  to  her  perch !"  mut- 
tered he,  with  a  grin  of  exquisite  self-con- 
gratulation. "  Rateth  as  she  may,  she  liketh 
no  more  leaving  her  roost  thus  early,  of  a 
pestilent  raw  morning,  than  do  I." 

Saying  this,  he  sauntered  leisurely  tow- 
ards the  small  window  that  looked  out  into 
the  street,  which  he  opened  carefully  ;  then, 
suddenly  spying  of  a  boy,  who  looked  to  be 
about  his  own  age,  on  the  opposite  side, 
leaning  on  his  arms  on  the  window-sill, 
over-against  him,  watching  a  couple  of  cats 
on  a  neighboring  roof,  he  snatched  up  one 
of  the  sundry  rotten  apples  that  lay  together 
on  the  box,  and  flung  it  with  all  his  force 
at  the  boy's  head ;  doubtless  the  aim  was  a 
true  one,  for  the  varlet,  with  a  half-audible 
chuckle,  hastily  crouched  down,  so  as  to  be 
out  of  sight  of  him  he  had  thrown  at,  and 
there  for  a  second  or  two  remained,  striving 
hard  to  repress  a  violent  burst  of  mischiev- 
ous laughter. 

Presently  he  raised  himself  slowly,  as  if 
with  a  view  of  reconnoitering  the  position 
of  the  assailed  party  ;  but,  to  all  appearance, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


69 


the  latter  was  familiar  with  his  mode  of 
warfare,  and  was  right  willing  to  return  the 
attack,  for  Launce  had  scarce  got  his  shag- 
gy pole  over  the  base  of  the  open  casement, 
when  an  old  cabbage-stump  came  whizzing 
over  it,  with  a  force  which,  had  it  been  less 
hastily  discharged,  might,  thick  as  it  was, 
have  done  it  no  slight  damagement. 

"  O'  my  life,  well  thrown,  Martin !"  cried 
Launce,  with  a,  taunting  sort  of  laugh,  the 
which  the  other  could  hear  well  enough. 
"  Wounds !  an  I  were  a  Shrovetide  cock,  I 
would  pray  right  heartily  for  such  thorough 
aimstraights." 

"  I  would  thou  wert !"  replied  the  oppo- 
site boy.  "  But  cock,  or  no  cock,  here's  at 
thy  cocks-comb !"  and,  ere  Launce  was  well 
aware,  a  missile  of  the  like  sort  as  was 
thrown  at  him  awhile  since  came  against 
his  luckless  pole  with  such  force,  that  he 
was  fain  to  cry  out  from  the  smart.  Aloud 
clear  laugh,  across  the  street,  was  all  he  got 
for  his  hurt  in  the  way  of  sympathy. 

"  Cock-a-doodle-do !"  screamed  the  merry 
knave,  like  a  very  chanticleer,  exulting  at 
the  manner  he  had  answered  the  other's 
sarcasm.  "  Body  o'  me,  but  thou  makest  a 
brave  cock,  Launce.  Prythee  wait  till  I 
can  get  me  another  stump,  and  I  will  knock 
thee  off  thy  legs  so  prettily  thou  shalt  fancy 
nought  ever  after  but  turning  of  such  deli- 
cate summersets." 

"  Slife.  and  I  do  not  pay  thee  for  that, 
call  me  a  pickled  hedgehog !"  replied  Launce 
in  some  rage,  putting  his  hand  tenderly  to 
the  bruised  part : — "  her,e  be  a  lump  coin- 
ing, of  I  know  not  what  size ;  but  let  me 
catch  thee  ;  I'll  warrant  thou  shalt  have  as 
famous  a  drubbing " 

"  Dost  talk  of  drubbing,  thca  worthless 
varlet !"  exclaimed  a  voice  close  to  him, 
that  make  him  quake  frojn  head  to  foot.  A 
woman,  apparently  of  a  goodly  size,  but  so 
wrapped  in  a  huge  cloak  thrown  over  her 
petticoat,  her  figure  could  not  fairly  be  told, 
and  wearing  so  vinegar  an  aspect  withal, 
it  might  have  done  monstrous  good  service 
in  the  way  of  pickling,  was  at  his  elbow. 

"  Dost  talk  of  drubbing !"  she  continued ; 
"  I'll  drub  thee,  i'  faith !"  and  thereupon  be- 
gan raining  down  upon  Launce's  devoted 
head,  with  all  the  vigor  of  her  brawny  arm, 
such  abundant  store  of  blows,  as  might  have 
sufficed  a  flagellating  friar  for  a  whole  year. 
He  roared  most  lustily  ;  no  town-bull  could 
have  done  so  more  to  the  life  ;  but  the  of- 
fended Tabitha  heeded  his  cries  and  suppli- 
cations no  more  than  a  cat  heeds  the  squeak- 
ing of  a  mouse  she  is  about  to  make  her  re- 
past of. 

"  Have  I  not  been  bawling  myself  hoarse 


for  thee  these  two  hours  ! "  said  she  to  him 
in  a  manner  that  could  not  be  gainsayed. 
"  Did  T  not  tell  thee  over-night  to  be  sure  to 
be  stirring  betimes,  for  that  I  was  bent  oil 
going  to  witness  the  goodly  pageants  that 
are  to  be  seen  to-day  in  honor  of  our  admi- 
rable sweet  queen  ? — and,  instead  of  getting 
the  shop  swept  and  dusted,  and  the  house 
opened,  and  the  fire  lit  in  the  kitchen,  and 
all  things  made  ready  for  what  company 
may  come,  thou  art  at  thy  old  tricks,  and  be 
hanged  to  thee  !  Get  thee  to  thy  work  on 
the  instant !  Well  deservest  thou  the  name 
thou  art  known  by.  Thou  art  Lazy  Launce, 
with  a  vengeance.  But  I'll  have  no  idle 
'prentices.  An  I  catch  thee  at  these  pranks 
again,  it  shall  go  worse  with  thee,  I'll  war- 
rant. Troop,  sirrah,  whilst  thou  hast  a 
whole  skin,  for  my  fingers  do  itch  to  be  at 
thee." 

Launce  had  vainly  essayed,  with  a  mar- 
vellous prodigality  of  writhings  and  twist- 
ings,  to  get  free  of  his  mistress's  powerful 
grasp,  whilst  she  was  displaying  so  much 
at  his  expense  her  eloquence  and  vigor;  »i 
and,  so  soon  as  he  found  her  hold  relax,  he  '^:  \ 
bounded  out  of  her  reach,  and  fled  down  the 
narrow  stairs  with  the  speed  of  a  liberated 
rat.  But  he  had  not  got  so  easily  quit  of 
her  as  he  imagined.  Ere  he  had  reached 
the  kitchen,  which  was  a  long  irregular 
chamber,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  serv- 
ed for  the  general  eating-room,  he  heard 
her  voice  bawling  to  him  to  return.  This 
he  did  with  some  misgiving,  and  an  infinite 
lack  of  speed,  for  there  was  that  in  its  tones 
which  seemed  to  bode  him  no  good. 

"  Prythee  how  come  these  figures  here  ?" 
asked  she,  with  a  look  that  appeared  to  the 
unhappy  Launce  to  threaten  killing  by 
inches.  His  mistress  pointed  to  a  ridicu- 
lous effigy  of  herself  carried  pick-a-back  on 
a  personage,  who,  by  his  horns  and  tail,  was 
evidently  intended  to  represent  the  arch  en- 
emy of  mankind ;  whilst  another  demon  of 
the  like  sort  was  preparing  to  thrust  a  pitch- 
fork into  her  flesh,  in  the  part  of  it  that 
looked  to  offer  the  firmest  hold.  A  little 
further  on  was  the  same  female  figure  hang- 
ing on  a  gallows,  whilst  a  whole  circle  of 
devils  were  portrayed  fantastically  dancing 
just  beneath  her.  Above  was  written,  in 
large  uneven  letters  of  the  strangest  shape 
eye  ever  met  with  : — 
"  With  thy  dog's  nose  and  pig's  eyes, 
The  devil  hath  got  a  notable  prize  ; 
Thou'rt  a  jade  that's  ever  a  bawling  and  bang- 
ing, - 

And  I  warrant  thou'lt  be  none  the  worse  for  a 
good  hanging." 

In  another  place,  a  monstrous  cat  was 


70 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


drawn,  seemingly  at  death's  door,  and  un- 
derneath these  lines  were  writ : — 

"  The  shabby, 
Scabby. 
Flabby-dabby, 

old 
TABBY  ;" 

the  last  word  in  larger  characters  than  the 
others,  and  doubtless  meant  to  be  the  fa- 
miliar abbreviation  of  the  good  Tabitha's 
name. 

"  How  came  these  villanous  figures 
here  ?"  repeated  she,  in  a  louder  key,  to  her 
trembling  apprentice. 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  mistress,  I  know  not !" 
replied  Launce,  looking  the  very  picture  6f 
virtuous  astonishment  and  indignation. 

"  Thou  abominable  young  villain,  thou...!" 
exclaimed  the  enraged  woman,  grasping 
with  one  hand  the  long  hair  of  her  appren- 
tice, whilst  in  the  other  she  held  a  stick  she 
hud  snatched  from  a  corner,  the  which  she 
lost  no  time  4n  putting  across  his  shoulders 
with  a  right  good  will  in  every  stroke.  Her 
tongue,  too,  was  excellently  well  exercised 
the  whilst. 

"  Dost  thou  dare  write  such  horrid  libels 
of  mo,  thy  too  indulgent  mistress  !  Have  I 
a  dog's  nose,  catiff ?  answer  me  that.  Have 
I  pig's  eyes,  thou  perjured  reprobate ! 
Wouldst  thou  have  me  hanged,  forsooth  ! 
I'll  shabby  thee !  I'll  scabby  thee  !  I'll 
flabby-dabby  thee  with  a  vengeance  !  An  I 
leave  an  inch  of  thy  pestilent  skin  innocent 
of  the  cudgel,  I'll  give  thee  leave  to  carry 
on  thy  scurvy  jests  till  doomsday  !" 

As  every  sentence  here  put  down  was 
ended  with  a  blow,  the  only  answer  Mistress 
Tabitha  got  of  her  questions  came  to  her  in 
the  pitifulest  cries  cudgelled  apprentice  ever 
attempted,  and  doubtless  she  might  have 
continued  her  punishment  and  her  speech 
for  some  time  longer,  had  not  he,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  her  letting  go  his  hair  to  obtain 
a  hold  on  the  collar  of  his  jerkin,  rushed 
from  her,  yelling  most  piteously,  at  a  pace 
that  left  no  chance  of  her  coming  up  to  him 
again  very  readily. 

Leaving  this  good  dame  to  digest  as 
well  as  she  might  the  affront  she  had  re- 
ceived from  Launce's  revenge  of  her  form- 
er savageness  to  him,  we  shall  follow  him 
to  the  kitchen,  where,  smarting  from  the 
fury  of  her  discipline,  he  was  diligently  es- 
saying to  strike  a  light,  but,  in  consequence 
of  his  tears,  whereof  there  was  a  plentiful 
supply,  falling  into  the  tinder,  he  knocked 
his  knuckles  with  small  profit. 

In  this  strait,  cursing  heartily  all  ter- 
magaut  mistresses,  and  sparks  that  went 


out  as  soon  as  they  showed  themselves, 
he  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes,  took  a 
candle  in  his  hand,  and,  opening  a  door 
right  against  him,  proceeded  i:»to  a  narrow 
yard,  having  a  paling  on  each  side  so  much 
broke  as  to  admit  easily  of  his  passing  over 
it  This  he  iid  ;  and,  entering  at  a  wicket 
belonging  to  the  next  house,  he  found  him- 
self among  some  half-dozen  slovenly  men 
and  boys,  sitting  croas-legged  on  a  huge 
table,  where  many  lights  were  a  burning, 
stitching  away  upon  divers  garments  before 
them  with  a  most  commendable  speed. 

Scarce  had  he  shown  himself,  ere  Launce 
was  hailed  by  all  present  as  a  familiar  and 
perchance  a  welcome  acquaintance;  none 
failing  to  attempt  a  merry  jest  at  his  ex- 
pense. Launce  lit  his  candle,  as  though  he 
was  so  crest-fallen  of  his  late  beating  he 
had  not  a  word  to  throw  away  on  a  dog^ 
nay  not  even  on  a  tailor ;  but,  as  he  was  on 
the  eve  of  departing,  he  slowly  pushed  the 
hot  iron,  with  which  one  had  that  moment 
been  flattening  the  seams  of  a  doublet, 
against  the  bare  toe  peeping  out  of  the  rag- 
ged hose  of  him  who  seemed  to  possess  a 
greater  commodity  of  jokes  than  the  others  ; 
and,  as  he — screaming  with  the  greatness 
of  the  pain — started  back  with  a  force 
which  laid  his  neighbor  on  hig  back,  and  put 
all  his  fellows  into  a  sudden  terror,  the  boy, 
with  aloud  laugh,  whisked  out  of  the  cham- 
ber, jumped  over  the  paling,  and  was  soon 
engaged  upon  his  duties  in  the  kitchen,  as 
light  of  heart,  from  the  remembrance  of  the 
trick  he  had  played  Toby  Snipkin,  as  if  he 
knew  not  what  a  beating  meant. 

It  should  here  be  made  known  to  the  cour- 
teous reader,  that  Mistress  Tabitha  Thatch- 
pole  carried  on  the  art  of  a  capper,  in  a  goodly 
tenement  situated  in  Golden  Lane,  Barbi- 
can; the  which  excellent  calling  her  father, 
honest  Barnabas  fhatchpole,  had  pursued 
in  good  repute  till  his  death,  leaving  it,  and 
all  the  profits  thereunto  appertaining,  to  his 
beloved  daughter  and  sole  heiress,  the  esti- 
mable Mistress  Tabitha  Thatchpole  afore- 
said. How  it  came  to  pass,  that,  with  so 
tempting  an  addition  as  this  trade  in  caps,  to 
a  visage  and  person  by  no  means  of  the 
ordinary  sort — the  former  having  a  strik- 
ing resemblance  to  that  of  a  sand-boy's 
horse,  and  the  latter  being  built  much  af- 
ter the  fashion  of  a  coal-barge — the  name 
of  Tabitha  Thatchpole  should  have  clung 
to  her  even  after  her  lease  of  it  had>  been 
protracted  beyond  half  a  century,  re- 
maineth  the  most  incomprehensible  of  mys- 
teries. Certain  is  it,  she  had  strove  all  that 
a  poor  woman  could  to  alter  this  undesira- 
ble state  of  things.  She  first  sought  the 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


young,  who  would  have  none  of  her ;  then ' 
aspired  to  the  middle-aged,  who  gave  her 
as  little  comfort ;  and  now  very  mightily 
affected  the  old,  with  a  desperateness,  the 
exceeding  desperate  nature  of  the  case 
seemed  to  give  her  excellent  warrant  for. 

She  was  a  great  furtherer  of  all  manner 
of  merry  meetings,  both  at  her  own  house 
and  those  of  her  neighbors,  in  which  her  os- 
tensible object  was  to  bring  young  people  to- 
gether, in  whose  happiness  she  professed  a 
marvellous  interest.  When  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  her  female  friends  conve- 
niently disposed  of,  she  would,  with  an  ami- 
ableness  to  which  no  pen  can  do  justice,  sit 
herself  by  the  side  of  any  respectable  grey- 
beard widower  or  bachelor — it  mattered  not 
which,  so  easily  pleased  was  she — who 
happened  to  be  amongst  the  company,  and 
dilate  on  mutual  affection  and  the  union  of 
appropriate  ages,  in  a  strain  that  ought  to 
have  subdued  the  most  callous  and  indiffer- 
ent old  heart  that  ever  throbbed  under  a 
comfortable  jerkin. 

Launce  had  been  sent  from  Stratford,  by 
Tommy  Hart,  to  his  kinswoman,  Tabitha 
Thatchpole,  of  'London,  at  her  earnest  so- 
licitation to  have  some  such  a  boy  as  he  was 
to  assist  her  in  her  business.  To  prevent  his 
quitting  her,  as  some  had  done  with  exceed- 
ing brief  warning,  she  lost  no  time  in  hav- 
ing him  bound  apprentice ;  and  here,  in 
Golden  Lane,  Barbican,  was  Launce  fixed, 
under  the  tender  mercies  of  the  fair  Tabi- 
tha, ostensibly  to  learn  the  art  and  mystery 
of  a  capper,  but,  in  fact,  to  do  all  things, 
from  the  top  of  the  house  to  the  bottom,  and 
get  nought  for  his  pains  but  blows  and 
abuse. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  fellowship  of  a 
few  merry  Knaves  in  the  neighborhood, 
about  his  own  age,  with  whom  he  was  as 
often  at  loggerheads  as  in  sworn  brother- 
hood, it  is  hugely  to  be  doubted  if  his  in- 
dentures would  have  held  him  in  Golden 
Lane  for  a  day. 

It  must  now  be  supposed  that  he  made  an 
ample  fire  in  the  kitchen — a  chamber,  floor- 
ed with  red  brick,  which  formed,  save  on 
grand  occasions,  the  usual  sitting-room — 
and  in  this  duty  he  had  so  long  lingered 
that  Mistress  Tabitha  came  nigh  upon 
catching  him  lying  his  length  on  one  of  the 
settles  that  stood  on  each  side  of  the  ample 
chimney  corner,  forgetful  of  all  else  but  the 
comfortableness  of  his  situation.  The  hear- 
ing of  her  foot  on  the  stair,  however,  roused 
him  as  effectually  as  might  a  cannon  fired 
close  to  his  ear ;  and,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  he  was  as  busy  as  a  bee  sweeping 
out  the  front  chamber. 


Here  she  presently  entered,  scolding  and 
cuffing  him  for  not  finding  things  there  ex- 
actly to  her  mind.  This  was  out  of  its 
place,  that  was  carelessly  put  by,  and  the 
other  ought  to  have  gone  to  a  customer; 
then,  some  fine  cap  or  another  had  been  in- 
jured by  his  utter  carelesness ;  and  she  had 
lost  the  sale  of  others  by  his  placing  them, 
to  keep  them  free  of  moth  and  dust,  where 
they  were  never  to  be  got  at. 

"  Launce !"  cried  she,  sharply,  having 
completed  her  arrangements  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Anon,  mistress,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  What  said  that  worthy  Master  Doctor 
Posset  to  my  message  of  last  night  2" 

"  An  it  please  you,  mistress,  he  said 
nought." 

"  How  so,  fellow  ?" 

"  For  this  most  especial  reason : — he  was 
attending  a  candlemaker's  wife  in  Bread 
Street,  and  could  have  no  note  of  your  mes- 
sage, mistress."  A  sharp  box  on  the  ear 
followed  this  speech. 

"  Wilt  never  have  done  with  thy  fool's 
answers,  thou  miserable  dolt,  thou  !  But 
thou  had  speech  of  his  admirable  daughter, 
Mistress  Millicent?" 

"  An  it  please  you,  mistress,  I  had,"  re- 
plied Launce,  rubbing  his  ear  with  some 
vigor.  "  That  is  to  say,  when  it  pleased 
her  to  have  done  a  swounding,  for  when  I  got 
me  into  Master  Doctor's  chamber,  there  I 
found  Mistress  Millicent  on  the  ground, 
supported  by  a  strange  young  fellow,  look- 
ing as  solemn  as  the  queen  of  Sheba,  done 
in  worsted,  that  is  up  stairs  in  the  blue 
chamber." 

"  Master  John  Hall,  perchance.  But 
were  they  alone  ?" 

"  No,  mistress.  There  was  the  physician's 
man  there,  too." 

"  Physician's  man.  fellow !"  exclaimed  Ta- 
bitha, aiming  another  blow  at  him,  which 
he  avoided  by  ducking  his  head ;  an  ac- 
complishment in  which  practice  had  made 
him  so  proficient,  he  rarely  failed  of  escap- 
ing the  intended  blow.  "  Physician's  man  ! 
Canst  not  say  Master  Leonard?"  Then, 
in  a  lower  tone,  continued,  "  Doubtless,  he 
was  greatly  concerned  at  the  sad  plight  of 
one  to  whom  he  hath  been  so  long  betrothed. 
Was  no  other  present  ?" 

"  Yes,  mistress,  there  was  the  stuffed  al- 
ii orator  hanging  from  the  top  of  the  chamber, 
and  the  kitten,  with  five  legs,  that  was  in  a 
bottle  on  a  shelf." 

"  Out,  fool !"  cried  his  mistress,  aiming 
her  customary  salute  with  no  more  profit 
than  before.  Thou  art  the  most  incorrigible 
ass  ever  honest  woman  was  troubled  with. 
But  what  followed  ?" 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


"  Followed,  mistress  V'  repeated  Launce, 
scratching  his  head  in  some  perplexity. 
"  O'  my  life,  I  saw  no  following  of  any  one 
for  they  all  stood  where  they  were." 

"  Knave,  dolt,  idiot !"  exclaimed  Mistress 
Tabitha,  her  remarkable  yellow  complexion 
getting  suddenly  enpurpled  with  rage,  as 
she  sought  to  inflict  a  proper  chastisement 
on  her  apprentice.  "  What  said  they  to 
you  ?  Tell  me  on  the  instant,  or  I  will  beat 
thee  to  a  shaving." 

"  An  it  please  you,  mistress,  they^  said 
but  little,  till  Mistress  Millicent  recovered 
herself  from  her  swound,  when  they  ques- 
tioned me  as  to  my  errand  to  the  doctor ; 
the  which  having  told,  Mistress  Millicent 
presently  spoke  in  a  monstrous  small  voice, 
and  said  Master  Doctor  should  come  with- 
out fail,  and  there  should  be  in  his  company 
herself  and  a  young  acquaintance,  whom 
methinks  she  called  Mildred,  with  Master 
John  Hall  and  Master  Leonard  Supple." 

"  Good  ;  and  you  went  to  Martin  Poins, 
the  spurrier  ?" 

"  I  did,  an  it  please  you,  mistress ;  and 
he  said  he  would  come  the  instant  after 
morning  prayers." 

"  Ah,  good,  excellent  man  !  A  most  ad- 
mirable, worthy  Christian.  And  what  said 
Simon  Peltry,  the  leather-seller  ?" 

"  In  troth,  mistress,"  replied  the  boy,  de- 
spite of  the  fear  in  which  he  stood  before 
his  mistress,  a  smile  of  roguish  meaning 
breaking  over  his  grimy  cheeks,  "  he  was 
in  no  case  for  the  saying  of  any  great  mat- 
ter, seeing  that  I  found  him  at  the  Peacock, 
so  overcome  with  the  drinking  of  new  ale, 
that  he  was  as  blind  as  a  bat,  as  deaf  as  a 
beetle,  and  as  mute  as  an  owl ;  and  when  I 
roused  him  to  hear  of  your  message,  he  re- 
plied, unconnected,  and  confusedly,  in  praise 
of  sobriety,  adding,  the  fiddlers  must  needs 
pray  for  your  death  right  heartily,  for  they 
would  then  be  like  to  get  such  exquisite 
tough  catgut  as  they  had  never  seen  all 
their  lives  before." 

"  A  merry  knave,  i'  faith !"  exclaimed  the 
rather  antiquated  damsel,  who  could  find 
toleration  for  the  faults  of  every  man  who 
afforded  her  the  slightest  prospect  of  a  hus- 
band. "  He  must  needs  have  his  jest.  And 
how  sped  you  with  Roger  Chinks,  the 
lantern-maker  ?" 

"  An  it  please  you,  mistress,  with  no  great 
profit.  Chinks  was  hard  at  work  among  his 
men,  and  received  your  message  as  though 
it  were  a  huge  affront.  He  might  or  he 
might  not  come.  He  cared  not.  An  it 
suited  him,  he  would ;  and  the  like." 

"  As  honest  a  heart  as  ever  broke  bread  !*' 


cried  Mistress  Tabitha.  "And  what  said 
Master  Galliard  ?" 

"  The  old  Frenchman  fellow,  an  it  please 
you  ?" 

"  The  French  gentleman,  sirrah,"  replied 
the  other,  sharply. 

"  Nay,  o'  my  life,  mistress,  I  took  him  to 
be  a  right  Tom  o'  Bedlam,  for  I  found  him 
playing  of  all  sorts  of  antics  in  Bessy 
Marshmallow,  the  simple  woman's  upper 
chamber.  He  was  twisting,  and  turning, 
and  curvetting,  and  capering,  worse  than  an 
unbroke  colt ;  and  his  toe  kept  pointing  to 
all  quarters  of  the  wind,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  great  vane  on  the  top  of  our  church." 

"  But  what  said  he  to  my  message  ?" 

"  A  long  speech,  and  a  flowery,  but  in 
such  outlandish  phrases,  I  bad  to  cudgel  my 
brains  pretty  soundly  ere  I  could  get  so  much 
as  a  glimpse  at  the  sense  of  it.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  the  breast  of  his  doublet,  and  made 
a  leg  to  me  as  though  I  was  the  Emperor  of 
the  Indies.  This  I  let  pass,  but  he  presently 
fell  to  calling  you  mad-dam,  which  I  taking 
to  be  some  reflection  on  you  it  did  not  be- 
come me  to  be  a  listening  to,  up  and  told 
him  I'd  punch  his  head  if  he  called  my 
mistress  any  such  names,  for  she  wasn't  a 
bit  of  a  '  mad-dam,'  not  she,  and  he  was  a 
scurvy  rogue,  and  lied  in  his  pestilent  throat. 
On  this,  the  villain  had  the  horrible  impu- 
dency  to  say  something  about  a  pardonnez 
moi,  the  which  was,  I  doubt  not,  a  more 
gross  offence  than  t'other,  so  I  would  no 
longer  stand  to  be  so  put  upon,  and  straight- 
way gave  him  so  sore  a  clout  on  the  chaps 
it  sent  him  spinning  to  the  other  side  of  the 
chamber  ;  whereupon  he  out  with  his  toast- 
ing-iron, and  would  have  skewered  me 
against  the  wall,  like  a  pickled  herring  left 
to  dry,  had  I  not  shown  him  a  fair  pair  of 
heels,  ere  he  had  got  it  fairly  out  of  its  scab- 
bard." 

In  making  this  relation,  Launce  had  some 
hopes  of  being  rewarded  for  the  great  zeal 
he  had  shewn  in  his  mistress's  defence. 
What  then  must  have  been  his  astonishment 
when  of  a  sudden  a  shower  of  blows  came 
on  his  defenceless  head,  which  all  his  skill 
in  taking  care  of  put  at  nought — she  the 
whilst  rating  him  for  his  rudeness  and 
bearishness  in  such  terms  of  vehemency  as 
went  night  to  take  her  breath  away ! 

The  hapless  apprentice  vanished  from 
her  presence  as  quickly  as  he  might,  vowing 
from  his  heart  the  pestilent  Frenchman 
might  call  the  old  Tabby  whatsoever  dis- 
reputable name  he  chose,  without  his  ever 
attempting  to  wag  a  finger  in  her  defence. 

He  returned  to  the  front  chamber,  where 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


he  occupied  himself  very  busily  in  putting 
his  mistress's  wares  in  the  most  tempting 
array.  It  bad  a  broad  casement,  looking 
into  the  street,  made  up  of  small  diamond 
panes,  through  which  the  passenger,  if  he 
chose  to  peer  with  any  great  degree  of  curios- 
ness,  might  note  a  vast  display  of  caps  and 
hats  of  all  fashions,  from  the  statute  cap  of 
the  humble  artisan,  to  the  goodly  copthank 
beaver  of  the  gay  gallant.  On  shelves,  on 
one  side,  were  placed  rows  of  boxes,  and 
upright  against  he  wainscoting,  was  fixed 
a  long  mirror,  in  a  carved  frame,  on  which 
.Mistress  Tabitha  set  great  store.  A  large 
table,  having  a  motley  assortment  of  hats, 
caps,  feathers,  brushes,  irons,  and  blocks, 
and  two  stools,  that  seemed  to  have  seen 
good  service,  constituted  the  remainder  of 
the  furniture — save  only  Launce,  without 
whom  Tabitha  Thatchpole  might  have  kept 
the  place  empty. 

He  was  not,  however,  as  usual,  allowed 
to  be  long  doing  of  any  thing  without  his 
mistress  coming  and  rating  him  for  not 
doing  it  to  her  liking.  Nought  satisfied  her 
of  his  performance,  essayed  he  ever  so. 
Nevertheless,  in  the  midst  of  her  cuffing  and 
rating,  she  on  a  sudden  changed  the  crabbed 
expression  of  her  countenance  for  one  of 
the  absolutest  sweetness.  At  that  moment 
there  entered  a  tall,  thin,  figure,  hat  in  hand, 
which  was  pressed  against  his  breast  with 
a  marvellous  energy,  as  he  bowed  himself 
almost  to  the  ground.  His  face  looked  to 
be  mightily  given  to  wrinkles,  but  two  rest- 
less, sharp  eyes  gave  it  a  youthfulness,  the 
greyness  of  his  beard  and  hair,  both  of 
which  were  somewhat  of  the  longest,  belied ; 
his  suit  had  once  been  fine,  but  it  was  now 
threadbare  and  faded,  yet  there  was  not  a 
soil  in  it  from  top  to  toe ;  the  ruff  looked 
fresh  from  the  starcher's,  and  the  shoe-rosss 
were  without  a'  crumple,  though  they  had 
graced  the  feet  of  the  wearer  any  time  these 
ten  years.  The  stranger  was  Monsieur 
Galliard,  of  whom  mention  has  just  been 
made. 

Mistress  Tabitha  tripped  up  to  him  with 
the  most  amiable  manner  ever  seen  ;  where- 
upon Monsieur  Galliard  seized  one  of  her 
enormous  hands,  and  pressed  it  betwixt 
both  his,  and  bowed  upon  it,  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders  with  an  appearance  of  pro- 
found devotion. 

In  sober  truth,  they  were  most  like  anto 
a  pair  of  Barbary  apes  chattering  and  gri- 
macing, than  two  human  beings  Whilst, 
however,  they  were  completely  taken  up 
with  passing  mutual  civilities,  they  were 
suddenly  disturbed  by  a  loud,  joyous  laugh 
behind  them,  and,  turning  round,  discovered 


a  fellow  somewhat  coarsely  apparelled, 
standing  at  the  door  with  his  hands  on  his 
hips,  and  a  jolly  face  well  covered  with  fiery 
carbuncles,  expanding  under  the  influence 
of  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Heart  o'  me !"  cried  he,  merrily,  "  I 
would  rather  have  lost  my  best  stroke  at 
bowls,  than  so  exquisite  moving  a  scene. 
Here's  choice  fooling — brave  fooling — deli- 
cate fooling  as  ever  was  witnessed!  If 
Will  Somers  had  been  alive,  he  could  never 
have  compassed  it." 

"  Ah,  Simon  Peltry,  Simon  Peltry !"  ex- 
claimed Mistress  Tabitha,  "  ever  at  thy 
merry  conceits  !  Why,  what  a  maa  thou 
art !" 

"  Man,  quotha !"  answered  the  leather- 
seller,  giving  the  grinning  Frenchman,  as 
he  offered  his  salutations,  a  slap  on  the 
back  that  appeared,  for  the  moment,  to  have 
taken  his  breath  away.  "  In  troth,  1  look 
upon  myself  to  be  as  good  a  man  as  any 
that  never  was  a  better.  What  sayest,  good 
Mounseer  Spindleshanks  ? 

"  But  talking  is  dry  work,  dame,"  added 
he.  "  Hast  ever  a  draught  o'  small  ale  ?  for 
I  supped  last  night  of  pickled  herrings,  and, 
if  I  had  a  drop  of  honest  liquor  to  cleanse 
my  throat  of  the  salt,  I  am  a  Dutchman/' 
This  assertion  what  Launce  had  stated  of 
him  completely  disproved  ;  therefore,  it  can 
be  in  no  way  strange  that,  on  hearing  it, 
the  apprentice,  who  was  close  at  hand, 
opened  his  eyes  with  very  absolute  amaze- 
ment. Nevertheless,  Mistress  Tabitha  very 
courteously  bade  him  follow  her.  to  partake 
of  such  poor  cheer  as  the  house  afforded, 
the  which  welcome  bidding  the  thirsty 
leatherseller  gladly  accepted,  and  witnout 
more  words,  the  three  proceeded  in  that  di- 
rection. 

They  had  scarce  arrived  in  the  inner 
chamber,  and  were  intent  on  seating  them- 
selves comfortably  in  the  chimney-corner, 
when  voices  were  heard  approaching,  which 
immediately  sent  away  Mistress  Tabitha  to 
welcome  the  new  comer.  One  of  these 
proved  to  be  a  truly  broad-shouldered  man, 
with  an  exceeding  dark  complexion  and 
severe  expression  of  countenance,  and  ap- 
parently of  a  middle  age,  who  was  presently 
hailed  by  the  parties  already  •  arrived  as 
Roofer  Chinks,  the  lantern-maker.  The 
other  wore  a  more  pleasing  look,  and  was 
attired  in  less  coarse  apparelling  ;  and  he, 
when  receiving  the  attentions  of  the  now 
superlatively  amiable  Tabitha  Thatchpole, 
appeared  to  own  the  name  of  Martin  Poins, 
the  spurrier. 

The  former  spoke  but  few  words,  and 
they  of  the  gruffest,  to  his  hostess's  oft- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


repeated  assurance  of  her  gladness  at  the 
sight  of  him  ;  and  the  replies  of  the  latter 
consisted,  for  the  most  part,  of  allusions  to 
the  goodness  of  Providence  in  allowing  him 
the  gratification  of  visiting  so  excellently 


disposed    an 
Thatchpole. 


acquaintance    as     neighbor 


With  him  came  a  boy,  out  of  all  doubt 
his  son,  of  about  the  tallness  of  Launce, 
though  of  far  greater  slimness,  and  of  more 
intelligent  features ;  and,  whilst  the  rest  of 
company  were  completely  engaged  with 
their  gossip,  he  had  got  a  spur  in  his  hand, 
which  he  held  nigh  to  the  cheek  of  Launce, 
who,  unaware  or  his  close  neighborhood, 
was  intent  upon  trimming  of  a  hat  for  a 
customer,  and,  upon  hearing  of  his  name 
whispered  in  his  ear,  turned  suddenly  round, 
and  received  the  prickles  of  the  spur  in  his 
cheek.  Smarting  with  the  pain,  he  gave 
the  young  rogue  who  inflicted  it,  and  with  a 
laugh  was  endeavoring  at  his  best  speed  to 
get  out  of  his  reach,  a  sharp  kick  on  the 
shins,  the  which  made  him  cry  out,  and 
commence  rubbing  his  hurt  leg  with  a  most 
doleful  visage. 

Upon  Mistress  Tabitha  inquiring  what 
ailed  him,  he  very  readily  stated  that  he  had 
hit  his  leg  against  the  table ;  the  which 
was  instantly  believed  to  be  the  truth,  for  no 
one  could  have  fancied  from  Launces'  un- 
concerned visage,  that  he  had  aught  to  do 
with  the  matter.  But  they  were  both  very 
dogs  at  such  tricks.  Martin  Poins  was  he 
who  had  flung  at  Launce  with  so  true  an 
aim  across  the  way  when  the  latter  was 
jibing  him  for  being  wide  of  the  mark  ;  and 
indeed,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  were  they 
slily  engaged  in  such  warfare — for  all  which 
two  such  fast  friends  never  existed.  They 
not  only  never  complained  when  one  suf- 
fered of  the  other,  contenting  themselves 
with  retaliating  at  the  first  opportunity,  but 
each  would  fight  for  the  other  at  a  pinch 
as  long  as  he  could  stand. 

Martin,  having  been  left  behind  when 
Tabitha  and  her  two  guests  proceeded  to 
join  the  others  in  the  kitchen,  commenced 
a  race  round  the  table  after  Launce,  which 
had  not  lasted  long  before  one  knocked 
down  a  goodly  heap  of  boxes,  which  stood 
convenient-  in  a  corner.  Tabitha  Thatch- 
pole  and  her  company  rushed  .into  the  front 
chamber  to  see  what  was  the  matter; 
when  Launce,  with  as  absolute  a  solemn- 
ness  as  any  judge  could  have  assumed, 
elated  that  the  mischief  had  been  done  by  a 
strange  dog,  whom  Martin  and  he  strove 
earnestly  to  send  a  packing,  and,  as  Martin, 
with  quite  as  great  a  seriousness  asserted  to 


which  he  described  the  monstrous  ugly  pes- 
tilent beast  they  had  such  difficulty  in  get- 
ting rid  of,  they  all  returned  to  the  chimney- 
corner  ;  Mistress  Tabitha  bidding  her  ap- 
prentice replace  the  fallen  boxes,  and,  taking 
in  her  hand  the  spurrier's  son,  whom  she 
seemed  intent  upon  making  much  of,  per- 
chance with  a  view  of  creating  in  the  mind 
of  the  portly  widower,  his  father,  an  idea 
that  she  would  make  the  very  properest  sort 
of  mother  for  him. 

Scarce,  however,  had  she  got  him  into 
the  kitchen,  when  she  again  hurried  back 
with  the  same  pleased  alacrity,  for  .there  a 
group  waited,  whose  voices  she  had  heard, 
to  whom  she  seemed  bound  by  no  ordinary 
tie.  First  she  rushed  eagerly  towards  a 
young  female  of  rather  a  commanding 
figure,  tall,  and  somewhat  stout  of  shape, 
with  a  face,  though  it  could  not  be  ranked 
of  the  handsomest,  possessed  of  a  pleasing 
expression,  which  peculiar  set  off  as  it  was 
with  all  possible  art,  as  was  her  person, 
gave  to  her  an  exceeding  agreeable  appear- 
ance. In  this  tempting  guise  it  was  rather 
difficult  at  first  to  recognize  the  damsel  that 
was  in  so  pitiable  a  state  on  Master  Doctor 
Posset's  stairs  at  the  entrance  into  his  house 
of  the  new  scholar. 

Millicent  had  on  one  side  of  her  a  youth 
of  exceeding  good  carriage  and  appearance, 
having  a  round  good-natured  sort  of  face, 
and  a  head  remarkable  for  a  profusion  of 
very  light  air.  He  was  soon  hailed  by  his 
smiling  hostess  as  the  Master  Leonard  to 
whom  it  has  been  stated  Millicent  was  be- 
trothed. On  the  other  side  was  an  acquain- 
tance of  the  courteous  reader's  of  older 
standing — no  other  than  our  reserved  stu- 
dent of  medicine,  John  Hall.  He  looked 
somewhat  less  grave  of  aspect  than  had 
been  his  wont  when  in  company  with  his 
marvellous  careful  guide,  Simon  Stockfish 
— long  since  with  those  estimable  specimens 
of  horseflesh,  Dapple  and  Jack,  in  ease  and 
security  in  his  native  hamlet.  Both  these 
youths  were  welcomed  with  similar  demon- 
trations  of  their  infinite  contentation  at 
their  coming. 

From  them  she  hurried  to  a  little  damsel, 
who  hung  on  the  arm  of  the  physician — the 
same  who  was  in  attendance  with  Mistress 
Tabitha  on  the  fair  Millicent  when  we  first 
bad  acquaintance  with  her.  Her  features 
were  fair  and  regular,  and  might  be  thought 
comely,  but  a  constant  humor  she  had  of 
laughing  in  a  child-like  manner,  though  she 
was  within  a  year  as  old  as  her  friend  the 
physician's  daughter,  gave  her  aspect  an  air 
of  silliness.  Mildred  was  caressed  as  eagerly 


the  same  thing,  with  sundry  additions,  in  as  had  been  Millicent.     There  remained 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


75 


now  only  Master  Doctor  Posset  himself,  for 
her  who  was  so  intent  on  playing  the  amiable 
hostess  to  welcome,  and  right  welcome  was 
he  made.  Indeed,  the  sober-clad,  active 
little  man,  with  his  saturnine  complexion, 
and  beard  of  formal  cut,  was  as  'dear  to 
Mistress  T^bitha  as  the  apple  of  her  eye  ; 
and  all  the  attentions  she  lavished  on  his 
daughter,  and  the  attachment  she  professed 
for  every  one  and  everything  belonging  to 
the  physician,  were  for  him,  and  for  him 
only.  Even  the  courteous  master  of  danc- 
ing fell  far  short  of  the  esteem  with  which 
she  regarded  the  doctor  of  physic,  and  all 
other  men  whatsoever  were  as  nothing  in 
her  eyes  compared  to  him. 

All  apparently  in  the  choicest  spirits,  the 
little  Mildred,  heard  above  the  rest,  giggling 
at  every  word,  proceeded  to  the  chamber 
where  the  others  of  the  party  were  assem- 
bled, and,  after  mutual  salutations  had  pass- 
ed, they  were  placed  at  their  several  seats, 
the  doctor  having  the  place  of  honor ;  and 
the  cold  sirloin  and  the  manchets,  the  pasty, 
the  turkey  poults,  and  the  other  goodly  things 
their  hospitable  caterer  had  provided  for  her 
guests,  were  quickly,  with  the  help  of  a  huge 
flagon  of  ale,  passing  from  the  dishes  into 
the  trenchers,  and  from  the  trenchers  down 
the  throats  of  the  company  ;  Mistress  Tabi- 
tha  pressing  all  with  a  most  bountiful  spirit, 
but  kindly  taking  care  the  little  doctor  should 
have  the  tit-bits,  and  he  intent  upon  making 
the  best  use  of  her  welcome  attentions ; 
Monsieur  Galliard  administering  to  the 
wants  and  wishes  of  every  female  in  the 
circle  with  an  infinity  of  sugared  compli- 
ments and  expressive  pantomine,  the  which 
seemed  to  afford  such  absolute  diversion  to 
Mildred,  her  childish  mirth  was  breaking 
forth  at  every  minute ;  the  jolly  leather- 
seller  drinking  to  all  with  more  freedom 
than  good  manners ;  the  pious  spurrier 
moralizing  at  every  mouthful,  and  the  surly 
lantern-maker  saying  naught  unless  spoke 
to,  and  then  being  so  short  in  his  speech, 
few  but  they  who  knew  his  humor  would 
have  tolerated  such  bearishness. 

Young  Martin  Poins,  found  himself  care- 
fully placed  by  the  side  of  his  hostess,  for 
she  was  too  experienced  a  campaigner  not 
to  have  two  strings  to  her  bow — indeed,  she 
might  have  acknowledged  to  at  least  half 
a  dozen — where  he  was  plentifully  supplied 
with  whatever  the  table-afforded,  with  a  vast 
show  of  '•  sweet-hearts." "clear little  rogues," 
and  the  like.  After  awhile,  Launce  joined 
the  group,  having  washed  his  face  and  hands, 
and  put  himself  into  as  decent  a  trim  as  he 
could,  and  sat  opposite  young  Poins,  and 
these  two  mischievous  varlets  kept  amusing 


themselves  during  their  meal,  by  endeavor 
ing  to  stamp  on  each  other's  toes  under  the 
table,  looking  the  whilst  as  though  nothing 
was  so  far  from  their  thoughts.  It  chanced 
that  Launce,  intending  inflicting  on  the 
other  a  proper  punishment  for  the  missile 
that  had  given  him  so  sore  a  blow  that  morn- 
ing, stamped  with  all  his  force,  after,  as  he 
thought,  he  had  made  sure  of  his  victim. 

In  an  instant  the  guests  were  prodigiously 
alarmed,  by  seeing  Mistress  Tabitha  jump 
from  the  table  in  the  middle  of  an  animated 
discourse  she  was  holding,  and,  screaming 
like  twenty  wild-cats,  commence  hopping 
about  the  chamber,  frantically  holding  of 
one  foot  in  her  hand.  A  soft  corn  of  exqui- 
site tenderness  she  had  long  endeavored  to 
conceal  had  received  the  full  force  of  the 
heavy  foot  of  her  apprentice  ;  but  her  ges- 
tures and  grimaces  were  so  singular  that 
even  those  who  were  most  eager  to  proffer 
their  assistance  could  scarce  restrain  their 
mirth.  Martin  Poins  endeavored  to  smother 
his  laughter  by  hiding  his  face  in  his  arms, 
which  were  crossed  before  him  on  the  table, 
ever  and  anon  peeping  up  at  the  bewildered 
Launce,  with  eyes  that  glistened  again  with 
the  intensity  of  his  enjoyment. 

The  Frenchman  looked  the  most  concern- 
ed, and  was  in  an  instant  at  her  side  with 
the  equally  attentive  Millicpnt,  expressing 
all  manner  of  consolation  and  simpathy  after 
his  fashion ;  the  little  doctor,  like  most  of 
the  others,  had  more  in  his  countenance  of 
marvel  than  of  pity  ;  Mildred  was  giggling 
openly ;  and  Simon  Peltry  was  having  a 
more  hearty  laugh  in  the  nearly  empty 
flagon  he  held  for  disguise  before  his  face. 

Tabitha  Thatchpole  found  that  she  had  a 
difficult  part  to  play.  Had  she  followed  her 
inclinations,  her  apprentice — for  she  was  hut 
too  well  satisfied  to  whom  she  was  indebted 
for  her  intolerable  suffering — would  not  have 
had  a  whole  bone  in  his  body,  ere  one  could 
count  twenty  ;  but,  had  she  exhibited  her 
wrath,  her  character  for  sweetness  of  dispo- 
sition she  had  been  at  such  infinite  trouble 
to  make  her  friends  properly  aware  of, 
might  have  been  in  some  danger  ;  therefore 
she  thought  it  most  to  her  interest  to  put  off 
for  the  present  the  display  of  her  rage,  and, 
evidently  struggling  hard  against  the  agony 
she  endured,  she  presently  limped  towarela 
the  table,  assuring  every  one  it  was  a  sudden 
pain  in  her  foot,  but  that  it  had  left  her  al- 
together. She  glanced  but  once  at  Launce, 
and  the  hapless  apprentice  thought  he  beheld 
as  many  cudgels  in  her  eyes  as  might  have 
sufficed  all  the  apprentices  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, in  an  attack  upon  the  city  watch. 

Millicent,  like  the  rest,  returned  to  her 


78 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


place,  which  was  on  one  side  John  Hall, 
Leonard  being  on  the  other,  and  these  two 
seemed  rivals  in  their  attentions  to  the  young 
student.  If  he  had  been  a  brother,  he  oould 
not  have  been  more  kindly  cared  for. 
Doubtless  this  was  all  in  the  best  spirit  of 
friendship  and  regard  of  the  youth's  amiable 
Disposition;  yet,  when  the  full  lustrous  eyes 
cf  the  physician's  daughter  dwelt  upon  him 
with  the  delicious  smile  which  played  around 
her  most  seductive  mouth,  it  looked  as 
though  she  invited  him  to  a  more  tender 
attachment.  Howsoever  this  might  be,  al- 
ready John  Hall  reflected  less  intently  upon 
the  opinions  of  the  learned  in  his  profession, 
than  he  had  been  wont  for  some  years  past. 
During  the  greater  portion  of  this  time, 
there  had  been  no  lack  of  discourse  amongst 
the  hostess  and  her  guests.  There  had  been 
a  deal  of  friendly  gossip  relating  to  neighbor 
this,  and  neighbor  t'other ;  the  state  of  the 
weather,  parish  matters — Old  Poins  being 
one  of  the  city  officers — and,  most  of  all,  of 
the  Queen's  Highness,  of  whom  many  loyal 
speeches  were  said — even  the  bearish  Roger 
Chinks  professing  a  zealous  devotion — 
where  she  had  been  during  the  last  progress, 
the  goodly  entertainments  provided  for  her, 
and  the  excellency  of  her  health  and  govern- 
ment, were  canvassed  in  a  spirit  that  denoted 
the  admiration  with  which  she  was  regarded 
by  her  good  and  faithful  citizens.  Some- 
thing too  was  said  of  the  day's  pageant,  but 
the  discussion  was  brought  to  a  speedy  end- 
ing by  general  preparations  for  departure  ; 
Mistress  Tabitha,  forgetful  of  her  hurt,  hur- 
rying them  w;th  the  fear  of  losing  the  sight. 
Having  locked  up  all  the  victual,  and  secured 
the  exclusive  attentions  of  Dr.  Posset,  she 
led  the  way,  apparently  in  the  happiest  mood 
possible. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

O  happy  life,  if  that  their  good 
The  husbandmen  but  understood  ! 
Who  all  the  day  themselves  do  please, 
And  younglings  with  such  sports  as  these  ; 
And,  lying  down,  have  nough  t'  affright 
Sweet  sleep  that  makes  more  short  the  night. 
ROBERT  HERRICK. 

A  NOISE  of  the  roughest,  wildest,  maddest 
port,  ever  and  anon  came  from  one  of  the 
humblest  tenements  in  all  Stratford.  It  was 
borne  on  the  eir  in  gusts,  such  as  made  the 
rafters  creak  again,  when  the  wintry  wind 
visiteth  us  in  his  rudest  fashion,  but,  unlike 
in  this  much,  it  bore  little  o'  the  humor  of 
melancholy  in  its  accent.  It  was  a  strange 
medley.  In  truth  it  held  as  little  accord- 


ance with  aught  of  nature's  music,  RB  you 
may  find  betwixt  the  filing  of  a  saw  and  the 
strain  of  a  nightingale,  arvi  to  so  extraordi- 
nary a  degree  had  it  the  trick  of  varying 
from  one  character  and  meaning  to  another 
totally  opposite,  that  nothing  could  exceed 
the  ridiculous  effect  it  had  up<jn  such  as 
heard  it. 

At  one  time  you  would  have  sworn  all 
the  cat  family  in  the  town  of  Stratford  were 
pouring  forth  their  amorous  declarations  ;  at 
another  it  seemed  as  palpable  that  a  whole 
pack  of  curs  were  snarling  and  snapping  at 
each  other  with  a  most  canine  ferocity  ;  a 
moment  after,  and  lo !  you  heard  some  lusty- 
throated  cock  hurling  a  shrill  defiance  to 
every  one  of  his  feathered  brethren  within  a 
mile  of  him,  which,  ere  quite  ended,  would 
be  replied  to  in  as  hearty  a  spirit,  by  anothe 
terribly  valiant  crower  eager  to  uphold  the 
dignity  of  his  own  dunghill ;  then  some 
contemplative  donkey  would  pour  out  his 
honest  song  in  such  piercing  style  you  were 
forced  to  clap  your  hands  to  your  ears  to 
shut  out  the  riot.  Anon,  a  peacock  would 
trumpet  a  most  moving  flourish ;  thereupon 
followed,  a  chorus  of  ducks,  geese,  turkey?, 
pigs  and  cows,  such  as  ought  to  have  satisfied 
any  one  there  was  a  goodly  farm  close  at 
hand,  as  well  furnished  with  all  manner  of 
live  stock  as  any  in  Warwickshire ;  and  after 
such  would  come  a  burst  of  laughter  mixed 
of  screams,  and  the  strangest  cries  ever 
heard,  that  sounded  as  though  a  score  or 
two  of  drunken  mad  fellows  were  having 
their  diversion,  with  the  devil  to  pay  the 
piper. 

Whence  came  this  strange  uproar  1  what 
causeth  it  1  what  meaneth  it  1  perchance 
some  may  ask.  Whereof  the  proper  answer 
can  only  be  got,  by  leading  the  questioner 
by  the  ears,  which,  an  he  will  excuse  my 
being 'so  free  with  him,  I  will  do,  unto  the 
very  spot  where  it  exists,  under  which  guid- 
ance, doubtless,  he  would  marvel  hugely  at 
noting  what  a  lack  of  attentiveness  there 
appeared  amongst  those  he  chanced  to  find 
nighest  to  it.  buch  of  the  townsfolk  as  he 
might  meet  abroad  lingering  about  the  doors 
of  their  gossips,  or  speeding  on  some  urgent 
errand,  seemed  to  take  as  little  heed  of  that 
terrible  coil  as  though  it  were  of  no  more 
account  than  a  child's  whistle ;  save  when, 
on  a  sudden,  as  it  were,  it  burst  out  with  a 
greater  veh,emency  of  strangeness,  the  intel- 
ligencer would  stop  i'  the  midst  of  his  news, 
to  join  in  the  laugh  those  about  him  raised 
as  they  took  heed  of  it,  and  he  on  his  errand 
would  chuckle  to  himself  as  though  his  brain 
had  just  been  tickled  by  the  apprehension  of 
some  singular  good  jest. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


TT 


It  was  evident,  beyond  all  doubting,  that 
the  noise  proceeded  from  a  chamber,  in  a 
small  tenement,  at  the  outskirts  of  the  town  ; 
the  wicket  whereof — a  low  door  not  more 
than  three  feet  from  the  ground — though 
closed,  allowed  of  a  free  current  of  air  and 
sound  above  it.  Over  the  threshold  was  the 
rude  sign  of  a  pair  of  shears,  which  with 
the  diamond-paned  casement,  a  little  on  one 
side  of  it,  were  half  concealed  by  the  tendrils 
of  a  thick-spreading  creeper,  that  nearly 
covered  up  the  whole  front  of  the  little 
dwelling. 

Should  the  curious  spectator  be  induced 
to  peep  over  the  half-door  to  behold  the  cause 
of  the  racket,  which  now  raged  fiercer  than 
ever  within,  the  first  thing  he  would  catch 
a  glimpse  of  would  be  no  other  than  his  odd 
acquaintance  Jonas  Tietape,  his  hose  un- 
gartered,  his  feet  unshod,  and  his  slops  open 
at  the  knees,  seated  cross-legged  on  his 
shop-board  without  his  jerkin,  a  stitching  a 
kirtle,  that  seemed  much  to  need  his  repair- 
ing hand,  as  fiercely  as  though  his  life  de- 
pended on  his  speedy  getting  of  it  done  ;  all 
the  whilst  amusing  of  himself  by  making 
the  rude  concert  already  mentioned,  the 
which  seemed  to  afford  him  the  most  abso- 
lute contentation,  for  ever  and  anon  he 
would  stop  in  the  midst  of  it  to  rid  himself 
of  the  mirth  he  could  no  longer  contain. 

In  the  chamber  which,  in  many  things,  was 
of  a  like  oddness  with  its  occupant,  having 
an  aspect  of  grotesqueness  in  all  its  furniture, 
a  goodly  fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  and 
a  rude  lamp  was  burning  over  his  head, 
both  affording  him — for  it  was  long  after 
sunset — a  sufficiency  of  light  to  work  by. 
Perched  on  a  chair,  made  out  of  divers  rough 
pieces  of  such  branches  as  had  grown  in  the 
most  fantastic  shapes,  was  a  magpie,  evi- 
dently keeping  a  fixed  and  somewhat  suspi- 
cious eye  on  the  busy  tailor ;  and,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hearth  was  seated,  on  a 
low  bench,  a  grave  and  venerable  cat,  in  color 
much  like  unto  a  fox,  who  also  watched  him 
with  a  marvellous  keen  look.  Besides  these, 
three  or  four  little  dogs,  of  various  breeds, 
were  attempting  to  snatch  a  "brief  repose  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  fire. 

One  of  the  sources  of  Jonas'  pastime  was 
the  annoyance  he  managed  to  cause  his 
companions.  After  a  course  of  odds  and 
ends  of  ridiculous  songs,  varied  with  the  m'.- 
micry  of  all  manner  of  animals,  his  attention 
would  be  directed  towards  the  blazing 
hearth,  and  they  who  were  enjoying  its 
warmth  ;  and  then  he  would  commence  all 
manner  of  extravagant  grimaces  and  antics, 
mingled  with  the  wildest  screeching  and 
squealing,  till  the  magpie  exhibited  its  alarm 


by  flapping  its  wings,  and  cawing  at  him 
with  a  very  monstrous  earnestness.  And 
the  cat,  no  less  disturbed,  would  raise  her 
back,  and  commence  a  sort  of  half-threaten- 
ing, half-frightened  song,  in  the  lowest  bass 
of  her  compass ;  and  the  little  dogs  would 
uncurl  themselves  and  yelp  in  chorus.  This 
state  of  things  achieved,  their  delighted  owner 
would  fall  back  in  a  seeming  ecstacy,  shout- 
ing out  his  exceeding  gratification  with  a 
strength  of  throat,  the  like  of  which  no  man 
ever  heard,  and  then  allow  his  grave  associ- 
ates a  few  minutes  respite. 

Ere  he  again  took  to  his  stitching,  he 
again  cleared  his  throat  with  an  affectation 
of  ceremony  most  laughable  to  witness  ; 
taking  up  an  old  cittern  which  was  beside 
him,  and  gazing  at  the  occupant  of  the  stool, 
with  a  passionate  tenderness  in  the  first  part 
of  each  verse  the  most  devoted  gallant  could 
not  have  excelled,  he  sang  the  following 
words,  well  known  by  the  title  of 

A  RIGHT  MOVING  DIALOGUE  BETWIXT  THE 

DESPAIRING   LOVER   AND   HIS 

JOLLY   GOSSIP. 

Despairing  Lover. 
Alack,  there  is  no  remedie, 

My  moving  plaint  is  heard  in  vain  ; 
Oh,  traitress  false,  thy  treacherie 

Doth  cleave  my  very  heart  in  twain .' 

Jolly  Gossip. 
Tush,  boy,  for  shame  !  the  heart  that  breaks 

Can  feed  no  more  a  thirsty  throttle  : 
Who  cares  a  jot  for  Fortune's  freaks  ?~ 

Come,  Drawer,  open  t'other  bottle ! 

Despairing  Lover. 

I'm  sick  of  life — I  long  for  death  ! 

Say  what  ye  will,  deem  as  ye  list  ; 
Why  should  I  breathe  this  worthless  breath, 

Since  I  your  priceless  love  have  missed  I 

folly  Gossip. 
Tush,  boy,  for  shame  ! — Hold  up  thine  head  '• 

If  of  thy  life  she's  none  so  chary, 
She'll  care  still  less  for  thee  when  dead — 

No  woman's  worth  this  rare  canary. 

Despairing  Lover. 

Ah  me,  my  breast  is  pierced  with  woe  ! 

Death's  dart  doth  in  my  vitals  lie : 
Thou  didst  not  well  to  use  me  so, 

Naithless  I  bless  thee  as  I  die. 

JoUy  Gossip. 

Tush,  boy,  for  shame  ! — What.fall'n  indeed, 

As  ripest  acorn  in  October ! 
Here,  Drawer,  help  him  in  his  need, 

And  let  him  sleep  until  he's  sober ! 


78 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


"  By  Jeronimo,  a  good  song  !"  exclaimed 
a  voice,  evidently  proceeding  from  one  who 
leaned  at  his  ease,  resting  of  his  elbows  on 
the  wicket.  There  could  be  no  more  mis- 
taking the  merry  way  of  the  speaker,  than 
the  waggish  look  that  peered  over  the  low 
door  of  the  woman-tailor's  humble  tenement. 
The  words  had  scarce  been  said  when  the 
singer  jumped  up  on  the  board,  whereon  he 
was  so  nimbly  a  stitching,  with  a  ridiculous 
screech,  and  holding  of  his  right  leg,  stretch- 
ed out  before  him,  with  his  two  hands,  as 
though  it  were  an  arquebus,  and  he  was 
taking  deadly  aim  at  his  visitor,  uttered  a 
loud  sound,  threw  a  summerset,  as  though 
from  the  recoil  of  the  piece,  and  then  made 
a  clear  leap  out  of  the  open  window.  No 
sooner  had  this  been  done  than  he  at  the  wick- 
et leapt  lightly  over  it,  sprung  on  the  shop- 
board,  and  jumped  through  the  casement  af- 
ter him,  which  was  the  commencement  of  a 
terrible  sharp  race  betwixt  the  two  ;  the  one 
screeching  and  hallooing  as  though  flying 
for  his  life,  passing  over  the  wicket  and 
through  the  window  like  a  fox  hard  pressed, 
and  the  other  at  his  heels  barking  and  yelp- 
ing as  though  exceeding  ravenous  to  have 
him  for  his  prey. 

The  horrible  din  these 'two  made  can 
scarcely  be  conceived.  Dick,  the  magpie, 
flew  and  hopped  about,  cawing  with  a  mon- 
strous energy,  as  though  he  thought  his  last 
hour  was  come  ;  and  Tib,  the  cat,  clamber- 
ed to  a  high  shelf,  where  she  kept  up  a  con- 
stant swearing,  spitting,  and  caterwauling, 
as  the  strange  chase  proceeded,  and  as  each 
engaged  in  it  passed  close  by  her  :  the  little 
dogs  crowded  into  one  of  the  corners,  bark- 
ing with  all  their  little  might. 

Thus  these  two  went  on,  till  on  a  sudden 
Jonas,  turning  quickly  round,  and  making 
in  the  opposite  direction,  they  came  against 
each  other  with  so  monstrous  a  shock  as  to 
cause  both  to  tumble  backwards.  For  a 
second  or  so,  they  lay  silent  and  motionless, 
as  though  dead  as  any  stone.  Anon,  one 
raised  his  head,  and  peered  at  his  compa- 
nion, and  then  again  laid  himself  at  his 
length.  The  other  did  the  like,  with  the 
same  affectation  of  gravity  ;  and  this  they 
continued  to  do  alternately,  Tib  and  Dick 
looking  on  from  their  resting-places  with  a 
singular  curiousness,  and  the  little  dogs  a 
Lttle  less  disturbed,  but  still  uttering  an  oc- 
casional bark. 

At  last  they,  both  rose  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, and  sat  gazing  at  each  other,  face  to 
face,  with  the  rueful  visages  of  whipped 
schoolboys,  each  putting  his  finger  to  his 
eye,  and  each  commencing  first  to  whimper, 


then  to  sob,  and  at  last  to  roar  as  though  in 
the  terriblest  tribulation. 

Suddenly  the  woman's  tailor  stopped  short 
in  his  grief,  clapped  his  hands  to  his  sides, 
and  uttered  so  piercing  a  crow,  it  must 
needs  have  been  heard  by  every  chanticleer 
in  the  parish  ;  whereupon,  his  companion 
jumped  on  hie  legs,  laughing  as  heartily  as 
ever  man  did,  and  flung  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  O'  my  life,  this  is  exquisite  fooling  !" 
exclaimed  he.  "  I  would  my  dame  had  seen 
it.  Joan's  merry  heart  would  have  enjoyed 
it  right  heartily.  In  truth,  'twas  rare  sport. 
I  would  rather  have  lost  my  best  customer 
than  have  missed  it."  The  speaker  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair  and  indulged  in  a 
succession  of  mirthful  chuckles.  His  com- 
panion answered  not,  save  by  a  whoop  at 
his  favorites,  which  made  them  look  intent 
on  a  speedy  taking  of  themselves  away  from 
their  present  places  of  refuge,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do  the  host's  part  to  his  visitor. 

The  gossips  entered  upon  a  jovial  ca- 
rouse, and,  as  their  spirits  became  refreshed, 
they  grew  into  a  greater  content  with  them- 
selves, and  had  recourse  to  their  customary 
tricks,  till  they  kicked  up  such  a  racket,  the 
dogs,  the  cat,  and  the  magpie,  were  again 
driven  from  their  ordinary  places,  on  each 
side  the  fire,  to  which  they  had  returned,  to 
find  security  wherever  they  could. 

It  was  whilst  they  were  intent  upon  the 
performance  of  some  of  the  maddest  of  their 
freaks,  that  two  men,  cloaked,  and  otherwise 
habited  like  persons  of  worship,  were  pro- 
ceeding at  a  slow  pace  into  the  town  in  the 
direction  of  the  woman-tailor's  humble  ten- 
ement. These  persons  were  Sir  George 
Carew  and  his  friend  Master  Shakspeare. 
It  was  now  so  late  an  hour,  that  all  the  so- 
ber-minded townsfolk  had  taken  them  to 
their  beds.  It  followeth  that  the  place  was 
hushed  into  a  profound  stillness,  save  where 
the  noise  of  the  two  gossips  spread  itself, 
and  the  darkness  of  the  night  was  of  that 
impenetrable  sort,  nothing  could  be  keen 
but  here  and  there  a  stream  of  light  from 
some  casement  wherein  a  fire  still  blazed, 
or  a  candle  was  kept  burning,  betokening, 
perchance,  a  late  carouse,-  or  the  good 
dame's  preparations  to  welcome  to  his  com- 
fortable hearth  her  absent  bedfellow  ;  or  a 
door  thrown  open  to  admit  of  the  departure 
of  some  merry  party  to  their  several  homes, 
would,  the  whilst  they  were  saying  their 
parting  courtesies  on  the  threshold,  illumine 
the  deep  gloom  of  the  whole  neighborhood 
in  a  still  more  cheerful  fashion. 

The  two  persons,  to  whom  allusion  hath 
just  been  made,  kept  close  together,  conver- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


79 


sing  in  a  low  tone  to  each  other,  but  return- 1  spirators,  and  are  as  well  informed  of  their 


ing.  with  much  heartiness,  the  fair  "  good 
nights"  they  had  of  every  one  who  passed 
them  on  their  way.  At  their  heels  was  a 
stately  hound,  who  seemed  to  take  no  heed 
whatsoever  of  any  thing  or  any  one,  but 
stalked  along  with  as  much  affectation  of 
solemness  and  dignity,  as  would  have  suf- 
ficed the  goodliest  justice  'o  the  peace  that 
ever  sentenced  a  sturdy  beggar  to  the  stocks. 
The  subject  of  their  conversation  was  no 
other  than  the  Earl  of  Essex,  whose  trea- 
sonable designs,  after  his  abandonment  of 


in    Ireland,  had    become 
Sir  George  Carew  detail- 


his  government 
much  talked  of. 

ed  to  his  friend  the  intrigues  in  which  this 
vain  and  headstrong  noble  had  been  en- 
gaged, after  he  had  been  placed  under  ar- 
rest by  the  Queen's  order. 

"  He  got  his  liberty  at  last,"  added  he, 
"  but  was  not  allowed  to  come  to  court,  or 
near  the  Queen's  person.  These  restric- 
tions he  could  not  stomach.  His  great 
heart  would  not  take  quietly  the  humility 
that  was  put  upon  him.  He  regarded  those 
who  were  most  in  favor  at  court  as  his  rest- 
less and  remorseless  enemies,  and  was  ever 
saying  some  scurvy  thing  or  another  against 
them.  His  discontent  grew  greater  every 
day,  and  he  gathered  about  him  a  number 
of  mischievous,  restless  busybodies,  bold 
swordsmen,  confident  fellows,  men  of  broken 
fortunes,  and  such  as  saucily  used  their 
tongues  in  railing  against  all  men.  They 
did  him  no  good ;  but  his  worst  adviser  was 
one  Cuffe,  his  secretary,  a  plotting  dangerous 
knave,  who  had  been  with  him  in  Ireland." 

"  Methinks  I  have  heard  of  this  man,  Sir 
George,  at  Oxford.  Held  he  not  some  ap- 
pointment there  ?" 

"  O'  my  life,  I  know  not  well.  AH  I 
know  is,  that  he  is  the  most  pestilent,  trea- 
sonable knave  that  ever  carved  out  employ- 
ment for  the  hangman,  the  which  I  make  no 
manner  of  doubt  he  is  now  busily  intent  on, 
assisted  by  divers  others  whose  names  aie 


in  great  repute, 
assured  friend 
ampton." 


Foremost  of  these  is  your 
and  patron,  Lord    South- 


"  Nay,  nay,  Sir  George  Carew,  this  can- 
Your  intelligencer  must  have  play- 


not  be. 
ed  you 


false  !"  exclaimed  Master  Shaks- 


peare,  greatly  excited.      "  I  would  pledge 
my  life  on  his  loyalty." 

"  Do  nothing  unadvisedly,  friend  Will," 
replied  his  companion.  "  The  Privy  Coun- 
cil know  of  a  surety  that  he  is  engaged  in 
a  treasonable  design,  and,  moreover,  that.he 
hath  engaged  his  friend,  Sir  Charles  Dan- 
vers,  in  the  same  desperate  undertaking. 
In  short,  they  have  the  names  of  all  the  con- 


plans  as  they  are  themselves." 

"  I  must  to  London,  Sir  George.  I  must 
away  without  loss  of  time.  I  am  bound  to 
save  him.  He  shall  not  be  sacrificed  in 
this  foolish  business,  an  I  have  power  to 
help  him." 

"  Well  said,  Master  Shakspeare,"  replied 
Sir  George  Carew,  to  his  agitated  friend. 
"  It  was  mainly  for  this  I  sought  occasion 
for  privy  speech  with  you.  I  knew  with 
what  affectionateness  you  do  regard  this 
young  lord,  nor  am  I  ignorant  of  his  worthy 
nature  ;  therefore  desired  I  he  should  have 
the  aid  of  so  trusty  a  friend  in  the  perilous 
condition  in  which  he  hath  placed  himself. 
But,  hush  !  What  wild  uproar  is  that  ?" 

The  two  speakers  stopped  of  a  sudden 
and  listened  intently  ;  but  all  around  seem- 
ed wrapped  in  as  deep  a  silence  as  dark- 
ness ;  and,  whilst  they  tarried,  Talbot  put 
himself  forward  in  the  direction  whence 
the  rude  sounds  that  so  much  startled  Sir 
George  Carew  had  come.  It  may  readily 
be  imagined  that  this  noise  proceeded  from 
the  woman's  tailor  and  his  merry  gossip, 
who  still  pursued  their  mad  pranks  as  riot- 
ously as  ever.  They  had  got  to  the  re- 
hearsing of  certain  strange  feats  of  postur- 
ing, which  they  intended  performing  at  the 
next  Stratford  games — an  annual  festival, 
in  famous  repute  all  over  Warwickshire — 
that  would  be  held  in  a  day  or  so,  twisting 
of  their  bodies  in  the  oddest  positions  ever 
seen,  to  the  extreme  bewilderment  of  Dick 
and  Tib,  who  glanced  on  the  scene  with  a 
singular  curious  look,  from  a  place  of  safe- 
ty. Jonas  stood  on  his  head  and  hands, 
supporting  Tommy  Hart  on  his  feet,  whose 
head  and  body  formed  a  sort  of  ring,  the 
legs  being  round  the  neck,  when,  as  they 
were  deeply  intent  on  keeping  their  unnatu- 
ral posture,  they  suddenly  heard  a  dreadful 
sort  of  sharp  snapping  noise.  The  eyes  of 
both  were  at  the  same  moment  directed  to 
the  spot,  and,  fo  their  extreme  horror,  they 
beheld,  peering  over  the  wicket,  a  horrible 
black  visage,  with  eyes  that  looked  to  be  of 
burning  coals,  glaring  on  them  as  though 
about  to  do  them  a  terrible  mischief.  The 
lateness  of  the  hour,  joined  to  the  fiendish 
aspect  of  their  visitor,  as  it  was  seen  in  the 
ruddy  firelight,  looked  a  thousand  times 
more  unearthly  from  the  singular  positions 
in  which  they  observed  him,  struck  the 
hearts  of  both  with  •  a  sudden  and  over- 
whelming fear,  and,  in  an  instant,  Tommy 
Hart  tumbled  from  his  elevation,  and  he  and 
his  equally  frightened  gossip  rolled  over  and 
jostled  each  other  till  they  got  to  a  distant 
corner  of  the  chamber.  There  each  strove, 


80 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


with  main  and  might,  to  get  behind  the 
other,  uttering  all  manner  of  fearful  cries  in 
a  low  voice,  and  trembling  in  every  limb. 
Dick  and  Tib  and  their  associates  seemed 
to  share  in  their  terror,  for  they  got  them- 
selves as  far  as  possible  from  the  door — one 
cawed,  the  other  mewed,  and  tha  rest  yelp- 
ed, as  though  they,  too,  were  within  an  inch 
of  being  frightened  out  of  their  lives. 

The  once  merry  hatter  had  now  sunk  on 
his  knees,  as  terribly  out  of  conceit  of  mirth 
of  any  sort  as  a  whipped  turnspit,  and  com- 
menced a  strange,  yet  monstrous  earnest 
sort  of  prayer,  full  of  asseverations  of  the 
thorough  honesty  of  his  dealings  to  man, 
woman,  and  child,  whilst  the  poor  woman's 
tailor  was  kneeling  behind  him,  engaged  in 
a  similar  kind  of  devotion,  but  making  very 
urgent  confession  of  divers  appropriations 
of  small  pieces  of  stuff,  which  he  had  ne- 
glected returning  to  his  customers. 

"  An  it  please  you,  my  lord,"  muttered 
the  fear-struck  hatter,  scarcely  daring  to 
lift  his  eyes  to  the  horrible  object  he  ad- 
dressed, "  I  am  in  no  case  for  the  society  of 
your  honorable  worship ;  I  am  an  exceed- 
ing humble,  worthless  poor  varlet,  unwor- 
thy to  tie  your  honor's  shoes.  But  here  is 
my  friend  here,  an  your  honorable  worship 
pleases,  as  worthy  a  soul  as  ever  broke 
bread — " 

"  Nay,  I  assure  your  noble  worship," 
cried  the  other,  with  a  wild  kind  of  fervor, 
"  I  am  a  monstrous  malefactor,  that  hath 
more  sins  to  repent  of  than  there  are  threads 
in  a  piece  of  cloth.  It  is  this,  my  very  ex- 
cellent sweet  gossip,  you  must  needs  be  in 
quest  of,  for  he  hath  such  rare  virtues — '•' 

"  Believe  him  not,  I  beseech  you,  good 
my  lord,"  screamed  out  Tommy  Hart  in 
as  loud  a  voice  as  he  could  use,  "  I  have 
no  more  virtue  in  me  than  you  may  find  in 
a  withered  radish.  Jonas  will  do  credit  to 
your  worship's  judgment — Jonas  is  such 
admirable  choice  company." 

"  I  am  but  an  ass  to  Tommy  here,  an  it 
please  you,  my  lord,"  replied  Jonas  Tietape 
with  equal  energy — "  there  is  not  such  an 
intolerable  ass  in  all  Warwickshire." 

"  Try  him,  an  it  please  your  worship.  An 
you  do  not  find  him  worth  a  score  of  such 
poor  wittols  as  am  I,  I  will  give  my  head  as 
a  buttered-toast  for  the  next  hungry  dog  I 
meet." 

How  long  this  altercation  might  have 
continued  I  cannot  take  upon  me  to  say, 
had  it  not  been  put  to  a  sudden  conclusion. 
The  sole  cause  of  it  at  that  moment  opened 
a-  pair  of  monstrous  formidable  jaws  that,  to 
the  excited  and  terrified  visions  of  the  tremb- 
ling posturers,  looked  to  be  of  the  size  of  a 


church-door,  at  least,  when  fully  extended. 
At  this,  Tommy  Hart,  with  a  cry  of  terror, 
made  a  desperate  struggle  to  get  behind  the 
friend  in  whose  praise  he  had  spoken  so 
movingly  scarce  a  moment  since,  the  which 
the  latter  seemed  as  desperately  intent  on 
not  allowing,  and  began  struggling  fiercely, 
shouting  murder  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
The  object  of  their  terror  closed  his  terrible 
fangs  with  a  curious  sound,  that  was  any- 
thing but  human ;  and,  at  the  uproar  it 
created  in  the  two  gossips,  began  a  series 
of  other  sounds  that  were  less  human  still 
— for  beyond  all  manner  of  doubt  they  were 
— such  as  a  dog  uses  when  barking. 

In  all  honesty,  the  horrible  head  peering 
over  the  wicket,  that  had  so  frightened  the 
woman's  tailor  and  his  associate  into  the 
assured  conviction  the  arch  enemy  had 
come  to  them  on  his  devilish  errand  for  one 
or  both,  was  no  other  than  that  of  Talbot, 
who,  attracted  by  the  noise  the  two  were 
making  during  their  performances,  went 
straight  to  the  house,  and  put  his  paws  on 
the  low  door  so  that  he  could  see  all  that 
was  going  on  in  the  chamber.  The  singu- 
lar attitudes  of  the  posturers  made  him  utter 
the  low  growl  that  attracted  their  attention ; 
and,  not  being  able  to  make  out  the  nature 
of  the  eloquent  addresses  that  were  made  to 
him,  and,  moreover,  being  somewhat  in- 
clined for  sleep,  he  indulged  himself  in  a 
yawn  of  more  than  ordinary  length ;  and 
the  outcry  this  occasioned  so  disturbed  him, 
that  he  took  to  barking  rather  angrily. 

The  cry  of  "  Murder !"  made  Master 
Shakspeare  and  Sir  George  Carew  quicken 
their  steps  ;  and  they  arrived  at  the  wicket 
just  in  time  to  witness  the  recognition  of 
Talbot  by  the  frightened  gossips,  who  now 
laughed  at  their  fears  till  the  tears  ran  down 
their  cheeks  ;  and,  whilst  the  merry  hatter 
caressed  his  old  acquaintance,  Jonas  took 
to  his  ordinary  antics,  and  went  whirling 
along  the  chamber,  on  his  hands  and  feet, 
with  more  wantonness  than  ever,  scaring 
his  favorites  from  the  snug  places  wherein 
they  had  been  bewildered  spectators  of  the 
strange  scenes  just  described,  and  some- 
what disturbing  the  gravity  of  Talbot,  who 
could  not  refrain  from  an  occasional  bark. 
On  Sir  George  and  his  friend  coming  up, 
the  story  of  the  fright  Talbot  had  'put  them 
into  was  soon  told,  to  the  amusement,  as  it 
seemed,  both  of  narrators  and  hearers  ;  and, 
in  a  short  time  afterwards,  Master  Shaks- 
peare and  Sir  George  parted,  with  a  few 
hasty  words  that  seemed  to  be  of  deep  im- 
port. The  former,  in  an  exceeding  perturb- 
ed state  of  mind,  made  the  best  of  his  way 
to  his  cottage  at  Shottery,  whilst  Sir  George 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


81 


Carew  returned  to  his  own  mansion  ;  and 
the  two  gossips,  for  a  brief  space  longer,  to 
their  postures,  their  jests,  and  their  bursts 
of  joyous  laughter  at  the  recollection  of  the 
awful  visit  that  had  so  hugely  disturbec 
them. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

As  she  goes,  all  hearts  do  duty 

Unto  her  beauty  ; 
And  enamored  do  wish,  so  they  might 

But  enjoy  such  a  sight, 
That  they  still  were  to  run  by  her  side, 
Through  woods,  through  seas,  whether 
she  would  ride.  BEN  JONSON. 

TABITHA  hurried  on  with  her  companion 
»j  though  with  an  exceeding  desire  to  wit- 
ness the  goodly  pageants  of  which  rumor 
had  spoken  pretty  loudly  throughout  Barbi- 
can, and  perchance  also  with  some  particu- 
lar eagerness  to  show  to  all  of  her  acquain- 
tance, in  the  first  place,  in  what  marvellous 
good  company  she  was,  and,  in  the  second, 
what  brave  attire  she  could  don  for  such  an 
occasion. 

Ever  since  she  had  heard  from  an  intel- 
ligencer in  whom  she  could  put  her  trust, 
that  Queen  Elizabeth  was  to  return  on  such 
a  day  to  her  good  city  of  London,  and,  ac- 
cording to  a  fashion  in  excellent  favor  with 
her,  was  to  be  welcomed  back  with  rejoic- 
ings and  shows  of  all  descriptions,  she  de- 
termined to  play  the  part  of  the  good  wo- 
man, on  as  large  a  scale  as  possible,  and, 
by  every  means  in  her  power,  endeavor  to 
secure  for  herself  the  long-coveted  station 
of  wife  to  that  very  admirable,  famous  phy- 
sician, Master  Doctor  Posset. 

It  was  rare  that  Mistress  Tabitha  was 
seen  in  the  streets  with  other  male  compan- 
ion than  Launcelot  Curthose,  whose  task 
it  had  often  been,  when  his  mistress  stayed 
out  nights  in  visiting  any  of  her  gossips  at 
a  distance,  to  march  before  her,  as  every 
dutiful  apprentice  was  wont  to  accompany 
his  mistress,  with  a  lantern  in  one  hand  and 
a  cudgel  in  the  other :  the  one  for  lighting 
of  her  way,  the  other  to  be  raised  in  her 
defence,  in  case  of  need.  But  Launce  was 
now  little  thought  of,  save  only  for  the  con- 
sideration of  the  notable  punishment  that 
was  due  to  him  for  the  horrible  monstrous 
torture  he  had  put  her  to,  which  entered  her 
mind  when  a  smart  twinge  of  pain  occurred 
in  the  wounded  foot.  At  all  other  periods, 
her  thoughts,  like  her  speech,  had  but  one 
direction.  She  laughed  and  talked,  occa- 


sionally turning  round  to  say  something  pe- 
culiarly gracious  to  her  followers,  and 
omitting  nothing  that  could  make  herself 
appear  as  devoted  to  the  wishes  of  her  com- 
panion as  she  was  pleasant  and  amiable. 

The  conduct  of  the  Physician  did  not  ve- 
ry clearly  establish  an  opinion  on  the  state 
of  his  feelings  towards  her,  as  satisfactory 
as  she  could  have  desired.  He  looked  as 
lively  as  a  superannuated  ape,  to  which 
his  mowing  and  chattering  gave  a  marked 
resemblance.  He  never  failed  to  laugh 
when  it  was  expected  he  should ;  and 
though  there  might  be  nothing  absolutely 
lover-like  in  his  behavior,  there  was  cer- 
tainly nothing  to  discourage  the  idea  that 
at  least  a  very  friendly  feeling  existed. 
There  was  only  one  thing  in  his  conduct 
Tabitha  disliked.  He  kept  continually 
turning  round,  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
most  powerful  attacks  upon  his  affections, 
to  observe  their  followers.  She  fancied 
that  the  proceedings  of  his  daughter  with 
Leonard  and  John  Hall,  who  were  walking 
on  each  side  of  her,  did  not  meet  with  his 
approbation.  Although  this  might  be  very 
natural  on  his  part,  she  liked  not  the  indif- 
ference it  manifested  to  her  claims  upon  him. 

After  them  came  Millicent  and  the  two 
young  students — as  it  seemed,  the  other 
two  still  vying  how  most  to  gratify  John 
Hall.  With  the  girl  every  sentence  was 
accompanied  with  a  most  seductive  smilek 
and  her  betrothed  seemed  to  heed  a  vast 
deal  more  the  making  of  himself  agreeable 
unto  his  male  associate  than  unto  the  other. 
The  young  physician  could  not  but  appear 
leased.  Reserved  as  he  was,  and  of  so  mar- 
vellous a  gravity,  he  could  not  but  feel  the  ge- 
nial influence  of  two  such  persons  anxious 
to  give  him  all  the  contentatioo  in  their 
power. 

They  were  followed  by  Monsieur  Galli- 
ard  and  Mildred,  each  apparently  on  the  ex- 
quisitest  terms  with  the  other.  After  these 
came  Roger  Chinks,  old  Poins,  and  Simon 
r'eltry,  gossips  almost  from  their  cradles, 
who  were  so  intent  on  dilating  on  the 
jood  qualities  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  whose 
affairs  then  were  much  talked  of  by  the  ci- 
izens,  as  scarce  to  heed  the  vast  crowd 
n  wliich  they  had  now  got  commingled. 

Every  one,  gentle  and  simple,  young  and 

old,  appeared  to  have  donned  their  holiday 

ire  in  honor  of  their  sovereign  ;    and    a 

countless  multitude  of  such,  as  gaily  hab- 

ted  as  their  means  would  allow,  were  hast- 

ning  along  the  narrow  streets  of  the  city  ;  ^ 

he    tankard-bearer's    daughter    elbowing 

iast  the  alderman's  wife,  and  the  artificer's 

widow  pushing  before  the  poor  genflewo- 


82 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


man,  without  regard  to  respect  or  precedence. 
Gay  gallants  were  mixe'd  up  with  the  rascal 
sort ;  valiant  commanders  were  thrust  aside 
by  unruly  apprentices :  and  honest  mer- 
chants were  hustled  by  a  pack  of  master- 
less  vagrants,  and  the  like  worthless  poor 
knaves. 

The  major  part  were  intent  on  making 
the  best  of  their  way  to  the  nearest  point 
where  the  Queen's  Highness  was  expected ; 
but  a  very  many  were  too  busy  to  have 
such  intentions.  Of  these,  some  were  mak- 
ing preparations  for  a  goodly  bonfire,  wher- 
ever the  space  admitted  of  it ;  and  here 
there  was  a  marvellous  activity  and  run- 
ning to  and  fro  with  faggots,  and  logs,  and 
tar-barrels,  to  heap  up  for  the  expected 
blaze. 

Along  the  whole  line  of  road  the  owners 
of  the  bettor  sort  of  houses  were  engaged  dis- 
playing from  their  windows  whatever  store 
of  tapestry  or  arras  they  were  possessed 
of,  which,  stirred  by  the  wind,  did  make  a 
pretty  show,  out  of  all  doubt.  In  almost 
every  fresh  turning  were  seen  artizans  us- 
ing of  their  utmost  diligence  in  the  getting 
ready  of  some  wondrous  pageant :  for  these 
things,  especially  wherein  fine  Latin  speech- 
es were  addressed  to  her — the  Queen  won- 
derfully affected.  This  day  being  the  an- 
niversary of  her  coronation,  more  than  usu- 
al efforts  were  made  to  give  her  contenta- 
tion  in  this  way,  and  the  utmost  cunning 
of  the  times  was  taxed  in  producing  alle- 
gorical shows  of  more  scholarly  sort  than 
any  that  had  hitherto  been  seen.  The  city 
authorities  only  allowed  their  zeal  to  be 
exceeded  by  their  diligence ;  they  had 
made  the  most  magnificent  preparations  ; 
yet,  satisfied  as  they  might  be  with  them, 
they  were  too  well  aware  of  tiie  variable 
humor  of  their  royal  mistress  to  await  the 
result  without  some  anxiety. 

Whilst  these  more  important  matters 
were  in  hand,  there  was  no  lack  of  amuse- 
ment ready  for  such  as  chose  to  partake  of 
it.  There  was  scarce  a  corner  that  had 
not  its  balled-singer,  by  whose  stentorian 
lungs  the  superhuman  qualities  of  their 
sovereign  were  insisted  on  in  the  most 
choice  doggrel.  Mountebanks  took  advan- 
tage of  the  continual  thronging  to  endeavor 
to  find  a  market  for  sundry  excellent  reme- 
dies for  divers  most  potent  diseases,  which 
it  was  delicately  hinted  by  them,  good  sub- 
jects should  strive  earnestly  to  rid  them- 
selves of.  Here,  conjurors  swallowed  fire  ; 
there,  astrologers  announced  the  telling  of 
fortunes  :  here  was  a  delicate  puppet-show, 
just  arrived  from  the  court  of  Prester  John  ; 
and  there,  a  bear,  of  such  capital  sort  for 


the  showing  of  sport,  the  Sophy  had  offered 
a  thousand  crowns  for  it  from  the  owner  to 
have  it  for  his  own  particular  paatime. 

Noticing  of  these  famous  sights,  and  com- 
menting on  most,  the  party  from  Barbican 
kept  pressing  on.  Of  these  the  three  gos- 
sips, who  brought  up  the  rear,  took  the  least 
notice.  Their  attention  seemed  engrossed 
by  political  matters,  and,  after  discussing 
the  aspect  of  affairs  at  home  and  abroad, 
abusing  of  certain  courtiers,  and  extrava- 
gantly landing  their  favorite  the  Earl  of 
Essex,  it  seemed  as  though  they  were  about 
to  take  up  with  one  of  the  most  fruitful 
sources  at  all  times  of  popular  eloquence 
— grumbling. 

"  Gog's  wounds,  it  would  be  wondrous 
such  things  should  be  allowed  !"  exclaimed 
Roger  Chinks,  in  a  gruff  voice.  "  Things 
are  getting  in  so  bad  a  ease,  I  doubt  hugely 
there  will  be  honest  living  for  any  man, 
soon.  The  prices  of  whatsoever  matters 
are  most  needed  of  us  poor  men,  are  nigh 
upon  double  what  they  were  a  score  of 
years  back." 

"  Ay,  neighbor,  that  I  find  to  my  cost," 
observed  Simon  Peltry.  "  I  cannot  get 
me  a  pint  of  huffcap  for  less  than  a  penny, 
which  in  my  father's  time  was  to  be  had 
for  a  halfpenny  at  any  ale-house  within  the 
walls.  As  for  bracket  and  dagger  ale,  they 
have  got  to  such  a  pestilent  price,  as  have 
put  them  clean  out  of  my  drinking." 

"  But  it  endeth  not  at  the  ale-house,"  re- 
plied the  lantern-maker.  "  else  might  it  be 
in  some  way  bearable.  Here  have  I  been 
obliged  to  raise  the  wages  of  my  journey- 
man twopence  a  day  more  than  ever  was 
heard  of  since  the  craft  of  a  lantern-maker 
came  into  exercise ;  and  yet  they  have  the 
horrible  impudency  to  tell  me  they  cannot 
keep  soul  and  body  together.  Do  not  you, 
neighbor,  remember  that,  within  these  thir- 
ty years,  I  might  in  this  goodly  city  buy  the 
best  pig  or  goose  I  could  lay  my  hand  on 
for  fourpence,  which  now  costeth  twelve- 
pence  ?  a  good  capon  for  threepence  or 
fourpence  ?  a  chicken  for  a  penny  ;  a  hen 
for  twopence,  which  now  costeth  me  double 
and  triple  the  money?  It  is  likewise,  in 
greater  ware,  as  in  beef  and  mutton.  More- 
over, I  have  seen  a  cap  for  thirteenpence  as 
good  as  I  can  now  get  for  two  shillings  and 
sixpence  of  our  good  gossip,  Mistress 
Thatchpole.  Of  cloth,  ye  have  heard  how 
the  price  is  risen.  Now  a  pair  of  shoes 
cost  twelvepence  :  yet,  in  my  time,  I  have 
bought  a  better  for  sixpence.  Now  I  can 
get  never  a  horse  shoed  under  tenpence 
or  twelvepence,  when  I  have  also  seen  the 
common  price  was  sixpence." 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


B  Ay,  marry,1"  responded  the  leather-sel- 
ler, "  and  hast  marked,  neighbor,  the  mon- 
strous falling  off  there  is  in  the  goodness  of 
whatever  things  we  moat  need,  notwith- 
standing of  such  exceeding  charges  ?  Now 
the  lambswool  I  have  tasted  of  late  hath  no 
more  the  true  smack  of  such  as  I  was 
wont  to  drink,  no  more  than  a  score  of  years 
back,  than  has  a  draught  of  this  conduit 
we  are  passing  the  flavor  of  muscadine. 
Hanging  be  too  good  for  the  cheating  var- 
lets  who  plunder  us  in  this  intolerable  fash- 
ion." 

In  good  sooth,  neighbors,  methinks  you 
are  somewhat  too  hasty  in  these  your  judg- 
ments in  this  matter,"  observed  the  spurri- 
er. Doubtless  is  it  that  the  prices  of  divers 
commodities  have  been  raised  to  some  ex- 
tent since  our  youth  :  but  it  remaineth  not 
merely  in  matters  of  victual ;  divers  other 
things  needed  by  us  are  not  to  be  bought 
but  at  as  high  a  price.  Perchance,  Neigh- 
bor Chinks,  the  selling  of  lanterns  hath  of 
late  become  more  profitable  than  it  used  ?" 

"  An  if  it  had  not,"  replied  the  lantern- 
maker,  "  I  must  needs  have  abandoned  the 
trade." 

"  And  in  the  selling  of  leather,  there 
might  also  be  larger  gains,"  added  the 
other. 

"  Body  o'  me,  yes,"  answered  Simon  Pel- 
try, laughingly,  to  whom  the  preceding 
question  had  been  addressed.  "  1  had  no 
need  to  grumble  on  that  score,  did  not  the 
villanous  tapsters  rob  me  of  them." 

"  Then  I  prythee  say,  where  is  the  wit 
or  honesty  of  complaining  of  the  times  ?" 
asked  Martin  Poins  quickly,  yet  with  deep 
seriousness.  ''  I  marvel  hugely  you  should 
lack  that  proper  sense  of  religiousness, 
which  would  have  made  you  perceive  that 
this  change  in  the  times  was  a  thing  for 
which  you  should  have  been  hugely  grate- 
ful. Instead  of  being  foolishly  discontent- 
ed at  the  highness  of  prices,  you  should 
have  gone  down  on  your  knees,  and  have 
thanked  God  you  lived  when  such  were 
general." 

The  only  reply  the  pious  spurrier  got  was 
a  sort  of  grunt  from  the  surly  maker  of 
lanterns.  The  jolly  dealer  in  leather  made 
no  other  sign  of  having  attended  to  the 
speech,  than  by  putting  his  tongue  in  the 
corner  of  his  cheek  in  a  manner  infinitely 
more  significant  than  refined,  and  winking 
at  his  fellow-grumbler.  At  this  instant,  the 
attention  of  all  the  party  was  drawn  to- 
wards Mistress  Tabitha,  calling  to  young 
Martin  Poins  to  point  out  to  him  a  pageant 
that  seemed  exceedingly  to  have  struck  her 


fancy.  Martin  was  no  where  to  be  seen. 
All  had  been  so  engaged  upon  their  sepa- 
rate gratifications,  that  the  boy  had  been 
entirely  forgotten  by  them  for  some  time 
past. 

Many  were  the  comments,  and  various 
the  conjectures  his  disappearance  occasion- 
ed. Mistress  Thatchpole,  in  especial,  ap- 
peared to  take  his  absence  much  to  heart, 
there  being  no  end  to  her  hopes  and  fears 
concerning  of  the  dear  child's  safety.  What 
looked  to  be  most  strange,  the  father  seem- 
ed the  least  interested  or  alarmed,  though 
known  to  be  of  a  singular  affectionate  dis- 
position. He  knew  Martin  better  than  the 
rest,  and  could,  had  he  chose,  have  made  a 
shrewd  guess  as  to  his  whereabouts.  He 
contented  himself,  however,  with  express- 
ing his  conviction  that  there  was  no  cause 
of  alarm.  This  at  last  satisfied  his  anxious 
neighbor  ;  and,  after  some  exceeding  strong 
assertions,  that  she  should  never  know  the 
least  atom  of  comfort  all  her  days  should 
any  harm  befall  her  precious  favorite,  she 
was  induced  to  resume  her  hold  of  the  phy- 
sician's arm,  which  she  had  dropped  in  the 
intensity  of  her  concern,  and  the  party  pro- 
ceeded on  their  course. 

The  crowd  grew  more  dense  as  they  ad- 
vanced. The  doctor  began  to  find  consid- 
erable difficulty  in  making  a  path  for  him- 
self and  his  companion.  The  people  were 
wedged  together  in  countless  multitudes, 
without  the  slightest  distinction  of  worth  or 
station.  The  windows  and  housetops  were 
crowded  with  eager  faces,  turned  in  one  di- 
rection, which  was  of  course  that  by  which 
the  Queen's  Highness  was  expected.  -But 
the  party  from  Barbican  had  now  nearly 
approached  their  destination,  which  was  the 
house  of  a  certain  gossip  and  kinswoman  of 
Mistress  Tabitha 's,  well  known  to  most  of  her 
companions  as  Dame  Quiney,  then  living  in 
the  city  in  excellent  repute  both  there  and 
at  court  as  a  clear-starcher.  The  windows 
of  her  dwelling  overlooked  the  road  through 
which  the  expected  procession  was  to  pass, 
and  one  on  the  ground-floor  had  been  set 
aside  for  the  conveniency  of  those  now  ur- 
gently pushing  their  way  towards  it. 

In  due  time,  after  no  small  difficulty,  they 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  obtain  access  to 
Dame  Quiney's  dwelling;  and,  after  a 
courteous  welcome  from  an  exceeding  clean 
and  still  comely  matron,  wearing  one  of  the 
very  ruffs  she  was  so  famed  for  preparing 
for  the  Queen's  Highness  and  the  ladies  of 
her  court,  they  took  their  position  at  the 
large  open  casement,  some  sitting  on  stools 
and  benches,  and  the  rest  standing  up  be- 


84 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


hind.  After  seeing  them  all  properly  placed, 
their  hostess  retired,  to  look  after  other 
guests  of  hers. 

It  was  now  about  the  hour  of  noon.  The 
day  was  none  so  bright  at  the  first  dawn  of 
it,  but  suddenly  the  sun  burst  out  with  a 
marvellous  cheerful  aspect,  that  made  the 
decorated  streets  and  countless  thousands 
in  their  holiday  suits  look  wonderfully 
brave.  In  all  that  vast  assemblage,  there 
was  scarce  one  face  whereof  the  expression 
was  not  cheerfulness  and  content. 

A  famous  commodity  of  debating  was  go- 
ing  on  amongst  the  crowd,  during  the  time 
Tabitha  and  her  party  were  kept  waiting.; 
but  it  was  suddenly  put  a  stop  to  by  distant 
shouts,  that  made  every  individual  in  the 
crowd  break  off  what  he  was  then  intent  on, 
and  do  all  that  in  him  lay  to  get  a  good 
view  in  the  direction  of  those  welcome 
sounds. 

Every  one  was  now  restless  with  expec- 
tation. They  who  were  in  the  streets  were 
on  tiptoe,  striving  to  look  over  each  others 
heads — the  short  deploring  their  want  of 
height,  and  the  tall  wishing  themselves  to 
be  very  May-poles  ;  whilst,  from  the  win- 
dows and  housetops,  and  indeed  from  all 
elevated  places,  the  same  efforts  were  made 
for  the  satisfying  of  the  general  curiosity. 
Anon  the  sound  of  trumpets  caught  the  ear, 
ami  the  shouting  became  louder.  Where- 
upon, the  crowd  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
party  from  Golden  Lane  showed  greater 
restlessness  in  their  movements,  and  more 
curiosity  in  their  looks.  And  so  it  contin- 
ued, with  the  addition  of  divers  impatient 
yet  loyal  exclamations  from  all  quarters,  till 
the  sound  of  the  trumpets  coming  nigher 
and  nigher,  the  shouts  every  instant  in- 
creasing in  loudness  and  the  cries  and 
movements  of  all  around  who  were  well 
placed  for  a.  view  in  the  quarter  to  which 
every  gaze  was  directed,  gave  good  assur- 
ance that  the  Queen's  Highness  was  ap- 
proaching. 

A  short  time,  which  to  many  seemed  to 
grow  to  a  marvellous  length,  and  the  im- 
posing cavalcade  that  accompanied  the 
Queen  began  to  make  its  appearance. 
First,  came  trumpets  and  kettle-drums  on 
horse-back  ;  the  performers  whereof,  in  gay 
dresses  almost  covered  with  gold  lace,  appear- 
ed to  be  making  the  loudest  music  in  their 
power.  Then  came  a  goodly  company  of 
the  highest  nobles  and  gentlemen  of  the 
land,  on  prancing  palfreys  gaily  compari- 
eoned.  In  the  midst  of  these,  and  they  were 
a  very  many,  came  a  handsome  caroche 
drawn  by  six  horses,  in  the  which  were 
two  or  three  persons,  but  conspicuous  above 


all  a  woman  right  royally  apparelled,  the 
sight  of  whom  seemed  to  make  that  vast 
multitude  mad  with  very  joy.  Such  shouting 
of  gpod  wishes,  such  throwing  up  of  caps, 
such  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  it  was  scarce 
possible  any  human  eye  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore ;  all  the  whilst  the  lady  so  welcomed 
regarded  everything  with  exceeeding  gra- 
ciousness,  inclined  her  head  in  grateful 
acknowledgment  of  the  popular  good-will, 
and  more  than  once  spoke  her  thanks  in 
words  of  winning  courtesy. 

Bravely  as  she  was  clad,  and  gracious  as 
she  appeared,  there  could  be  no  disguising 
that  age  had  marked  her  features  with 
many  unpleasing  memorials  ;  besides  which, 
her  visage  had  a  careworn  and  heavy  look, 
that  told  of  a  heart  ill  at  ease.  In  truth, 
she  had  just  then  many  causes  of  disquie- 
tude in  the  aspect  of  affairs  at  home  and 
abroad  ;  but  the  conduct  of  her  favorite,  the 
Earl  of  Essex  in  his  Irish  government,  and 
since  his  improper  return  thence,  as  it  was 
continually  represented  to  her,  filled  the 
aged  beauty  with  more  uneasiness  than  all 
the  other  things  put  together.  She  strove 
hard  to  disguise  her  cares  and  anxieties 
from  her  loyal  subjects  under  a  smiling  ex- 
terior, but  she  could  not  conceal  from  her- 
self that  the  arrow  had  entered  into  her 
soul,  and  her  increasing  moodiness  and  ir- 
ritability had  long  since  told  to  her  attend- 
ants the  increase  in  her  sufferings. 

In  this  manner  Queen  Elizabeth  continu-r 
ed  her  progress,  with  such  occasional  stops 
as  came  of  certain  pageants,  consisting  of 
such  dainty  conceits  in  the  way  of  the  per- 
sonating of  allegorical  and  heathenish  cha- 
racters, as  were  considered  most  apt  for  the 
occasion. 

Here  came  Time,  to  lay  aside  his  scythe 
and  hour-glass,  and  swear  he  had  nought 
more  now  to  do  than  to  note,  with  infinite 
reverence,  the  peerless  being  on  whom  his 
poor  eyes  had  been  allowed  to  gaze.  There 
Hercules  put  by  his  club,  vowing  that,  al- 
though he  had  performed  so  many  marvellous 
labors,  to  stand  undazzled  within  the  influ- 
ence of  such  radiant  beauty  was  of  too  much 
difficulty — therefore  he  would  not  essay  it, 
but  at  an  humble  distance  be  ever  at  hand 
ready  to  put  forth  his  puissance  to  the  utter- 
most against  any  who  should  be  daring 
enough  to  deny  her  exceeding  exquisiteness 
of  feature  and  supereminence  of  mind. 

In  one  place,  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity- 
came  forward  to  say  that  they  had  had 
nought  to  do  on  earth,  since  a  princess  had 
appeared,  who,  in  her  own  proper  person, 
made  so  fair  a  show  of  all  their  virtues,  and 
every  other  it  was  possible  to  have :  and,  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


85 


another,  Neptune  exhibited  himself,  with  his 
trident  and  sea-horses,  swearing  most  lustily 
that  he  had  given  up  all  empire  of  the  seas, 
since  its  true  and  invincible  ruler,  the  high 
and  mighty  Elizabeth,  had  put  forward  her 
pretensions  to  such  sovereignty  ;  and  a  vast 
deal  more  of  the  like  sort,  spoken  in  most 
excellent  sounding  verse,  and  replied  to  by 
the  Queen's  Majesty  in  fair  and  pleasant 
speech. 

To  the  monstrous  delight  of  the  immense 
multitude,  congregated  in  every  street, 
Queen  Elizabeth  proceeded,  after  this  fash- 
ion, to  Somerset  House,  where  she  intended 
to  remain. 

Mistress  Tabitha  Thatchpole  and  her  par- 
ty waited  where  they  had  placed  themselves, 
rarely  pleased  with  the  sight  they  had  had, 
till  the  crowd  in  the  streets  had  so  far  dimi- 
nished as  to  allow  of  their  retracing  their 
footsteps  to  Golden  Lane,  it  never  having 
been  their  intention  to  stay  in  Dame  Qui- 
ney's  house  but  sufficient  time  to  see  the  pa- 
geant ;  so,  taking  leave  of  the  clear-starch- 
er,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  right  glad  to 
be  quit  of  them,  she  having  persons  of  higher 
condition  then  staying  with  her,  they  bent 
their  steps  homeward.  But,  in  so  happy  a 
mood  were  they — for  even  the  old  lantern- 
maker  spoke  and  looked  with  some  pleasant- 
ness— that  they  cared  not  for  immediate  re- 
turning, and,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  jovial 
leather-seller,  proceeded  to  a  quiet  inn  in 
Paternoster  Row,  to  solace  themselves  after 
their  fatigues  with  a  tankard  of  choice  ale. 
All  the  chambers  seemed  as  full  of  thirsty 
customers  as  they  could  well  be  :  and  the 
drawers  were  running  hither  and  thither, 
calling  to  this  one,  and  answering  that,  and 
serving  all  as  busy  as  bees  in  a  hive.  There 
was,  the  while,  such  a  hum  of  voices  as  could 
scarce  have  been  exceeded  at  the  building 
of  Babel. 

*  With  a  great  to-do,  and  not  without  much 
patience,  and  a  word  or  two  spoke  by  Simon 
Peltry  to  one  of  the  drawers,  an  acquaint- 
ance of  his — no  marvel,  for  the  thirsty  lea- 
ther-seller was  as  familiar  with  every  drawer 
in  London  and  South vvark  as  he  might  be 
with  his  own  jerkin ;  the.y  were  accommo- 
dated with  a  small  table  and  the  proper 
quantity  of  stools,  and  thereupon  they,  with 
a  very  reasonable  heartiness,  commenced 
paying  their  attention  to  the  tankard. 

This  was  well  liked  of  each,  and  singu- 
larly so  of  the  jolly  leather-seller,  who.  whilst 
pronouncing  his  opinion  on  its  merit,  and 
giving  its  whole  history,  from  the  sowing  of 
.  the  grain  and  the  gathering  of  the  hops,  to 
its  present  acquaintance  with  his  throat,  had 
such  frequent  recourse  to  his  subject,  that 


few  of  the  party  knew  of  its  worth,  save 
through  the  medium  of  his  commendations ; 
whereof,  the  consequence  was,  another  tank- 
ard was  ordered,  of  which  a  fairer  division 
was  enforced ;  and,  as  they  this  way  were  led 
to  understand  the  justice  of  their  neighbor's 
commentaries,  each  began  to  be  as  eloquent 
as  Simon  Peltry. 

Of  John  Hall,  it  is  sufficient  to  state,  he 
was  not  altogether  unmoved.  Whether  the 
blandishments  of  the  kind  Millicent,  or  the 
friendly  attentions  of  her  betrothed,  or  the 
generous  influence  of  the  tankard,  did  most 
in  removing  that  grave  and  somewhat  studi- 
ous air,  that  had  so  distinguished  him,  when 
leaving  his  mother's  home,  under  the  guar- 
dianship of  that  unmatchable  prudent  guide, 
Simon  Stockfish,  we  have  no  positive  assur- 
ance, but  it  was  easy  to  see  he  was  exceed- 
ing well  pleased. 

Simon  Peltry,  in  the  meanwhile,  was  re- 
lating to  such  of  the  company  as  he  could 
get  to  listen  to  him  the  particular  history  of 
every  drawer  who  had  been  seen  by  any  of 
his  companions  since  they  had  entered  the 
inn,  for  in  such  learning  he  had  not  his 
match  all  the  world  over.  He  could  name 
not  only  the  parents  of  each  individual,  but 
knew  their  gossips,  and  every  thing  they  had 
said  or  done  worthy  of  the  telling.  As.  for 
Mistress  Thatchpole,  she  was  in  her  ele- 
ment. It  seemed  to  her  that  the  little  doctor 
was  as  attentive  as  though  she  had  been  his 
most  profitable  patient,  and  she  fancied  his 
looks  were  of  a  wonderful  tender  and  devot- 
ed nature. 

All  at  once  the  conversation  took  a  turn 
towards  Golden  Lane  ;  and  she,  perchance, 
being  more  at  home  there  than  in  any  other 
subject  that  had  been  mentioned,  cared  no 
more  for  being  a  listener,  and  straight  talked 
away  as  vigorously  as  the  best.  She  entered 
at  some  length  into  her  own  history,  not  fail- 
ing, with  proper  expressiveness,  to  state  how 
!  well  things  were  going  on  with  her  in  the 
I  selling  of  caps  and  hats,  and  giving  a  full, 
j  perchance  an  over,  valuation  of  the  tenement 
j  that  had  been  left  her  for  the  carrying  on  of 
:  her  business.  In  short,  she  left  nothing  im- 
;  said  that  could  convey  to  her  hearers  the 
conviction  that  Mistress  Tabitha  Thatchpole, 
of  Golden  Lane,  Barbican,  was  worth  any- 
body's having,  be  he  whom  he  might. 

"  Methinks  that  apprentice  of  yours  doth 
not  lack  industry,"  observed  Martin  Poins. 

"  By  my  troth  no,"  replied  Tabitha,  anxi- 
ous, for  especial  reasons,  to  appear  ready  to 
speak  kindly  of  every  one.  "  He  is  no  idler, 
I  promise  you.  And,  though  I  cannot  but 
hesitate  somewhat  in  telling  you  of  it,  aa 
i  it  may  seem  in  some  sort  the  showing  of 


88 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


a  great  vanity  in  me,  he  entereth  into  my 
service  with  such  exceeding  affectionate- 
ness,  that  he  will  allow  of  none  assisting. 
Nay,  so  devoted  is  he,  that  of  his  own  accord 
lie  pressed,  with  a  monstrous  earnestness  I 
found  it  impossible  to  deny,  that  he  should 
be  left  on  this  glorious  day  to  look  after  the 
concerns  of  the  shop,  stating  that  1  should 
enjoy  myself  all  the  more,  as  it  was  his  wish, 
if  1  knew  that  my  customers  were  as  well 
looked  after  as  though  I  were  present." 

Whilst  Mistress  Thatchpole's  company 
were  adding  their  several  commendations  to 
hers  of  this  phoenix  of  an  apprentice,  it  so 
chanced  that  a  noise  was  heard  of  no  little 
laughing  and  shouting  in  one  of  the  adjoin- 
ing rooms,  and,  amid  the  maddest  uproar  of 
mirth  from  many  voices,  they  could  easily 
distinguish  the  following  sentences  : — 

"  Out  on  her  for  a  scurvy  jade,  say  I ! — 
But  I  cannot  restrain  mine  honest  mirth, 
when  thinking  what  a  fury  the  old  tabby- 
would  be  in,  knew  she  I  have  set  at  nought 
her  strict  commands  and  threaten! ngs  in 
case  of  disobedience  to  keep  within  doors. 
But  she  is  well  served.  I  entreated  to  be 
allowed,  as  other  'prentices  are,  to  make  this 
a  holiday,  but  all  I  got  of  my  prayers  was  a 
rating — plague  on  her  shrewish  tongue  ! — 
BO  loud,  I  was  nigh  upon  stunned  by  the  fu- 
ry of  it ;  and,  as  for  cuffs — methinks  she  tak- 
eth  me  for  nothing  better  than  a  custard, 
that  must  needs  have  a  constant  beating  to 
make  it  of  any  goodness.  But  prythee  join 
with  rne  in  a  draught  of  huff-cap,  to  drink 
this  Mother  Brimstone  a  speedy  meeting 
with  her  proper  master  and  helpmate,  Old 
Scratch." 

Scarce  had  this  speech  ended,  when,  with 
a  shout  of  riotous  laughter,  a  party  of  nearly 
a  dozen  youths,  seeming  to  be  apprentices, 
burst  into  the  chamber,  and  at  the  head  of 
them,  and  .out  of  all  doubt  the  speaker  of 
what  hath  just  been  stated,  was  no  other 
than  the  phoenix,  Lazy  Launce.  At  the 
hearing  of  such  rude  phrases  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, Mrs.  Tabitha  Thatchpole,  quite  forget- 
ful of  the  amiable  character  she  had  been  so 
earnestly  endeavoring  to  assume,  directly 
Launce  made  his  appearance,  flew  towards 
him,  shewing  by  her  looks  and  manner,  that 
neither  this  offence,  nor  that  whereby  her 
corn  had  suffered  so  terribly,  would  be  al- 
lowed to  pass  without  a  signal  punishment. 

Doubtless  he  would  have  had  a  famous 
mauling,  had  not  young  Poins,  who  was  one 
of  the  most  boisterous  of  the  party,  as  she 
came  rushing  with  her  utmost  speed,  thrust 
one  of  his  companions  towards  her  with  such 


force,  that  they  scarcely  escaped  coming 
the  ground  together.    E're  Tabitha  couldT: 


cover  herself,  Launce,  looking  to  be  in  a* 
great  a  fright  as  ever  he  was  in -his  life  for 
all  his  big  words,  took  but  two  steps  to  the 
door,  and  vanished  out  of  the  neighborhood 
as  though  the  very  helpmate  he  had  proposed 
for  his  mistress  was  in  full  chase,  at  his 
heels. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Here  are  none  that  can  bear  a  painted  show, 
Strike  when  you  wink,  and  then  lament  thto 

blow ; 

Who,  like  mills,  set  the  right  way  for  to  grind 
Can  make  their  gains  alike  with  every  wind  ; 
Only  some  fellows  with  the  subtlest  pate, 
Amongst  us,  may  perchance  equivocate 
At  selling  of  a  horse,  and  that's  the  most. 

FRANCIS  BEAUMONT. 
If  we  do  prosper  now,  not  we  on  Fate, 
But  she  on  us  shall  for  direction  wait. 

TBE  GREAT  FAVORITE. 
It  is  a  weary  interlude 
•Which  doth  short  joys,  long  woes  include  ; 
The  world's  the  stage,  the  prologue  tears, 
The  acts  vain  hopes,  and  varied  fears ; 
The  scene  shuts  up  with  loss  of  breath, 
And  leaves  no  epilogue  but  death. 

DR.  HENRY  KING. 

THE  principal  chambers  in  Essex  House 
were  thronged  with  men  of  divers  charac- 
ters and  conditions,  but  for  the  most  part 
bearing  in  their  several  'aspects  an  air  of 
fierce  determination  and  gloomy  discontent. 
Amongst  them  were  some  of  high  lineage 
and  good  reputations,  and  divers  of  singular 
repute  for  ability  in  learning  and  in  arms  ; 
but  there  were  also  present  a  vast  number 
of  gentlemen  of  poor  fortunes  and  poorer 
characters ;  daring  adventurers,  who  had 
nothing  to  lose  but  their  lives,  which  they 
were  ready  to  risk  in  any  venture  that  pro- 
mised to  better  their  fortunes  ;  and  impov- 
erished cast  captains,  who  sought  a  desper- 
ate enterprise,  somewhat  out  of  revenge 
against  certain  persons  in  the  government, 
by  whom  they  fancied  they  had  been  scur- 
vily  treated,  and  somewhat  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  rich  advantages,  as  had  been  held 
out  to  them  if  they  assisted  in  the  stirring 
game  that  was  afoot. 

There  were  signs  of  exceeding  restless- 
ness and  noisy  debate  in  the  crowded  cham- 
bers. Little  knots  of  eager  disputants  kept 
together  on  the  staircase,  in  the  ante-rooms, 
and  even  in  the  state  apartments,  where  the 
leaders  of  the  party  were  in  close  and  ear- 
nest debate.  Although  many  bore  upon 
them  the  appearance  of  discontented  :ourti- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


87 


eta  and  poor  soldiers,  wearing  of  such  bra- 
very as  their  means  would  allow,  albeit  it 
was  in  many  oases  exceedingly  worn  and 
soiled,  there  were  others  who  were  dressed 
with  a  marked  'plainness.  These  latter 
were  men  of  severe  aspect  and  of  formal 
manners  ;  rude  in  their  bearing,  loud  of 
voice,  and  violent  in  their  counsels  ;  in  their 
outward  apparel  affecting  the  new  religion, 
and  in  their  behavior  monstrously  disatf'ect- 
ed  to  the  existing  government.  Amongst 
them  were  two  or  three  who  wore  the  garb 
of  priests  ;  and  these  were,  for  the  most 
part,  engaged  in  loud  discourse  on  the  mar- 
vellous qualities  of  their  noble  patron,  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  and  of  the  intolerable  griev- 
ances that  had  been  thrust  upon  him  by 
certain  ungodly  wretches  who  poisoned  the 
ear  of  the  Queen's  Highness  against  him. 

The  hubbub  of  voices,  and  the  constant 
going  to  and  fro  of  upwards  of  three  hun- 
dred persons,  gave  to  the  scene  an  air  of 
strangeness  and  confusion,  to  which  the  vast 
number  of  offensive  weapons  that  lay  here 
and  there  on  the  rich  furniture  of  the  prin- 
cipal apartments,  and  in  every  convenient 
corner,  added  greatly.  Messengers  were 
rapidly  passing  in  and  out,  bringing  reports 
to  the  leaders  ;  one  was  rudely  shouting  to 
his  fellow  afar  off,  and  numbers  were  stand- 
ing upon  the  carved  benches  and  chairs, 
making  their  comments  upon  the  strange 
scene  and  the  chief  actors  in  it. 

At  one  corner  of  one  of  the  suit  of  apart- 
ments, wherein  the  principal  part  of  this  as- 
semblage were  crowded,  there  were  two 
persons,  a  little  apart  from  the  crowd  ;  the 
one,  who  looked  to  be  a  Puritan  from  the 
plainness  of  his  suit,  stood  on  an  oak  table 
of  great  strength,  supporting  himself  by 
leaning  against  a  massive  cupboard,  richly 
carved,  that  stood  beside  it ;  the  other,  whose 
apparelling  had  a  vast  deal  more  of  the  gal- 
lant and  the  soldier  about  it,  to  which  a 
patch  over  one  eye  and  a  well-bronzed  com- 
plexion, were  expressive  additions,  stood  on 
a  cane-backed  chair  almost  at  his  elbow. — 
The  first,  notwithstanding  a  huge,  rough 
beard,  wore  an  aspect  of  honest  plainness, 
and  seemed  to  take  a  wonderful  interest  in 
the  proceedings,  though  he  said  but  little ; 
but  the  features  of  the  other  were  expressive 
of  more  impudency  than  honesty,  and  his 
tongue  wagged  like  the  clapper  of  a  village 
bell  giving  an  alarm  of  fire,  though  it  is  much 
to  be  doubted  his  heart  was  in  the  cause  he 
had  embarked  in. 

"  Now,  I  pray  you,  good  Master  Puritan," 
said  the  latter,  whom  the  reader  will  present- 
./  recognize,  "  cast  your  eyes  beneath  the 
great  window  yonder.  There  are  all  my 


excellent  worthy  friends  and  sworn  brothers 
— persons  with  whom  I  am  as  intimate  as  I 
am  with  my  sword,  the  which,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  is  a  rare  one,  the  right  Toledo. — 
Fore  George,  it  is  not  long  since  it  graced 
the  thigh  of  the  King  of  Spain." 

"  The  speaker,  finding  the  curiosity  of 
his  companion  was  not  then  to  be  drawn  to 
so  goodly  a  weapon,  proceeded — "  Yes,  there 
they  are  by  this  light.  All  of  them  look  up 
to  my  judgment  and  vast  experience  in  mi- 
litary matters,  and  had  counsel  of  me  but 
yesterday  as  to  the  conducting  of  this  enter- 
prise. He  with  the  grey  beard  is  Lord  San- 
dys, as  gallant  a  nobleman  as  any  that  lives 
— he  is  talking  urgently  to  Lord  Monteagle 
(he  with  the  slashed  doublet)  ;  and  Lord 
Rutland,  another  of  my  especial  intimates, 
together  with  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges — he 
that  is  governor  of  Plymouth — and  Sir  John 
Davis,  surveyor  of  the  ordnance,  are  listen- 
ing and  occasionally  joining  in  the  discourse. 
Next  to  Davis  is  John  Lyttleton  of  Frankley, 
a  Worcestershire  man,  not  long  since  knight 
of  the  shrre  for  that  county,  a  person  of 
great  resolution  and  ability,  my  familiar  and 
sworn  gossip  ;  the  person  who  is  pulling 
him  by  the  sleeve  is  Sir  Gilly  Merrick.  It 
was  he  who,  last  night,  bespoke  the  play 
of  '  Richard  the  Second,'  at  the  seeing  oif 
which  were  nearly  all  who  are  now  in  this 
action." 

The  Puritan,  in  a  sort  of  snuffle,  said 
something  expressive  of  the  iniquity  of  such 
performances ;  but  regarded  the  persons  at 
the  further  end  of  the  chamber  wifh  increas- 
ing earnestness. 

"  Fore  gad,  I  forgot  your  misliking  of 
plays,"  observed  his  communicative  associ- 
ate. But  there  is  a  group  now  a  little  to  the 
right  of  those  I  have  just  been  naming — 
these  are  of  more  moment  than  all  the 
others.  You  know  none  of  them,  I  doubt 
not,  except  by  casual  observance  ;  but,  if 
you  seek  their  notice,  you  will  find  no  one 
so  like  to  get  it  you  as  I,  in  regard  of  the 
great  love  they  bear  me  for  certain  import- 
ant services  it  hath  been  my  good  fortune  to 
be  able  to  render  them."  This  hint  not  be- 
ing taken  any  notice  of,  the  speaker  conti- 
nued— "  Now,  mark  you  that  stately  gentle- 
man, in  the  falling  collar  and  ruff;  he  in 
the  plain  russet  suit,  with  the  full  beard,  that 
looketh  so  restless  and  uneasily,  and  speak- 
eth  with  so  great  a  vehemency ;  see  how 
disdainfully  flash  his  eyes  ;  note  how  proud- 
ly he  beareth  himself,  like  one  grievously 
oppressed,  and  passionately  desirous  of  hav- 
ing his  revenge  of  his  enemies.  Well,  that 
is  no  other  than  my  Lord  of  Essex." 
Verily,  he  looketh  to  be  a  right  proper 


88 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


leader !"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  that  par- 
ticular nasal  twang  they  of  the  new  religion 
chose  to  affect. 

"  By  this  sword,  yes  !"  replied  his  compa- 
nion ;  "  and  of  his  soldier-like  qualities  few 
can  speak  so  confidently  as  can  I,  who  have 
been  his  companion  in  arms  throughout  all 
his  campaigns,  and,  in  truth,  may  be  said  to 
have  been  his  sole  teacher  in  what  he  know- 
eth  of  the  art  of  war.  But  of  this  it  doth  not 
become  me  to  speak.  Some  say  he  has 
moved  in  this  action  merely  to  oust  his  ene- 
mies, Cecil,  Raleigh,  Cobham,  and  the  rest ; 
others  assert  he  will  change  the  common- 
wealth, and  reform  all  abuses  and  disorders 
in  it ;  and  divers  are  confident  it  is  his  in- 
tention to  bring  in  King  James,  of  Scot- 
land :  but  I,  who  am  so  deep  in  his  confi- 
dence, could  tell  his  meaning  and  objects 
more  faithfully,  chose  I  to  do  so ;  but,  of 
course,  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  keep  so  great 
a  secret." 

The  Puritan  seemed  to  have  nothing  to 
say  to  a  truth  so  evident ;  indeed,  his  whole 
attention  was  directed  towards  the  group 
round  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

"  He  who  is  so  busy  with  the  Earl,  writ- 
ing at  the  table  before  him,"  continued  the 
other,  "  is  my  lord's  secretary,  one  Henry 
Cuffe.  He  affects  a  clownishness  and  hon- 
est bluntness  of  manner,  but  he  is  shrewdly 
suspected  of  having  secret  ambitious  ends, 
with  a  marvellous  disposition  towards  deep 
plotting  and  far-sighted  policy.  The  Earl 
once  dismissed  him  his  service,  assured  his 
sharp  and  importune  infusions  would  one 
day  prove  his  ruin ;  but  he  hath  been  so 
politic  in  his  behavior  as  to  be  again  taken 
into  his  lord's  favor,  and  hath  the  credit  of 
being  the  main-spring  of  this  enterprise. 
On  the  other  side  stands  one  of  a  different 
spirit.  He  is  my  Lord  Southampton,  anoth- 
er of  my  especial  familiars,  and  he  is  lean- 
ing on  his  friend  Sir  Charles  Danvers,  who 
hath  been  drawn  by  love  for  him  into  this 
action." 

The  Puritan's  apparent  deep  interest  in 
the  group  he  was  observing  was,  at  this  mo- 
ment, interrupted  by  the  loud  shouting  of 
the  name  of  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges,  and 
great  commotion  was  created  amongst  the 
conspirators  when  it  was  known  that  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  was  waiting  to  have  speech 
with  him  on  the  river.  The  Earl  of  Essex 
seemed  to  put  himself  into  a  rage  at  the 
first  mention  of  Raleigh's  name,  but  allowed 
Sir  Ferdinando  to  see  what  was  wanted  of 
him,  although  the  Earl  had  given  strict  or- 
ders that  none  of  the  company  should  leave 
the  house.  As  Sir  Ferdinando  took  his  de- 
parture, he  was  counselled  to  seize  Raleigh 


and  bring  him  in  prisoner,  which  it  was 
thought  by  some  it  was  hie  intention  to  do. 

Scarce  was  the  stir  which  this  occasioned 
at  an  end,  when  a  still  more  violent  commo- 
tion was  occasioned  by  one  coming  in  and 
declaring  that  divers  persons  of  state  from 
the  Queen's  Highness  were  at  the  gates 
demanding  admittance.  This  begat  a  great 
confusion  of  opinions,  some  shouting  to 
keep  them  out,  and  others  to  have  them  in  ; 
and,  at  last,  orders  were  given  to  let  them 
into  the  courtyard  by  the  wicket,  but  not  to 
allow  any  persons  of  any  sort,  to  have  ad- 
mittance with  them.  All  now  hurried  down 
into  the  courtyard,  amongst  others  the  Puri- 
tan and  his  companion ;  the  latter,  from  some 
reason,  kept  close  to  the  other  ;  and,  believ- 
ing him,  as  it  seemed,  to  have  little  or  no 
knowledge  of  the  distinguished  characters 
with  whom  they  were  associated,  he  con- 
tinued hie  information  as  to  their  several 
names  and  characters.  From  him  the  Puri- 
tan learned  that  the  personages  the  conspir- 
ators were  now  so  eagerly  thronging  around 
were  the  Lord  Keeper  Egerton,  the  Earl  of 
Worcester,  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and  Sir 
William  Knowles,  the  comptroller  of  the 
Queen's  Household ;  all  of  whom  were  con- 
sidered friends  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  the 
latter  being  his  uncle. 

They  walked  uncovered,  with  a  dignity 
worthy  of  their  office,  through  the  crowd, 
most  of  whom  regarded  them  with  looks  of 
malice  and  mischief,  till  they  reached  to 
where  Essex  stood  with  a  proud  and  haugh- 
ty bearing,  surrounded  by  his  principal  as- 
sociates, also  uncovered.  The  Lord  Keeper 
spoke  first,  and  in  an  audible  voice  delivered 
a  message  from  the  queen,  stating  she  had 
sent  them  to  know  the  meaning  of  so  great  a 
concourse  of  people  in  that  place,  and  promis- 
ing, if  they  had  any  griefs  to  complain  of,  they 
should  be  heard  and  remedied.  This  con- 
ciliatory speech  on  the  rash  and  headstrong 
Earl  had  no  other  effect  than  to  make  him 
the  more  intent  on  his  desperate  purpose, 
thinking  in  his  own  weak  mind  it  proceeded 
from  fear ;  and  he  loudly  and  passionately 
replied,  in  confused  assertions,  that  his  life 
was  in  danger  from  the  plotting  of  his  en- 
emies, that  his  handwriting  had  been  forged, 
and  that,  seeing  he  could  get  np  redress,  and 
was  threatened  with  the  horriblest  mischiefs, 
he  and  his  friends  had  resolved  to  defend 
themselves.  This  speech  was  received  by 
those  around  him  by  loud  acclamations. 

Thereupon  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  stated 
that,  if  any  such  matters  were  attempted  or 
intended  against  the  Earl,  it  was  fit  he 
should  declare  it ;  they  would  report  it  faith- 
fully  to  her  Highness ;  and  he  could  not  fail 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


89 


of  finding  a  princely  indifferency  and  justice 
on  her  part.  On  this  the  Lord  Southampton 
spoke,  describing  his  having  been  lately  set 
upon  by  Lord  Grey  of  Wilton,  sword  in 
hand,  when  he  was  quietly  riding  along  one 
of  the  public  streets,  unexpecting  and  un- 
prepared for  such  an  attack  ;  to  which  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  replied  that  justice  had 
been  done  in  that  matter,  the  offender  having 
been  sent  to  the  Fleet  Prison.  This  answer 
might  have  sufficed ;  but  there  were  those 
in  the  courtyard  who,  for  especial  reasons, 
misliked  any  thing  approaching  a  reconcili- 
ation in  this  stage  of  the  business. 

The  Lord  Keeper,  noting  the  mood  of  the 
conspirators,  asked  Essex  to  explain  his 
griefs  privately,  since  he  would  not  in  pub- 
lic, adding  he  doubted  not  being  able  to  give 
or  procure  him  satisfaction.  But  this  was 
not  in  accordance  with  the  intentions  of 
many  of  those  around,  who  interrupted  him 
with  great  clamor,  shouting  to  the  Earl : — 
"  Away,  away,  my  lord  !  They  abuse  your 
patience  !  They  betray  you  !  They  abuse 
you !  You  lose  time ! "  Whereupon  the 
Lord  Keeper  put  on  his  hat,  and  said  to  the 
Earl  with  a  louder  voice  : — "  My  lord,  let  us 
speak  to  you  privately,  and  understand  your 
griefs  ;"  and  then,  turning  to  the  noisy  crowd, 
with  a  grave  and  severe  aspect,  added  : — "  I 
command  you  all  upon  your  allegiance  to 
lay  down  your  weapons,  and  depart." 

This  command,  however,  suited  not  with 
the  humor  of  any  of  the  conspirators  to 
obey,  and  the  chiefs  looking  on  it  as  an  at- 
tempt to  draw  their  followers  away  from 
them,  took  it  up  with  much  appearance  of 
disdain.  Essex  and  his  friends  put  on  their 
hats,  and  turned  away  into  the  house  ;  and, 
the  queen's  officers,  thinking  he  made  that 
movement  to  confer  with  them  privately, 
followed  as  they  could.  But  there  was  a 
great  outcry  made  at  them,  and  on  passing 
through  the  principal  suite  of  rooms,  some 
shouted  :— "  Kill  them  !  kill  them  !"  Others, 
of  a  less  sanguinary  turn,  cried  : — "  Shut 
them  up  !"  "  Keep  them  as  pledges !"  This 
latter  advice  Essex  thought  fit  to  follow,  for, 
when  they  arrived  at  his  book-chamber,  he 
gave  orders  to  keep  them  fast  there,  and 
gave  them  in  charge  to  three  resolute  fel- 
lows, who  stood  at  their  door  with  muskets 
charged  and  matches  lighted. 

It  was  during  the  confusion  consequent 
upon  this  scene,  that  the  Puritan  made  di- 
vers efforts  to  shake  off  his  gossiping  com- 
panion, who,  nevertheless,  continued  to 
press  upon  him,  introducing  of  himself  with 
many  nourishes  as  Captain  Swashbuckler, 
and  proffering  to  teach  him  the  utmost  cun- 
ning of  fence  for  an  exceding  moderate  re- 


ward ;  and,  when  this  was  impatiently  neg- 
atived, kept  pressing  on  him  with  still  more 
urgency  to  buy  the  King  of  Spain's  trusty 
Toledo  at  the  small  sum  of  ten  crowns. 
At  this  the  Puritan  turned  round  fiercely, 
and,  with  a  look  that  made  the  noble  captain 
feel  exceedingly  uncomfortable  for  a  good 
hour  after,  swore,  with  a  monstrous  oath, 
that  if  he  dared  to  follow  him  a  step  further, 
or  address  to  him  another  word,  he  would 
slit  his  nose  to  the  bone.  Ere  this  valiant 
gentleman  could  recover  from  so  unexpected 
a  mode  of  address,  the  Puritan  was  urging 
his  way  rapidly  through  the  noisy  crowd, 
as  though  to  overtake  my  Lord  Essex  ;  but 
it  was  not  the  Earl  he  sought,  but  the  Lord 
Southampton,  in  whose  ear  he  unperceived 
whispered  something  which  made  the  young 
nobleman  turn  round  with  a  start  of  intense 
astonishment.  He  looked  bewildered  for  a 
moment ;  then,  making  a  sign  for  the  Puri- 
tan to  follow  him,  he  opened  a  door,  within 
which  both  quickly  disappeared,  and  instant- 
ly fastened  it  to  prevent  intrusion. 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  marvellous, 
Will,  what  bringeth  thee  here  in  this  guiae  '?" 
exclaimed  Lord  Southampton,  evidently  in 
a  monstrous  wonder  at  the  appearance  of 
the  person  before  him. 

"  A  good  errand,  my  dear  lord,  and  one 
that  admitteth  of  no  delay,"  replied  the  oth- 
er ;  but  in  a  voice  as  different  from  the 
snuffling  drone  with  which  the  same  per- 
son but  a  few  minutes  since,  addressed 
himself  to  the  cast  captain,  as  is  a  night- 
ingale's from  an  owl's.  "You  are  on 
the  high  road  to  destruction.  The  net  is 
spread  for  you,  and  all  those  who  have  join- 
ed this  rash  and  ill-arranged  enterprise,  and 
you  cannot  help  falling  into  it.  I  pray  you, 
my  lord,  hearken  to  one  who  never  ad- 
vised you  but  for  your  good.  Move  no 
more  in  this  foolish  business,  but  escape 
from  it  whilst  there  is  safety.  This  I  will 
secure  at  the  hazard  of  my  life." 

"  I  thank  you  heartily,  Master  Shaks- 
peare  ?"  exclaimed  his  young  patron,  press- 
ing his  hand  affectionately.  "  I  am  well 
assured  of  your  heartiness  to  serve  me  at 
all  times,  but  1  am  so  bent  on  this  action,  I 
cannot  give  it  up ;  and,  as  for  the  desperate 
character  you  give  it,  be  assured  you  have 
been  misinformed" — then^  observing  some 
sign  of  impatience  in  the  other,  added : — 
"  Know  you  not  that  Essex  counteth  upon  a 
hundred  and  twenty  earls,  barons,  and  gen- 
tlemen of  his  party  ;  that  the  citizens  of 
London  are  with  him  heart  and  soul ;  and 
that  Sir  Thomas  Smith.,  one  of  the  sheriffs', 
is  to  support  him  with  a  thousand  train- 
bands, of  whom  he  hath  the  command  1  By 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


this  hand,  sweet  Will,  we  cannot  but  pros- 
per.    We  are  sure  of  success." 

"  Nay,  such  is  out  of  all  possibility,"  re- 
plied Master  Shakspeare.  "  I  'have  certain 
intelligence  that  every  preparation  has  been 
made  to  defeat  the  objects  for  which  you  are 
striving  so  ill-advisedly,  and  they  have  been 
made  with  such  judgment  that  the  issue  can- 
not be  doubted.  The  Lord  Mayor  hath  been 
warned  of  your  projects,  and  an  infinitely 
stronger  force  than  any  you  can  get  togeth- 
er is  on  its  mlrch  to  overpower  you,  and 
make  you  all  prisoners.  Let  me  beg  and 
pray  of  you,  my  dear  friend  and  patron,  to 
abandon  this  mad  scheme  at  once.  I  have 
arranged  a  plan  for  your  escape  that  can- 
not fail.  I  entreat  you  to  save  a  life  so 
dear  to  me !" 

"  You  must  be  misinformed,  Will !"  ex- 
claimed the  young  lord,  much  moved.  "  I 
am  greatly  beholden  to  you  for  your  urgency 
to  do  me  service,  but  in  this  matter  it  can- 
not be.  Mine  own  grievances  have  not 
been  few  or  trifling.  1  have  endured  along 
imprisonment,  for  no  greater  fault  than  mar- 
rying for  mine  own  liking.  1  was  degraded 
from  my  command  as  Master  of  the  Horse, 
lor  no  reason  of  any  sufficiency ;  and  I  have 
been  attacked  in  the  open  streets,  with  no 
more  ceremony  than  might  be  used  to  a 
common  cut-purse." 

"  I  know  it  all,  my  lord,"  answered  his 
companion,  urgently.  "  You  have  good 
cause  for  complaint,  there  cannot  be  a 
doubt.  But  your  appearing  in  arms  against 
your  sovereign,  the  which  you  are  now 
doing,  is  of  all  things  the  surest  road  to 
prejudice  your  good  cause  irretrievably. 
Once  more,  my  dear  lord,  I  pray  and  be- 
seech you  to  take  heed  whilst  it  is  time. 
Leave  this  wretched  plot  to  the  wretched 
fate  that  must  overtake  it.  Pardon  hath 
been  promised  you  from  a  sure  hand.  Quit 
this  place,  and  allow  me  the  singular  sweet 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  truest  friend  man 
ever  had,  out  of  the  most  imminent  and  ter- 
rible danger  that  could  touch  him." 

"  Nay,  Master  Shakspeare,  it  cannot  be," 
said  my  Lord  Southampton,  resolutely,  yet 
much  affected  by  his  friend's  -urgent  entrea- 
ties. "  Metljinks  I  am  bound  in  honor  to 
see  my  kinsman  through  this  perilous  action 
of  his,  if  perilous  it  be.  Come  weal  or 
woe,  I  must  share  it." 

In  vain  did  Master  Shakspeare  strive  to 
move  his  resolution,  by  showing  he  could  do 
the  Earl  no  good  by  involving  himself  in 
his  guilt.  He  would  hearken  to  no  counsel 
of  the  sort,  but  commenced  urging  his  friend 
to  secure  his  own  safety  as  quickly  as  he 


could.  But  Master  Shakspeare  had  too  great 
a  love  "for  the  youth  who  had  shown  to  him 
so  much  nobleness  of  soul,  and  resolved  at 
least  to  watch  over  his  safety  throughout 
the  adventure. 

Lord  Southampton  did  again  and  again 
urge  him  to  put  himself  out  of  danger,  but 
the  other  roundly  stated  that,  an  he  would 
not  escape  with  him  he  must  share  his  for- 
tune, for  he  could  not  reconcile  himself  to 
leaving  so  estimable  choice  a  friend  to  cer- 
tain destruction.  It  was  useless  wasting 
time  in  such  a  debate,  with  natures  so  de- 
termined ;  so  at  last  they  made  out  of  the 
room  as  privily  as  they  had  entered,  and 
mingled  unnoticed  with  the  crowd,  who 
were  now  hurrying  out  of  the  house ;  the 
Earl  having  set  himself  at  the  head  of  two 
hundred  of  the  boldest  of  his  followers,  who 
were  sallying  forth  with  the  intention  of 
raising  the  city. 

But  a  force  less  likely  to  do  any  essential 
service  in  so  stirring  a  business  there  could 
not  well  be.  Few  were  in  any  way  provided 
as  soldiers,  the  greater  part  having  no  wea- 
pons but  their  rapiers,  and  no  defence  but 
their  cloaks  wrapped  about  their  arms.  Nev- 
ertheless, they  sallied  forth  full  of  confi- 
dence ;  the  which  was  greatly  increased  by 
their  being  joined  by  one  or  two  small  par- 
ties, among  whom  were  the  Earl  of  Bedford, 
the  Lord  Cromwell,  and  a  few  other  persons 
of  distinction. 

My  Lord  Southampton  made  his  way  to 
his  kinsman,  and  the  pretended  Puritan  kept 
as  close  at  his  heels  as  he  could  get.  The 
party  entered  the  city  at  Ludgate,  preceded 
by  the  Earl,  shouting  lustily,  "  For  the 
Queen  !  For  the  Queen !  A  plot  is  laid 
for  my  life  !  England  is  bought  and  sold  to 
the  Spaniards  !" — the  which  none  doubted 
would  send  every  man  and  apprentice  who 
heard  it,  with  their  weapons  ready,  eager  to 
swell  their  ranks ;  but,  to  the  surprise  and 
consternation  of  all,  not  one  person  joined 
them.  Devoted  as  the  citizens  were  to  Es- 
sex, he  coifld  not  account  for  this  utter  de- 
sertion of  him.  In  vain  he  repeated  his 
cry  as  he  proceeded — every  house  was  as 
quiet  as  though  the  plague  had  swept  away 
all  its  inmates:  and  neither  man  nor  boy 
was  to  be  seen. 

The  conspirators  liked  not  this  appearance 
of  things  at  all,  as  was  evident  from  their 
blank  visages  ;  but  when,  on  going  through 
Cheapside,  towards  Fen  Church,  and  arriv- 
ing at  Sheriff  Smith's  house,  where  such 
mighty  succors  were  expected,  they  found 
every  duelling  closed  and  apparontly  de- 
serted, many  began  to  repent  them  of  joining 
a  plot  so  badly  supported. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


91 


He 


Chief  Justice,  and  make  the  best  terms  he 
could,  and  took  his  way  with  his  company 
by  Paul's ;  but  at  the  West  Gate  they  were 
stopped  by  a  chain  drawn  across  the  street, 
having  pikemen  and  musqueteers  to  defend 
it.  The  Earl  drew  his  sword,  and  ordered 
his  followers  to  fall  on.  Lord  Southampton 
obeyed  the  command  eagerly,  and  the  pre- 
tended Puritan  started  forward  to  endeavor 
to  guard  him  from  harm.  A  skirmish  en- 
sued, and  one  or  two  were  killed  and  wound- 
ed on  both  sides,  but  Essex  was  repulsed, 
and  a  shot  through  his  hat  showed  how  near 
he  had  been  to  add  to  the  list  of  mischances. 
He  was  allowed  to  turn  off  to  Queenhithe 
unpursued,  where  he  and  his  company  took 
boats,  and  in  due  time  landed  at  Essex 
House. 

When  the  Earl  arrived  within  his  own 
dwelling,  he  and  the  rest  were  greatly  as- 
tonished to  find  that  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges, 
out  of  a  care  of  his  own  safety,  had  releas- 
ed the  four  prisoners,  and  had  gone  with 

Essex  and  his  adherents  traitors ;  and  that  j  them  by  water  to  court.  Essex  had  now 
the  Earl  of  Cumberland,  and  Sir  Thomas  no  hope,  save  in  the  remote  one  of  the  Lon- 
Garard,  Knight  Marshal,  made  a  like  pro- 1  doners  coming  to  his  relief.  He  felt  con- 
clamation  in  other  parts  of  the  city.  It  was  fused  and  distracted  by  his  danger,  burnt 
then  that  Master  Shakspeare  drew  his  whatever  papers  might  compromise  him, 
young  patron  on  one  side,  and  urged  him,  j  and  gave  directions  for  fortifying  his  house, 
with  increased  eloquence,  to  provide  for  his  intending  to  defend  it  to  the  last  extremity, 
safety ;  but  the  young  nobleman  had  too  He  had  little  time  for  consideration.  He 
gallant  a  spirit  to  allow  of  his  abandoning  j  found  it  invested  with  a  force  likely  to  over- 
his  friend  when  his  fortune  .looked  deeper-  power  all  •  opposition.  On  the  land  side 
ate  :  nevertheless,  he  very  affectionately  j  were  the  Earls  of  Cumberland  and  Lincoln, 
entreated  of  his  attached  friend  to.  endanger  ( the  Lords  Thomas  Howard,  Grey,  Burleigh, 
himself  no  longer  by  remaining  with  him,  I  and  divers  others  of  note,  with  a  strong 
but  this  the  other  would  not  hear  of,  still  j  force  of  horse  and  foot ;  whilst  the  garden 
hoping  to  be  able  to  free  him  from  the  peril-  j  was  filled  with  the  Lord  Admiral,  his  son 
ous  condition  in  which  he  had  placed  him-  Lord  Effingham,  Lord  Cobham,  Sir  John 
self.  Stanhope,  Sir  Robert  Sidney,  Sir  Fulke 

Presently,  my  Lord  Essex  started  off  with   Greville,  and  a  sufficiency  of  foot-soldiers 


«  Where  is  the  Sheriff  ?"  cried  the  Earl. 
"  Let  him  bring  muskets  and  pistols.  It  is 
for  the  good  of  the  Queen,  and  for  you  all, 
my  masters  ;  for  I  am  credibly  informed,  out 
of  Ireland,  that  the  kingdom  of  England  is 
sold  to  the  Spaniards." 

Alack,  no  Sheriff  was  to  be  seen, 
had  withdrawn  from  his  house  by  a  back 
door,  and  hastened  to  the  Lord  Mayor.  Es- 
sex entered  his  dwelling  faint  unto  death. 
His  folly  and  madness  seemed  now  for  the 
first  time  placed  properly  before  him ;  but  he 
made  a  struggle  to  disguise  his  feelings  by 
calling  boisterously  for  refreshments,  and 
linen  to  shift  himself,  for  the  intenseness  of 
his  anxiety  had  caused  him  to  sweat  at 
every  pore. 

The  faces  of  the  principal  conspirators 
wore  an  uneasy  expressiAi,  which  did  not 
lessen  when  word  was  brought  that  Lord 
Burleigh  (Cecil's  elder  brother),  and  Geth- 
ick  Garter,  King  at  Arms,  with  a  few  horse, 
had  entered  the  city,  and  had  proclaimed 


his  followers,  thoroughly  hopeless  of  doing 
of  himself  any  benefit,  yet  not  so  despair- 
ing as  to  give  up  the  attempt.  He  called 


upon 


preparing  to  attack  it  on  the  river  side. 
Whilst  the  majority  of  the  conspirators 

were  overwhelmned  with  consternation  at 

the 'citizens  to  arm,  and  assured ,  these  preparations,  increased  by  the  fright 
them  that  England  was  sold  to  the  In-j  of  certain  ladies  who,  were  amongst  them, 
fanta  of  Spain  ;  but  not  one  obeyed  his  |  Sir  Robert  Sidney  came,  by  the  Lord  Ad- 
summons,  or  took  any  heed  of  his  intelli-  j  miral's  order,  to  summon  them  to  surrender, 
gence.  His  followers  were  now  leaving '  But  some  of  them  had  spirits  worthy  of  a 
him  rapidly  ;  and,  when  it  became  known  j  better  cause. 

that  the  Lord  Admiral,  with  a  strong  force,  j      "  To  whom  ?"  cried  Southampton,  boldly, 
was  hastening  to  attack  them,  desertion  be-  "  To  our  enemies  ?    That  would  be  running 

headlong  to  destruction.     To  the  Queen  ? 


came  still  more  frequent. 

After  a  brief  consultation,  it  was  decided 


That  were  to  confess  ourselves  guilty.  Yet, 


that  the  conspirators  should  return  to  Essex  I  if  the  Lord  Admiral  will  give  us  hostages 
House  as  speedily  as  they  could,  and  obtain  <  for  our  security,  we  will  appear  before  the 
their  pardon  by  the  release  of  the  queen's  i  Queen  ;  if  not,  we  are,  every  one,  resolved 
officers  there  imprisoned.  Hearing  that  the  to  die  in  our  defence." 


gate  at  which  he  entered  the  city  was  now 
well  guarded,  Essex  sent  forward  Sir  Ferdi- 


To  this  spirited  speech,  the  Lord  Admiral 
returned  for  reply,  that  conditions  were  not 


nnndo  Gorges  alone,  to  release  the  Lord  to  be  propounded  by  rebels,  nor  hostages 


92 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


given  to  them;  but  he  informed  Essex  that 
he  would  permit  his  Countess,  and  Lady 
Rich,  his  sister,  and  their  waiting  gentle- 
woman, to  go  out.  The  earl  took  this  as  a 
favor,  but  asked  an  hour  or  two  to  fortify 
the  place,  by  which  they  should  go  forth. 
This  was  readily  granted. 

"  Now,  my  lord,"  whispered  Master 
Shakspeare  to  his  young  patron,  seizing  op- 
portunity for  doing  so  unobserved, "  prythee, 
be  persuaded  to  your  good.  Your  cause  is 
lost,  as  I  full  well  knew  it  would  be,  and 
you  cannot  do  yourself,  or  any  other,  the 
slightest  benefit  by  clinging  to  it.  Escape 
is  still  open  to  you.  Trust  yourself  to  me, 
I  pray  you,  and  I  doubt  not  being  able  to 
bring  you  off  scathless  even  now." 

"  Thanks,  sweet  Will,  a  thousand  times," 
replied  Lord  Southampton,  eagerly.  "  But, 
as  I  wanted  to  partake  of  Essex's  good  for- 
tune, methinks  it  would  not  be  well  in  me 
to  shrink  from  sharing  his  bad." 

His  friend  intreatedand  prayed,  and  used 
every  argument  of  force,  but  the  young  lord 
was  not  to  be  .moved.  Master  Shakspeare 
knew  not  now  what  course  to  adopt.  He  was 
loath  to  leave  him  *o  the  sure  destruction 
he  was  courting,  ard  saw  no  prospect  of 
advantage  in  remaining  to  share  the  fate  of 
those  by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  As  for 
the  conspiracy,  he  hated  it  with  all  his  soul ; 
and  for  those  engaged  in  it  he  had  no  sympa- 
thy, save  only  in  his  generous  young  patron, 
for  whom  he  felt  so  deep  an  interest,  he 
could  not  bs  induced  by  any  consideration 
for  his  own  safety  to  leave  at  so  perilous  a 
moment. 

All  this  time,  Essex  and  a  few  other  of 
the  leaders  strove  to  keep  a  good  face  on 
the  desperateness  of  their  fortunes.  Pre- 
parations were  made  for  a  vigorous  defenqe, 
and  divers  talked  of  dying  sword  in  hand, 
as  became  their  quality.  But  most  were 
wild  with  affright,  and  even  the  Earl  acted 
in  a  confused  violent  manner,  as  though  he 
knew  not  what  to  be  about.  Now  he  abused 
the  citizens  as  a  base  people,  and  boasted 
he  could  take  the  whole  city  with  four  hun- 
dred men  ;  anon  he  threatened  to  force  his 
way  through  his  enemies,  and  seek  to  es- 
cape with  his  followers  to  Ireland ;  and  then 
he  spoke  of  the  goodness  of  his  cause,  with 
a  great  show  of  bravery,  and  seemed  to  find 
consolation  in  its  miscarriage.  But  all  this 
vaporing  ended  in  nothing.  The  conspira- 
tors, before  the  time  had  expired,  had  agreec 
to  surrender  upon  conditions;  and  when 
the  Lord  Admiral  would  agree  to  none,  they 
were  fain  to  do  without,  and  oresently  they 
gave  up  their  weapons,  and  were  taken  into 
custody. 


It  is  presumed  that  the  assumed  Puritan 
lad  some .  understanding  with  the  Lord 
Sigh  Admiral,  or  other  great  person,  for  he 
managed  to  get  himself  at  large,  when  all, 
n  whose  company  he  had  been,  were  pro- 
ceeding to  their  prisons;  but,  in  the  first 
moment  of  his  freedom,  he  resolved  to  use 
t  for  the  advantage  of  the  gallant  and  ex- 
cellent young  nobleman,  to  whom  he  felt 
limself  so  largely  indebted,  and  was  assured 
such  would  not  be  entirely  profitless. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Break,  Fantasy,  from  thy  cave  of  cloud, 

And  spread  thy  purple  wings  ; 
Now  all  thy  figures  are  allowed, 
And  various  shapes  of  things  ; 
Create  of  airy  forms  a  stream, 
It  must  have  blood  and  nought  of  phlegm  ; 
And  though  it  be  a  waking  dream, 
Yet  let  it  like  an  odor  rise 

To  all  the  senses  here, 
And  fall  like  sleep  upon  their  eyes, 
Or  music  in  their  ear. 

BEN  JONSON. 

TIME,  in  his  steady  flight,  seeth  many 
changes,  but  rarely  any  more  marked  than 
such  as  were  created  in  the  period  that 
elapsed  betwixt  the  last  chapter  and  the 
present. 

The  strange  and  powerful  sway  of  those 
melancholic  humors  which  had  visited  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  with  such  uncontrollable 
vehemency  ever  since  the  death  of  his  sweet 
young  son,  appeared  now  ta  have  gathered 
such  head,  that,  when  his  thoughts  travelled 
that  way,  he  seemed  quickly  to  lose  all  con- 
sciousness of  surrounding  circumstances, 
and  to  give  up  every  sense  to  the  considera- 
tion of  the  huge  grief  that  prayed  upon  his 
spirits.  What  this  grief  might  be,  none 
knew.  None  even  guessed  that  a  gentle- 
man, so  prodigal  with  his  pleasant  jests, 
when  surrounded  with  proper  company,  was, 
when  left  to  his  own  sad  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, the  very  miserablest  wretch  that  can 
be  conceived. 

Frequently  was  it  that  he  looked  to  bo 
overpowered  with  a  heaviness  that  wrapped 
him  all  around  like  a  shroud,  and,  from  his 
aspect,  there  might  be  read  an  anguish  that 
was  wont  to  probe  him  to  the  quick.  Could 
it  arise  solely  from  a  consideration  of  the 
great  loss  his  affections  had  sustained  by 
the  death  of  the  youthful  Hamnet?  Could 
it  be  occasioned  solely  by  the  exceeding  un- 
satisfactory nature  of  his  domestic  affairs  ? 
Might  it  arise  from  disappointed  ambition — 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


93 


loss  of  friends — or  deficiency  of  worldly 
wealth  ?  Or,  did  it  proceed  from  the  recol- 
lection of  some  offence  of  very  monstrous 
evil,  the  consideration  whereof  smote  him 
terribly  ?  Hamnet's  death,  of  a  surety,  was 
an  intolerable  blow  to  his  happiness ;  but, 
since  the  doleful  day  it  happened,  Time,  the 
sure  alleviator  of  human  affliction,  had  ex- 
ercised his  reconciling  influence,  and  closed, 
though  it  could  never  entirely  heal,  the 
wound  it  had  made.  Philosophy,  perchance, 
did  something  towards  banishing  all  useless 
regrets ;  but  philosophy  hath  but  a  small 
hold  upon  the  heart  of  a  doating  parent, 
from  whom  the  object  of  its  infinite  love 
hath  been  untimely  snatched  away. 

There  was  much  in  the  state  of  his  home, 
which,  to  one  of  quick  sensibility,  like  Mas-' 
ter  Shakspeare,  might  have  afforded  most  in- 
tolerable reflections.  That  any  of  his  am- 
bitious views  had  failed  in  fulfilling  their 
promises,  is  very  much  to  be  doubted,  seeing 
the  position  he  had  gained  in  society  by  the 
proper  influence  of  his  own  greatness.  Of 
loss  of  friends  he  might  complain.  His  royal 
patroness,  who  had  held  him  in  such  honor- 
able estimation  throughout  his  career,  had 
died  full  of  years  and  glory,  but  of-  a  heart 
broken  by  vain  regrets  for  the  loss  of  her 
unworthy  favorite,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  who 
had  perished  by  the  hand  of  the  headsman 
for  his  treasonable  practices.  His  still  more 
generous  friend,  the  young  Earl  of  South- 
ampton, had  been  kept  a  close  prisoner,  for 
his  share  in  Essex's  treason,  up  to  the 
Queen's  death  :  a  worse  fate  would  have  at- 
tended him,  had  not  the  loving  friend  who 
strove  so  earnestly  to  get  him  out  of  the 
conspiracy,  employed  all-powerful  appeals 
for  the  saving  of  his  life.  He  had  received 
certain  intelligence  that  another  of  his  esti- 
mable friends,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  was  like 
to  be  in  as  pitiful  a  case  as  my  Lord  South- 
ampton, from  the  coming  of  the  Scottish 
king  to  the  throne  of  these  realms,  in  whom 
the  very  strongest  prejudices  against  Sir 
Walter  had  been  artfully  raised  by  his  rivals, 
Cecil  and  Essex. 

Therefore,  loss  of  friends  might  have 
gone  some  way  towards  exciting  melan- 
choly humors.  Yet  was  Master  Shakspeare 
so  richly  off  in  this  respect,  the  few  who 
were  taken  away  were  not  like  to  be  missed 
so  greatly  as  to  throw  so  thick  a  gloom  over 
his  spirits  as  had  oppressed  them.  But,  as 
to  the  only  other  cause  we  have  hinted  at — 
what  offence  could  there  be  in  one  of  so 
honorable  a  way  of  living  that  could  touch 
him  so  nearly  as  the  hidden  cause  of  his 
huge  trouble  appeared  to  do  ?  We  doubt 
there  could  exist  anything  of  the  sort. 


Nevertheless,  Master  Shakspeare  had  a 
heart  so  ill  at  ease,  no  man  would  have  en- 
vied him,  could  he  have  known  what  an  in- 
finite lack  of  comfort  he  possessed. 

But  who  could  have  guessed  he  had  so 
much  aa  the  slightest  uneasiness  of  any 
sort  ?  In  whatever  play  chanced  to  be  be- 
fore the  audience,  he  so  forgot  himself  in 
the  performance  of  his  part,  that  the  spec- 
tators might  reasonably  enough  have  judged 
him  to  have  nothing  in  his  own  nature  to 
complain  of,  or  regret,  of  sufficient  import 
to  call  him  from  his  feigning  for  one  minute. 
In  the  company  of  his  brother-players,  and 
all  the  nimble  wits  and  learned  spirits  with 
whom  he  associated,  he  looked  to  be  of  so 
happy  a  mind,  he  displayed  ever  so  prodigal 
an  abundance  of  pleasant  thoughts  and  ad- 
mirable witty  jests,  and  Was  at  all  times  so 
ready  to  add  to,  rather  than  share  in,  the 
general  entertainment,  that  tew  who  observ- 
ed him  could  have  thought  of  saying, 
"  This  gentleman  hath  griefs.  He  is  dis- 
tracted with  trouble.  He  is  as  sick  at  heart 
as  a  man  who  hath  not  a  hope  in  the  world." 

This  unhappy  gentleman,  then,  for  so 
methinks  we  must  needs  consider  him,  sat 
in  his  lodging,  in  the  Clink  Liberty,  in  a 
deep  fit  of  profound  abstractedness,  his  head 
resting  on  his  hand  as  he  leaned  upon  the 
table,  and  his  noble  visage  wearing  an  as- 
pect so  sad  and  woe-begone,  the  feeling 
that  had  caused  it  evidently  lay  as  deep  in 
the  heart  as  it  well  could.  Before  him  were 
many  papers  and  books,  and  implements  of 
writing,  but  they  seemed  to  be  thrust  on 
one  side,  as  though  the  owner  cared  not  to 
have  aught  to  do  with  them.  Amongst  the 
papers  was  one  which  appeared  to  have 
been  recently  written.  It  seemed  at  first  to 
be  fragments  of  verse ;  but,  on  a  closer 
look,  these  would  be  found  to  be  divers  small 
poems,  much  affected  by  the  writers  of  that 
period,  under  the  name  of  Sonnets.  They 
were  thus  entitled  : — 

A  NEW   PARADISE   OF   DAINTY  DE- 
VICES. 

I.   PLANETARY   INFLUENCE. 

A  radiant  star  within  th'  empyrian  dwelt ; 
It  stood  confessed  a  glorious  Cynosure, 
Shedding  a  light  around  so. bright,  so  pure, 

That  aa  I  gazed,  with  throbbing  heart  I  knelt, 
"  Oh,  would,"  quoth  I,  "  I  might  thy  rays  se- 


(Marvel  not  I  such  covetousness  felt 
With  such  temptation.)     Ah!  those  starry 

beams 
Had  shed  their  beauty  on  another's  dreams. 

Yet  deep  within  my  heart  I  nurtured  still 
The  love  that  fed  upon  its  rosy  streams— 


94 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Still  hoped,  still  prayed  for  it  with  eager  will, 
And  turned  away  from  nil  the  shining  wealth, 

That  woo'd  me  oft  from  Heaven's  sapphire  hill, 
That  one  proud  star  to  idolize  by  stealth. 

II.    A   COMPARISON. 

Behold  the  jewel-hunter,  searching  well, 

With  a  most  curious  eye,  the  mountain-tops, 
Each  rock,  and  ravine,  cleft,  and  hidden  cell, 

Where  from  the  soil  the  shining  treasure 
drops — 

He  suddenly  with  admiration  stops, 
As  if  entranced  by  some  secret  spell ; 

For  naught  of  emerald,  or  amethyst, 
Or  costly  stone,  that  his  experience  knew 
With  such  bright  sheen,  or  with  so  rich  a  hue, 

Dazzled  his  gaze  on  fairest  ear  or  wrist, 
As  doth  a  gem  now  flashing  on  his  view  : 

Enriched  thus,  thus  wondering  I  exist. 
Thus  found  I  thee,  and  in  my  loving  sight 
Art  thou  my  perfect,  matchless  chrysolite. 

III.    THE  SOUL'S   LONGING. 
I  dreamt  a  dream  of  marvellous  good  intent, 
The  harbinger  (would  'twere  !)  of  coming 

bliss  ; 
And  thou,  fair  seer,  shall  tell  me  what  it  meant, 

For  thou  alone  canst  well  interpret  this. 
Methought  an  angel  had  from  Heaven  been 

sent, 
Whose  starry  wings  the  air  seemed  proud  to 

kiss  ; 
Quoth  he, "  Thy  struggles  have  not  been  in 

vain, 
And  for  thy  suff'rings  passed,  name  now  thy 

gain — 
What  thy  soul  yearns  for,  say,  and  all  is 

thine." 

Then  not  a  moment's  space  did  I  refrain 
From  uttering  longings,  precious  as  the  mine, 
Countless  as  motes  within  the  glad  sunshine  ; 
For  beauty,  honor,  in  the  first  degree  ; 
For  all  things  that  are  excellent — FOB.  THEE! 

IV.     THE    TRUE   PHCENIX. 

In  the  old  time,  as  ancient  bards  rehearse, 
In  many  a  legend  of  barbaric  verse,- 

Where  Araby  exhales  her  spicy  breath, 
There  came  a  wondrous  bird,  but  rarely  seen; 

TliMt  drew  a  new  existence  from  its  death, 

Whereat,  doubtless,  the  reader  marvelleth. 
This  wonder  therein  scarce  such  time  had  been 

A  pile  of  goodly  incense  to  have  laid, 
When  there  arose  a  fierce,  consuming  fire 

That  burned  it  utterly — which  did  not  fade, 
Ere  a  new  bird  sprung  from  the  funeral  pyre  ! 
Love  is  to  me  the  Phcenix  poets  mean, 

Which  in  its  sweets  a  flamingfaed  hath  made, 
Whence  it  doth  new  and  perfect  life  acquire. 

V.    THE    PASSIONATE    PILGRIM. 

The  pilgrim  who,  with  weary  feet  and  slow, 
Travels  his  sacred  journey  anxiously, 


Measuring,  with  a  self-inflicted  woe 
And  earnest  pray'rs,  that  heed  not  pang  or 
throe, 

Each  step  he  taketh,  feels  and  acts  as  I, 
Who,  having  set  myself  a  pilgrimage 

Unto  a  shrine  of  pure  excellency, 
Do  tread  on  thorny  ways,  and  constant  wage 

A  warfare  with  myself — a  sharp  infliction — 

A  sense  of  some  most  grievous  direlection 
Unworthy  of  the  goodness  I  have  sought. 

Say  in  what  moving  terms,  what  passionate 

diction, 

Shall  I, sweet  saint !  thine  ear  and  heart  engage, 
To  be  absolved  in  feeling  and  in  thought. 

VI.    A  GREAT   OFFENCE    GREATLY   PUNISHED. 

The  sun  hath  drawn  his  curtain  in  the  West, 

Where  the  tired  hours  do  chaunt  his  lullaby  ; 
And  Heaven's  Argus  eyes  now  watch  the  rest 

In  which  the  weary  world  doth  calmly  lie. 

The  blossoms  now  their  oderous  alms  deny, 

Folded  in  dreams  on  Nature's  bounteous  breast. 

The  nightingale,  nor  time  nor  tune  doth  keep — 

E'en  the  rude  winds,  bound  in  their  caverns 

deep, 

Murmur  their  vespers  with  a  holy  care. 
All  thing?  in  earth  and  heav'n  seemed  hushed 
in  sleep, 

All  things  save  1 — I  no  such  blessing  share. 
Punished  like  him  who  stole  th'  immortal  fire 

A  vulture's  beak  my  vitals  seems  to  tear — 
Fit  recompense  for  those  damned  by  such  proud 
desire. 

Whether  any  passage  in  the  writer's  life 
of  some  singular  deep  import  is  marked  out 
in  the  foregoing  poems  must  be  left  to  the 
consideration  of  the  sagacious  reader.  It 
may  be  thought  they  appear  to  indicate  an 
attachment  on  the  part  of  the  inditer  of 
these  sonnets  to  some  fair  creature  of  the 
other  sex  very  far  above  him  in  rank,  which 
had  been  the  cause  to  him  of  exceeding 
trouble  both  of  heart  and  of  mind.  Never- 
theless, it  may  be  looked  -upon  merely  as  a 
device  of  the  imagination,  which  hath  in  it 
no  reality  of  any  sort,  the  poet  having,  in 
the  exercise  of  his  vocation,  fancied  a 
mistress  under  the  circumstances  related, 
whereof  both  circumstances  and  sentiments 
had  no  other  origin  in  his  fruitful  brain. 

Of  these  two  views,  the  reader  may  in- 
cline to  either.  But  we  will  obtain  for  him 
the  perusal  of  another  paper  from  the  same 
source,  which  perchance  may  assist  his 
judgment.  This  was  entitled  after  the  fol- 
lowing fashion  I—- 
THE GROWTH  OF  LOVE. 

In  those  warm  climates  nearest  to  the  sun 
The  flow'rs  and  fruits  a  wondtous  nurture 
show ; 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


05 


The  breezes  fan  them,  and  their  part  is  done, 
The  sunbeams  kiss  them,  and  they  bud  and 
blow. 

So  'tis  with  love  in  this  warm  heart  of  mine : 
It  springs  at  once  to  highest  perfectness  ; 

It  blooms  as  sunny  looks  upon  it  shine, 
And  the  fruit  ripens  'neath  the  first  caress. 

A  DOUBLE   ENCHANTMENT. 
Within  those  orbs  a  trembling  radiance  dwells, 
Full   of  strange  charms,  and  soul-enthralling 

.     spells ; 
Whilst  round  those  tempting  lips  such  magic 

lies 

As  overpow'rs  th'  enchantment  of  thine  eyes. 
Yet  still  the  witcheries  of  thy  gaze  I  seek, 
Still  own  the  smiling  bondage  of  thy  cheek  ; 
But  if  one  spell  the  other  should  eclipse, 
Oh,  bind  me  in  the  magic  of  thy  lips ! 

Of  a  surety,  if  the  sonnets  do  not  speak 
sufficiently  of  love,  there  must  needs  be 
enough  of  it  in  the  sugared  poems  the  reader 
hath  just,  perused.  But  it  may  be  advanced 
that  in  them  there  may  chance  to  be  no 
more  of  reality  than  in  the  other.  For 
mine  own  part,  I  am  inclined  to  the  belief 
that  the  writer  of  each  and  all  these  poems 
was  in  earnest  when  they  were  written  by 
him,  and  that  he  hath  therein  figured  out 
his  own  particular  thoughts  and  feelings  re- 
garding an  individual  by  whom  they  had 
been  powerfully  excited  under  circumstan- 
ces obscurely  hinted  at  in  one  of  the  son- 
nets. 

Nor  is  there  any  thing  improbable  in  en- 
tertaining such  a  view  of  the  matter.  At 
an  early  stage  in  his  career,  eminently  qual- 
ified as  he  was  both  by  appearance  and  un- 
paralleled gifts  of  mind  to  please  the  eye 
and  captivate  the  heart  of  any  fair  creature 
disposed  to  be  enamored  of  such  qualities, 
his  prominence  in  the  public  gaze,  under 
the  double  advantage  of  an  admired  player 
and  admirable  writer  of  plays,  could  scarce 
fail  of  giving  ample  opportunity  for  some 
doting  nature  of  this  sort  to  regard  him  with 
a  sweet  yet  dangerous  sympathy.  It  is  the 
natural  disposition  of  passion  to  level  dis- 
tinctions and  smooth  obstacles  of  the  diffi- 
cultest  kind ;  and  it  was  no  unusual  thing, 
in  the  age  sought  to  be  pictured  in  these 
pages,  for  a  gentlewoman  of  high  estate 
and  lineage  to  give  the  entire  devotedness 
of  an  uncalcukting  and,  alas  !  unthinking 
affection,  to  some  individual  of  the  other 
sex,  whose  natural  or  acquired  gifts  were 
in  her  estimation  infinitely  preferable  to  for- 
tune, birth,  and  the  like  estimable  qualities. 

That  the  development  of  such  a  sympa- 
thy took  place  clandestinely  is  rather  to  be 
deplored  than  wondered  at.  The  obliga- 


tions the  young  poet  had  already  contracted 
must  have  rendered  the  entertainment  of 
any  feelings  of  the  sort  an  offence  not  to  be 
justified :  but  we  are  fearful  that  passion 
hath  no  considerations  for  what  is  strictly 
creditable  and  honest,  and  that,  however 
excellently  disposed  in  other  respects,  a 
youth,  scarce  twenty,  full  of  the  irrepressi- 
ble  yearnings  that  form  so  prominent  a  part 
in  the  influences  which  do  commonly  gov- 
ern the  humanity  of  all  the  higher  order  of 
intellects  in  early  manhood,  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected to  withstand  so  powerful  a  tempta^ 
tion  as  is  presented  to  the  senses  in  the 
kindling  glances  of  a  fair  creature  of  ex- 
quisite loveliness,  forgetful  of  differences  of 
degree,  and  indeed  of  whatsoever  should 
most  rule  the  conduct  of  one  of  her  condi- 
tion, in  an  uncontrollable  admiration  of  him 
and  his  works. 

The  love  of  woman  is  the  exquisitest  in- 
toxication under  all  circumstances,  to  any 
man  of  truly  manly  feelings,  but  when  the 
most  complete  self-abandonment  is  evidenced 
in  her  love,  with  the  most  earnest  idolatry, 
what  man  of  woman  born  is  there  who  could 
resist  her  affection  ? 

The  young  poet,  in  whom  love  is  the  very 
breath  of  his  being,  and  whose  noblest 
thoughts  and  feelings  can  be  nurtured  only 
by  intimate  communion  with  the  many  ad- 
mirable sweet  qualities  a  loving  woman 
possesses,  of  a  surety  is  the  very  last  person 
in  the  world  to  withstand  such  temptation. 
Tender  looks,  passionate  sighs,  and  delicious 
smiles,  can  scarcely  be  aimed  at  him,  with- 
out exciting  a  world  of  fond  tumultuous 
hopes,  and  entrancing  dreams,  that  make 
him  at  once  a  worshipper  and  a  slave,  im- 
pelling the  current  of  his  thoughts  in  one  di- 
rection, with  a  maddening  eagerness  that 
leapeth  all  boundaries,  overcometh  all  ob- 
structions, dangers,  and  difficulties,  and 
heedeth  nothing  of  any  sort  but  the  one 
object  to  which  it  is  directed  ;  and  that  give 
to  all  the  visible  world  around  a  voluptuous 
coloring  of  the  like  glowing  nature  as  that 
with  which  the  said  looks,  sighs,  and  smiles 
have  tinged  his  every  sense. 

Although  it  may  be  too  much  to  expect 
one  thus  circumstanced — to  say  nought  of 
the  cruel  disappointment  by  which  his  do- 
mestic peace  had  been  made  shipwreck, 
which  could  but  exert  a  powerful  influence 
towards  the  same  conclusion — to  hold  him- 
self  aloof  from  the  enticements  of  passion 
when  coming  in  so  flattering  a  guise,  yet 
was  he  exactly  of  that  well-disposednesa 
which,  when  he  recovered  the  proper  exer- 
cise of  his  sense  of  justice,  would  see  the 
monstrous  mischiefs  that  could  not  help 


96 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


coming  of  his  allowing  of  such  temptation, 
and  would  lament,  with  an  intolerable  sense 
of  misery,  his  own  umvorthiness.  For  what 
infinite  evils  might  not  result  from  giving 
way  to  such  enticements  ! 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  are  instances 
in  which  deception,  even  in  the  highest 
*  places,  sit  so  easily  upon  those  by  whom  it 
is  worn,  that  it  would  seem  altogether  su- 
perfluous for  a  man  to  trouble  himself  with 
any  regretful  feelings  for  his  share  in  pro- 
ducing it,  but  Master  Shakspeare  would  on 
no  account  have  believed  in  such  a  deplora- 
ble state  of  things,  and  the  woman  that  en- 
joyed his  affection  was  too  secure  of  his 
respect  to  have  so  much  as  a  doubt  enter- 
,  tained  of  her  detestation  of  all  falsehood  and 
mystery. 

It  was  whilst  engaged  in  deeply  thinking 
on  this  subject,  that  there  suddenly  came  a 
gentle  tapping  at  the  door.  In  the  mood  in 
which  the  tenant  of  this  goodly  chamber 
then  was,  it  can  be  by  no  means  strange 
that  he  heeded  it  not,  though  it  was  repeated 
more  than  once.  At  last  the  door  opened 
cautiously,  and  there  peeped  in  no  other 
than  our  old  acquaintance,  Simon  Stockfish, 
who.  through  the  good  offices  of  his  old 
master's  son,  had  been  engaged  as  serving- 
man  to  Master  Shakspeare.  There  was  on 
his  stolid  visage  an  air  of  mystery,  mingled 
with  that  look  of  caution  and  prudence  he 
was  wont  to. assume  whenever  he  was  under 
any  difficulty. 

Noticing  his  master's  position,  he  walked 
straightway  up  to  him  on  tip-toe,  and  whis- 
pered his  name  very  gently. 

"  Well.  Simon,"  said  he,  instantly  rous- 
ing himself.  "  Anything  from  the  Globe  ? 
Any  one  wanting  me  about  the  new  play  ?" 

"  No,  honorable  sir,"  answered  he,  still  in 
a  whisper,  and  pointing  to  the  door.  "  There 
is  a  lady,  an  it  please  you,  seeketh  to  have 
instant  speech  with  you." 

"  A  lady,  Simon  ?"  answered  his  master, 
in  some  surprise.  "  Prythee,  what  sort  of 
a  lady  ?" 

"  A  gentlewoman,  honorable  sir,"  was 
the  exceeding  lucid  answer,  with  an  aspect 
of  increased  mystery  and  a  show  of  more 
confidence  in  his  voice.  "  That  is  to  say, 
her  apparel  is  of  a  creditable  sort ;  never- 
theless, it  is  not  to  be  gainsayed,  dress  alone 
doth  not  make  the  gentlewoman.  She  is 
tall,  and  of  a  stately  carriage,  and  speaks 
like  one  used  to  command ;  yet,  as  is  like 
enough,  she  may  be  a  monstrous  indifferent 
sort  of  woman  enough  as  any  within  a  mile." 

"  What  sort  of  face  had  she,  Simon  ?" 

"  I  have  especial  reasons  for  not  knowing, 
honorable  sir  ;  seeing  that  she  allowed  none 


of  it  to  be  noticed  by  me.  Her  mouth  and 
chin  were  closed  wrapped  in  a  muffler,  and 
the  rest  of  her  visage  was  hid  behind  a  mask. 
Now,  for  mine  own  part,  I  do  think  that 
one  who  taketh  such  trouble  to  hide  her  face 
must  needs  be  ashamed  of  it,  and  in  this  case 
she  can  be  no  fit  company  for  your  honor ; 
therefore,  an  it  please  you,  honorable  sir,  I 
think  it  would  be  prudent  not  to  allow  such 
a  person  to  have  speech  of  you,  and  if  it  be 
your  good  pleasure  I  will  on  the  instant  send 
her  packing." 

"  Said  she  not  who  she  was,  or  what  bu- 
siness she  had  with  me  ?" 

"  Her  name  she  refused,  doubtless  for 
some  excellent  good  reasons  ;  but,  as  to  the 
matter  she  came  upon,  she  said  you  would 
have  full  knowledge  of  it  on  your  having 
sight  of  this  ring." 

As  soon  as  Simon  Stockfish  displayed  the 
trinket  that  had  been  entrusted  to  his  cus- 
tody, his  master  looked  like  one  seeing  a 
ghost. 

•'  Gracious  Heaven,  can  this  be  possible !'' 
he  exclaimed,  starting  up  in  a  marvellous 
excited  manner,  as  he  took  the  ring  into  his 
hand.  "  Run,  Simon,  run  !"  he  added,  hur- 
riedly, and  to  the  intense  astonishment  of 
his  new  serving-man.  "  Bring  her  to  this 
chamber  with  all  possible  speed,  and  on  your 
life  see  that  I  am  disturbed  by  no  one — even 
were  it  the  king  himself !" 

"  What  marvel  hath  we  here  ?"  cried  he, 
pressing  his  hands  against  his  brows  in  a 
distracted  manner,  as  Simon  left  the  cham- 
ber, somewhat  bewildered  in  his  thoughts 
of  the  person  to  whom  he  was  sent.  "  How 
wondrous  !  how  incomparably  strange  ! 
Surely  there  must  be  some  huge  mistake  in 
this.  But,  no,  this  is  the  ring,  out  of  all 
manner  of  doubt :  it  must  be  her — it  can  be 
no  other." 

He  had  scarce  well  uttered  the  words> 
when  the  door  opened,  and  there  entered  the 
chamber  just  such  a  female  as  Simon  Stock- 
fish had  described.  She  was  enveloped, 
and  hid,  as  it  were,  in  a  large,  coarse  cloak. 
This  and  her  face  being  completely  covered 
up,  took  from  the  spectator  all  ordinary 
means  of  guessing  her  character  and  con- 
dition. The  first  oare  of  Master  Shakspeare 
was  to  fasten  the  door,  as  hurriedly  and  as 
speedily  as  possible,  which  he  did  with  an 
air  of  wildness,  altogether  unusual  to  him, 
that  bespoke  some  strange  and  powerful  ex- 
citement. Whilst  this  was  a  doing,  the 
lady  tottered  to  a  seat,  like  one  scarce  able 
to  support  her  limbs,  into  which  she  dropped 
as  though  without  sense  or  motion.  It 
looked  as  though  she  had  swooned,  but  thi» 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


97 


was  not  so,  for  presently  she  drew  a  hand 
beautifully  fair  and  dazzling  with  gems 
from  beneath  her  cloak,  and  spread  it  open, 
and  tore  from  her  face  the  mask  and  muffler, 
and  gasped  as  though  for  air. 

The  face  that  was  discovered  was  of  ex- 
traordinary loveliness ;  the  features  were  of 
mature  womanhood,  yet  their  settled  un- 
happiness  made  her  seem  much  older  than 
she  was.  A  proud  and  lofty  brow,  eyes 
that  seemed  to  gleam  with  a  supernatural 
light,  an  arched  nose,  with  a  mouth,  whereof 
every  line  spoke  unutterable  disdain  of  all 
mean  things,  did  sufficiently  tell  of  high 
lineage,  without  the  costly-embroidered  robe, 
fitting  tight  to  the  neck  and  bust,  that  was 
seen  through  the  open  cloak,  which  one  of 
poorer  quality  could  never  have  worn. 

Master  Shakspeare  was  hastening  to- 
wards her,  when  a  sudden  and  imperative 
motion  of  her  hand  compelled  him  to  stop 
within  a  couple  of  yards  of  her  chair,  and 
for  some  minutes  he  there  stood,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, humble  as  the  veriest  slave,  with 
looks  cast  to  the  earth,  a  pallid  cheek,  and 
a  most  sorrowful  visage — she  gazing  on  him 
as  though  her  eyes  were  starting  from  her 
head,  now  pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart, 
as  if  to  stop  its  tumultuous  throbbings,  and 
anon  raising  it  to  her  brow,  as  if  to  repress 
some  terrible  spasm  there.  Neither  spoke 
a  word,  and  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  a 
sort  of  gasping,  with  which  the  lady  took 
her  breath.  Once  or  twice  it  looked  as 
though  she  essayed  to  speak,  but  the  sounds 
died  unuttered  on  her  tongue.  Yet  lan- 
guage wanted  she  none.  The  look  she 
cast  upon  her  companion  spoke  volumes  of 
meaning,  such  as  the  most  picked  phrases 
could  never  express. 

Master  Shakspeare  was  the  first  who 
spoke.  But  his  words  were  breathed  slowly, 
falteringly,  and  in  a  whisper,  as  though  the 
confused  state  of  his  feelings  would  scarce 
allow  him  utterance. 

"  My  Lady  Countess,  I  — , — " 

"  Hush  !"  hastily  exclaimed  the  lady, 
with  a  sort  of  wild  desperateness,  as  it  were. 
"  I  have  taken  such  pains  as  I  have  to  seek 
you,  unknown  to  any,  to  obtain  at  your 
hands  a  service,  to  the  granting  of  which  I 
have  looked  forward  with  feverish  anxious- 
ness,  through  many  sleepless  nights,  and 
miserable  days." 

"  Be  assured,  good  my  lady,  it  is  already 
granted,"  said  her  companion.  "  Your  slight- 
est wish  must  ever  be  a  law  with  me,  whilst 
I  have  aught  remaining  of  sense  or  life." 

"  Swear  it !"  exclaimed  she,  suddenly 
starting  from  her  seat,  and  grasping  Master 
Shakspeare  by  the  arm  ;  then,  dropping  on 
7 


her  knees  by  his  side,  enforced  him  to  the 
same  posture.  "  Swear  it !"  she  cried,  with 
a  look  and  manner  of  intense  excitement— 
"  Swear  you  will  do  my  bidding,  as  God  is 
your  witness  and  your  refuge  !" 

"  I  swear  it !''  answered  Master  Shak- 
speare, solemnly.  At  this  his  companion 
dropped  her  hold  on  him,  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  sobbed  convulsively  for  se- 
veral seconds.  In  leaving  the  chair  she 
had  freed  herself  from  the  cloak  which  had 
concealed  her  dress,  which  was  now  dis- 
played in  all  its  richness — and  a  most  costly 
robe  it  was,  as  ever  the  cunning  of  wo- 
man's tailor  triumphed  in.  It  was  of  wrought 
cloth  of  goldj,  daintily  set  with  pearls ;  the 
stately  wearer  whereof,  though  boasting  of 
such  bravery,  in  the  humble  posture  which 
she  had  chosen,  and  in  the  deep  distrees  of 
heart  she  exhibited,  looked  a  marvellous 
contradiction.  The  humility  of  her  spirit 
would  have  better  sorted  with  cloth  of  frieze, 
or  other  modest  apparelling,  but  her  noble 
figure  and  majestic  beauty  undoubtedly  did 
well  become  the  cloth  of  gold. 

Master  Shakspeare  sought  not  to  disturb 
her  grief,  or  to  check  it  by  any  attempt  at 
consolation.  He  retained  his  position  hi 
silence,  but  with  a  heart  deeply  wrung  by 
the  sorrowful  spectacle  beside  him.  Her 
sobs  growing  to  be  less  vehement,  she  made 
a  movement  as  though  she  would  rise,  the 
which  he  readily  assisted  ;  and,  without  a 
word  on  either  side,  he  respectfully  led  her 
to  her  seat,  then  fell  back  to  the  place  he 
had  occupied  before  she  had  left  it,  and  kept 
gazing  on  her  with  looks  which  did  plainly 
bespeak  his  entire  sympathy.  She  con- 
tinued to  sob  for  some  time,  leaning  low 
against  her  chair,  her  breast  heaving  con- 
vulsively, and  in  other  signs  betraying  the 
exceeding  powerful  agitation  by  which  she 
was  moved. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  raised  herself, 
and  gazed  steadily  at  her  companion.  Her 
eyes  were  humid,  and  her  face  deadly  pale. 
She  paused  awhile,  and  it  was  evident  she 
labored  under  some  extraordinary  feeling 
that  checked  her  speech.  At  last,  in  a 
murmur  that  could  scarce  be  heard,  she 
said — "  I  have  a  son."  Master  Shakspeare 
listened  with  intense  interest.  She  com- 
tinued,  but  still  with  extreme  difficulty  of 
speech,  and  in  a  marvellous  low  voice — 
"  This  boy  love  I  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul.  A  mother's  love,  huge  as  it  is  at  most 
times,  giveth  no  sufficient  conception  of  the 
particular  affection  I  bear  to  him,  for  rea- 
sons which  cannot  readily  be  expressed.  Up 
to  this  time  his  schooling  hath  been  well 
cared  for.  He  will  not  be  found  deficient  ia 


98 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


such  scholarship  as  is  considered  necessary 
for  one  of  his  condition.  But  he  is  now 
grown  to  be  a  youth,  requiring  for  his  gui- 
dance, in  after-years,  a  knowledge  of  men 
rather  than  of  books." 

The  speaker  paused,  perchance  to  collect 
her  ideas.  Her  countenance  was  still  more 
like  unto  a  marble  effigy,  than  a  human 
being;  and  her  eloquent  gaze  was  fixed 
upon  the  flushed  cheek  and  kindling  eye  of 
her  companion,  who  listened  to  her  speech, 
as  though  he  put  his  whole  soul  into  his 
looks. 

"It  hath  become  a  common,  and,  methinks, 
a  commendable  custom,"  added  she,  "  for 
youth,  of  any  fortune  or  degree,  to  travel  to 
distant  countries,  under  the  eye  of  some 
wise  and  worthy  person,  to  see  and  profit 
by  whatever  is  most  noticeable  in  other 
countries  ere  they  commence  their  career 
of  action  in  their  own.  I  have  so  much 
liking  of  this  custom,  I  would  fain  have 
mine  own  sweet  son  to  get  whatsoever  ad- 
vantages it  may  bring  to  him  ;  but  there  is 
but  one  person  in  this  wide  world  under 
whose  guardianship  I  would  he  should  obtain 
it," 

Here  came  another  pause,  somewhat 
longer  than  the  other,  in  which  it  was  ex- 
ceeding difficult  to  say  which  seemed  to  be 
most  moved.  The  lady  was  still  the  first  to 
display  her  powers  of  speech.  Her  words 
were  uttered  slowly,  thickly,  and  scarcely 
above  her  breath  ;  and,  moreover,  there 
was  in  them  a  solemnness  which  carried 
them  at  once  to  the  heart  of  her  singularly 
attentive  companion.  She  then  added — 
"  You  have  sworn  to  do  me  this  excellent 
service." 

Master  Shakspeare  felt  his  every  sense 
in  such  a  whirl  of  bewildering  sensations, 
he  could  not  find  one  single  word  of  speech 
to  state  his  readiness  to  fulfil  the  oath  he  had 
taken.  He  felt  not  only  as  if  utterance  was 
denied  him,  but  as  if  he  could  scarce  breathe. 

"  Dost  shrink  from  it  ?"  asked  she,  in  the 
same  trembling  tones. 

"  I  have  sworn,"  said  Master  Shakspeare, 
at  last,  in  a  manner  which  showed  he  had 
no  small  difficulty  in  having  such  words  at 
his  command,  "  I  have  sworn,  and  will  re- 
gard mine  oath  most  reverently."  He 
longed  to  ask  certain  questions — in  especial 
he  was  desirous  of  learning  when  he  might 
be  required  for  this  service,  but  his  tongue 
did  so  cleave  to  his  throat,  not  a  word  more 
could  he  utter. 

"  'Tis  well,"  replied  she,  taking  a  long 
breath,  "  'tis  exceeding  well-:  and  I  thank 
you  right  heartily  for  your  readiness  in  so 


disposing  of  yourself.  But  there  is  one 
thing  more — a  thing  of  most  vital  moment, 
a  matter  of  such  huge  consequence — " 
Here  the  speaker  ended  abruptly,  and  pressed 
her  hand  against  her  breast,  as  though  its 
pulses  were  of  such  force  she  could  no 
longer  endure  them.  Then  with  a  mighty 
effort  of  self-cornmand,  she  proceeded — 
"  Whatever  your  feelings  or  your  thoughts 
may  be  regarding  him,  none  must  know 
them ;  and  more  than  all,  at  whatever  cost, 
they  must  be  strictly  concealed  from  him.1" 
Here,  seeing  her  companion  striving  earnest- 
ly to  interrupt  her,  she  added,  with  a  mom 
tender  expression  in  her  face  than  she  had 
hitherto  used — "  I  have  such  opinion  of 
your  nobleness  of  soul  that  I  would  not 
have  uttered  this  caution ;  but  it  is  not  any 
thing  evil,  I  fear,  in  you :  it  is  rather  an 
excess  of  goodness.  The  better  qualities 
of  your  heart  may,  unless  they  are  discreetly 
governed,  do  a  world  of  mischief.  I  pray 
you  think  of  this." 

"  Be  assured  it  shall  be  well  thought  of," 
replied  he,  faintly. 

"  Guard  him  as  the  apple  of  your  eye," 
she  continued.  "  Instruct  him  both  by  pre- 
cept and  example,  till  his  nature  hath  taken 
upon  itself  as  much  as  possible  of  kindred 
with  your  own.  Keep  him  secure  of  dan- 
ger of  every  sort,  and  make  him  worthy  of 
bearing  an  honorable  name,  and  rilling  a 
creditable  station,  if  his  country  should  have 
need  of  his  services.  I  can  speak  to  you 
no  further  on  this  subject  now,  but  I  will 
not  fail  to  apprize  you  of  the  time  when  you 
will  be  called  upon  to  fulfil  the  service  you 
have  undertaken." 

At  the  ending  of  this  speech,  Master 
Shakspeare  knelt  respectfully  at  her  feet. 
At  first,  she  seemed  inclined  to  withhold 
her  hand,  but,  as  if  struck  by  the  air  of  res- 
pect that  was  in  his  aspect  and  demeanor, 
she  gave  it  him,  and  he  at  once  pressed  it, 
though  with  much  more  of  reverence  than 
gallantry,  to  his  lips.  He  had  scarce  done 
so,  when  she  started  up  with  every  sign  of 
fear  in  her  lovely  countenance.  Sounds 
were  heard  on  the  stairs  leading  to  the 
chamber  in  which  they  were ;  they  appear- 
ed to  arise  from  a  struggle  and  an  alterca- 
tion, as  though  some  persons  were  strivin<r 
to  force  their  way  up  stairs.  "  God  of 
heaven,  I  have  been  watched  !"  exclaimed 
the  lady,  in  tones  of  agony  and  affright. 

"  I  tell  thee,  thou  senseless  dolt,  thou  !" 
cried  a  husky  voice  from  outside,  "  thou 
shotten  herring  !  thou  guinea-hen  !  tliou 
empty  peascod !  I  must  and  will  have 
speech  with  him." 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


99 


"  Nay,  Will,  prythee  let  us  depart,"  said 
another.  "  It  is  unmannerly  to  press  upon 
him  thus,  if  he  have  company." 

"  It  is  Kempe  and  Allen,"  two  of  my  fa- 
miliars," said  Master  Shakspeare.  "But 
they  must,  on  no  account,  have  sight  of  you. 
On  with  your  disguise,  I  beseech  you,  and 
whilst  my  knave  holds  them  in  parley,  I  will 
see  you  safe  to  the  street  by  a  way  that  shall 
avoid  them." 

"  As  1  live,  they  are  forcing  their  way  !" 
replied  the  lady,  in  intense  anxiety  and 
alarm,  as  she  hastened  to  put  on  her  mask 
and  her  apparel.  "  They  are  coming — they 
are  close  upon  the  door  !  Oh,  let  me  away 
this  instant !" 

Master  Shakspeare  lost  no  time  in  open- 
ing a  door  that  entered  upon  a  book-closet, 
at  the  end  of  which  was  a  back  stair,  down 
which  both  proceeded  hastily,  till  they  came  j  immediate  attention,  and  in  a  few  seconds 


affirmed  very  confidently  his  ancient  kins- 
woman had  left  him  some  time,  and  he  had 
since  fallen  asleep.  Nevertheless,  it  was 
easy  to  see,  by  certain  signs,  more  signifi- 
cant than  mannerly,  that  Kempe  was  vastly 
incredulous.  What  he  had  to  express  on 
the  matter  he  was  prevented  from  giving 
utterance  to  by  his  companion,  whd  com- 
menced by  informing  Master  Shakspeare  of 
certain  matters  of  intelligence  respecting 
the  patronage  of  different  companies  of 
players,  by  the  king,  the  queen,  and  Prince 
Henry,  and  ended  by  requesting  his  com- 
pany at  supper  at  his  poor  dwelling.  This 
Master  Shakspeare  was  in  no  mood  for,  but 
he  was  anxious  to  get  both  Allen  and  Kempe 
out  of  the  house  as  speedily  as  possible,  so 
he  at  once  very  heartily  signified  his  assent, 
spoke  of  an  errand  he  had  that  required  his 


upon  a  long  passage.  Here  they  could  hear 
a  noise  of  knocking  at  the  door  above, 
mingled  with  a  violent  altercation  of  voices. 
Master  Shakspeare  hurried  his  companion  to 
a  door  that  led  into  one  of  the  thoroughfares 
in  the  liberty  of  the  Clink,  knowing  full  well 
that  Will  Kempe,  in  the  state  his  husky 
voice  too  well  denoted,  was  not  like  to 
mince  his  phrases.  A  brief  farewell  was  all 
that  was  passed ;  the  door  was  quietly  closed, 
and  Master  Shakspeare  rapidly  ascended 
the  stairs,  and,  unmindful  of  the  din  outside 
his  chamber,  flung  himself  into  the  chair 
near  the  table,  hiding  his  face  upon  his 
arms.  A  short  time  sufficed  for  the  indul- 
gence of  his  feelings.  He  seemed  to  make 
a  powerful  effort  at  composure,  and  rose 
from  his  seat  to  put  an  end  to  the  wild  up- 
roar at  the  door. 

"  An  ancient  kinswoman,  sayest !"  ex- 
claimed one.  "  Why  thou  Barbary  ape, 
thou  unspeakable  foolish  knave  !  dost  think 
Will  Kempe  is  to  be  caught  by  so  poor  a 
conceit  ?  Is  my  gossip  and  namesake  one 
to  have  an  ancient  kinswoman  with  him  at 
this  hour  ?  He  is  better  employed,  I'll  war- 
rant him." 

It  is  here  necessary  the  reader  should 
know  that  Simon  Stockfish  had  considered 
it  to  be  both  prudent  and  politic  to  conceal 
from  his  master's  visitors  the  exact  sort  of 
person  closeted  with  him,  and  took  upon 
himself  to  say  that  he  was  engaged  with  an 
ancient  kinswoman,  and  could  on  no  ac- 
count be  disturbed.  The  which,  as  was 


was  proceeding  with  them,  in  an  exact  con- 
trary direction  to  that  just  taken  by  his  fair 


visiter. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Next  unto  his  view 
She  represents  a  banquet,  ushered  in 
By  such  a  shape  as  she  was  sure  would  win 
His  appetite  to  taste. 

JOHN  CHALKHILL. 

AND  how,  all  this  while,  fared  our  stu- 
dent of  medicine  ?  He  had  surely  been 
a  sufficient  time  an  associate  of  the  family 


himself  at  home,  and,  although,  perchance, 
he  might  miss  the  anxious  care  and  affection 
of  his  admirable  kind  mother,  there  was  great 
likelihood  that  he  was  looked  after  by  one 
who  omitted  no  opportunity  of  showing  that 
she  regarded  him  with  a  care  equally  tender, 
and  a  much  more  endearing  affection.  lo 
short,  the  attentions  of  the  attractive  Milli- 
cent  were  of  so  flattering  a  sort  he  must  be 
the  dullest  stock  ever  heard  of  that  could 
resist  them. 

John  Hall,  it  is  true,  entered  the  house  a 
mere  student,  on  whom  the  passion — com- 
monly called  love — had  hitherto  made  no 
sort  of  impression  ;  but  the  conduct  pursued 
towards  him  by  the  fair  damsel  with  whom 
he  had  become  domesticated  was  of  a  nature 


usual  in  all  his  politic  strokes,  made  matters  j  that  so  powerfully  appealed  to  his  feelings, 
a  great  deal  the  worse.  '•  he  soon  began  to  throw  off  the  humor  of  the 

It  so  chanced  that  the  discussion  was  put  '  book-worm,  and  by  degrees  take  on  himself 
to  a  speedy  ending  by  the  opening  of  the  |  that  of  the  passionate  lover.  These  appeals 
door  by  his  master,  who,  after  duly  acknow-  j  were  not  only  made  by  means  of  a  thousand 
ledging  the  presence  of  his  ill-timed  visiters, '  nameless  offices  of  kindness,  of  services  that 


IOC 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


had  in  them  the  appearance  of  devotion, 
which  could  not  but  have  immense  power 
over  a  nature  so  new  to  the  influence  of 
woman,  but  the  critical  state  of  her  health, 
caused  by  a  constant  recurrence  of  convul- 
sive fits  of  the  most  alarming  character,  and 
the  too  evident  existence  of  some  secret 
cause  of  unhappiness,  increased  greatly  the 
interest  with  which  the  young  student  felt 
disposed  to  regard  her. 

She  said  nothing  positive  as  to  the  nature 
of  her  unhappiness ;  all  that  he  could  gain 
on  the  subject  was  through  the  expression 
of  mysterious  hints,  by  which  he  was  made 
to  understand  that  she  led  an  exceedingly 
unhappy  life  with  her  family. 

Whilst  the  germ  of  affection  was  develop- 
ing itself  in  the  breast  of  the  young  student, 
he  heard  nothing  and  beheld  nothing  that 
could  lead  him  to  imagine  that  there  was 
any  engagement  betwixt  his  friend  Leonard 
and  his  fair  mistress ;  but,  when  it  had  a 
sure  hold  of  him,  Millicent  took  occasion  to 
acquaint  him  of  its  existence.  But  she  did 
so  in  a  way  that  looked  so  like  lamenting 
such  should  be  the  case,  and  did  so  prettily 
and  so  fondly  withal  promise  him  at  least 
half  the  heart,  thus  unhappily  pre-engaged, 
that  he  was  so  bewildered  with  her  flatteries, 
he  could  not  bring  on  himself  to  give  up  his 
suit.  The  more  he  saw  of  the  behavior  of 
the  two  to  each  other,  and  of  the  conduct  of 
each  towards  persons  that  seemed  to  be 
inrinitely  better  thought  of,  the  more  he  felt 
satisfied  that  the  engagement  was  mutually 
dissatisfactory ;  and  as  afterwards  she  fre- 
quently displayed  the  state  of  her  feelings 
to  him,  in  a  manner  that  could  not  be  mis- 
taken, he  allowed  himself  to  act  and  feel  as 
if  no  such  engagement  existed. 

John  Hall  was  of  a  nature  as  unsuspicious 
as  any  child,  and  equally  credulous.  His 
experience  of  womankind  had  been  limited 
almost  exclusively  to  his  mother,  who  was 
one  of  its  rarest  examples — gentle,  fond, 
generous,  pure-hearted,  and  single-minded ; 
and  he  was  \\  illing  enough  to  believe  that  in 
the  devoted  Millicent  he  beheld  all  that  was 
most  admirable  and  worthy  of  honor.  The 
education  he  had  had,  and  the  h.tbits  of 
thinking  in  which  he  had  been  wont  to  in- 
dulge, made  much  in  her  speech  and.  conduct 
to  him  seem  strange  and  unaccountable,  but 
her  manner  was  so  pleasing,  and  her  argu- 
ments so  specious,  that  it  was  impossible  he 
could  imagine  there  was  any  thing  improper 
in  hor  proceedings.  Indeed,  he  most  firmly 
believed  her  to  be  the  most  disinterested, 
noble-hearted  being  upon  earth ;  and,  though 
he  marvelled  at  the  earnestness  with  which 
she  pressed  him  to  be  on  his  guard,  thai 


Leonard  her  betrothed  should  remain  in  ig- 
norance of  the  good  understanding  which 
:xisted  betwixt  them,  he  had  not  a  doubt  in 
the  world  she  had  some  excellent  good  mo- 
tive for  it. 

We  must  beg  leave  to  transport  the 
courteous  reader  into  no  other  place  than 
Mistress  Millicent's  bed-chamber,  at  a  time 
XK>,  when,  with  her  young  companion,  she 
was  preparing  to  retire  to  rest.  The  cham- 
3er,  though  small,  was  peculiarly  orderly 
and  clean.  It  was  situated  in  the  roof  of 
the  house,  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
any  of  the  others.  But,  though  thus  isolated, 
it  had  every  appearance  of  security,  and 
many  of  comfort.  The  bed  lay  low  almost 
to  the  floor,  yet  it  seemed  to  promise  more 
than  ordinary  accommodation,  and  from  the 
number  of  packages,  and  huge  chests  and 
cupboards  about  it  on  every  side,  it  showed 
that  there  was  good  store  of  other  furniture 
equally  useful. 

Mildred,  chatting  as  fast  as  her  tongue 
would  let  her,  with  a  constant  recourse  to 
her  childish  and  unmeaning  laugh,  was 
getting  ready  to  take  the  rest  it  was  evident 
she  needed.  Millicent  seemed  to  be  listen- 
ing, as  she  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  comb- 
ing out  her  luxuriant  tresses,  but  there  was 
that  settled  gravity  in  her  aspect  that  showed 
she  was  thinking  of  a  far  different  matter. 
But  the  other  cared  little  whether  her  espe- 
cial friend  was  listening  or  not.  On  she 
proceeded  with  her  narrative,  exceeding 
content  to  have  no  interruption. 

Now  and  then  her  companion  uttered  a 
brief  unmeaning  phrase,  evidently  more  be- 
cause she  was  expected  to  say  something, 
than  from  any  interest  she  took  in  the  sub- 
ject or  subjects  so  fluently  spoken  of.  Thus 
she  slowly  pursued  her  task — indeed  so 
slowly,  that  the  other  had  placed  herself 
under  the  bedclothes  before  she  had  taken 
off  her  outer  garment.  Then  she  seemed  \ 
to  be  wondrous  busy  looking  over  a  heap  of 
linen,  that  stood  in  a  heavy  arm-chair,  as  if 
fresh  from  the  buck-basket.  For  some  short 
time  after  Mildred  had  laid  down,  she  con- 
tinued her  gossip.  At  last,  as  though  tired 
of  its  constant  exercise,  her  tongue  ceased, 
and  her  full  and  regular  breathing  declared 
she  was  sinking  to  sleep.  As  soon  as  she 
heard  these  sounds,  Milhcent  left  off  what 
she  was  about  and  gazed  for  some  moments 
at  the  sleeper.  Presently  she  took  the  lamp, 
and  walked  gently  to  the  bedside.  The  ex- 
amination she  gave  seemed  to  satisfy  her, 
for  then  she  quickly  but  softly  glided  out  of 
the  chamber. 

She  passed  down  the  staircase  without 
producing  the  slightest  sound,  and  entered 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


101 


&  chamber,  directly  over  the  basement  floor. 
Here  she  hid  the  lamp  in  the  fireplace,  and 
went  direct  to  the  window.  This  projected 
considerably  over  the  lower  part  of  the  dwell- 
ing, as  was  the  case  in  most  houses  at  that 
time,  so  that  any  one  could  gain  from  it  a 
clear  view  up  and  down  the  street.  She 
opened  the  casement,  and  looked  to  the 
right  for  a  considerable  space.  She  then 
gnzed  in  the  opposite  direction,  but  as 
it  seemed  with  a  like  result.  If  she  expect- 
ed any  one  at  that  hour,  it  did  not  look  as 
though  her  expectation  would  get  fulfilled. 
There  was  no  one  visible  from  one  end  of 
Golden  Lane  to  the  other,  as  far  as  could  be 
seen  of  it.  Indeed,  all  Barbican  appeared 
undisturbed,  even  by  so  much  as  a  solitary 
constable  of  the  watch. 

It  was  a  clear  starlight  night,  that  made 
the  picturesque  features  of  the  quaint  old 
houses  in  that  quarter  of  the  city  as  goodly 
a  picture  of  the  sort  as  the  eye  might  look 
on.  Millicent  sat  herself  down  by  the  open 
casement,  with  her  elbow  resting  on  its 
ledge,  and  her  cheek  supported  by  her  hand. 
She  sometimes  looked  up  to  the  deep  blue 
sky,  which,  with  its  myriad  lights,  spread 
far  and  wide  over  the  tall  chimnies  and 
sloping  eaves;  but  her  look  wondrously 
lacked  that  devotion,  which  the  young  heart 
cannot  fail  to  feel  when  impressed  with  the 
beauty  of  that  marvellous  work  of  the  Great 
Architect.  She  gazed  upon  the  buildings 
before  her  with  the  same  absolute  indif- 
ferency.  Neither  the  work  of  God  nor  man 
appeared  to  excite  in  her  the  slightest  spec- 
ulation ;  yet  was  her  mind  infinitely  busy. 
All  its  energies  were  bent  to  the  considera- 
tion of  the  best  means  of  accomplishing 
certain  purposes  of  her  own,  the  policy  of 
which  would  have  done  credit  to  the  veriest 
grey-beard  that  ever  sat  at  a  council  board, ; 
of  directed  the  powers  of  mighty  states. 

A  slight  sound  disturbed  lier  reveries,  and  j 
she  immediately  looked  forth,  but  drew  in  j 
her  head  again,  or  seeing  it  was  a  neighbor  ! 
hastening  for  a  midwife.     Again  they  were  I 
interrupted,  but  this  time  it  was  by  the  noisy  ' 
singing  of  a  group  of  merry  apprentices, ' 
who   had   stolen   out   from   their   master's  \ 
dwellings,  doubtless  for  some  especial  mis-  j 
chief,  which  caused  her  to  draw  back  so  far  j 
into  the  chamber  she  could  not  be  seen  by  ' 
them.     She  returned  to  her  position,  and 
remained    there   some   time   longer.     The 
silence  was  undisturbed,  the  blue' canopy  i 
above   seemed   to   have   gained   additional 
brilliancy,  and   the   sharp  outlines   of  the 
houses  around  looked  to  be  placed  in  a  more 
pleasing  perspective,  but  to  Millicent  all  these  i 
were  still  as  though  they  had  never  been.      I 


Now  a  light  quick  footfall  attracted  her 
attention.  She  started  up  on  the  instant,  as 
though  she  recognized  the  sound.  By  the 
indistinct  light  she  observed  a  man  hurriedly 
approaching  towards  the  house.  What  was 
his  age  or  dignity  was  not  sufficiently  evi- 
dent ;  but  from  the  firm  step  he  took,  and 
the  uprightness  of  his  stature,  it  might  rea- 
sonably be  supposed  he  was  not  far  advanced 
in  life.  He  was  close  upon  the  house  and 
just  under  the  casement,  when  Penelope 
cried  out,  "Hist!"  which  caused  him  to 
stop  instantly  and  look  up.  She  put  her 
finger  to  her  lips,  as  she  leaned  forward. 
Satisfied  that  the  sign  was  attended  to,  she 
presently  closed  the  casement,  took  the  lamp 
from  its  hiding-place,  and  noiselessly  crept 
down  stairs. 

In  a  moment  after,  the  street  door  was 
opened  very  gently,  and  the  person  seen  out- 
side admitted.  The  door  was  then  gently 
closed  and  fastened.  Scarce  had  it  been 
done,  when  without  a  word  spoken  on  either 
side,  he  received  such  usage  as  showed  her 
visiter  was  on  the  footing  of  a  lover.  The 
two  were  then  perfectly  in  the  dark.  Then 
he  followed  her  footsteps  up-stairs,  at  a  turn- 
ing in  which  stood  the  light  which  she  had 
left  there  when  she  admitted  him.  This  she 
took  up,  and  proceeded,  followed  by  the 
other  noiselessly,  tiU  she  entered  a  chamber 
which  adjoined  that  in  which  lay  the  uncon- 
scious Mildred. 

There  was  an  appearance  in  it  of  studied 
comfort.  A  fire  burnt  on  the  hearth,  and 
materials  for  an  excellent  repast  stood  on  the 
table.  Millicent  put  down  the  light,  and 
once  more  embraced  her  gallant — for  her 
gallant  out  of  all  question  he  was.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  delight  she  displayed.  Her 
pale  features  were  lighted  up  with  admira- 
tion. Her  words  were  most  honeyed  flat- 
teries, and  her  actions  the  most  caressing 
fond  woman  ever  disclosed.  She  divested 
her  companion  of  his  hat,  then  of  his  boots, 
putting  on  his  feet  a  pair  of  comfortaole 
slippers,  and  made  him  sit  dcfwn  to  his  sup- 
per and  waited  on  him  pressingly  and  dili- 
gently, partaking  of  none  herself,  but  sparing 
no  pains  to  make  him  eat  and  drink 
heartily. 

And  who  was  the  gallant  so  well  cared 
for  ?  It  was  no  other  than  John  Hall,  and 
the  place  in  which  he  and  the  seductive 
Millicent  were  was  his  own  chamber,  which, 
by  the  way,  was  in  some  way  evident,  from 
the  books  and  other  signs  of  study  there  to 
be  found.  He  could  not  but  make  earnest 
acknowledgments  for  the  loving  care  she 
took  of  him.  In  truth,  her  entire  devoted- 
ness  to  him,  which  she  made  every  possible 


103 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


effort  to  show  him  clandestinely,  had  not 
been  without  its  due  effect  on  his  grateful 
disposition. 

Indeed,  the  manner  of  her  behavior  filled 
him  at  last  with  a  sort  of  intoxicating  deli- 
rium. He  was  never  happy  save  when  he 
was  alone  with  her,  and  although  there  was 
nothing  on  his  part  strictly  evil  to  conceal, 
he  was  ever  in  a  constant  mood  of  appre- 
hension that  his  feelings  should  betray  her. 

He  began  to  feel  exceeding  anxious  and 
uneasy  when  alone  with  the  always  friendly 
Leonard,  although  it  would  have  been  a 
difficult  matter  to  have  shown  any  just  cause 
for  it.  In  short,  his  senses  were  mystified 
and  confounded,  and  lie  scarce  could  arrive 
at  one  definite  conclusion,  save  that  he  loved 
Millicent,  and,  although  this  was  a  mon- 
strous injustice  to  his  friend,  he  would  be 
doing  a  still  greater  wrong  to  the  fond  crea- 
ture who  strove  so  earnestly  to  pleasure  him, 
were  he  to  love  her  one  jot  the  less. 

By  this  time  the  supper  things  had  been 
cleared  away  save  only  the  flask  of  wine  and 
a  tall  glass,  and  Millicent  had  seated  herself 
on  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
chimney. 

At  the  constant  request  of  his  fair  mistress, 
the  young  student,  from  time  to  time,  finished 
his  glass  ;  and  the  wine  began  to  have  its 
effects  upon  him.  His  eyes  flashed  with 
an  unwonted  brilliance  ;  his  pale  cheek  had 
on  it  a  glow  that  in  warmth  rivalled  that  of 
health,  and  his  tongue  contrived  to  exercise 
its  qualities  after  a  fashion  quite  foreign  to 
his  ordinary  habits.  His  spirits  seemed 
every  moment  to  rise  higher  and  higher. 
He  uttered  jests,  and  delivered  compliments, 
the  one  with  humor,  the  other  with  both 
spirit  and  grace  ;  and  she  seemed  to  have 
equal  satisfaction  in  both,  returning  too,  the 
coin  he  gave  with  prodigal  interest.  Then 
she,  when  this  humor  of  his  was  at  its  height, 
begged  of  him,  in  too  pretty  a  way  to  be 
denied,  that  he  would  sing  to  her  the  same 
exquisite  sweej;  ballad  she  had  heard  him 
sing  to  Leonard  the  day  previous. 

At  another  time  it  is  like  enough  our 
young  student  would  have  done  all  in  his 
power  to  get  off  attempting  a  love-ditty  to 
the  too  charming  Millicent,  but  he  had  drunk 
so  much  wine,  and  imbibed  so  much  flattery 
— the  more  intoxicating  of  the  two — that  he 
was  ready  to  do  her  bidding  on  the  instant. 
He  merely  uttered  a  few  brief  apologies  for 
his  want  of  skill,  and  then  commenced : 

THE  HEART'S  REGAL. 

Come  back,  fond  heart !  why  wouldst  thou  stay? 

Content  thee  with  thy  present  dwelling ; 
Enjoy  thine  ease,  whilst  here  thou  may — 


What  ills  thou  seek'at,  there  is  no  telling. 
Fond  heart  replied,  "  Too  long  I've  pined, 

Unloved,  unloving,  dull,  and  dreary  ; 
In  yon  fair  breast  a  home  I'll  find, 

For  of  my  own  I  am  full  weary." 

Ah,  me,  'twas  but  a  little  space — 

The  least  of  Time's  fast  bursting  bubbles — 
The  truant  found  his  dwelling-place 

Beset  by  countless  pains  and  troubles. 
"  Oh,  would  1  could  but  know  again," 

Quoth  he,  "  that  peace  I  have  so  needed, 
None  then  should  say, '  Come  back,'  in  vain, 

None  then  should  warn,  aud  be  unheeded  '." 

When  he  came  to  the  end  of  his  ditty,  he 
fully  expected  to  hear  the  usual  gracious 
commentary,  but,  to  his  extreme  surprise, 
there  ensued  a  dead  silence ;  and  turning 
round  to  see  why  it  was,  to  his  astonishment 
and  alarm  he  perceived  that  his  companion 
was  in  one  of  those  strange  convulsive  fits 
that  were  wont  to  visit  her  so  roughly. 

She  sat  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  her 
face  bloodless,  her  eyes  fixed,  and  her  lower 
jaw  constantly  snapping  against  the  other. 
Her  arms  were  in  her  lap,  but  they  were 
slightly  raised  once  or  twice,  and  dropped 
down  again.  John  Hall  was  hugely  con- 
cerned at  this.  He  hurried  to  her,  and,  sup- 
porting her  in  his  arms,  strove  to  open  her 
hands,  which  were  close  shut  and  com- 
pressed. 

Whilst  he  was  intent  in  this,  she  heaved 
a  deep  breath.  Anon,  she  began  to  laugh, 
first  slightly,  and  then  in  long  peals  of  fright- 
ful vehemence.  Then  she  took  to  talking, 
and,  to  her  companion's  no  small  gratifica- 
tion, did  say  many  things  that  spoke  the 
extent  of  her  passion  for  him. 

Crying  followed  laughing,  and  all  sorts  of 
strange  phrases  were  mixed  up  with  her 
passionate  declarations.  Sometimes  there 
was  a  pause,  and  she  seemed,  but  for  the 
beating  of  her  heart,  like  one  from  whom 
life  hath  departed,  and  then  the  wild  hyste- 
rical laughter  would  burst  out  afresh,  and 
she  would  act  over  again  with  increased 
frenzy  the  loving  confession  she  had  just 
made. 

To  John  Hall's  exceeding  credit,  he  bore 
himself  towards  her  throughout  with  an  in- 
finite greater  show  of  the  physician  than  the 
lover  \.  and  when  she  at  last  began  to  exhibit 
signs  of  returning  consciousness,  he  gently 
placed  her  back  in  the  chair,  and  merely  stood 
by  her,  holding  one  of  her  hands,  so  that,  on 
her  recovery,  her  sense  of  womanly  delicacy 
might  not  be  shocked  by  any  thing  which 
might  lead  her  into  the  belief  that  she  had 
made  the  disclosure  of  her  feelings  she  had. 

She  presently  drew  her  hands  over  her 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


103 


face,  and  stared  about  her  like  one  waking 
from  a  strange  dream.  Then  she  cast  her 
eyes  upon  her  companion  with  a  singular 
curiousness,  and  slowly  began  to  have  some 
conception  of  surrounding  objects.  She 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  looked  unutterably 
wretched.  The  young  student,  with  an 
evident  sympathy,  expressed  his  hopes  she 
felt  better.  She  smiled  faintly,  and,  in  few 
words,  acknowledged  she  was  so.  Then 
she  rose  from  her  chair  as  though  with  some 
difficulty,  and  for  a  while  leaned  her  head 
on  his  shoulder.  John  Hall  was  too  much 
accustomed  to  receive  such  familiarities 
from  her  to  be  surprised  at  such  an  act. 
Yet  he  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  dart  through 
his  frame  as  her  cheek  came  close  to  his, 
and  he  could  not  refrain,  by  means  of  the 
arm  that  encircled  her  waist,  from  drawing 
her  into  closer  neighborhood — a  great  bold- 
ness in  him.  This  was  immediately  respond- 
ed to  on  her  part  by  her  raising  her  lustrous 
eyes  to  his,  and  fixing  on  him  a  gaze,  that 
he  could  not  have  looked  on  for  an  instant. 
His  eyes  fell  before  it,  and  he  felt  dizzy  and 
faint,  like  one  about  to  sink  into  a  swoon. 

A  silence  followed,  uninterrupted  on  either 
side.  Finally,  Millicent,  making  some  ordi- 
nary remark  on  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  lit 
a  small  lamp  that  was  in  the  room,  and,  with 
one  of  her  most  bewitching  "  good  nights," 
.faintly  answered  by  him,  took  her  own  light, 
and  quietly  glided  out  of  the  room.  She 
had  scarcely  closed  the  door  when  her  whole 
countenance  underwent  a  sudden  and  most 
complete  change.  Her  brow  was  fiercely 
knit,  and  her  visage  expressed  utter  dissatis- 
faction. Little  did  the  unsuspecting  student 
imagine  that  the  whole  scene,  like  many 
others  that  bad  preceded  it,  had  been  acted 
by  her ;  and  that  each  and  all  those  fits, 
which  had  so  distressed  him  to  look  on,  were 
simulated  for  the  purpose  of  exciting  his 
sympathy. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

They  that  enter  into  the  state  of  marriage 
cast  a  die  of  the  greatest  contingency,  and  yet 
of  the  greatest  interest  in  the  world,  next  to 
the  last  throw  for  eternity — life  or  death,  fe- 
licity or  a  lasting  sorrow,  are  in  the  power  of 
marriage.  JEREMY  TAYLOK. 

AFTER  due  consideration  of  the  duty  he 
had  so  strongly  bound  himself  to  fulfil, 
Master  Shakspeare  made  arrangements  for 
paying  a  visit  to  his  family  at  Shottery.  He. 
us  was  usual  with  him  on  all  such  occas- 
ions, took  leave  of  his  friends  and  fellows 


at  the  playhouse,  by  means  of  a  jovial  sup- 
per at  his  lodgings  in  the  liberty  of  the 
Clink  ;  and  early  next  morning  started  off, 
accompanied  by  Simon  Stockfish,  both  well 
armed,  and  otherwise  well  provided  for  a 
long  journey,  on  the  road  to  Oxford. 

Simon  was  very  differently  circumstanced 
in  this  journey,  to  what  he  was  then  travel- 
ling with  his  old  master's  son  ;  in  the  first 
place,  there  was  a  very  opposite  style  of 
horseflesh  employed  on  the  present  occa- 
sion ;  in  the  next,  he  had  no  such  important 
responsibility  as  weighed  so  heavily  on  him 
when  acting  as  guardian  to  the  young  stu- 
dent. Master  Shakspeare  rode  a  fine  tall 
horse,  worthy  to  carry  an  emperor,  and 
Simon  had  for  his  own  riding  a  truly  ser- 
viceable gelding,  that  was  possessed  of  very 
good  paces ;  and,  so  far  from  wanting  a 
guide,  Master  Shakspeare  knew  the  road 
so  well,  he  could  have  gone  the  whole  dis- 
tance blindfold. 

Simon,  however,  had,  as  in  his  memorable 
journey  to  London,  ample  opportunity  for 
cultivating  his  genius  for  taciturnity. — 
Though  he  had  usually  found  his  master 
agreeably  communicative,  and  ever  with 
something  pleasant  in  his  speech,  all  the 
way  nearly  to  Oxford,  he  was  so  deeply  in- 
tent on  his  own  thoughts,  as  to  seem  to  take 
no  heed  of  any  other  matter  whatsoever. 
Doubtless  he  was  considering  the  important 
matters  that  had  transpired  during  the  ex- 
traordinary visit  he  had  received.  He 
seemed  to  be  going  over  in  his  mind  the 
whole  remarkable  history  of  his  Secret 
Passion. 

As  he  approached  the  University,  he 
strove  to  shake  off  the  load  of  thought 
which  pressed  upon  him,  and  suddenly  dis- 
turbed his  sedate  old  follower,  in  the  midst 
of  certain  deej)  considerations  as  to  the  pro- 
perest  policy  for  him  to  pursue  for  the  ad- 
vancing or  securing  of  his  master's  inter- 
ests under  divers  possible  contingencies, 
by  affording  him  various  pleasant  remem- 
brances of  the  fair  city  he  was  about  to  en- 
ter. As  if  for  to  make  up  for  his  want  of 
sociality  previously,  he  now  began  to  enter- 
tain his  humble  fellow-traveller  with  num- 
berless stories  of  the  freaks  and  humors  ol 
the  college  youths.  They  seemed  to  amuse 
Simon  wonderfully  ;  and  when  they  rode 
up  to  "  The  Crown,"  it  was  difficult  to  say 
which  was  in  the  choicest  spirits,  the  mas- 
ter or  the  man. 

Simon,  however,  speedily  recovered  his 
customary  staidness,  and  in  looking  after 
the  stable-boys,  and  giving  directions  for 
the  proper  dieting  and  attentions  to  his  mas- 
ter's beasts,  demeaned  himself  as  became 


104 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


his  reputation  for  gravity  or  caution.  He 
did  more — fully  impressed  with  the  superior 
advantages  of  gaining  the  ear  of  the  high- 
er powers,  and  feeling  bound  in  conscience 
to  do  his  utmost  for  the  benefiting  of  his 
good  master,  he  took  the  first  opportunity 
he  could  of  speaking  in  private  with  the 
hostess  of  "The  Crown,"  in  honor  of  the 
exceeding  worthy  person  whose  serving- 
man  he  had  the  good  fortnne  to  be,  and  with 
much  earnestness  begged  she  would  see 
that  he  had  every  thing  of  the  best  at  a  fair 
and  reasonable  charge. 

Simon  Stockfish  little  knew  the  amuse- 
ment the  relation  of  this  studied  speech  of 
Ins,  by  Mistress  D'.Avement  to  Master 
Shakspeare,  caused  in  the  little  parlor  the 
latter  was  wont  to  use  when  staying  at  Ox- 
ford. But  we  cannot  now  tarry  to  narrate 
what  was  said  on  that  occasion,  nor  any 
other  thing  that  passed,  when  it  came  to  be 
bruited  among  the  Oxford  scholars  that 
Will  Shakspeare  was  at  "  The  Crown." 
We  must  needs  hurry  him  out  of  that  fair 
and  ancient  city,  which  he  left  early  the 
next  morning,  to  carry  him  as  fast  as  we 
can  towards  Stratford. 

As  he  travelled  along,  his  thoughts  set 
in  a  totally  different  direction  to  that  they 
had  taken  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  journey. 
The  heart  of  Master  Shakspeare  was  one 
admirably  attuned  to  all  the  sweet  affections 
of  domestic  life.  God  only  knoweth  with 
what  overmastering  love  he  had  regarded 
his  sweet  young  son.  He  could  not  but 
shudder  when  he  considered  the  terrible 
punishment  he  had  endured  in  his  lament- 
able death,  in  which  all  his  ambitious  hopes 
for  him  had  been  levelled  to  the  dust,  and  his 
whole  nature  crushed,  as  it  were,  in  the 
ruins.  But,  though  his  beloved  Hamnet 
was  no  longer  to  gladden  his  eyes  with  his 
beauty  and  intelligence,  there  was  still  left 
him  the  wild  and  wilful  Judith,  who,  with 
all  her  strange  unfeminine  ways,  was 
an  object  of  love  to  him  ;  and,  better  still, 
there  was  the  tender  and  loving  Susanna, 
of  whose  entire  affections  he  felt  himself 
secure. 

He  had,  as  was  his  custom,  brought  with 
him  presents  for  every  member  of  his  fam- 
ily, selected  to  meet  their  several  wants  or 
tastes.  Even  the  three  aunts,  whose  hos- 
tility to  him  and  talent  for  mischief  he  had 
been  made  to  appreciate  so  often,  had  not 
been  forgotten  ;  and  he  busied  himself  very 
pleasantly  in  anticipating  the  gratification 
these  gifts  would  create: — how  greatly 
Mistress  Anne  would  be  enamored  of  the 
piece  cf  Norwich  stuff  that  was  to  make  her 
a  new  gown  ! — What  exceeding  joy  Judith 


would  display  at  the  sight  of  the  gay  rib- 
bons he  would  set  before  her !  and  how 
tenderly  Susanna  would  express  her  thanks 
for  the  dainty  ear-rings  of  Venetian  gold  he 
had  bought  to  adorn  her  delicate  earo ! 
The  new  knitting  instruments,  the  excel- 
lent hose,  and  the  admirable  Cambridga 
gloves,  which  he  had  procured  for  the  three 
elderly  Breedbates,  he  doubted  not  would 
suffice  for  the  creating  of  their  good-will 
and  good-humor — till  the  next  opportunity 
of  backbiting  presented  itself. 

Simon  Stockfish  all  this  while  did  not  al- 
low the  time  to  grow  irksome ;  so  thought- 
ful a  person,  about  to  make  such  important 
connexions  as  the  family  of  his  respected 
master,  could  not  fail  of  giving  the  circum- 
stance all  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  suf- 
ficient reflection,  He  laid  down  rules  for 
his  guidance,  prepared  answers  ready  for 
certain  questions  he  expected  to  be  put  to 
him,  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  miracle  of 
discretion  touching  his  master's  secrets, 
the  more  especial  as  regarded  the  ques- 
tionable visiter  he  had  strove  to  pass  off  on 
Kempe  and  Allen  as  an  ancient  kinswoman, 
and  cudgelled  his  brains  for  politic  strokes 
wherewith  to  screen  his  honored  master, 
should  any  thing  of  this  suspicious  matter 
have  got  bruited  abroad.  "Therefore  it  was 
no  wonder  Simon  wore  a  graver  counte- 
nance even  than  usual.  Truly  had  all  the. 
cares  of  empire  devolved  upon  him,  he  could 
not  have  looked  more  thoughtful  than  he  did. 

As  Master  Shakspeare  approached  scenes 
so  familiar  to  him,  and  so  endeared  to  hi  a 
recollection  as  those  that  were  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  his  home,  every  object  that  met 
his  sight  did,  by  some  means  or  other,  con- 
nect itself  with  his  lost  Hamnet ;  and,  by 
some  singular  association  of  ideas,  this  in- 
tolerable affliction  drew  his  mind  to  the  con- 
sideration of  other  things,  which  did  mar- 
vellously increase  the  sadness  of  his  humor. 
He  was  in  no  mood  for  light  converse.  He 
endured  such  sharp  pangs,  that,  as  he  ad- 
vanced, he  became  more  dejected,  and  less 
inclined  for  playing  of  the  social  part  that 
so  well  became  him. 

He  was  disturbed  in  these  unpleasant  re- 
flections, when  within  a  short  distance  of 
Stratford,  by  observing  two  figures  ap- 
proaching from  the  town,  that,  at  first,  from 
the  strangeness  of  their  motions  and  ap- 
pearance, did  puzzle  him  exceedingly  to 
make  out  to  what  kind  of  animal  they  be- 
longed. On  they  came,  seeming  to  be  fly- 
ing along  the  surface  of  the  ground,  utter- 
ing the  most  singular  cries  ever  heard. 
Whether  they  were  beasts,  birds,  or  those 
marvellous  creatures  that  are  said  to  par- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


105 


Ake  of  the  different  natures  of  both,  it  was  was  expected  at  Stratford,  and  he  was  sent 
not  easy  to  decide.  Master  Shakspeare  [  to  meet  him  with  a  communication  of  grave 
was  at  a  nonplus.  But  Simon  Stockfish,  [  import.  He  was  joined  by  his  nimble  friend 
who  had  been  preparing  himself  to  meet  j  Jonas ;  and,  quite  forgetful  of  the  exceed- 
raany  strange  things,  as,  in  his  sagacity,  he  ing  serious  nature  of  what  he  was  instruct- 
thought  was  very  natural  when  going  to  fed  to  state,  no  sooner  had  he  caught  sight 
a  strange  place,  was  astonished  far  beyond  j  of  Master  Shakspeare  than  he  challenged 


any  astonishment  he  had  felt  all  his  life 
long. 

On  came  these  nondescripts  with  a  most 


his  companion  to  a  race,  in  his  favorite 
method  of  progression,  alternately  using  the 
hands  and  feet.  The  challenge  was  as 


horrible  din,  sometimes  abreast,  anon  fol-  soon  accepted  as  spoken,  and  off  they  started, 
lowing  each  other ;  having  so  singular  a  >  Both  were  adepts  in  this  strange  feat,  for 
motion  withal,  it  could  not  be  said,  with  I  which  they  were  famed,  far  and  near ;  and 
any  certainty,  whether  they  were  flying  it  was  the  manner  in  which  they  advanced, 
like  birds,  or  leaping  like  grasshoppers,  j  now  with  the  head  close  to  the  ground  and 
Simon,  though  he  was  in  a  terrible  fright  at !  now  up,  and  at  a  distance  showing  nothing 
meeting  such  outlandish  things,  considered  but  a  confused  bundle  of  arms  and  legs,  go- 
it  was  his  duty  to  defend  his  master  from  j  ing  round  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel  in 
any  mischief  they  were  like  to  do  him  ;  for  rapid  motion,  with  the  savage  cries  they 
that  they  came  with  some  murderous  intent ;  thought  fit  to  make,  that  puzzled  Master 
he  had  no  manner  of  doubt.  He  looked  to  |  Shakspeare,  and  put  his  valiant  and  faith- 
his  pistolets,  and  had  his  hand  upon  one,  in  I  ful  serving-man  into  so  absolute  a  fear. 


Readiness  to  meet  the  expected  assault. 

The  wonder  with  which  Master  Shaks- 
peare noticed  them  at  first  gave  way  to  a 
smile,  as  soon  as  they  came  near  enough 
for  him  to  view  them  correctly.  He  drew 
up  his  horse,  and,  notwithstanding  his  mind 
was  &o  ill  at  ease,  he  could  scarce  refrain 
from  mirth.  His  faithful  serving-man, 
judging,  from  his  master's  stopping,  that 
now  was  the  time  for  action,  though  his 
heart  was  in  his  mouth,  he  was  in  so  huge 
a  fear,  drew  forth  a  pistolet,  and  rode  to  his 
side,  having  valorously  made  up  his  mind 
not  to  be  eaten  up  alive  till  he  had  done 
something  in  his  respected  master's  defence. 
"  I  will  shoot  the  first  villain,  an  it  please 
you,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  and  in  a  terrible 
trepidation.  "  Perchance  it  would  be  good 


Simon,  albeit  he  had  so  carefully  made 
up  his  mind  to  see  strange  things,  marvelled 
so  greatly  at  the  wonderful  transformation 
he  had  just  beheld,  that  -it  clean  took  away 
his  speech.  He  gazed  upon  Tommy  Hart 
and  his  odd-looking  associate,  as  though  he 
could  not  convince  himself  that  they  were 
human.  It  was  his  master  who  first  brought 
all  parties  to  feel  a  little  at  their  ease.  He 
explained  the  mistake  of  his  attendant  so 
pleasantly  withal,  that  they  who  were  likely 
to  have  suffered  by  it  so  dreadfully  seemed 
to  take  it  as  the  most  exquisite  jest  they  had 
ever  heard. 

After  making  friendly  inquiries  for  all  of 
his  acquaintance  at  Stratford,  which  brought 
upon  him  a  whole  budget  of  nesvs,  and  as- 
suring both  his  townsmen  he  would  not  be 


policy  were  you,  at  the  same  moment,  to  long  before  he  paid  them  a  visit,  he  took  his 


despatch  the  other."  Simon  got  no  other 
answer  than  having  his  weapon  knocked 
upwards  by  his  master's  hand,  at  which  in- 
stant it  went  off,  expending  its  ammunition 
harmlessly  in  the  air ;  and  well  it  was  for 


leave  of  them.  Tommy  Hart  was  so  taken 
up  with  the  enjoyment  of  his  mirth,  and  the 
prodigious  quantity  of.  gossip  he  related,  that 
the  message  with  which  he  had  been  sent 
escaped  him  as  completely  as  though  he  had 


Simon  that  action  was  so  quickly  done,  or  j  had  no  knowledge  of  it ;  and  Master  Shaks- 
such  mischief  would  have  followed  as  would  j  peare  rode  away  towards  Shottery,  unwarn- 
have  put  him  in  greater  peril  than  that  from  ed  of  the  state  in  which  he  was  like  to  find 


which  he  sought  to  escape. 

If   this    astonished  him,   how   infinitely 


matters  there.     Simon  rode  after  him,  but 
not  before  he  had  seen  the  two  singular  be- 


more  did  he  marvel  when,  at  the  same  in-  ings,  whose  approach  had  so  much  alarmed 
stant,  the  horrible  nondescripts  appeared  him,  commence  again  their  unnatural  meth- 
standing  before  him,  in  the  outward  resem-  j  od  of  progress.  He  said  never  a  word,  but 
blance  of  men- — men,  too,  from  whom  it  was  he  was  fully  satisfied,  extraordinary  a.s  it 
evident  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  there  was  seemed  to  him,  that  the  men  of  YVarwick- 
in  them  so  much  to  laugh  at.  j  shire  went  upon  four  legs. 

They  were  no  other  than  the  reader's  old  His  master  dismounted  when  within  a 
acquaintances,  Jonas  Tietape  and  Tommy  ;  convenient  distance  of  the  cottage,  and  Si- 
Hart.  The  hitter  had  heard  that  the  much-  j  mon  held  the  horse  while  he  proceeded  to 
respected  brother  of  his  merry  little  wife  i  the  door.  It  struck  him  as  something  mar- 


106 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


vellous,  that  no  one  of  the  family  was  visi- 
ble in  or  about  the  house.  At  all  other 
times  they  were  wont  either  to  meet  him  in 
a  body,  within  a  mile  or  so  of  home  ;  or,  if 
circumstances  would  not  allow  of  this,  they 
were  about  the  door,  waiting  anxiously  for 
his  appearance ;  and,  directly  he  rode  up, 
the  children  would  rush  towards  him  with 
loud  demonstrations  of  pleasure.  Now  not 
a  soul  had  he  seen,  and  the  place  was  as 
silent  as  though  it  had  been  deserted.  The 
doors  and  windows,  too,  were  all  carefully 
closed.  Even  of  Talbot,  a  still  more  rare 
occurrence,  there  was  no  sign. 

This  unusual  state  of  things  struck  the 
loving  father  and  husband  as  exceeding 
strange.  He  knocked  at  the  door.  No  an- 
swer was  returned ;  but  on  listening,  he 
fancied  he  could  hear  some  persons  whis- 
pering inside.  He  knocked  still  louder, 
and  could  evidently  distinguish  the  voice 
of  his  tender  and  affectionate  Susanna,  en- 
deavoring to  quiet  Talbot,  who  had  been 
disturbed  by  the  knocking.  Marvelling 
greatly  that  no  one  came,  though  there 
could  be  no  doubt  several  persons  were 
within,  and  knowing  he  had  sent  word  by  a 
trusty  hand  of  his  coming  at  this  very  time, 
he  took  his  heavy  riding-whip  and  beat  the 
door  with  sufficient  violence  to  arouse  all 
the  people  in  the  house,  were  they  ever  so 
deaf,  and  also  raised  his  voice  to  its  highest 
pitch,  bidding  them  let  him  in.  No  sooner 
did  the  faithful  Talbot  hear  his  master's 
voice,  than  all  attempts  to  keep  him  silent 
were  vain  ;  he  barked  and  whined  most  vo- 
ciferously. It  then  appeared  that  he  was 
shut  up,  but  his  efforts  to  get  out  were  of 
the  most  violent  sort.  Still  Master  Shaks- 
peare  could  hear  three  or  four  individuals  at 
least,  carrying  on  an  animated  debate  in  a  low 
tone  of  voice.  He  could  hear  nothing  dis- 
tinctly, but  the  voices  appeared  to  be  those 
of  women. 

At  last,  on  his  loudly  asking  the  reason 
of  this  strange  reception  of  him,  the  win- 
dow over  his  head  was  slowly  thrown  open, 
and  there  appeared  at  it  the  strongly  mark- 
ed visage  of  Aunt  Prateapace.  She  put  on 
at  first  a  monstrous  friendly  manner,  and 
bade  her  kinsman  "  good  den,"  as  pleasantly 
as  you  please,  but,  upon  his  peremptorily 
insisting  upon  knowing  why  he  was  kept 
out  of  his  house  in  this  unheard-of  fashion, 
she  presently  raised  her  voice  to  the  true 
shrewish  pitch,  and,  as  'Master  Shakspeare 
could  plainly  hear,  continually  prompted  by 
some  persons  behind  her  to  whom  she  ever 
and  anon  turned  her  head,  she  began  to  rate 
him  right  soundly,  and  let  him  know  "  our 
Anne,"  with  a  spirit  worthy  of  her  family, 


had  come  to  the  proper  determination  of 
having  no  more  to  do  with  him  ;  therefore, 
he  might  take  himself  away  with  all  possi- 
ble haste. 

Master  Shakspeare  listened  to  this  tirade, 
fully  satisfied  that  the  three  old  harridans 
had  been  employing  their  talents  at  mis- 
chief-making with  more  than  ordinary  zeal ; 
but  proud,  weak,  and  wilful  as  he  knew  his 
blooming  Anne  of  former  years  to  be,  he 
could  not  readily  believe  that  the  influence 
of  her  meddling  kinswomen  over  her  was 
so  great  as  to  induce  her  to  take  the  step 
which,  he  was  well  convinced,  they  had 
long  been  leading  her  to.  That  he  was 
greatly  moved  at  a  determination  so  unex- 
pected there  is  no  question  ;  but  he  kept  his 
feelings  under  control,  and  courteously  bade 
Aunt  Prateapace  acquaint  "  his  dear  bed- 
fellow" from  him,  that  he  was  exceeding 
anxious  to  see  her,  and  that  he  had  no  doubt 
in  the  world  that  in  a  few  minutes  he  would 
explain  all  apparent  evils  to  her  perfect  sat- 
isfaction, and  would  make  such  arrange-  * 
ments  for  her  future  comfort  as  should  con- 
vince her  how  dear  to  him  was  her  happi- 
ness and  conterrtation. 

"  In  sooth,  fairly  spoken,"  replied  Aunt 
Prateapace,  sharply.  "  But  our  Anne  hath 
had  enough  of  such  poor  bates  to  catch 
fools,  I  promise  you."  Here  she  disappear- 
ed, and  immediately  in  her  place  came  Aunt 
Breedbate,  looking  even  more  crabbed  than 
the  other. 

"  Take  your  fine  speeches  to  those  who 
are  willing  to  be  cajoled  by  them,"  she  said 
in  her  harshest  tones.  "  Our  Anne  hath  too 
much  sense,  ay,  and  spirit  too  as  becomes 
her,  i'  faith,  any  longer  to  be  made  a  con- 
venience of."  Thereupon,  she  took  in  her 
head,  and  it  was  straightway  replaced  by 
that  of  Aunt  Gadabout,  with  one  of  the 
most  fiercely  shrewish  of  her  shrewish 
looks. 

"  Wives  are  not  to  be  made  slaves  of, 
whatever  their  tyrants  of  husbands  may 
think !"  she  exclaimed  in  a  scream  like  un- 
to that  of  an  angry  peacock.  "  Our  Anne 
thinks  herself  made  of  better  stuff  than  to 
be  a  poor  household  drudge,  that  is  to  be 
kept  at  home  whilst  her  unworthy  husband 
is  to  wander  about  the  world  at  his  plea- 
sure ;"  and  then  she  added  in  an  emphasis, 
and  with  a  look  that  spoke  pokers  and  tongs 
at  the  least,  "  An  I  had  a  husband  that 
would  use  me  so,  I  warrant  you  I  would 
teach  him  better  ere  he  was  a  week  older  !" 

"  There  must  be  some  great  misunder- 
standing in  this  matter,"   replied    Muster 
Shakspeare  with  a  marvellous  sweet  pa- 
!  tience.      "  In  all  reasonable  things  Anne 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


107 


hath  ever  found  me  willing  to  indulge  her 
to  the  fullest  extent  of  my  ability,  and  this 
I  am  always  ready  to  do." 

"  There  hath  been  nothing  of  the  sort !  ' 
cried  Aunt  Breedbate,  rudely. 

"  Monstrous  reasonable,  forsooth  !"  ex- 
claimed Aunt  Prateapace,  taking  her  place 
at  the  casement  directly  she  left  it.  "  Pry- 
thee,  what  dost  call  indulgence  ?  Dost  in- 
dulge her  by  the  horrible  injustice  of  keep- 
ing her  in  this  poor  place  by  herself,  whilst 
you  sometimes  for  a  whole  year  together 
care  not  to  come  near  her  once !  And  now, 
more  monstrous  still,  you  have  sent  her 
\vord  you  are  about  going,  Heaven  only 
knoweth  how  many  miles  away,  for  the  see- 
ing of  far  off  countries,  saying  never  a 
word  of  her  going  with  you,  farther  than  to 
state  you  would  like  it  of  all  things  ;  but  it 
could  not  in  any  way  be  brought  about — or 
some  such  poor  stuff.  If  she  put  up  with 
such  a  slight  as  this,  she  hath  no  more  wo- 
manly spirit  than  a  cracked  flea  !" 

"  Let  her  be  assured  that  no  slight  is  in- 
tended," said  Master  Shakspeare,  very  cer- 
tain it  could  not  have  been  taken  so  by  her 
unless  a  vast  deal  of  malicious  care  had 
been  used  to  give  it  that  color.  "My  ab- 
sence from  her  was  first  caused  by  necessity, 
and  by  necessity  hath  been  continued,  and 
all  the  years  it  hath  lasted,  she  hath  never 
to  my  knowledge  been  otherwise  than  satis- 
fied ft  should  so  remain.  As  for  my  intend- 
ed journey  out  of  England,  it  is  clean  out 
of  my  power  to  take  her  with  me,  even  were 
there  no  such  absolute  cause  existing  as 
there  is,  for  her  remaining  at  home  with  her 
children,  nor  do  I  think  so  ill  of  her  that 
she  would  ever  entertain  so  unworthy  an 
idea,  had  it  not  been  thrust  upon  her  mind 
by  the  perverse  exertions  of  a  set  of  worth- 
less mischief-makers." 

"  Mischief-makers  !"  here  eagerly  ex- 
claimed all  three,  putting  out  their  several 
heads  at  the  same  moment,  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  guilty  consciousness,  and  the 
most  absolute  rage.  Forthwith  each  vigor- 
ously disclaimed  having  any  thing  to  do  in 
the  matter,  vowing  nothing  was  so  far  from 
their  thoughts.  They  stoutly  and  with  an 
infinite  lack  of  civility  insisted  that  they  had 
a  right  to  see  that  '  our  Anne'  had  justice 
done  her,  and  that  they  could  not  allow  of 
her  being  so  trampled  on  as  she  was  with- 
out feeling  for  her  unhappy,  distressed  state 
— that  they  thought  it  particularly  commen- 
dable of  her  acting  as  she  did,  and  that  they 
would  give  her  the  benefit  of  their  counte- 
nance and  advice,  in  spite  of  all  the  mon- 
strous tyrannical  husbands  that  could  be 
found. 


Much  more  they  might  have  said  to  the 
same  purpose,  had  not  Aunt  Prateapace,  in 
her  impatience  to  be  heard,  interrupted  Aunt. 
Gadabout  somewhat  sharply,  which  was  re- 
plied to  in  a  terrible  savage  humor,  where- 
upon a  squabble  ensued  betwixt  them,  which 
Aunt  Breedbate  did  all  she  could  to  increase. 
In  the  midst  of  their  mutual  bickerings  and 
revelations,  Master  Shakspeare,  much  ex- 
cited, declared  that  he  insisted  on  seeing 
and  hearing  from  their  kinswoman  the  de- 
termination they  had  stated  she  had  resolved 
on.  This  took  them  from  the  window  in  a 
very  brief  space. 

A  long  and  vigorous  discussion  followed, 
which  could  not  be  distinctly  heard  by  the 
outraged  husband,  though  he  could  distin- 
guish the  noisy  hum  of  many  voices.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  though  others  than  the  mis- 
chievous three  shared  in  the  conference,  and 
he  more  than  once  fancied  he  could  detect 
the  tones  of  the  high-spirited  Judith  and  the 
affectionate  Susanna. 

The  result  of  the  discussion  was,  that 
i  Mistress  Anne  made  her  appearance  at  the 
i  window,  but  not  before  he  had  plainly  heard 
j  such  phrases  as,  "  Hold  thee  a  good  spirit, 
I  Anne !"     "Never  be  made  a  slave  of!" 
"  An  you  suffer  yourself  to  be  cajoled,  you 
deserve  all  the  ill-usage  and  neglect  it  can- 
not help  but  bring  you  !"  with  divers  others 
of  a  like  tendency.     Her  visage  did  not  be- 
speak any  very  terrible  grievances,  though 
there  was  a  certain  expression  of  discontent 
in  it.     She  had  still  some  pretensions  to  be  . 
considered  the  blooming  Anne,  though  pretty 
well  a  score  of  years  had  passed  since  first 
that  title  had  been  bestowed  upon  her.    But 
she  valued  her  good  looks  too  highly  not  to 
have  taken  particular  care  of  them. 

Master  Shakspeare,  at  sight  of  her,  urged 
all  arguments  that  a  fond  husband  'could  be 
expected  to  have,  to  bring  her  to  reason  and 
show  her  the  folly  of  persisting  in  a  course 
of  conduct  so  unworthy  of  her :  but  she  had 
been  too  well  instructed  in  her  lesson  to  al- 
low the  proper  influence  of  any  thing  of  the 
,sort.  She  answered  with  a  firm  show  of  re- 
solution, that  she  considered  herself  to  have 
been  exceedingly  ill  used,  and  that  she  would 
endure  it  no  longer.  Her  husband  tried 
every  possible  exertion  t6  induce  her  to  give 
up  so  unworthy  a  determi  nation,  and  pro- 
mised many  additional  enjoyments,  would 
she  determine  more  wisely.  But  the  prompt- 
ings became  now  eager  and  audible^  "  Not 
to  be  cozened,"  and,  "  to  show  a  proper  spi- 
rit." Unfortunately  for  herself,  either 
through  fear  or  inclination,  she  took  too 
mucbJieed  of  them,  and  answered  she  had 


108 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


considered  the  matter  well,  and  had  resolved 
to  change  not  her  course. 

This  seemed  so  far  to  satisfy  her  husband 
that  lie  left  off  pressing  the  point,  though  he 
wore  a  very  disturbed  countenance.  He 
asked  to  see  his  daughters  that  he  might  at 
least  have  the  pleasure  of  beholding  their 
improved  appearance,  and  enjoy  their  love 
after  his  journey,  as  it  was  not  likely  he 
could  promise  himself  that  pleasure  for  some 
time.  Thereupon,  one  of  the  aunts  an- 
swered tartly,  that,  as  was  exceeding  pro- 
per and  natural,  the  children  shared  in  the 
sentiments  of  their  mother,  and  that  neither 
of  them  wished  to  have  further  speech  with 
him. 

At  this  cruel  speech,  all  the  father  was 
in  his  heart,  and  he  replied,  with  an  ex- 
treme earnestness,  he  could  not  believe  in 
any  thing  so  monstrous  and  undutiful.  It 
was  almost  too  unnatural  a  thing  to  be  con- 
ceived that  children  should  be  so  set  against 
a  loving  parent,  and  he  inveighed  bitterly 
against  the  authors  of  this  atrocious  mis- 
chief. How  much  more  was  his  affectionate 
heart  wrung  by  soon  afterwards  beholding 
Judith,  who  too,  doubtless,  had  been  well 
taught  her  lesson,  appear  with  an  unbecom- 
ing boldness  at  the  casement,  and  express 
herself  very  rudely. 

Whether  he  so  misliked  this  last  drop  in 
his  cupof  bitterness,  or  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  strive  further  to  obtain  more  affecti- 
onate trentment,  cannot  be  said, — but  the 
speech  had  scarce  been  uttered  when  he 
hastily  left  the  place,  mounted  his  horse, 
and  rode  full  speed  from  the  door,  as  though 
he  was  anxious  to  be  as  quick  as  possible  a 
thousand  miles  away.  Simon  Stockfish, 
who  had  been  an  amazed  spectator  and 
hearer  of  all  that  had  passed,  lost  no  time 
in  following ;  but  what  He  had  already  seen 
and  heard  of  the  people  who  were  natural 
to  the  place,  sufficed  to  satisfy  him  that  they 
were  a  sort  of  savages,  who  had  as  mon- 
strous a  way  of  receiving  a  tender  father 
and  husband,  after  a  long  journey,  as  they 
had  of  taking  an  ordinary  ramble  on  the 
king's  highway. 

Master  Shakspeare  did  not  draw  rein  till 
he  arrived  at  the  porch  of  the  goodly  man- 
sion of  his  excellent  friend,  Sir  George  Ca- 
rew.  That  estimable,  worthy  gentleman, 
and  approved  good  soldier,  chanced,  at  the 
time,  to  be  sitting  at  an  open  window  on  the 
ground-iluor,  giving  orders  to  some  of  his 
people  who  were  employed  in  clipping  some 
old  yew-trees  into  the  strange  figures  then 
in  fashion.  But  on  the  instant  he  caught 
sight  of  his  visitor,  riding  like  a  post,  with 
a.  \\  ild,  unnatural  look,  such  as  he  had  ne- 


ver seen  in  him  before,  he  made  no  more  to 
do  but  leaped  out  of  the  window  as  nimbly  as 
ever  he  could  have  done  in  his  youth,  in  the 
fullest  conviction  that  something  dreadful 
was  the  matter. 

Giving  orders  to  one  of  his  varlets  to  look 
to  the  horses,  he  lost  no  time  in  leading  his 
disturbed  friend  into  a  retired  chamber, 
where,  in  a  strange,  incoherent,  passionate 
manner,  the  latter  made  known  to  him  how 
matters  stood.  At  this  the  valiant  old  sol- 
dier was  greatly  moved,  and  with  no  small 
stock  of  soldier-like  oaths  did  he  denounce 
the  conduct  of  the  three  old  mischief-mak- 
ers, whose  dishonest  meddling  had  disturbed 
his  friend's  peace,  and  he  strove,  as  well  as 
he  was  able,  to  console  him. 

But  the  unhappy  father  was  then  in  no 
mood  to  profit  by  his  kindly  intentions.  The 
iron  seemed  to  have  entered  into  his  soul, 
and  he  did  nought  in  the  world  but  rave,  in 
an  unconnected  and  vehement  manner,  on 
the  singular  and  hateful  ingratitude  of  his 
daughters.  He  burst  out  with  a  passionate 
phrenzy  of  language  that  was  quite  awful 
to  hear.  His  words  seemed  to  flow  from  his 
mouth  like  a  stream  of  living  fire.  All  the 
agonies  of  a  great  heart,  hurt  in  its  tender- 
est  part,  were  shown  in  him  both  by  lan- 
guage and  action — for  his  movements  were 
no  less  wild  and  forcible  than  his  speech. — 
In  brief,  it  presently  showed  such  undenia- 
ble signs  of  a  disturbed  mind,  that  Sir 
George,  in  great  concern,  despatched  mes- 
sengers for  the  nearest  chirurgeon,  and  his 
guest  was  shortly  carried  to  a  chamber  that 
was  immediately  prepared  for  him,  in  a  fit 
of  raving,  of  so  outrageous  a  sort,  it  took 
several  persons  to  restrain  him. 

In  this  state  he  continued  for  several  days, 
to  the  terrible  alarm  and  grief  of  his  approved 
good  friend,  Sir  George  Carew,  and  to  the 
no  less  concern  of  his  sedate  and  trusty  serv- 
ing-man, Simon  Stockfish,  whose  grave 
countenance  took  on  it  an  expression  infin- 
itely more  serious,  as  he  witnessed  the 
course  of  his  worthy  master's  malady.  With 
so  sharp  a  sickness  as  he  had,  it  was  won- 
derful to  hear  with  what  intensity  his  mind 
would  run  on,  on  the  subject  of  his  children's 
disobediency.  He  seemed  to  have  but  one 
subject  for  his  thoughts,  that  could  hold  it 
for  any  length  of  time ;  for,  although  his 
mind  would  wander  from  time  to  time  to 
other  matters,  it  quickly  returned  to  the  one 
theme,  and  thereupon  treated  it  in  so  mov- 
ing a  manner,  it  was  truly  pitiful  to  hear 
him.  9 

lie  would  seem  to  be  addressing  his 
daughter,  Judith  ;  and  would  pour  out  such 
a  tempest  of  bitter  reproach  for  her  coiitu- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


109 


macy,  that  the  obduratest  heart  ever  heard 
of  must  have  shrunk  under  it.  Perchance 
she  might  have  been  all  the  better,  had  she 
been  brought  in  to  hear  it — it  could  scarce- 
ly have  failed  to  have  touched  her  nearly. 
Indifferent  as  she  seemed  to  the  ties  that 
bind  the  child  to  the  parent,  it  must  have 
wakened  in  her  a  proper  sense  of  her  intol- 
erable ingratitude.  But  the  style  in  which 
he,  in  his  unhappy  conceit,  discoursed  to  his 
daughter,  Susanna,  was  of  a  totally  different 
sort.  The  bruised  heart  of  the  loving  father 
was  apparent  in  every  word.  The  speech 
was  gentle,  loving,  and  pregnant  with  a 
melancholy  tenderness.  It  spoke  of  the  un- 
utterable delight  those  tokens  of  an  affecti- 
onate nature  she  had  previously  displayed 
had  given  to  her  doting  father  ;  and  how  oft 
he  had  strove  to  show  to  her,  by  every  kind 
of  acceptable  remembrance,  how  exceeding 
dear  she  was  to  him ;  and  then  it  entered 
into  the  monstrous  cruelty  of  suffering  one 
who  had  made  for  her  so  high  a  place  in  his 
heart  to  be  so  stricken  by  hsr  hand  as  to  make 
the  horriblest  torture  of  body  to  be  desired  in 
preference. 

There  was  so  much  sweet  earnestness, 
and  a  misery  so  sharp  in  the  manner  in 
which  all  this  was  spoken,  that  there  was 
not  a  dry  eye  in  the  chamber  during  its  ut- 
terance. Many  of  his  most  esteemed  friends 
at  Stratford,  and  thereabouts,  hastened  to 
the  mansion  of  Sir  George  Carew,  as  soon 
as  they  heard  of  the  lamentable  sickness 
that  had  overtaken  so  worthy  a, man  ;  and 
when  they  learned,  as  they  quickly  did,  that 
it  arose  from  the  ill-behavior  to  him  of  his 
family,  there  was  a  general  denunciation  of 
one  and  all. 

The  three  meddling  busy-bodies,  in  espe- 
cial, were  spoken  of  in  good  set  terms. — 
They  were  in  considerable  ill  repute  in  and 
about  Shottery,  as  it  was  ;  and  the  account 
Simon  Stockfish  gave  of  their  appearance 
m  this  unhappy  business,  whilst  it  satisfied 
all  who  had  in  any  way  heard  of  their  pranks, 
that  the  whole  matter  had  been  one  of  their 
handling,  spread  their  bad  names  far  and 
wide.  All  those  persons  who  felt  a  proper 
respect  for  Master .  Shakspeare  would  have 
no  sort  of  association  with  them,  and  the 
feeling  against  them  became  at  last  so  strong, 
that  even  some  of  their  most  familiar  gossips 
thought  it  best  to  hold  them  at  a  convenient 
distance. 

Their  kinswoman,  too,  Mistress  Anne, 
was  greatly  condemned  for  being  so  led 
against  her  husband  by  such  bad  counsel- 
lors. As  for  Susanna  and  Judith,  it  ap- 
peared as  if  nothing  could  be  said  of  them 
sufficiently  condemnatory.  To  behave  in 


so  contumacious  a  manner,  particularly  to 
a  father,  who  gave  them  so  many  proofs  of 
his  prodigal  love  and  kindness,  was  sad  evi- 
dence of  a  natural  badness  of  heart :  and  it 
was  confidently  prognosticated  that  disobedi- 
ent children  of  this  sort  must  needs  come  to 
an  evil  end. 

To  the  great  joy  of  all  his  friends,  after  ' 
some  days,  the  violence  of  Master'  Shaks- 
peare's  fever  showed  some  abatement,  and 
he  began  gradually  to  recover.  Sir  George 
Carew  had  sent  several  times  to  the  cottage 
at  Shottery,  in  hopes  of  getting  the  family 
of  his  guest  to  act  more  becomingly ;  but 
his  messengers  met  with  no  one  but  the 
three  arch  instruments  of  mischief,  and  they 
had  set  their  hearts  too  strongly  on  the  evil 
they  were  doing,  to  allow  of  its  being  set 
aside — therefore,  nothing  but  unsatisfactory 
answers  had  been  obtained.  This,  when  his 
guest  was  sufficiently  recovered,  Sir  George 
thought  proper  to  inform  him  of;  and  the 
intelligence  was  so  distasteful,  that,  waiting 
only  to  make  some  arrangements  which 
should  secure  ample  comforts  for  the  unna- 
tural inhabitants  of  the  Cottage,  he  must 
needs  take  himself  at  once  to  London. 

He  vowed  he  would  never  again  seek  a 
roof  whence  he  had  been  so  shamefully  dri- 
ven, and  was  in  a  monstrous  hurry  to  get  as 
far  as  possible  from  it.  Without  waiting  to 
gain  a  proper  strength,  he  started  off,  mak- 
ing as  little  delay  on  the  journey  as  he  could 
help  ;  whereof  the  consequence  was,  that, 
when  his  faithful  old  serving- man  had  got 
him  safely  within  his  dwelling,  in  the  Liber- 
ty of  the  Clink,  his  intense  anxiety,  over- 
fatigue,  and  unhappiness  of  mind,  brought 
on  a  relapse,  which  caused  him  to  be  worse 
even  than  he  was  before.  Simon  thought 
he  could  not  do  better  than  send  for  his  old 
master's  son,  and,  very  shortly  afterwards, 
John  Hall  was  at  the  bedside  of  his  patient, 
and,  as  he  ascertained,  not  before  he  had 
been  wanted  there. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  modest  maid  decked  with  a  blush  of  honor, 
i  Whose  feet  do  tread  green  paths  of  youth  and 

love  ; 

The  wonder  of  all  eyes  that  look  upon  her  ; 
Sacred  on  earth  ;  designed  a  saint  above  ; 
Chastity  and  Beauty,  which  are  deadly  foes, 
Live  reconciled  friends  within  her  brow. 

SAMUEL  DANIEL. 

WHATEVER  success  the  three  villanous 
ministers  of  mischief  met  with  in  their  pro- 


110 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ceedings  in  the  cottage  at  Shottery,  they  had 
no  manner  of  assistance  in  it  from  the  gen- 
tle and  tender-hearted  Susanna.  But,  it  is 
believed,  they  held  her  in  so  little  account, 
they  cared  for  none  at  her  hands.  She  was 
in  no  way  consulted  in  the  matter.  Never- 
theless, she  regarded  the  whole  proceedings 
with  the  most  intense  interest.  She  listened 
to  all  the  plans  and  arguments  of  the  arch- 
conspirators  with  a  feverish  impatience,  and 
when  she  heard  her  dear  father  abused,  she 
could  scarce  refrain  from  calling  the  slan- 
derers to  task  for  their  insolency.  However, 
she  knew  of  old  what  little  good  was  like  to 
arise  from  any  interference  on  her  part  ; 
therefore,  she  was  fain  to  hold  her  peace,  and 
weep  in  silence. 

Her  knowledge  of  such  vile  behavior, 
shown  to  one  whom  she  so  greatly  loved  and 
venerated,  preyed  on  her  spirits  so  that  she 
could  take  no  pleasure  in  any  thing.  Most 
unhappily  the  day  passed  over,  and  most 
wretched  was  the  day  that  followed.  She 
was  exceeding  anxious  to  have  some  certain 
intelligence  of  her  father,  but  she  heard  no- 
thing irom  the  villanous  conclave  who  ruled 
the  little  household  of  which  she  was  so  un- 
important a  member,  that  was  sufficiently  to 
the  purpose,  and  she  knew  but  too  well  the 
unproh'tableness  of  asking. 

To  such  a  height  at  last  arose  her  anxie- 
ty, that  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  she 
foil  into  a  violent  hysterical  fit,  that  did  so 
weaken  her,  that  she  was  forced  to  keep  her 
bod  for  several  days.  She  thus  remained 
in  entire  ignorance  of  the  critical  state  of 
health  of  that  beloved  object  to  whom  all 
her  thoughts  had  lately  been  so  painfully 
devoted.  It  was  more  than  a  week  before 
she  was  so  far  recovered  she  could  return 
to  her  usual  duties.  For  some  reason  or 
other,  there  was  little  then  said,  either  by 
her  mother,  sister,  or  aunts  concerniug  her 
father.  If  they  conversed  on  that  subject, 
they  took  care  to  do  so  when  she  was  not 
by.  This  conduct  perplexed  her  exceed- 
ingly. Desiring  more  every  hour  to  learn 
how  her  dear  father  took  the  monstrous  un- 
kinrlnoss  that  had  been  shown  him,  and 
longing  most  heartily  to  find  some  means  of 
acquainting  him,  that  in  her  heart,  at  least, 
there  was  a  proper  love  and  obediency  to- 
wards him,  Susanna  sought  an  opportunity 
of  going  to  Stratford,  in  the  hope  of  learn- 
ing from  her  merry  kinswoman,  Joan  Hart, 
with  whom  she  had  ever  been  an  especial 
f  ivorite,  all  that  she  knew  of  the  matter,  her 
ignorance  of  which  so  distressed  her. 

She  found  little  difficulty  in  this,  and  in 
a  state  of  mind  made  up  of  rejoicing,  that 
she  was  now  pretty  sure  of  hearing  intelll 


gence  of  her  father,  and  a  dread  that  it 
might  be  of  a  terrible  bad  complexion,  she 
Toceeded  as  rapidly  as  she  could  towards 
Stratford.  She  had  not  left  the  cottage 
far  behind  her,  when  her  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  the  sound  of  horses'  feet,  and  she 
soon  discerned  two  horsemen  coming  from 
the  place  to  which  she  was  going.  One  of 
these  she  perceived  was  Sir  George  Carew, 
and  the  other  young  Squire  Clopton. 

She  had  never  met  the  former  without 
his  showing  towards  her  a  most  kind  and 
fatherly  attention.  He  would  stop  her 
wherever  they  chanced  to  meet,  and  make 
all  manner  of  friendly  inquiries  respecting 
her  and  her  mother  and  sister,  and  would 
usually  inform  her  of  some  piece  of  pleas- 
ant news  respecting  her  father,  he  had 
heard  from  some  trustworthy  intelligencer, 
and  he  would  season  his  discourse  with  cer- 
tain pretty  commendations  of  his  own  re- 
garding her  appearance,  that  never  failed 
to  call  a  blush  to  her  cheek,  and  a  touch  of 
grateful  pleasure  to  her  breast ;  and  there- 
upon he  would  take  his  leave  of  her  with  a 
show  of  gallantry,  as  though  she  were  as 
greatly  in  his  esteem  as  his  own  lady. 

The  young  squire,  also,  had  not  been 
wont  to  pass  her  by  unheeded.  Indeed,  if 
the  truth  must  be  told,  this  was  very  far 
from  the  case.  He  had  seen  something  of 
a  camp  life,  and  moreover  something  of 
a  court  life,  the  which  the  great  repute  his 
kinsman  and  guardian  enjoyed  in  both 
places  threw  open  to  him,  but  he  had  brought 
little  from'either,  save  an  inordinate  love  of 
brave  apparel,  and  a  desire  of  distinguish- 
ing himself  as  an  irresistible  fine  gallant. 

The  beauty  of  Susanna  Shakspeare 
seemed  sufficient  to  entitle  her  to  as  prodi- 
gal -an  extent  of  gallantry  as  it  was  in  his 
power  to  evince.  Therefore,  he  sought 
every  opportunity  to  meet  her  when  she 
was  abroad,  or  sse  her  alone  when  she  was 
at  home,  at  which  times  there  was  sure  to 
be  as  fair  a  selection  of  sugared  phrases 
and  dainty  conceits  on  his  part,  as  might 
have  sufficed  for  the  use  of  some  half  a  do- 
zen of  the  perfectest  gallants  of  the  time. 

As  Susanna  felt  fully  satisfied  that  one 
or  both  these  persons  would  detain  her,  she 
was  by  no  means  pleased  at  meeting  them. 
Notwithstanding  she  was  sure  they  were 
both  well  inclined  to  make  their  greetings 
as  gallant  to  her  as  possible.  Right  glad- 
ly would  she  have  got  out  of  their  way — 
so  desirous  was  she  of  using  all  speed  to 
get  to  Joan  Hart's  for  the  one  great  purpose 
with  which  she  had  left  the  cottage — but 
there  was  no  time  to  avoid  them,  they  came 
at  such  speed. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Ill 


As  she  fully  expected,  they  both  reined 
in  their  horses  at  sight  of  her,  but  how 
much  was  she  astonished,  when,  instead  of 
the  exceeding  courteous  and  flattering  at- 
tentions she  had  ever  before  received  from 
him,  Sir  George  shouted  to  her  with  a  stern 
voice  and  manner ; — "  So,  Mistress  Susan- 
na !  a  pretty  daughter  thou  hast  proved 
thyself — a  murrain  on  thee  !  I  hope  thou 
wilt  be  satisfied  with  thy  horrible  and  un- 
natural disobsdiency,  now  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  it,  thy  poor  unhappy  father,  as  I 
have  just  baen  credibly  informed,  is  lying 
at  death's  door,  in  his  lodging  at  South- 
wark."  Saying  this,  Sir  George  put  spurs 
to  his  horse,  and,  followed  by  his  compan- 
ion, was  soon  out  of  sight,  leaving  the  mis- 
erable Susanna  like  one  stunned  by  the 
overwhelming  intelligence  she  had  so  unex- 
pectedly heard. 

As  soon  as  she  had  recovered  so  far  as 
to  proeeed,  she  bent  her  steps  towards  the 
well-known  dwelling  of  her  jovial  kinsman, 
Tommy  Hart.  Here  she  found  evidence 
that  all  was  not  as  it  should  be,  for  not  a 
eign  of  mirth  of  any  sort  was  visible. — 
Strange  to  say.  Tommy  and  his  merry  bed- 
fellow were  completely  chapfallen,  and  Jo- 
nas Tietape,  who  had  come  to  comfort  them, 
was  for  a  marvel  standing  quietly  on  his 
legs — a  sure  sign  he  was  in  no  very  pleas- 
ant humor  himself.  Their  faces,  instead  of 
the  joyous  expression  they  were  wont  to 
have,  seemed  monstrous  sorrowful.  Joan 
was  crying,  as  it  was  believed,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  l^fe,  and  her  husband  and  his 
gossip  looked  on  the  point  of  following  her 
example. 

Susanna  soon  learned  the  cause  of  this 
wondrous  change.  They  had  just  learned 
that  her  estimable,  worthy  father  was  sick 
of  a  fever,  and  reduced  to  so  sore  a  strait 
as  to  be  given  over  by  his  physicians.  She 
heard  the  news  with  an  appearance  of  indif- 
ferency  that  made  her  friends  half  inclined 
to  think  there  was  an  infinite  lack  of  the 
loving  daughter  in  her ;  but  they  did  her 
huge  injustice.  The  blow  struck  her  so 
forcibly,  it  seemed  to  have  stilled  all  her 
emotions.  She  could  not  feel.  All  sense 
seemed  dead  in  her  for  the  time. 

There  was  a  good  deal  said  by  one  and 
the  other  respecting  what  had  been  done  in 
the  cottage,  and  a  full  measure  of  indigna- 
tion was  poured  out  upon  the  authors  of  the 
horrid  mischief,  but  Susanna  heard  not  a 
WOrd, — and  even  the  forms  of  those  present 
had  ceased  to  find  a  place  in  her  vision. 
She  was  as  one  stone  deaf  and  stone  blind. 

When  consciousness  returned  to  her,  she 
tought  an  excuse  for  hurrying  away,  for,  in 


sooth,  she  was  in  no  mood  for  society  of  any 
sort,  and  returned  with  what  haste  she  could 
to  Shottery.  She  thought  much  and  deeply, 
and  could  not  reflect  on  the  imminent  dan- 
ger of  her  father  without  a  shudder.  She 
frequentl)'  endeavored  to  be  alone  on  that 
day,  and  succeeded.  Much  self-accusation 
— much  bitter  remorse — visited  her,  for  not 
having  assured  her  parent  that  she  had  no 
part  in  the  unnatural  proceedings  against 
him ;  and  then  there  would  come  question- 
ings as  to  what  was  now  her  proper  line  of 
duty. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  she  gave  these 
matters  her  closest  attention  ;  for,  early  the 
next  morning,  before  any  of  the  family  were 
astir,  after  a  fervent  prayer  that  God  would 
prosper  her  in  her  perilous  undertaking,  she 
first  crept  into  the  chamber  where  her  mo- 
ther and  sister  were  asleep,  and  kissed  them 
both  without  disturbing  them  ;  then,  fully 
equipped  for  a  long  journey,  and  as  well 
furnished  for  it  as  it  was  possible,  in  her 
state,  she  crept  softly  out  of  the  house.  She 
lingered  awhile  upon  the  threshold,  and  then 
made  her  way  to  the  ordinary  resting-place 
of  Talbot,  who  made  not  the  slightest  dis- 
turbance, for,  though  he  was  fully  awake, 
he  knew  her  step,  light  as  it  was,  and  would 
have  known  it  from  a  thousand. 

She  fondled  him,  and,  as  she  did  so,  shed 
many  tears,  for  he  had  long  been  regarded 
by  her  as  the  only  true  friend  she  had  in  her 
own  home,  and  the  noble  hound  whined, 
and  seemed  exceeding  restless  as  he  return- 
ed her  caresses,  after  his  fashion.  At  last, 
she  left  him  where  he  was, — doubtless, 
much  against  his  will— and  took  her  way 
along  the  high  road.  She  did  not  expect  in 
her  own  neighborhood,  if  she  met  any  one 
at  that  early  hour,  to  be  closely  questioned 
as  to  her  being  abroad  at  such  a  time,  as  it 
was  no  unusual  thing  for  her  to  be  so  early 
afoot ;  and  as  she  advanced,  she  did  not  fear 
that  strangers  would  be  inconveniently  cu- 
rious, for  it  was  a  common  thing  with  a  coun- 
try girl,  such  as  she  seemed,  to  be  met,  going 
of  her  errands  to  the  nearest  town,  as  soon 
as  it  was  day. 

Her  great  care  and  anxiety  was  to  re- 
member the  names  of  the  different  towns 
that  lay  betwixt  her  own  village  and  the  fair 
city  of  Oxford,  for  her  object  was  to  get  there 
with  as  little  delay  as  possible,  and  thence  to 
find  her  way  to  London.  As  to  her  induce- 
ment to  undertake  so  long  and  hazardous  a 
journey  for  one  of  her  delicate  nature,  me- 
thinks  there  needs  no  great  trouble  to  dis- 
cover it.  The  deep  affection  she  bore  her 
loved  and  honored  father,  her  exceeding 
anxiousness  to  show  she  was  not  so  unna- 


112 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


turally  indifferent  to  him  as  she  feared  he  | 
had  been  led  to  believe,  and  an  earnest  hope 
that  she  might  be  enabled,  by  constant  and 
capful  attendance,  to  administer  to  his  re- 
covery, all  helped  in  it.  Such  inducement 
as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  carry  her  along  fa- 
mously. The  very  sad  expression  of  her 
young  and  beautiful  face  appeared  to  be 
fad  ng  away  under  an  aspect  of  cheerful- 
ness such  as  she  had  been  a  stranger  to  a 
long  time. 

She  had  so  often  heard  her  father  mejition 
the  manner  and  way  of  his  journeys  to  and 
from  London,  she  was  under  no  fear  that, 
with  what  she  remembered,  and  what  infor- 
mation she  might  acquire  by  asking,  she 
should  miss  her  way  ;  nor  was  she  under 
any  apprehension  as  to  the  kind  of  treat- 
ment she  might  meet  with.  For  the  first 
hour  or  two,  she  saw  none  but  laborers  go- 
ing to  their  work  in  the  fields,  who  gave  her 
a  civil  greeting  and  passed  on ;  yet  not 
without  being  especially  impressed  in  her 
favor  by  her  neat  and  pleasing  appearance, 
Anon,  a  farmer  or  substantial  yeoman  would 
come  by  on  horseback,  going  to  look  after 
his  farm-servants,  or  to  be  at  market  be- 
times, and  would  venture  upon  some  com- 
mendation of  her  remarkable  comeliness, 
which  she  would  receive  with  a  proper  mo- 
desty that  increased  their  regard.  And  then 
she  met  wayfarers  of  all  sorts,  from  the  hum- 
blest vagrant,  trudging  wearily  afoot,  to  the 
the  powerfullest  noble,  surrounded  by  a  train 
of  serving-men,  in  their  coats  and  badges, 
on  fair  horses,  perchance  speeding  on  an  er- 
rand of  state. 

But  it  often  happened  that  she  continued 
her  journ.ey  for  a  long  time  without  meeting 
any  one.  When  she  began  to  feel  tired,  she 
sat  herself  down  a  little  from  the  road,  and 
refreshed  herself  with  what  victual  she  had 
brought  with  her.  The  birds  were  twitter- 
ing in  the  hedges,  apparently  their  little 
hearts  greatly  rejoicing  at  the>  brightness  of 
the  day ;  and  every  thing,  animate  and  in- 
animate, looked  to  be  full  of  a  like  pleasant 
spirit.  Had  she  been  in  the  mood,  doubtless 
she  would  have  regarded,  with  an  admiring 
eye,  the  richness  of  the  landscape  outspread 
before  her.  Wood  and  water,  field  and  or- 
chard, with  here  and  there  a  windmill,  a 
farm-house,  a  stately  mansion,  an  ancient 
church,  and  a  straggling  group  of  cottages, 
made  a  choice  picture  for  the  eye  ;  but  Su- 
sanna could  not  now  give  her  attention  to 
such  graces,  however  attractive  they  might 
he.  Her  thoughts  were  with  her  sick  pa- 
rent ;  and  her  anxiety  to  get  to  him  made 
her  regardless  of  every  other  thing  what- 
soever. 


She  soon  finished  her  hasty  meal ;  and, 
after  a  draught  at  a  neighboring  spring,  con- 
tinued on  her  way  with  renewed  spirit.  She 
came  to  where  two  roads  met,  and  which 
of  them  she  ought  to  take  she  knew  not. — 
She  had  no  knowledge  of  where  either  led 
to,  and  there  was  none  near  to  whom  she 
could  make  inquiries ;  but,  after  a  few  mi- 
nutes of  uneasy  hesitation,  she  went  for- 
ward at  a  hazard.  A  man  passed  her  soon 
afterwards,  riding  on  a  stout  horse ;  and, 
seeing  a  young  girl,  of  a  more  than  ordi- 
nary comeliness,  going  his  road,  as  he 
thought,  he  stopped,  and  was  so  civil  as  to 
ask  her  to  ride  beside  him  as  far  as  she  lik- 
ed. Susanna  did  not  greatly  incline  to  trust 
herself  to  a  stranger,  but  her  anxiousness  to 
get  forward  with  all  haste  overbalanced  her 
fears  ;  and,  after  a  scrutiny  of  the  man's 
features,  which  were  noticeable  for  good 
humor  and  honesty,  she  accepted  his  offer, 
and  a  minute  after  was  jogging  along  with 
him  like  a  farmer  and  his  wife  going  to  mar- 
ket. 

Her  confidence  was  not  misplaced,  for  he 
behaved  with  a  kindness,  though  of  a  rusti- 
cal sort,  which  showed  the  goodness  of  his 
nature.  He  asked  verv  few  questions,  seem- 
ing to  take  his  companion  for  what  she  ap- 
peared, a  yeoman's  daughter  going  to  the 
market-town  to  make  purchases,  but  he  rea- 
dily answered  what  questions  were  put  to 
him,  by  which  she  gained  much  information 
of  infinite  value  to  her  in  her  present  under- 
taking. The  horse  they  rode  was  a  great 
fat  creature,  of  the  cart-horse  breed,  deco- 
rated with  gay  ribbons  ;  and  the  man  was 
taking  it  to  a  cattle-fair,  at  a  town  some 
twenty  miles  off,  with  the  hope  of  getting  a 
good  price  for  it.  Dobbin's  speed,  therefore, 
was  not  very  great ;  but,  as  it  was  faster 
than  her  own  travelling  pace,  and  promised 
to  forward  her  twenty  miles  on  her  journey, 
Susanna  was  well  content  she  had  got  on  his 
broad  back. 

On  their  way,  as  her  companion  stopped 
to  victual  Dobbin,  he  took  care  his  fellow- 
traveller  should  be  provided  for  in  a  like 
manner ;  and,  having  borrowed  a  pad  for  her 
to  ride  on,  they  resumed  their  journey.  In 
due  time  they  came  to  the  town  to  which 
Dobbin  was  bound,  and  not  without  some 
sort  of  regret  from  his  owner,  who  had  got 
so  content  with  the  pleasant  company  he 
had  had,  he  was  not  willing  to  be  so  soon 
quit  of  it ;  nevertheless,  with  a  wondrous 
show  of  good-will,  he  was  fain  to  take  his 
leave,  and  Susanna  proceeded  alone  on  her 
road.  She  had  managed  to  get  such  minute 
directions  from  her  recent  acquaintance,  that 
she  was  now  pretty  confident  she  should  be 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


113 


able  to  find  her  way  without  any  very  great !  blood.  At  any  other  time,  Susanna  would 
difficulty.  The  town  was  crowded  by  buy- 1  have  been  content  enough  to  have  escaped 
ers  and  sellers,  and  a  liberal  sprinkling  of  !  the  peril  she  was  in,  by  parting  with  a  much 
idle  spectators  ;  but  she  passed  on,  heedless  larger  sum ;  but  the  sole  thought  she  had  at 
of  pedlars,  mountebanks,  dancing-bears,  and  that  fearful  moment  was  the  impossibility 
motions  of  the  rarest  quality  ever  exhibited,  |  of  her  ever  reaching  her  sick  father's  dwel- 
though  nought  was  left  by  them  undone  to  ling,  were  she  deprived  of  it,  and  therefore 


stay  her  steps. 

Having  got  completely  free  of  the  fair, 
.and  all  its  wild  uproar  and  confusion,  she 
found  herself  passing  over  a  wide  common, 
overgrown  with  furze,  with  here  and  there 


she  was  not  content  to  part  with  it.  She 
avoided  the  woman  as  she  made  up  to  her, 
and  the  next  moment  took  to  running  at  the 
very  top  of  her  speed. 

The  young  traveller  was  light  of  foot,  and 


a  pollard,  or  blackthorn,  the  deep  silence  of  fear  seemed  at  first  to  have  given  her  wings, 
which  contrasted  very  forcibly  with  the  bu-  i  but  on  turning  her  head  round,  and  finding 


ey  scene  she  had  left  behind.  Here  she  had 
full  leisure  to  consult  her  thoughts ;  and 
this  she  did  with  so  huge  an  intentness, 
having  them  directed  to  a  subject  of  no  less 


she  was  hotly  pursued,  her  heart  seemed  to 
jump  to  her  mouth,  and  she  felt  almost  in- 
capable of  exertion.  She  screamed  as  long 
and  loudly  as  she  could,  hoping  it  might 


interest  than  her  sick  father,  that  she  was  '  bring  some  one  to  her  assistance,  and 
unaware  of  being  closely  watched,  and  her  j  strained  every  nerve  to  increase  the  dis- 
steps  dogged  by  a  savage-looking  woman, !  tance  that  was  betwixt  herself  and  her  pur- 
of  a  complexion  like  unto  an  Indian  in  |  suer ;  but  the  latter,  though  not  so  light  of 


brownness,  dressed  in  tattered  weeds,  coarse 
and  patched,  that  spoke  of  vagrancy  in  every 
fold,  and  had  a  child  at  her  back,  with  a  vis- 
age peeping  over  her  shoulder  of  a  like  dark- 
ness with  her  own. 

She  appeared  a  few  steps  in  advance  of 
the  young  traveller,  and,  with  a  manner 
half-supplicating,  half-threatening,  asked  an 
alms.  Susanna  was  startled  by  her  unex- 
pected presence,  and  her  surprise  partook 
largely  of  alarm  when  she  had  glanced  at 
her  forbidding  features.  In  the  lonely  place 
in  which  she  was,  it  was  by  no  means  desir- 
able to  meet  such  a  person.  Of  her  small 
store  she  knew  she  had  little  to  spare,  but 
her  eagerness  to  get  rid  of  the  applicant 
was  infinitely  stronger  than  was  her  desire 
to  retain  unbroken  the  funds  she  had  thought 
proper  to  take  with  her  to  meet  the  necessi- 
ties of  her  journey.  Therefore  she  took  her 
purse  from  oft*  her  girdle,  and  untied  its 
strings,  intending  to  give  the  woman  a  pen- 
ny, at  the  least.  The  avarice  of  the  beggar 
was  awakened  at  the  sight  of  the  few  coins 
it  contained,  and  a  powerful  longing  began 
to  show  itself  in  her,  to  have  it  by  hook  or 
by  crook  ;  so  she  cast  a  furtive  glance  to- 
wards the  town,  then  along  the  road,  then 
on  both  sides  of  her,  jabbering  the  whilst  a 
rambling  jumble  of  wants  and  thanksgiv- 
ings, when  she  suddenly  made  a  snatch  at 
the  purse,  but  not  before  Susanna  was  aware 
of  her  design,  and  drew  it  so  quickly  back, 
she  completely  failed  in  her  purpose. 

Thereupon,  with  divers  horrible  impreca- 
tions, the  strange  woman  drew,  from  a  bag 
that  hung  suspended  before  her,  along  knife, 
and  rushed  forward,  calling  on  her  to  deliver 
her  money,  or  she  would  have  her  heart's 


step,  and,  moreover,  burthened  with  the 
child  at  her  back,  was  more  used  to  a  fleet 
pace  than  the  other,  and  soon  began  with 
long  strides  to  gain  sensibly  upon  her.  Su- 
sanna ran  wildly  on,  half-dead  with  fright, 
and  screaming  at  the  very  top  of  her  voice, 
and  the  woman  followed,  shouting  such 
bloodthirsty  resolutions  as  were  like  to  turn 
the  current  of  her  veins  into  ice. 

Thus  they  proceeded  to  a  distance  of  full 
a  quarter  of  a  mile.  At  last  Susanna  found 
she  had  neither  breath  nor  strength  to  con- 
tinue the  race  a  minute  longer.  Her 
motions  and  aspect  were  those  of  one  frantic 
with  excess  of  terror,  and  her  cries  were 
awful  and  heart-rending.  The  threats  of 
her  savage  enemy,  who  tracked  her  heels 
like  a  blood-hound,  became  every  instant 
closer  to  her  ear,  and  every  step  looked  as 
though  it  brought  the  murderous  knife  she 
had  menaced  her  with  nearer  to  her  heart. 
She  began  to  reel  and  stumble  as  she  ran, 
her  strength  was  fast  failing  her,  every 
thing  seemed  to  swim  unsteadily  before  her, 
and  at  last,  with  a  piercing  scream  of  agony, 
she  fell  to  the  ground. 

At  this  terrible  moment,  when  a  violent 
and  dreadful  end  was  so  imminent,  one  feel- 
ing of  regret  took  entire  possession  of  her. 
Of  losing  her  young  life  thus  early  and  thus 
horribly  she  thought  but  little ;  the  feeling 
that  was  almost  insupportable  arose  from 
despair  of  being  able  to  show  her  beloved 
parent  that  she  was  not  so  vilely  unmindful 
of  him  as  he  had  been  led  to  suppose.  Her 
pursuer  came  up  with  every  bad  passion 
written  in  legiblest  character  on  her  gloomy 
brow.  There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  her 
intentions,  and  the  little  imp  at  her  back 


114 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


seemed  to  chuckle  with  unnatural  delight, 
as  she  hastened,  with  fierce  curses  and 
bloody  threats,  to  wreak  her  vengeance  for 
the  opposition  she  had  met,  and  then  satisfy 
her  dishonest  purposes  at  her  leisure. 

The  fair  young  traveller  had  no  mercy 
to  expect.  Her  hours,  nay,  her  minutes, 
seemed  numbered,  and  drawing  to  a  speedy 
close.  The  murderess  seized  her  savagely 
by  the  arm  with  one  hand,  as  she  knelt  upon 
her  panting  body.  Susanna  murmured  a 
short  prayer.  The  upraised  steel  glittered 
before  her  eyes,  and  was  descending  with  a 
force  that  must  have  buried  it  to  the  very 
haft  in  her  flesh,  when  the  arm  that  directed 
the  blow  was  suddenly  grasped  from  behind, 
and  with  a  swing,  that  a  person  of  prodi- 
gious strength  only  could  have  given,  the 
woman. was  hurled  from  her  destined  victim 
to  a  considerable  distance.  With  such  force 
was  this  done,  that  the  knife  was  sent  flying 
through  the  air,  and  the  child  was  cast  out 
of  his  resting-place  and  safely  transferred  to 
a  clump  of  fern  several  yards  off;  neverthe- 
less, as  though  in  some  measure  used  to 
treatment  of  the  roughest  sort,  he  raised  no 
outcry,  but  presently  employed  himself,  as 
well  as  he  was  able,  in  delivering  himself 
out  of  the  mass  of  leaves  in  which  he  had 
been  thrown. 

The  person  who  had  thus  timely  inter- 
rupted the  beggar-woman's  murderous  de- 
sign was  a  man  of  mean  and  slovenly  appa- 
rel, with  a  visage  bearing  no  slight  preten- 
sions to  manly  beauty,  though  having  on  it 
a  wild  and  desperate  expression.  His  figure 
denoted  unusual  strength  and  activity,  but 
his  whole  appearance  was  in  no  manner 
likely  to  predispose  any  one  very  greatly  in 
his  favor.  He  must  have  leaped  out  from 
one  of  the  hollows,  or  sprung  from  behind  a 
neighboring  clump  of  brambles,  where  pos- 
sibly he  might  have  been  lying  his  length, 
for  his  intervention  was  so  sudden  as  to 
make  it  doubtful  he  had  been  brought  to  the 
fair  traveller's  assistance  from  any  great 
distance.  His  interference  was  at  the  very 
nick  of  time,  and  appeared  to  be  as  effec- 
tual as  any  one  could  have  desired;  the 
vile  wretch,  who  had  been  so  intent  on  her 
deadly  purpose,  now  lay  her  length  on  the 
hard  road,  apparently  stunned  by  the  fall. 

Of  this  the  man  took  no  further  notice, 
than  some  words,  perchance  a  fierce  male- 
diction ;  the  language  in  which  they  were 
spoke,  sounded  uncouth  and  strange,  so  that 
their  exact  meaning  could  not  be  come  at. 
It  was,  out  of  all  doubt,  the  common  tongue 
of  the  gipsies,  and  on  close  observation  it 
was  as  evident  that  the  speaker,  though 
greatly  changed  for  the  worse  in  his  visage 


and  outward  appearance,  was  no  other  than 
that  villanous  murderer  whom  the  reader 
hath  already  some  knowledge  of  by  the 
name  of  Black  Sampson. 

Since  he  had  behaved  so  roughly  to 
Simon  Stockfish,  in  his  memorable  journey 
to  London  with  his  young  master,  he  had 
lived  a  terrible  restless  life.  Pursued  by  an 
avenging  hand,  that  seemed,  to  his  fancy  arm- 
ed with  a  deadly  weapon  that  was  ever  within  . 
an  inch  of  his  heart,  he  had  wandered  from 
one  extremity  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other, 
in  the  vain  hope  of  security.  It  was  singular 
that,  though  of  a  more  fearless  spirit  than  all 
the  wild  tribe  of  which  he  was  the  acknow- 
ledged chief,  either  by  some  superstitious 
feeling,  or  the  weight  of  a  wicked  con- 
science, he  never  could  hear  the  name  of 
the  man  whose  dear  and  only  son  he  had  so 
ruthlessly  slain,  without  being  seized  with  a 
sudden  panic,  and  to  know  that  he  had  been 
seen  in  his  neighborhood  was  sufficient  to 
cause  him  to  flee  from  the  place  as  though 
pursued  by  the  legions  of  the  damned. 

This  occurred  frequently.  He  would  re- 
tire to  the  wild  fastnesses  of  Wales,  and  for 
a  time  fancy  he  was  safe  from  further  pur- 
suit ;  but  at  last  he  got  certain  intelligence 
from  his  scouts  that  a  gaunt,  grey-bearded 
churl  was  lurking  about  his  retreat,  and  off 
he  would  be  as  secretly  and  expeditiously 
as  possible  to  the  weald  of  Kent,  where,  in 
some  apparently  impenetrable  wood,  he 
would  hide  himself  and  his  dusky  band. 
Ere  he  grew  confident  of  security,  he  would 
learn  that  the  same  terrible  form  had  appear- 
ed within  some  few  miles  of  him,  which  wag 
quite  sufficient  to  make  him  abandon,  with 
all  speed,  his  late  secure  position  ;  and  per- 
chance he  would  seek  some  lonely  moor  or 
solitary  common  in  Devon.  Here  he  would 
remain,  but  only  for  a  brief  season.  He  got 
good  reason  for  knowing  the  untiring  blood- 
hound was  upon  his  track,  and  away  he 
started,  like  a  hunted  deer,  to  the  deep  caves 
on  the  rough  coast  of  Cornwall. 

Mayhap  he  would  abide  here  in  peace — 
in  such  peace  as  the  wicked  know,  whereof 
he  knew  about  the  least  of  any  ;  but,  when 
he  thought  from  all  absence  of  rumor  touch- 
ing his  enemy,  he  might  rest  secure  in  his 
deep  concealment,  he  was  sure  to  learn  that 
one  answering  but  too  truly  to  his  descrip- 
tion had  arrived  at  the  next  village,  and  at 
once  he  would  quit  the  place  which  hereto- 
fore looked  as  though  it  might  have  defied 
the  very  searchingest  eye,  and  never  rest 
foot  till  he  had  buried  himself  in  one  of  the 
most  remote  and  savagest  parts  in  the  high- 
lands of  Scotland.  Here  even  he  met  with 
the  same  fortune.  The  old  shepherd  dog- 


THE   SECRET  PASSION. 


115 


ged  his  heels  with  a  pertinacity  that  was 
truly  marvellous.  Go  where  he  would, 
hide  as  closely  as  he  might,  use  the  cun- 
ningest  disguise,  sooner  or  later  Wattle 
Elliott  was  certain  to  get  so  close  to  his 
neighborhood,  as  to  induce  him  to  quit  it 
with  all  speed,  and  in  the  terriblest  fear. 

Although  Black  Sampson  avoided  a  per- 
sonal encounter  with  his  pursuer,  this  was 
by  no  means  the  case  with  divers  of  his 
trusty  followers.  They  felt  no  compunctions 
or  dread  of  any  sort ;  and,  seeing  the 
straits  in  which  they  were  put  by  their  chief 
through  his  sudden  and  desperate  changes, 
as  well  as  being  made  sufferers  by  the  wild- 
ness  and  unreasonableness  of  his  humor, 
were  well  inclined  to  put  an  end  to  it  in  the 
only  way  which  presented  itself  to  them. 
With  this  object  they  banded  together,  and 
lay  in  wait  for  the  old  man.  But  for  a  long 
tLne  he  avoided  falling  into  their  hands.  He 
seemed  as  cunning  in  escaping  their  toils 
as  he  was  in  following  up  the  fierce  chase 
he  was  pursuing.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not 
succeed  at  all  times.  Though  he  made  the 
most  determined  resistance,  which  cost 
some  of  his  assailants  their  lives,  he  was  at 
last  overpowered,  beat  with  sticks,  and  left 
for  daad. 

This  result  achieved,  all  felt  sure  their 
leader  would  speedily  recover  his  wonted 
greatness  of  soul.  They  assured  him  his 
enemy  had  got  his  quietus,  and  related  how 
completely  it  had  been  done.  A  month  or 
two  might  pass  over,  and  hearing  no  sign  of 
him,  Black  Sampson  would  relax  somewhat 
in  his  precautions,  when,  lo  !  to  his  horror, 
he  would  himself,  when  abroad,  catch  a  dis- 
tant view  of  his  well  remembered  figure  ; 
and  off  the  outlaw  would  start  on  the  instant, 
like  a  heron  who  spyeth  the  hawk  afar  off. 
Again  the  gray-haired  shepherd  would  b 
set  upon,  and,  after  a  furious  contest — not 
without  much  injury  to  many  of  the  assail- 
ants— he  would  sink  at  their  feet  pierced 
with  innumerable  deadly  wounds.  Again 
the  terror-struck  gipsy  would  be  persuaded 
he  had  nothing  to  fear,  and  again,  after  a 
dfte  interval,  he  would  find  the  slaughtered 
man,  as  hale  and  vigorous  as  ever,  close 
upon  his  footsteps. 

At  last,  the  wildest  of  the  band  began  to 
be  as  fear-struck  as  their  chief.  The  old 
shepherd  had  been  shot  at  by  all  their  best 
marksmen  ;  he  had  been  stabbed  in  the 
vitalest  parts  ;  he  had  been  beaten,  as  it  were, 
to  death  with  heavy  cudgels;  nevertheless,  he 
was  certain  to  appear  in  their  sight  in 
some  brief  space  as  whole  as  though  nothing 
had  happened  to  him — it  looked  as  though 


bore  a  charmed  life,  or  was  a  creature 
lot  of  this  world.  So  deep  did  this  impres- 
sion enter  their  minds,  that  they  forebore 
ver  after  from  molesting  him  in  any  way, 
and  were  as  ready  to  be  a  hundred  miles 
Tom  him  at  all  times  as  was  Black  Samp- 
son himself,  who  felt  a  secret  assurance 
;hat  his  enemy  had  so  unconquerable  a  spirit, 

could  not  or  would  not  be  allowed  to  die 
:ill  his  just  revenge  upon  the  murderer  of 
lis  son  had  been  fully  satisfied ;  and  this 
daunted  him  so  by  night  and  by  day  with 
such  continual  apprehension,  that  he  grew 
to  wear  the  altered  appearance  he  possessed 
at  this  date. 

After  so  forcibly  separating  the  woman, 
who  was  one  of  his  own  tribe,  from  her 
threatened  victim,  he  raised  the  latter  gently 
from  the  ground,  and  seemed  to  marvel  at 
her  singular  beauty.  Susanna,  though  in 
a  horrible  fear,  and  with  scarce  strength  to 
breathe,  she  was  so  spent  with  running, 
still  held  possession  of  her  senses,  albeit  it 
was  with  but  a  slight  thread.  She  under- 
stood she  had  been  saved  from  a  frightful 
death,  but,  on  the  first  glance  she  got  of  her 
deliverer,  she  seemed  to  have  little  cause 
for  satisfaction — so  dreadful  a  visage  to 
look  on  had  she  never  seen  before.  It  was 
so  unnaturally  wild  and  terrible,  she  shud- 
dered as  she  gazed  upon  it ;  nevertheless, 
she  made  no  effort  to  remove  herself  from 
his  hold,  but  lay  helpless  on  his  arm,  as 
though  she  could  not  take  away  her  eyed 
from  the  unnatural,  searching  gaze  that  was 
fixed  upon  her. 

What  feelings  the  contemplation  of  such 
comeliness,  united  to  so  much  helplessness 
and  innocency,  might  have  created  in  the 
breast  of  this  caitiff,  cannot  very  clearly  be 
known ;  but,  of  whatever  sort  they  may  have 
been,  it  is  out  of  all  manner  of  doubt  they 
were  right  summarily  put  an  end  to,  for,  on 
his  quick  ear  detecting  the  sound  of  distant 
footsteps,  he  presently  turned  his  gaze  in 
that  direction,  and,  on  the  instant,  with  a 
marvellous  lack  of  ceremony,  dropped  hi* 
gentle  burthen  to  the  ground,  and,  with  a 
cry  of  alarm,  ran  off  at  the  very  top  of  his 
speed.  It  was  soon  manifest  what  had  been 
the  cause  of  this  sudden  movement.  A  man 
was  seen  passing  over  the  common  with 
marvellous  quickness  of  foot ;  and  as  he 
drew  nearer,  it  was  observed  he  was  of  a 
gaunt  figure,  ill  and  rudely  clad,  with  a 
fierce  and  haggard  expression  of  counte- 
nance. On  he  came — in  sooth  an  awful 
sight — his  grey  hair  and  beard  of  unnatural 
length,  streaming  in  the  wind ;  his  eyes 
sunken  under  shaggy  overhanging  brows. 


118 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


yet  gleaming  with  an  unnatural  fire,  and 
one  hand  brandishing  threateningly  an  open 
dagger. 

As  he  passed  swiftly  by  our  gentle  tra- 
veller, she  could  not  believe  he.  was  any 
thing  human  ;  and  the  unearthly  manner  in 
which  she  heard  him  raise,  as  he  hurried 
on,  his  ordinary  cry  of  "  Blood  !  Blood  !" 
seemed  enough  to  turn  her  to  stone.  It  was 
the  old  shepherd  in  pursuit  of  the  murderer 
of  his  dear  son.  On  he  sped  with  an  eager- 
ness far  beyond  what  his  more  youthful  days 
had  witnessed ;  and,  holding  the  murderer 
in  sight,  he  kept  at  his  heels  over  bush  and 
hollow,  hedge. and  ditch,  till  both  were  lost 
to  sight  in  the  depths  of  a  neighboring  wood. 

Susanna  had  just  began  to  breathe  with 
a  little  more  freedom  than  she  had  done  for 
some  minutes  past,  when  she  was  again 
overwhelmed  with  deadly  fear  by  the  sight 
of  the  woman  from  whose  murderous  hand 
she  had  so  lately  been  rescued  again 
making  towards  her.  Doubtless  she  could 
now  have  wreaked"  her  vengeance  uninter- 
rupted, and  have  plundered  her  at  her  lei- 
sure, and  such  it  is  more  than  probable  was 
her  intent;  but  at  this  critical  time,  a  com- 
pany of  carriers  from  the  fair  made  their 
appearance  at  a  little  distance,  and  she  was 
fain  to  content  herself  with  breathing  the 
horriblest  threats  ever  heard,  as  she  reco- 
vered her  weapon,  and  then  replacing  her 
child  at  her  back,  who  had  been  all  the 
while  playing  about  as  though  he  required 
DO  better  nursing  than  had  Romulus  and 
Remus,  she  took  herself  quickly  off  in  a 
contrary  direction. 

The  carriers,  who  were  simple  men,  mar- 
velled greatly  at  the  tale  they  heard  when 
they  came  up  ;  and  when  the  fair  traveller 
appealed  to  them  for  protection,  so  eager 
were  they  to  render  it,  they  were  ready  to 
go  to  loggerheads  before  they  could  settle 
who  should  be  the  fortunate  man  to  guard 
so  much  beauty  and  innocency.  At  last 
the  matter  was  settled  in  some  sort  satis- 
factorily, and  Susanna  was  raised  on  a  pack- 
saddle  on  a  fine  mule  that  belonged  to  one 
of  the  party,  all  agreeing  that  she  should 
ride  upon  it,  because  it  was  the  goodliest 
beast  of  them  all,  and  set  off,  nothing  loath, 
in  their  company. 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  sudden  change 
that  appeared,  as  soon  as  Susanna  took  her 
place  in  the  midst  of  them.  They  had  ap- 
proached in  very  boisterous  style,  with  an 
abundance  of  rude  jests,  and  prodigal  display 
of  riotous  mirth,  consequent  doubtless  on 
the  long  draughts  they  had  taken  in  fellow- 
ship at  the  last  town ;  but  now,  as  though  by 
common  consent,  each  one  put  a  bridle  on 


hia  tongue,  so  that  there  should  be  no  of- 
fence in  it,  and  essayed  to  distinguish  him- 
self above  his  fellows  by  courtesy,  serious- 
ness, and  all  manner  of  civil  speech,  where- 
of the  consequence  was,  our  late  terror- 
struck  traveller  quickly  recovered  her 
proper  spirits,  and  journeyed  on,  with  no 
other  wish  than  for  increased  speed,  that  she 
might  the  sooner  reach  the  lodging  of  her 
dear  father  in  Southwark. 

No  further  adventure  happened  till  they 
arrived  at  Oxford,  wherein  she  had  scarce 
entered  when  a  number  of  Oxford  scholars, 
struck  at  first  by  the  strangeness  of  BO  fair 
a  creature  riding  in  the  midst  of  a  parcel 
of  rude  carriers,  were  fora  closer  acquaint- 
ance, and  in  their  admiration  becoming  too 
familiar,  to  the  great  scandal  of  divers  of 
her  simple  company,  one  must  needs  break 
the  head  of  the  foremost,  which  was  so  re- 
sented by  his  associates,  that  a  fierce  attack 
was  made  upon  the  offender  and  all  his  fel- 
lows. These  defended  themselves  with 
such  spirit,  emboldened  by  the  presence  of 
their  gentle  fellow-traveller,  in  whose  de- 
fence they  considered  they  were  fighting, 
that  soon  a  most  violent  battle  raged  be- 
twixt them.  The  scholars  every  moment 
were  reinforced  ;  nevertheless,  the  carriers 
with  their  cudgels  fought  so  desperately, 
many  of  their  numerous  assailants  got  sore 
hurt. 

Susanna  sat  on  her  mule,  wringing  hei 
hands,  begging  and  praying  each  party  to 
leave  off  their  quarrel ;  but  the  greater  part 
of  the  scholars,  who  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
beginning  of  the  affray,  believed  that  she 
was  held  against  her  will  by  the  knaves  in 
whose  company  she  was,  and  that  her  dis- 
tress was  occasioned  by  her  detention,  felt 
a  chivalrous  desire  to  rescue  her  from  out 
of  the  hands  of  such  Philistines,  and  they 
returned  to  the  charge  again  and  again  with 
increased  numbers  and  tenfold  fury.  The 
street  was  a  scene  of  the  wildest  riot  seen 
there  for  many  a  day.  All  were  attracted 
to  the  neighborhood,  alarmed  by  the  horrible 
outcries  and  fierce  contention  that  raged  in 
that  spot,  and,  as  is  usually  the  case  in  dis- 
turbances in  that  fair  city,  they  took  differ- 
ent sides.  The  citizens,  satisfied  that  where 
the  scholars  were  fighting  it  must  be  against 
them,  without  question  of  any  sort  ranged 
themselves  on  the  opposite  side,  and  with 
whatever  weapons  they  could  get,  gave  bat- 
tle furiously  by  the  side  of  the  carriers. 

In  this  way  every  instant  the  fight  was 
increasing  with  such  vast  strides,  that  it 
looked  as  though  two  rival  armies  were  con- 
tending for  mastery.  The  more  peaceable 
sort  were  in  a  monstrous  fright,  and  the  au- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


117 


thorities  ^ere  getting  ready  as  strong  a 
force  of  constables,  as  they  had  at  their 
commandment  for  the  immediate  quelling  of 
the  riot,  and  securing  the  disturbers  of  the 
peace.  By  this  time  the  scholars  had  grown 
to  so  huge  a  force,  that  they  had  been  able 


so  that  the  two  found  no  difficulty  in  making 
their  way  to  the  distressed  damsel. 

Sir  George  appeared  to  have  'forgot  his 
late  cause  of  displeasure,  as  he  rode  to  her 
side  with  the  courteous  bearing  towards 
women  so  familiar  to  him ;  but  when  he 


to  beat  back  her  doughty  champions  and '  listened  to -her  hurried  narrative,  and  dis- 
their  now  numerous  adherents,  and  were  in   covered   that  she  had  gone  through  such 


triumph  leading  away  in  the  midst  of  them 
the  unoffending  cause  of  the  battle  they 
considered  they  had  so  gloriously  won. 
Their  shouts  of  victory  and  martial  songs 
drowned  every  attempt  the  poor  distressed 
damsel  made  to  show  them  how  little  reason 
she  had  to  be  content  with  their  services. 
None  knew  what  was  to  b«  done  with  her, 


and  none  troubled  themselves  to  think,  their  without  delay  of  any  sort. 


minds  were  so  filled  with  their  hard-fought 
success. 

As  they  crowded  along  in  this  state,  they 
were  made  aware  of  the  approach  of  the 
strong  force  of  foot  sent  by  the  civil  autho- 
rities against  them,  among  whom  were  se- 
veral of  the  principal  persons  in  the  Uni- 
versity on  horseback  ;  but,  in  their  present 
mood,  there  is  little  doubt  the  victorious 
scholars  would  have  given  them  instant 
battle.  It  so  chanced,  however,  that  the  de- 
lectable young  creature  they  felt  assured 
they  had  rescued  from  unmannerly  knaves, 
spied,  amongst  the  horsemen,  two  gallants, 
whose  persons  she  recognized  with  a  vehe- 
ment cry  of  pleasure.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  as  to  who  they  were.  They  were 
Sir  George  Carew  and  young  Master  Clop- 
ton,  then  journeying  to  London,  who  from 
curiosity  had  joined  the  civil  power,  to  be- 
hold the  quelling  of  the  violent  disturbance 
that  had  so  unaccountably  sprung  up  in  the 
city.  By  singular  good  fortune  they  imme- 
diately recognized  her.  which  was  in  some 
sort  easy,  she  being  on  her  mule,  above  the 
heads  of  the  riotous  assembly  which  sur- 
rounded her. 

Seeing  her,  like  one  in  the  very  absolutest 
distress,  as  if  calling  and  making  signs  to 
them  to  come  to  her,  Sir  George  and  his 
companion  marvelling  to  behold  her  in  so 
strange  a  company,  put  spurs  to  their  horses, 
and  dashed  forward ;  but  they  would  have 
been  roughly  handled,  had  not  the  old  sol- 
dier had  the  exceeding  good  policy  to  cry 
out  that  the  young  female  they  had  got 
amongst  them  was  his  fellow-traveller,  and 
he  desired  she  might  be  allowed  to  return 
to  her  friends.  Many  knowing  Sir  George, 
made  way  for  him,  and  others  did  the  same, 
seeing  he  was  a  person  of  note  by  his  wor- 
shipful figure,  and  the  number  of  his  retain- 
ers with  their  blue  coats  and  silver  badges, 


troubles  and  dangers  out  of  her  anxious  de- 
sire to  minister  to  the  wants  of  her  sick 
father,  his  very  estimable  good  friend,  he 
seemed  to  regard  her  with  unusual  interest, 
interrupting  her  with  many  soldier-like  com- 
mendations, and  bidding  her  to  be  of  good 
heart,  for  he  was  her  assured  friend  till 
death,  and  she  should  travel  in  his  company 


Then,  turning  to  the  crowd,  in  a  brief  and 
energetic  speech,  he  showed  them  the  mis- 
take they  had  been  under,  and  begged  them 
as  a  proper  token  of  respect  for  the  fair 
damsel  for  whom  they  had  so  manfully  ex- 
erted themselves,  to  disperse  each  to  their 
homes  as  speedily  as  possible.  This  proper 
advice  was  instantly  acted  upon,  and  in  a 
brief  space  all  were  making  what  haste  they 
could  to  their  several  colleges ;  perchance, 
some  using  the  more  expedition  from  a 
wholesome  fear  of  punishment.  Sir  George 
did  not  find  much  more  difficulty  in  satisfy- 
ing the  authorities  and  the  citizens,  and  he 
allowed  but  little  time  to  pass  over  before 
he  sought  out  the  trusty  carriers,  to  reward 
them  for  their  exceeding  commendable  con- 
duct. 

In  due  time  he  set  off,  with  the  fair  Susan- 
na, on  a  goodly  palfrey,,  in  his  company,  for 
London,  and  they  arrived  the  next  day,  with- 
out further  adventure,  at  Master  Shaks- 
peare's  lodgings  in  the  Liberty  of  the  Clink. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  honey  shower  rains  from  her  lips, 

Sweet  lights  shine  in  her  face  ; 
She  hath  the  blush  of  virgin  mind. 

The  mind  of  viper's  race. 
These  things  we  write  merrily,  but  we  would 
that  the  reader  should  observe  God's  just  judg- 
ments, and  how  that  he  can  deprehend  the 
\vorldly-wise  in  their  own  wisdom,  make  their 
table  to  be  a  snare  to  trap  their  own  feet, 
and  their  own  purposed  strength  to  be  their  own 
destruction.  JOHN  KNOX. 

FROM  what  hath  already  been  stated,  mine 
especial  friend,  the  reader,  hath  good  war- 
rant for  suspecting  that  our  young  student 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


of  medicine  was  not  in  such  good  hands  in 
the  dwelling  of  that  famous  physician.  Mas- 
ter Dr.  Posset,  as  his  excellent  mother  trust- 
ed he  was,  and  that  the  abundance  of  admi- 
rable counsel  she  had  so  impre^ively  given 
him,  touching  his  behavior  to  women,  had 
not  been  altogether  superfluous.  .  But  what- 
ever little  insight  there  may  have  been 
obtained  by  the  progress  of  this  story,  as  to 
the  characters  of  the  several  inmates  of  the 
doctor's  house,  it  is  essential  for  its  full  un- 
derstanding that  something  more  should  be 
known.  With  the  object  of  furnishing  such 
information,  the  reader  is  urgently  requested 
to  allow  himself  to  be  transported  to  a  cer- 
tain closet,  in  which  the  doctor,  after  the 
labors  of  the  day  were  over,  was  wont  to 
solace  himself  in  private  with  a  few  glasses 
of  sherris-sack,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  new 
fashion  of  smoking  a  pipe  of  tobacco. 

This  closet  was  lighted  by  one  small 
window,  and  was  wainscoted  all  round  from 
ceiling  to  floor,  with  projecting  cupboards 
at  the  corners,  in  which,  under  lock  and  key, 
were  kept  the  napery,  and  other  household 
stuff,  of  which  he  was  possessed.  There 
was  an  oak  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
en  which  were  placed  the  customary  tank- 
ard, and  two  glasses,  with  a  small  brass- 
bound  box,  wherein  was  kept  the  Indian 
weed  with  which  he  furnished  his  pipe. 
Doctor  Posset  sat,  leaning  against  a  high- 
backed  chair,  his  legs  resting  upon  a  tall 
stool  ;  he  was  dressed  with  a  formal  sort  of 
neatness — a  compromise  between  the  plain- 
ness generally  affected  by  the  old  and  the 
bravery  of  the  young  physician  of  his  day. 
His  hair  and  beard,  though  scant  and  grey, 
were  kept  in  excellent  order  by  the  barber  ; 
and  though  his  years  were  far  past  the  best, 
there  was  a  piercing  quickness  in  his  eye 
that  made  him  seem  more  youthful  than  he 
was.  As  he  had  lost  all  his  teeth,  his  mouth 
was  drawn  in  with  monstrous  little  improve- 
ment to  his  wrinkled  and  leaden  visage ;  and 
when  lie  took  on  himself  the  humor  of  laugh- 
ing, he  looked  like  one  of  those  grinning 
satyrs  sometimes  to  be  found  carved  on  the 
stalls  of  our  ancient  cathedrals. 

It  would  be  no  difficult  matter  for  any  skill- 
ful peruser  of  faces  to  have  guessed,  after  a 
careful  observation  of  that  of  this  famous 
physician,  in  his  private  hours,  the  sort  of 
character  he  was.  There  was  a  mixture  of' 
craftiness  and  self-conceit  in  the  continual 
expression  of  his  visage  that  occasionally 
made  way  for  a  sort  of  sneering  devilishness 
that  became  it  no  better.  Of  this  craftiness 
he  prided  himself  extravagantly,  although  it 
was  merely  just  sufficient  to  keep  his  neck 
out  of  a  halter,  and  his  person  from  the 


rough  handling,  as  it  had  been  whispered,  he1 
had  too  frequently  deserved.  Obsequious- 
ness, impudency,  and  some  chances  of  for- 
tune, had  greatly  befriended  him.  To  those 
more  ignorant  than  himself,  he  ever  assumed 
a  marvellous  extent  of  knowledge,  whilst, 
to  any  likely  to  be  better  informed,  he  cau- 
tiously held  his  peace,  and  looked  as  pro- 
foundly sage  as  he  could. 

On  the  side  opposite  to  that  on  which  he 
sat  stood  an  empty  chair,  and  the  doctor 
seemed  by  his  frequent  glance  at  the  door 
to  expect  some  person  to  fill  it.  Nor  had  he 
long  to  wait.  Presently  the  door  opened, 
and  there  entered  the  seductive  Millicent, 
apparently  in  the  best  of  humors,  or  assuming 
such  for  some  secret  purpose.  She  soon  sat 
herself  down,  and,  as  was  her  wont,  proceeded 
to  fulfil  her  first  duty — the  making  oi  the 
sack;  the  which  she  did  with  a  constant 
affectation  of  light-hearted  gossiping.  Had 
her  too-devoted  lover,  John  Hall,  been 
present,  he  would  have  marvelled  hugely  to 
have  heard  his  melancholy  mistress  making 
a  most  bitter  mockery  of  the  grief  of  Tabitha 
Thatchpole,  her  especial  friend — as  she  had 
led  him  to  believe — because  her  boy  Lauuce 
had  given  his  indentures  a  fair  pair  of  heels, 
and  run  away  with  Martin  Poins,  as  it  was 
supposed,  to  try  their  fortunes  on  board  an 
armed  ship  that  had  sailed  down  the  river, 
bound  for  the  Spanish  main ;  and  IK-  had 
marvelled  still  more  to  note  the  exceeding 
heartiness  of  her  good  will  towards  her 
father,  of  whom  she  never  spoke  to  hi  in  i  n 
confidence,  without  conveying  to  his  mind 
the  idea  that  he  was  a  monster  to  be  regard- 
ed only  with  execration. 

Her  merry,  biting  jests,  and  the  excellence 
of  the  sack  she  had  brewed  with  even  more 
care  than  usual,  had  their  expected  effect. 
The  old  man  was  in  the  mood  she  desired. 
Sitting  herself  to  the  enjoyment  of  her  own 
glass  of  the  exquisite  beverage  she  had  been 
manufacturing,  she  gradually  and  skilfully 
led  the  conversation  of  her  companion's  most 
favorite  subject,  the  success  he  had  had  as 
a  gallant. 

The  old  fellow  threw  himself  back  in  his 
seat,  his  satyr-like  visage  growing  more 
hideous  as  the  expression  of  vanity  which 
lighted  it  with  smiles  became  more  intense. 
He  smoked  on  and  chuckled,  occasionally 
interrupting  his  associate  to  add  more  im- 
portant features  to  the  things  she  reminded 
him  of  with  such  singular  satisfaction. 
Then  she  chided  him  slightly,  and  seemed 
to  think  it  was  high  time  he  should  give  over 
such  unbecoming  matters,  take  to  himself  a 
wife,  and  live  in  matrimonial  respectability 
for  the  rest  of  his  days. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


119 


He  fell  into  this  humor  very  readily,  as 
he  had  long  entertained  the  desire  of  having 
for  his  wife  his  daughter's  little  friend, 
Mildred  ;  but  began  to  despair  of  its  accom- 
plishment, as  she,  besides  being  young 
enough  to  be  his  grand-daughter,  did  nought 
but  make  sport  of  him.  The  wily  Millicent 
knew  this  well,  and  had  determined  to  turn 
it  to  her  own  profit  It  matters  little  what 
was  said  on  both  sides  ;  suffice  it  that  a 
bargain  was  entered  into  betwixt  the  two, 
that  the  father  was  to  pay  to  the  daughter 
the  sum  of  two  hundred  crowns  as  a  mar- 
riage-portion with  her  betrothed,  on  the  day 
Mildred  became  his  wife. 

She  stayed  not  long  after  this,  excusing 
herself  that  she  had  much  to  do  to  bring 
matters  to  the  conclusion  desired,  and  there- 
upon left  him  to  enjoy  his  customary  after- 
noon's sleep  which  followed  upon  his  stuffing 
his  skin  so  full  it  could  hold  no  morei 

Truly  she  had  much  to  do.  To  effect  the 
infamous  sale  she  had  set  on  foot,  there  was 
no  small  difficulty.  There  was  first  to  be 
got  over  a  strong  feeling  of  dislike  in  her 
friend  to  the  old  man,  considering  him  only 
as  an  acquaintance,  which  doubtless  would 
amount  to  abhorrence,  if  he  were  to  be  pro- 
posed to  her  as  a  husband.  The  disparity 
of  age  was  not  greater  than  the  disparity  of 
disposition.  Even  could  that  natural  feeling 
be  removed  which  disinclines  the  youthful 
tasting  the  first  rich  draught  of  life  to  par- 
take of  the  cup  of  another  which  hath  nothing 
left  of  it  but  the  lees,  the  opposition  of 
thoughts  and  feelings,  pursuits,  habits,  and 
tastes  is  hardly  possible  to  be  overcome. 
Doubtless  there  are  some  to  be  met  with, 
among  womankind  in  general,  who  are  pos- 
sessed of  that  singular  indifFerency  which 
renders  them  insensible  of  any  preference, 
and  there  can  be  no  question  divers  aged 
persons  may  be  found  more  worthy  the  en- 
tire love  of  the  young  heart  than  others  of 
fewer  years,  but  these  are  extreme  cases. 

In  the  instance  here  given,  nothing  could 
be  more  atrocious  ;  but  the  utter  selfishness 
of  the  crafty  Millicent  took  no  note  of  any 
thing  but  her  own  base  ends.  She  sold  her 
youthful  acquaintance,  and  cared  for  nothing 
in  the  wide  world  save  the  price  she  was  to 
obtain  for  the  infamous  bargain. 

There  was  one  thing  in  the  aspect  of 
affairs,  which  she  could  not  regard  without 
uneasiness.  For  objects  of  her  own,  she  had 
done  all  she  could  to  foster  the  growth  of 
friendly  feelings  betwixt  her  betrothed  and 
her  new  lover ;  this  had  led  to  a  more  than 
ordinary  affectionate  intimacy  in  the  young 
men  for  each  other  ;  but  now,  as  she  found 
it  more  to  her  interest  to  wed  the  former,  it 


was  requisite  that  she  should  put  herself  to 
particular  pains  to  lessen  this  attachment 
It  might,  in  spite  of  all  her  care  to  prevent 
it,  lead  to  so  profound  a  confidence,  that  her 
double-dealing  and  infamous  views  regard- 
ing both  would  surely  be  discovered. 

There  was  still  a  great  obstacle,  and  this 
was  no  other  than  the  much-abused  John 
Hall.  His  love  for  the  worthless  creature 
by  whom  he  had  been  so  played  upon  had, 
by  this  time,  become  the  better  impulse  of 
his  life.  The  frequent  recourse  she  had  to 
mystery  he  had  got  so  used  to,  that  however 
strange  the  matter  might  seem,  he  put  it 
down  to  her  humor,  and  gave  himself  no 
further  concern  in  it 

We  will,  however,  with  the  reader's  con- 
?ent,  penetrate  into  another  part  of  the  same 
tenement.  This  was  the  chamber  in  which 
were  made  all  the  surgical  and  pharmaceu- 
tical preparations  wanted  for  Master  Doctor 
Posset's  numerous  patients.  There  were  in 
it  the  usual  objects  that  make  the  vulgar 
marvel  when  entering  such  places,  to  wit — • 
the  stuffed  crocodile  hanging  from  the  ceil- 
ing, a  multitude  of  bottles  and  jars  and  galli- 
pots of  sundry  sorts,  with  strange  characters 
marked  upon  them,  a  shelf  of  monstrosities 
preserved  in  spirits,  sundry  bundles  of  sim- 
ples hung  up  to  dry,  a  nesl  of  drawers  with 
Latin  names  no  each,  a  strong  table  with 
vials,  measures,  weights,  scales,  knives, 
scissors,  pestles  and  mortars,  and  the  like 
necessary  things,  for  the  use  of  a  chirurgeon; 
and  a  large  iron  mortar,  fixed  on  a  huge 
block  of  wood,  with  a  famous  ponderous  pes- 
tle of  the  same  metal,  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  same  chamber. 

At  the  further  end,  opposite  to  a  window, 
was  a  stout  chair  for  patients  to  sit  in  when 
undergoing  any  operations.  Close  to  it  was 
another  table,  containing  basons  and  other 
vessels  for  making  infusions,  decoctions,  and 
syrups ;  with  tape,  plaster,  bandages  and 
ointment-pots,  for  the  dressing  of  wounds. 
On  one  side  was  a  chimney,  where,  on  the 
fire,  in  an  open  earthen  pipkin,  so:ne  pre- 
paration was  simmering,  intended  as  a  re- 
storative for  a  sick  courtier,  which  was  care- 
fully watched  by  John  Hall,  who,  ever  and 
anon,  stirred  it  carefully  with  a  ladle. 
Leonard  was  engaged  at  the  large  table, 
with  an  open  book  before  him,  weighing  and 
mixing  together  certain  powders,  and  then 
dividing  them  into  small  papers,  for  the  bar- 
ren wife  of  a  gouty  alderman.  They  were 
intent  upon  a  discussion  connected  with  the 
art  they  were  studying,  when  they  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  entrance  of  a  gentleman 
borne  like  unto  a  dead  person  in  the  arms 
of  Ned  Allen  and  Will  Kempe,  whilst  a 


120 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


crowd  of  players,  among  whom  was  Ben 
Jonson,  followed  at  their  heels,  with  concern 
and  alarm  depicted  in  all  their  countenances. 
Even  the  humorous  visage  of  Will  Kempe 
had  a  cast  of  melancholy  that  might  even 
have  become  one  at  a  funeral. 

The  party  were  shown  into  an  adjoining 
chamber,  used  only  by  the  Doctor  for  private 
consultations  with  his  patients,  and  the 
person  they  had  brought  placed  convenient 
on  a  table.  He  gave  no  sign  of  life,  which 
the  players  did  not  fail  to  notice  with  an 
increased  length  of  visage.  The  physician 
was  hastily  sent  for,  and  all  things  were  got 
ready  handy  for  his  using — plasters,  band- 
ages, and  the  like,  with  certain  surgical- 
looking  knives  and  probing  instruments,  in 
case  an  operation  should  be  required.  The 
poor  players  scarcely  breathed,  they  seemed 
so  frightened  at  this  array,  assured  that  the 
danger  must  be  imminent  that  called  for  such 
ominous-looking  things,  and  whispered  to 
one  another  brief  sentences  significatory  of 
the  badness  of  the  case. 

At  last  Master  Doctor  came,  not  in  the 
best  humor  that  his  sleep  should  be  disturb- 
ed. Either  by  accident  or  design,  a  towel 
had  been  thrown  over  the  face  of  his  patient, 
so  that  he  was  not  recognized  by  the  Doctor. 
The  latter  asking  what  had  happened,  he 
was  told  that  the  poor  gentleman  who  was 
there  in  so  pitiable  a  case,  had  given  some 
offence  to  Ben  Jonson,  which  he  could  not 
stomach ;  so,  making  him  draw,  he  attacked 
him  furiously,  and,  it  was  believed,  had  killed 
him  outright,  for  he  presently  dropped  like 
a  stone  at  his  feet,  and  had  since  given  no 
sign  of  life,  save  one  or  two  most  piteous 
groans,  that  seemed  to  denote  the  utter  rend- 
ing of  his  soul  from  his  body. 

"  'Tis  a  sad  case,"  said  one. 

"Indeed,  'tis  most  lamentable,"  added 
another. 

"  Sblood  !"  exclaimed  Ben  Jonson,  greatly 
vexed,  "  am  I  also  to  have  this  poor  gentle- 
man's death  at  my  door  ?  I  had  rather  a 
hundred  pound  I  had  never  set  eyes  on  him." 

"  Thou  art  ever  of  too  hasty  a  spirit,  Ben," 
observed  Master  Allen,  "  and  I  doubt  not  it 
will  some  day  or  other  put  thine  own  life  in 
jeopardy  from  the  hands  of  the  law." 

"  1  fear  it  will  go  hard  with  Ben  at  As- 
size," said  another  of  the  players  gravely. 
"  The  dead  man's  friends  may  pursue  him 
with  such  rigor,  he  may  chance  to  find  him- 
self in  nigh  upon  as  bad  a  case  himself." 

"  I  fear  hugely  he  his  dead,"  said  the  first. 

"  Assuredly  there  is  no  room  to  doubt  it," 
replied  a  second. 

All  this  time  the  doctor,  assisted  by  his 
apprentices,  examined  the  body  of  the  wound- 


ed man  very  carefully ;  but  he  lay  stiff  ana 
motionless,  as  though  all  such  care  was 
superfluous. 

"  Alack,  poor  gentleman  !"  exclaimed 
Master  Allen. 

"Alack,  indeed!"  added  Will  Kempe. 

Now  the  doctor,  looking  somewhat  puz- 
zled, felt  the  pulse  of  the  dead  man — many 
there  present  thinking  such  as  unnecessary 
a  thing  as  could  be  ;  and  in  a  moment  pulled 
the  towel  off"  his  face. 

"  Captain  Swashbuckler,  o'  my  life  !"  he 
cried  in  a  monstrous  surprise,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  his  well  known  visage  ;  then,  turn- 
ing to  the  company,  added, "  Had  I  not  seen 
it  with  mine  own  eyes,  I  would  not  have 
believed  there  were  in  the  world  such  easy 
gulls  as  those  I  now  see  before  me.  Be 
assured,  my  masters,  that  the  valiant  Cap 
tain  hath  received  no  wound  of  any  sort,  and 
is  at  this  present  in  as  perfect  health  as  ever 
he  was  in  his  life." 

"  Why  the  cozening  rascal !" 

"  Out  on  the  pitiful  knave  1" 

"  Get  thee  gone,  thou  intolerable  base 
trickster  !"  exclaimed  the  players. 

"  A  goodly  football,  my  masters  !"  cried 
Will  Kempe  ;  "  and  i'  faith,  we'll  play  a  fine 
game."  Thereupon  the  poor  captain,  as  he 
found  his  trick  discovered,  and  was  for  get- 
ting out  of  the  place  as  fast  as  he  could,  as 
soon  as  he  was  on  his  legs,  was  sent  forward 
with  a  hearty  kick  by  the  last  speaker,  at 
which  he  turned  round  to  mark  who  did  it ; 
but  had  scarce  done  so,  when  he  received 
a  like  favor  from  Ben  Jonson,  given  with  so 
fine  a  zeal  he  was  thrust  to  the  end  of  the 
chamber.  Nevertheless,  his  stay  there  was 
exceeding  brief;  one  of  the  players  who  had 
recently  been  most  concerned  at  his  supposed 
death  propelled  him  from  it  forthwith,  after 
a  fashion  that  was  so  quickly  and  closely 
imitated,  that  he  was  soon  thrust  into  the 
street,  amid  the  jeers  and  laughter  of  those 
who  had  waited  outside  to  learn  whether  the 
wounded  man  was  past  cure. 

Whilst  the  players  were  vigorously  follow- 
ing their  game,  John  Hall  was  surprised  by 
the  appearance  of  Simon  Stockfish,  with 
whom,  after  one  or  two  of  their  marvellous 
brief  speeches  on  either  side  he  presently 
left  the  house. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


121 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

His  mirth  was  the  pure  spirit  of  various  wit, 

Yet  never  did  his  God  or  friends  forget ; 

And  when  deep  talk  and  wisdom  came  in  view, 
Retired  and  gave  to  them  their  due. 

For  the  rich  help  of  books  he  always  took, 
Though  his  own  searching  mind  before 
Was  so  with  notions  written  o'er, 

As  if  wise  nature  had  made  that  her  book. 

COWLEY. 

THE  tender-hearted  Susanna  had  now  the 
full  enjoyment  of  her  own  sweet  will.  She 
was  in  constant  and  most  loving  attendance 
upon  the  father,  whom  she  regarded  with  so 
1  dutiful  an  affection,  to  show  which  she  had 
put  herself  to  a  difficult  and  perilous  jour- 
ney, on  foot  and  unattended  save  by  the 
courage  of  her  own  pure  heart  ;  but  though 
she  had  escaped  the  knife  of  the  assassin, 
and  was  secure  from  the  insults  and  rude 
questioning  of  unmannerly  strangers,  she 
had  to  meet  with  treatment  of  a  far  more 
intolerable  sort. 

The  mind  of  her  sick  father  was  a  prey 
to  the  fantasies  of  a  wild  delirium,  the  con- 
stant theme  of  which  was  the  ingratitude 
of  his  daughters.  On  this  he  would  ever 
and  anon  dilate  very  movingly — in  especial 
dwelling  on  the  undutiful  behavior  of 
his  favorite  Susanna,  after  so  touching  a 
fashion,  that  the  poor  damsel,  who  was  close 
at  hand,  feared  her  heart  would  break,  it  did 
touch  her  so  deeply.  Nevertheless,  she 
would  on  no  account  allow  her  feelings  to 
betray  her  ;  so,  keeping  up  a  high  heart, 
albeit  it  was  often  a  most  aching  one,  she 
busied  herself  in  ministering  night  and  day 
to  the  wants  of  him  who  spoke  of  her  so 
hardly. 

Sleep  took  she  none,  at  least  none  of  any 
account,  for  at  all  hours  she  was  to  be  found 
playing  the  faithful  nurse  with  such  admira- 
ble matchless  skill,  it  was  the  marvel  of  all 
who  beheld  it.  The  pillow  was  smoothed 
for  the  aching  head,  the  dampness  wiped 
from  the  burning  brow  ;  the  parched  mouth 
was  kept  moist  with  refreshing  drinks,  and 
the  burning  skin  bathed  with  cooling  lo- 
tions ;  the  various  medicines  were  adminis- 
tered to  the  patient  by  none  but  her  hand  ; 
the  little  matters -of  diet  she  herself  prepared 
and  placed  before  him  ;  every  comfort  that 
could  be  procured  for  one  in  his  hapless 
condition  she  obtained  for  him  ;  and  it  was 
her  musical  voice  that  sought  to  make  him, 
as  readily  as  might  be,  follow  the  directions 
of  his  physician,  and.  the  dictates  of  her 
tender  love.  The  words  she  spoke  soothed 
the  sick  nwn,  but  the  voice  he  did  not  recog- 


nize  ;  he  appeared  to  understand^  the  great 
comfort  of  her  careful  nursing,  but  the  once 
loved  form  passed  before  him  as  that  of  a 
stranger. 

This  was  a  sore  trial  to  her,  but  she  held 
up  bravely ;  and  none  who  saw  the  untiring 
patience  and  sweetness  of  disposition  with 
which  she  fulfilled  her  office,  could  have 
guessed  how  piercingly  her  poor  heart  ached 
the  while. 

Her  loving  attentions  were  well  seconded 
by  John  Hall,  whose  assistance  had  been 
hastily  sought,  with  the  fullest  confidence  in 
its  superiority  over  that  of  all  other  doctors 
whatsoever,  by  his  father's  faithful  follower, 
Simon  Stockfish.  Together  had  they  watch- 
ed at  the  bedside  of  their  suffering  patient, 
seeking  to  take  immediate  advantage  of 
every  favorable  symptom — together  had  they 
administered  to  his  wants  and  provided  for 
his  comforts.  Surely  had  no  man  in  the 
like  strait  such  great  heed  taken  of  him,  as 
had  Master  Shakspeare  in  this  sharp  sickness 
of  his.  The  young  physician  employed  all 
the  resources  of  his  art  to  conquer  it,  partly 
to  serve  his  humble  friend,  and  in  a  great 
measure  from  the  deep  interest  he  felt 
in  him  whom  he  was  attending.  He  soon 
learned  in  what  nearness  of  relation  his 
matchless  nurse  stood  to  him,  and  the  frantic 
declarations  of  the  poor  gentleman  did  inform 
him  sufficiently  of  how  matters  stood  betwixt 
them.  This,  as  may  be  supposed,  did  not 
in  any  way  lessen  his  respect,  or  check  his 
sympathy.  Indeed  its  effect  was  exactly 
the  reverse.  Simon  Stockfish  also  afforded 
such  service  to  his  sick  master  as  it  was  in 
his  power  to  perform,  and  did  it  with  an 
earnest  affection  and  reverence  which  could 
only  be  exceeded  by  the  more  ardent  love  of 
his  devoted  daughter.  These  three  in  their 
constant  attendance  followed  their  natural 
inclinations,  for  they  spoke  marvellous  little, 
but  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  have  found 
the  like  number  of  persons  who,  under  any 
circumstances  felt  one-half  as  much  as  they 
did. 

The  chamber  in  which  Master  Shakspeare 
lay  was  of  a  fair  size  and  height — as  indeed 
were  all  the  principal  ones  throughout  the 
house — one  of  the  best  in  all  Southwurk,  it 
having  been,  at  no  distant  date,  the  mansion 
of  a  person  of  worship,  from  whom  Master 
Shakspeare  had  bought  it,  with  a  great  part 
of  its  chattels  and  household  gear.  All 
round  was  a  goodly  suit  of  tapestry  hang- 
ings, representing  certain  notable  scenes  and 
adventures  in  the  life  of  William  the  Con- 
queror, with  labels  issuing  from  the  mouths 
f  divers  of  the  chief  characters.  A  large 


122 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


window,  or  casement,  which  was  thrown 
open,  gave  a  refreshing  view  of  the  green 
trees  of  the  adjoining  gardens,  whence  the 
small  birds  were  heard  twittering  lustily 
their  cheerful  chorus.  Through  an  open 
door,  a  view  was  got  of  part  of  the  next 
chamber,  up  to  the  window  which  over- 
looked the  street,  with  glimpses  of  its  quaint- 
ly-carved cupboard  ;  some  one  or  two  tall 
chairs,  having  about  them  a  cittern,  a  rapier, 
and  a  hat  and  feather  ;  a  table  with  a  rich 
coverlet,  and  its  goodly  burthen  of  books, 
manuscripts,  writing  utensils,  and  other  fur- 
niture of  a  like  sort. 

On  each  side  of  the  bed's  head  was  a 
stout  arm-chair,  wherein  the  watchers  of  the 
sick  man  were  wont  to  keep  guard.  There 
was  a  small  table  at  a  convenient  distance 
from  the  casement,  covered  with  a  fair  cloth 
of  damask,  whereon  was  a  mirror  in  an 
ebony  frame,  with  an  antique  vase  of  fresh 
flowers  before  it,  which  were  prettily  imaged 
in  the  glass,  having  on  one  side  a  crystal 
bottle  daintily  figured  over,  and  a  large  gob- 
let of  a  like  material  and  fashion  on  the 
other,  containing  a  delectable  beverage  for 
the  patient's  own  drinking  ;  whilst  in  a 
china  plate  that  stood  betwixt  them,  in  front 
of  the  vase,  were  grapes  and  oranges, 
whereof  of  the  latter  one  was  sliced  ready 
for  his  eating.  In  a  corner  adjoining  were 
the  proper  utensils  for  washing,  and  nigh 
the  fireplace  was  a  table  of  polished  oak,  on 
which  were  sundry  bottles  and  vessels,  and 
all  conveniences  for  the  concocting  of  such 
articles  of  diet  and  drink  as  were  deemed 
necessary  for  him  ;  and  it  was  here  that  the 
neat-handed  Susanna  was  wont  to  prepare 
them. 

Elsewhere  were  other  chairs,  and  also 
other  necessary  furniture,  the  chief  of  which 
waa  a  massive  oaken  press,  for  the  contain- 
ing of  linen  and  wardrobe.  The  bedstead 
was  handsomely  provided  with  all  proper 
matters  of  bedding,  most  conspicuous  of 
which  was  a  rich  counterpane,  such  as 
adorned  the  beds  of  the  wealthiest  sort  in 
those  days.  With  his  head  supported  by 
pillows,  the  occupant  of  this  chamber  was 
there  and  then  lying,  his  noble  visage  bear- 
ing evident  marks  of  the  ravages  of  sick- 
ness ;  but,  his  beard  and  hair  being  new- 
trimmed,  and  his  face  constantly  and  care- 
fully refreshed  with  the  necessary  ablutions, 
he  showed  no  signs  of  that  neglect  in  such 
things  which  others  less  lovingly  attended 
never  fail  to  exhibit. 

John  Hall  and  Simon  Stockfish  stood  on 
each  side  of  him,  regarding  their  charge 
with  a  vigilant  eye,  yet  even  with  more 


seriousness  than  ordinary,  for  he  was  in  one 
of  his  raving  moods,  and  it  behoved  them 
to  interpose  when  there  was  a  likelihood  of 
his  doing  himself  a  mischief.  And  where 
was  the  ever-watchful  and  loving  Susanna  ? 
In  honest  truth,  she  had  but  turned  her  head 
away  to  conceal  a  tear  that  came  unbidden 
to  her  eyes,  through  hearing  the  sharp  re- 
proaches which  her  fond,  distracted  father 
did  heap  on  her,  whereof  every  word  seemed 
armed  with  a  barb  that  pierced  and  tore  her 
sensitive  heart  to  an  agony  insupportable. 
She  considered  she  had  merited  it  all,  hard 
as  it  was  to  bear,  for  she  loved  her  father 
with  such  entireness,  she  could  not  believe 
him  capable,  even  in  his  distraction,  of  any 
unkind  behavior  to  her.  Therefore  was 
she  now  raising  a  look  to  Heaven  with  so 
strong  an  appeal  in  it,  it  could  have  been 
withstood  by  nothing  of  mortal  nature,  her 
beautiful  figure  supported  by  one  hand  lean- 
ing heavily  against  the  table,  striving  to  re- 
cover such  composure  of  mind  as  would 
allow  her  again  to  attend  diligently  to  the 
duties  of  her  office. 

But  her  brave  spirit  was  soon  to  have  its 
fitting  recompense.  Her  loving  nursing  had 
in  time  its  proper  effect.  The  sick  man 
mended  apace  ;  and  be  sure  there  were  no 
pains  spared  to  hasten  his  recovery.  But 
greatly  as  she  rejoiced — and  no  imagination 
can  do  justice  to  the  exceeding  exquisiteness 
of  her  feelings,  as  she  beheld  this  much- 
desired  improvement — there  was  one  conse- 
quence attending  on  it  which  she  allowed 
with  inBnite  reluctance — this  was  banish- 
ment from  the  sick  chamber. 

From  the  many  intolerable  speeches  she 
had  heard,  she  was  painfully  impressed  with 
the  opinion  that,  when  her  dear  father  should 
come  to  know  her,  it  might  perchance  make 
him  worse,  and  he  would  be  sure  to  bid  her 
begone  for  a  disobedient  daughter,  that  de- 
served not  the  pleasure  of  attending  upon 
him.  Therefore  she  kept  herself  in  the  next 
chamber  as  privily  as  possible,  albeit  she 
took  good  heed  to  have  constant  intelligence 
of  aught  relating  to  the  object  of  her  so 
much  love  that  could  be  told  her,  and  was 
as  busily  engaged  in  providing  tor  his  wants 
and  comforts  as  though  she  had  remained 
with  him. 

Whilst  Master  Shakspeare  remained  in 
this  deplorable  state,  and  even  from  the  first 
notice  of  it  that  was  bruited  abroad,  there 
came  to  his  lodging  every  day  vast  numbers 
of  persons,  some  his  very  good  friends  and 
gossips,  and  others  known  unto  him  only  by 
the  fame  of  his  singular  great  worthiness, 
and  these  were  of  various  classes  and  cop 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


183 


ditions,  from  the  humblest  drawer  at  "  The 
Mitre,"  or  call-boy  at  "  The  Globe,"  with 
whom  his  pleasant  speech  and  libera»  hand 
made  him  ever  a  monstrous  favorite,  to  the 
highest  noble  in  the  kingdom,  who  had  en- 
joyed many  a  well-spent  hour  in  taking  into 
his  mind  the  prodigal  store  of  delightful 
thoughts  and  images  he  had  furnished  in  the 
exercise  of  "his  matchless  talents.  His 
brother  players,  all  the  principal  writers,  the 
most  notable  of  the  citizens,  and  the  most 
worthy  of  the  courtiers,  either  came  them- 
selves or  sent  continually  to  inquire  what 
hopes  were  had  of  him  ;  and  Simon  Stock- 
fish was,  out  of  sheer  necessity,  forced  to 
abandon  his  humor  of  taciturnity  somewhat, 
he  had  such  a  horrible  press  of  questions 
forced  upon  him. 

Of  those  who  were  most  anxious  in  their 
inquiries  and  most  frequent  in  their  visits 
were  Master  Edward  Allen  and  Sir  George 
Carew.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  former's 
concern  at  the  pitiful  plight  to  which  his 
assured  friend  had  been  reduced  ;  and  he 
straightway  sent  his  excellent  partner  to 
afford  Susanna  such  advice  and  help  as  the 
exigency  of  the  case  needed ;  and  well  and 
kindly  did  she  fulfil  his  wishes.  Sir  George 
was  no  less  deeply  interested  in  him,  and 
was  continually  bringing  or  sending  such 
things  for  his  use  as  he  thought  might  ad- 
vance him  in  his  recovery.  To  the  marvel- 
lous sweet  satisfaction  of  all,  as  hath  been 
said,  his  worst  symptoms  left  him.  He  grew 
conscious  of  all  that  was  being  done,  and 
was  evidently  gaining  strength  rapidly. 
One  thing  was  in  especial  noticeable  at  this 
time — that  he  carefully  avoided  all  manner 
of  allusion  to  his  family.  What  was  so  re- 
cently the  one  sole  theme  of  his  thoughts 
and  of  his  tongue,  was  now,  as  it  were, 
driven  from  both — perchance  from  dread  its 
entertainment  might  induce  the  evil  conse- 
quences he  was  still  smarting  under.  . 

This  state  of  things  Sir  George  Carew 
liked  not  at  all,  as  it  made  a  difficulty  in 
what  he  was  waiting  to  venture  on,  on  the 
first  favorable  opportunity,  which  he  knew 
not  how  to  get  over.  Nevertheless,  the  mat- 
er he  had  undertaken  could  not  be  delayed  ; 
therefore,  when  the  sick  man  grew  suffi- 
ciently hale  to  converse  on  ordinary  topics, 
he  began,  though  not  without  some  misgiv- 
ing, to  come  to  the  point  with  him.  Master 
Shakspoaie  was  then  dressed  for  the  first 
time  since  his  sickness,  and  sitting  in  his 
chair,  leaning  against  a  cushion,  and  in- 
hafing  the  invigorating  breeze  that  came 
through  the  open  casement,  for  it  was  a  most 
balmy  day,  that  was  like  to  till  his  mind 


with  all  manner  of  healthy  impressions. 
His  noble  features  still  bore  on  them  the 
marks  of  sickness,  but  the  old  expression 
of  infinite  good  humor  seemed  forcing  itself 
through  the  painful  gravity  so  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  them.  He  was  informing  his 
friend  of  all  that  he  remembered  of  his  re- 
cent sufferings,  and  entered  at  length,  and 
not  without  some  show  of  animation,  into 
certain  fantasies,  under  the  influence  of 
which  he  had  spoken  and  acted. 

"  But  what  I  can  by  no  means  satisfy  my- 
self of,"  said  he,  "is  a  marvellous  powerful 
impression  my  disordered  senses  have  retain- 
ed, touching  a  fair  vision,  by  which  I  was 
constantly  visited  during  the  fiercest  stage 
of  my  malady." 

"  A  fair  vision !  I  warrant  you  now  some 
black-eyed  wench,"  observed  Sir  George, 
merrily. 

"  To  the  best  of  my  memory,  her  eyes 
were  of  no  such  color,"  replied  Master 
Shakspeare  ;  "  but  rather  of  the  deep  pure 
blue,  such  as  the  heavens  seem  made  of  in 
the  sunniest  weather.  Indeed,  she  seemed 
in  her  majestic  motions,  her  youthful  grace, 
and  most  seraphic  voice,  a  creature  of  the 
skies,  rather  than  of  the  earth." 

"  Prythee  say  no  more  of  her  by  way  of 
description,  Will,  for  my  mouth  waters  vil- 
lanously,"  said  his  friend,  in  his  usual  cheer- 
ful humor.  "  But,  what  was  her  errand  ? 
doubtless,  she  took  your  heart  into  her  keep- 
ing without  more  ado,  and  proclaimed  you 
to  be  her  sworn  servant." 

"  Her  errand  was  that  of  a  ministering 
angel,"  answered  the  other,  fervently.  "  She 
soothed  my  pains,  she  created  my  comforts ; 
her  delicate  hand  smoothed  my  pillow  ;  her 
loving  eyes  watched  my  rest.  All  that  I 
knew  of  ease,  or  comfort,  or  satisfaction  of 
any  sort,  seemed  to  come  at  her  command- 
ment, and  was  provided  by  her  care." 

"  A  golden  girl,  truly !"  exclaimed  Sir 
George,  right  heartily.  "Had  she  ever  a 
sister  ?" 

"  I  fear  not,"  replied  his  friend  ;  "  I  can- 
not think  there  can  be  two  of  such  a  sort. 
But  I  know  not  how  it  was — of  a  sudden  I 
missed  her.  1  felt  no  more  her  dainty  hand 
upon  my  fevered  brow ;  I  heard  no  more  the 
gentle  rustling  of  her  dress,  or  the  scarce 
audible  sound  of  her  light  footsteps,  as  she 
glided  like  a  creature  of  air  about  my  cham- 
ber ;  and  her  soft  voice,  every  tone  of  which 
1  was  the  delicatest  music,  I  listened  for  in 
vain.  In  brief,  the  deprivation  of  this  looked 
so  intolerable,  notwithstanding  I  was  con- 
scious of  greatly  amended  health,  that  more 
than  once  I  felt  disposed  to  have  endured 


124 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


the  full  fierceness  of  my  malady,  to  have 
enjoyed  again  the  wondrous  solace  I  found 
in  this  exquisite  vision." 

"  Saw  you  nothing  in  the  features  of  this 
matchless  creature,  familiar  to  you  ?"  in- 
quired Sir  George,  in  a  more  earnest  tone" 
than  he  had  hitherto  used. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  They  in  no  way  reminded  you  of,  in  no 
long  time  since,  the  chief  object  of  your 
love  and  worship,  your  own  fair  daughter 
Susanna  ?"  asked  his  companion  ;  whereat 
the  other  seemed  greatly  moved,  and  could 
not  for  some  lapse  of  time  answer  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  I  pray  you,  Sir  George,"  he  at  last  said, 
evidently  with  some  difficulty  of  utterance, 
"  out  of  the  especial  regard  you  have  had 
for  me  so  long,  never  more  to  mention  to  me 
that  unworthy  name." 

"  That  can  I  not  promise,  Master  Shak- 
speare," said  Sir  George,  gravely.  "  In 
sooth,  I  must  needs  have  your  serious  atten- 
tion to  much  in  which  that  name  is  nearly 
concerned." 

"  Torture  not  a  bruised  spirit !"  cried  his 
companion,  greatly  excited ;  "  I  cannot  heed 
you.  I  am  in  no  way  capable  of  enduring 
any  allusion  to  one  by  whose  horrible  diso- 
bediency  and  ingratitude  I  have  been  so 
sorely  tried." 

"  Hear  me  this  once,"  urged  his  friend. 
"  For  be  assured  I  have  that  to  tell  which  is 
worth  your  hearing."  Master  Shakspeare 
said  not  a  word,  but,  with  a  distracted  sort  of 
gesture,  seemed  to  say  he  would  have  none 
of  it.  "  You  have  spoken  of  disobediency 
and  ingratitude,"  continued  Sir  George. 
"  These  are  bitter  charges  to  make  against 
a  child.  Suppose,  now,  for  a  moment,  they 
should  be  without  any  manner  of  warrant. 
Suppose  that  the  very  child  thus  villanously 
accused  should,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of 
her  life,  and,  despite  all  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  sucli  an  undertaking,  as  soon  as  she 
got  knowledge  that  the  father  she  so  dearly 
loved — she  cared  not  to  suffer  a  thousand 
deaths  to  prove  it — was  sick  of  a  fever,  and 
like  to  die  in  a  city  several  days  journey 
from  her,  she  set  off  afoot,  and,  unattended, 
travelled  through  a  strange  country,  every 
step  of  which  was  attended  with  perils 
enough  to  daunt  the"  most  courageous  of  her 
sex;  and,  pfter  enduring  and  triumphing 
over  all  with  unheard  of  constancy  and  pa- 
tionce,  made  her  way  to  his  sick  room, 
where  night  and  day  she  fulfilled  the  tender 
ollice  of  nurse,  with  a  sweetness  of  dispo- 
sition and  entireness  of  devotion,  which 
made  all  marvel  to  see  her.  Suppose  now 
that  the  blessed  creature,  you  thought  was 


the  offspring  of  a  disordered  brain,  was  ir 
truth  no  vision  at  all,  but  a  real  and  palpa- 
ble being,  gifted  with  all  the  noblest  graces 
of  womanhood,  who  did  keep  watch  and 
ward,  and  tended  over  you  like  a  minister- 
ing angel,  as  you  have  saidj  and  suppose  this 
matchless  creature  of  such  infinite  perfec- 
tion was  no  other  than  the  much-abused 
Susanna — what  say  you  then  ^' 

Master  Shakspeare  had  listened  to  this 
strange  speech  with  increasing  interest,  till 
interest  grew  to  amazement,  and  amazement 
became  a  wild,  bewildering  phrenzy  of  ex- 
citement, that  could  keep  within  no  bounds. 
As  soon  as  he  could  find  speech,  he  ex- 
claimed, very  urgently,  "  Can  this  be  true  ?" 

"  Ay,  on  mine  honor  and  life,  is  it,  every 
word  !"  replied  the  other. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  Bring  her  to  me.  I 
pray  you  let  a  fond  father  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  holding  her  to  his  heart."  He  had 
scarce  said  the  words,  when  Susanna,  who 
had  previously  been  placed  in  the  adjoining 
chamber  in  readiness,  rushed  into  his  arms. 

Her  joy  was  not  loud,  but  unfathomably 
deep.  She  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast, 
and  wept.  He  disturbed  her  not,  but  ever 
and  anon  seemed  to  draw  her  to  him  with  a 
firmer  pressure,  as  if  to  assure  himself  she 
was  still  in  his  embrace.  All  this  while 
they  were  alone,  for  Sir  George  Carew  had 
suddenly  slipped  away  when  he  had  secured 
his  desired  end. 

With  the  happy  Susanna,  all  cares  and 
pains  were  now  in  as  perfect  an  oblivion  as 
though  they  had  never  existed.  She  felt 
herself  richly  rewarded  for  whatever  had 
been  thrust  upon  her,  which  seemed  hard  to 
bear,  and  would  readily  have  undertaken  a 
much  more  hazardous  enterprise  than  her 
long  terrible  journey,  to  have  secured  but 
half  the  priceless  satisfaction  that  she  now 
possessed.  She  was  assured  her  dear  and 
honored  father  did  not  regard  her  as  one  un- 
mindful of  his  love  :  nay,  there  was  a  most 
flattering  conviction  she  had  that  share  in 
his  heart  she  had  so  long  coveted.  With 
such  impressions,  she  thought  no  evil  could 
touch  her — no  pain  annoy  her — neither  vex- 
ation, nor  sorrow,  nor  doubt,  nor  fear,  trouble 
her  under  any  circumstances. 

But  the  so  late  unhappy  father,  how  took 
he  the  gaining  of  this  incomparable  pleas- 
ing knowledge  ?  As  a  bird  escaping  an 
unwholesome  cage  to  the  grandsome  free- 
dom of  the  invigorating  air.  He  experi- 
enced feelings  to  which  he  had  long  been  a 
stranger,  and  his  breast  became  lightened 
of  a  most  weary  load.  He  made  his  fond 
and  dutiful  daughter  tell  over  and  over  again 
all  her  various  adventures,  from  the  com- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


125 


mencement  of  her  brave  journey  up  to  the 
present  hour ;  and  much  he  marvelled,  and 
greatly  he  praised,  as  he  listened  to  her  sim- 
ple narrative. 

The  discovery  that  he  had  met  with  a 
heart  truly  devoted  to  him,  that  would,  with 
a  prodigality  of  affection  akin  to  his  own, 
pay  him  back  his  love  with  an  interest  that 
smacked  largely  of  usury,  was  undoubtedly 
a  wonderful  blessing  to  him.  Its  effect  on 
his  health  savored  of  a  miracle.  He  gain- 
ed strength  and  spirits  so  fast,  that  the  happy 
change  was  visible  to  the  dullest  eye  ;  and 
of  the  numbers  who  hailed  it  with  genuine 
pleasure,  it  was  evident  in  none  so  strongly 
as  in  the  doating  Susanna,  the  attentive 
John  Hall,  and  the  faithful  Simon  Stockfish. 
Of  the  two  latter,  the  young  physician  was 
looked  on  as  one,  for  his  absolute  painstaking, 
deserving  especial  gratitude,  and  this  be 
sure  was  shown  him  in  exceeding  liberal 
measure  ;  whilst  his  attached  follower,  from 
that  time,  was  regarded  by  him  as  certain  a 
fixture  in  his  household  as  the  most  stable 
thing  in  it. 

It  chanced,  however^  ere  he  was  scarce 
well  recovered  of  his  sickness,  that  he  had 
another  subject  presented  to  his  thoughts,  to 
which  they  seemed  to  cling  with  a  prodigious 
powerful  hold,  and  this  was  caused  by  his 
receiving,  in  a  close  and  mysterious  manner, 
the  following  letter : 

"  By  a  trusty  intelligencer,  I  heard  of 
your  lamentable  sickness,  and  have  since 
learned,  with  singular  satisfaction,  of  your 
assured  recovery.  This  I  am  desirous  of 
hastening  and  securing  as  much  as  possible, 
and  with  such  a  view  I  bid  you  prepare  to 
take  the  charge  on  yourself  already  men- 
tioned to  you.  W.  H.  is  a  youth  of  quick 
parts,  and  is  kindly  disposed  to  all  whom  he 
believes  mean  well  towards  him ;  yet  in  his 
disposition  so  unstable,  he  requires  constant 
directing  to  prevent  him  going  greatly  astray 
whenever  he  may  think  lie  finds  proper  ex- 
ample for  it.  All  is  ordered  for  your  and 
his  sufficient  accommodation.  Methinks  I 
need  not  commend  him  to  you.  I  feel  well 
assured  you  are  prepared  to  satisfy  me  in 
all  things  relating  to  him,  to  yourself,  and  to 
me.  Make  then  what  despatch  you  can  in 
your  own  affairs,  so  as,  with  only  such 
slight  delay  as  cannot  be  helped,  you  may 
be  able  to  transport  yourself  to  where  the 
pure  bright  atmosphere  of  Italian  skies  is 
like  to  afford  you  the  health  and  strength 
most  urgently  desired  by  your  well-wishers ; 
among  whom  not  the  least  sincere,  let  there 
be  ranked, 

"  Your  fast  friend,  and  her  own  enemy." 


Master  Shakspeare  pondered  on  the  con- 
tents of  this  long  and  deeply.  It  stirred  a 
current  of  feeling,  which,  though  carefully 
hid  from  all  obervance,  was  the  strongest  in 
his  nature.  Powerful  as  it  was,  it  was 
wonderfully  sweet  and  delectable ;  a  sort  of 
delicate  intoxication,  as  it  were,  that  ex- 
cited the  senses  into  a  wild,  ecstatic  delirium, 
that  thrust  aside  all  common  matters  of  life 
as  unworthy  of  any  account.  That  he  most 
passionately,  and  with  a  wondrous  earnest- 
ness of  devotion,  loved  the  fair  writer  of  this 
letter,  there  can  be  no  denying ;  it  was 
scarce  in  the  ordinary  nature  of  things  that 
he  could  avoid  this,  considering  how  singu- 
larly choice  a  pattern  she  was  of  all  womarily 
excellence ;  admirable  in  form,  and  more 
admirable  than  all  in  the  exquisite  worthi- 
ness of  her  heart ;  and  this  matchless  com- 
bination of  rare  qualities  had  regarded  the 
intellectual  graces  of  his  exalted  character 
under  circumstances  that  appealed  most 
irresistibly  to  her  sympathies,  and  had 
showed  her  appreciation  of  him  in  a  manner 
too  flattering  not  to  touch  the  heart  of  one 
so  exceedingly  sensitive  of  kindly  offices. 

This  love,  be  it  remembered,  must  not  be 
classed  with  the  selfish  passion  which  usu- 
ally goeth  by  that  name.  Here,  in  both 
parties,  it  was  the  better  impulses  of  deep 
feeling,  exalted  by  the  constant  operation 
of  high  intellect.  It  was  an  adoration  or 
soul  worship,  wherein  the  moral  and  intel- 
ligent being  was  wondrous  powerfully  ope- 
rated upon  by  a  like  intensity  of  the  moral 
and  intellectual  quality  in  another.  I  will 
not  say  that  physical  beauty  had  no  hand  in 
it,  for  where  it  exists  it  cannot  help  but 
make  its  due  impression  on  the  nature  pre- 
pared to  receive  it ;  but  as  the  channel 
through  which  its  impressions  were  con- 
veyed was  completely  under  the  influence 
of  the  mind  and  heart,  each  acting  upon  the 
other,  it  standeth  to  reason  that  whatever 
was  physical  got  so  idealised  and  moral- 
ised in  its  course  as  to  be  regarded  only  in 
its  best  and  most  ennobling  aspect. 

Master  Shakspeare  loved  this  noble  lady 
then  after  the  same  fashion  that  singular 
choice  poet,  Petrarch,  loved  his  inestimable 
sweet  mistress,  the  Lady  Laura.  He  loved 
her,  as  it  is  familiarly  said,  with  all  his 
heart—and,  an  excellent  addition,  with  all 
bis  mind  also.  There  is  no  manner  of  doubt 
this  was  a  marvellous  sum.  But  he  loved 
not  her  alone  ;  he  loved  whatever  belonged 
to  her  with  a  like  prodigal  extravagance, 
and  this  his  promised  intimacy  with  W.  H. 
seemed  particularly  to  call  forth  his  loving 
feelings.  Nevertheless,  though  he  might 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


indulge  in  private  to  what  extent  he  pleased 
in  this  his  fond  devotion,  he  knew,  before 
the  public  eye,  he  must  be  intent  on  noth- 
ing so  much  as  showing  his  indifferency, 
arid  therefore  he  sought  to  school  his  affec- 
tions with  a  severity  such  as  the  absolute- 
ness of  the  occasion  called  for. 

On  the  perusal  of  the  foregoing  communi- 
cation, his  thoughts  took  an  excursive  flight 
— rising  high  in  that  elevated  region  where 
whatever  is  pure  and  noble  is  readily  found, 
a  ad  floating  long  among  the  crowd  of  great 
and  worthy  images  that  properly  belong  to 
it.  His  present  mood  was  one  admirably 
adapted  for  the  ready  creation  of  those 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  are  called  and 
considered  poetry ;  which,  with  one  whose 
whole  being  was  constituted  of  this  choice 
quality,  cannot  seem  singular :  thereupon 
he  suddenly  took  pen  in  hand,  and  presently 
wrote  down  the  following  succession  of 
verses. 

THE  LOVER  TURNED  MERCHANT- 


The  thriving  merchant,  moved  by  former  gains, 

Doth  readily  his  venturous  trade  increase, 
Taking  such  wondrous  pleasure  in  his  pains, 

As  though  his  good  fortune  was  ne'er  to 

cease. 
Day  after  day  doth  find  him  grow  more  bold — 

He  sends  out  merchandise  of  ev'ry  sort, 
And  sees  his  ships,  heavy  with  silk  and  gold, 

Amber  and  gems,  float  proudly  into  port. 
He  adds,  he  doubles,  trebles  ev'ry  chance, 

And  doubled,  trebled,  every  chance  returns  ; 
At  last,  his  huge  wealth  hugely  to  enhance, 

He   ventures   all    his  store :    this   Fortune 

spurns, 

Scatt'ring  it  to  the  winds  in  divers  ways, 
And  leaving  him  a  bankrupt  all  his  days. 


I  fear  me  much  my  goods  I  do  embark 

In  traffic  no  less  hazardous  and  blind, 
Albeit  though  pounds  at  least  for  ev'ry  mark 

I  in  my  ventures  rarely  fail  to  find. 
A  TV!  by  such  profit  have  I  been  led  on 

To  make  my  chances  greater  than  before, 
Whilst  tears  that  held  me  back  at  first  are  gone, 

And  I  am  thrust  on  risking  more  and  more. 
Within  my  warehouse,  all  in  swelling  piles, 

My  stores  are  garnered,  making  a  fair  show  ; 
That  proveth  how  man  fares  when  Fortune 
smiles, 

And    what  vast  increase    her   adventurers 

know. 

Yet  am  I  not  content — a  sumless  gain 
Tempts  me  to  risk  the  heaps  which  there  re- 
main. 


m. 

At  first  I  sent  forth  but  an  humble  freight, 

Of  admiration  void  of  flatt'ring  gloss  ; 
\nd  in  the  venture  my  ambition's  height 
Was  but  to  be  secured  from  heavy  loss. 
When  proper  time  elapsed,  my  ship  came  in 

With  a  fair  cargo  of  sincere,  esteem, 
Which  so  well  paid  me,  I  was  moved  to  win 
More  large  returns  with  what  should  worthier 

seem. 
Straightway  I  fell  to  gathering  what  I  had 

Of  courteous  sentiment  and  gallant  speech, 
Then  put  them  forth,  and,  with  a  heart  right 

glad, 
Gained  kindly  thoughts  in  rich  return  for 

each, 

Next  on  my  gladdened  feelings  I  laid  hand, 
And  found,  well  pleased,  they  were  in  good  de- 
mand. 

IV. 
My  traffic  flourished  —and,  now  bolder  grown 

I  ventured  on  a  precious  store  of  hope  ; 
The  which,  in  sooth,  I  ne'er  had  called  mine 

own, 

Had  not  my  ends  attained  so  wide  a  scope. 
I  scarce  was  sure  my  good  ship  held  her  course, 
When  I  had  notice  she -was  coming  back, 
So  richly  laden,  merchants  on  the  Bourse 
Might  deem  her  of  the  seas  the  Queen  Car 

rack. 
Thus  bountifully  gifted,  an  invoice 

I  then  made  out — "  Item.  A  rare  supply 
Of  strong  affections,  very  pure  and  choice." 

Wherewith  my  ships  sailed  onward  gallantly. 
They  owned  when  next  they  to  their  anchorage 

drew, 
The  treasures  of  the  old  world  and  the  new ! 


Is  this  similitude  too  finely  drawn  1 

Smacks  it  not  roundly  of  the  poet's  dream? 
Nay,  'tis  so  true,  I'd  put  my  heart  in  pawn, 

I've  done  scant  justice  to  the  worthy  theme. 
For  what,  in  honesty,  can  poor  words  do 

The  profit  I  have  lit  on  to  express? 
What  bravest  speech  sufficiently  pake  true 

The  prodigal  source  which  gave  to  such  ex- 
cess? 
Ah,  my  heart's  queen  !  but  little  reck  the  crowd 

The  heaped  abundance  of  all  goodly  things, 
Which  in  thy  matchless  nature  stands  avowed, 

Which  from  thy  bounteous  heart  uncounted 

springs ; 
E'en  the  blest  few  to  whom  thou  dost  come 

forth, 
Have  not  intelligence  of  half  thy  worth. 


I  speak  not  of  the  crisped  gold  that  waves 
Its  glorious  treasure  o'er  thy  noble  brow  ; 

Or  of  the  pearls  lodged  in  their  coral  caves, 
Whose  smiling  glimpses  glad  me  even  now ; 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


127 


Nor  speak  I  of  those  gems  of  sumless  price, 

Worthy  the  proudest  spot  in  HeaVn's  blue 

zone, 
That,  without  foil  or  other  artifice, 

Can  dim  the  lustre  of  the  rarest  stone. 
I  look  not  to  the  sun  that  untold  lies 

In  ev'ry  curve  of  thy  fair  arm  and  hand  ; 
The  African  might  gaze  with  wild  surprise 

To  see  such  store  of  ivory  in  the  land — 
For  with  such  cosily  gifts  doth  Nature  grace 
Those  in  her  court  who  hold  the  highest  place. 


'Tis  not  of  outward  bravery  I  speak, — 

That  doth  not  enter  into  this  account ; 
For  the  most  rounded  bust  or  rosy  cheek , 

Which  e'er  hath  made  the  eager  blood  to 

mount 
In  the  wrapt  lover's  veins,  must  in  its  time 

Be  turned  to  dust.     There  doth  exist 
A  beauty  boasting  a  perpetual  prime, 

That  the  Destroyer's  sythe  hath  ever  missed. 
Age  lays  no  wrinkle  on  its  fair  aspect, 

Its  sweet  complexion  ne'er  was  known  to 

fade, 

It  steals  no  grace  from  gauds  wherewith  'tis 
decked ;    • 

From  cunning  art  it  never  looks  for  aid. 
This  quality,  of  such  great  eminence, 
Hath  for  its  name  and  title  "  EXCELLENCE." 

vm. 

Herein  we  find  a  wondrous  aggregate 

Of  every  gift  that  clothes  humanity  ; 
Where  noblest  hopes  and  kindest  wishes  wait 

Where  charitable  thoughts  are  standing  by. 
There  VIRTUE  prospers  —  there   in  worthiest 
guise, 

HONOR  with  stately  mien  doth  glance  around  ; 
There  PITY  seeks  to  dry  her  tearful  eyes, 

And  MODESTY  looks  blushing  to  the  ground  ; 
There  sits  RELIGION  with  a  brow  serene, 

And  calm-eyed  JUSTICE  eloquently  grave, 
Whilst  meek  OBEDIENCE  so  rarely  seen, 

With  TEMPERANCE  a  quiet  nook  doth  crave. 
And  breathing  round  a  soul-entrancing  thrall, 
LOVE,  with  a  regal  power,  ennobles  all. 

DC. 

Such  is  the  marvellous  goodness  of  her  heart ! 
But  of  her  mind — snatch  from    a   seraph's 

wing, 
A  quill,  and — fashioned  by  the  scholar's  art — 

Dip  it  in  truth's  most  delectable  spring : 
Where  should  we  find  a  tablet  large  enough 

To  hold  its  worthiness — save  Heav"n  itself? 
(Forced  though  I  be  to  put  it  in  the  rough, 
I'll  lodge  the    abstract   on  my  heart's  first 

shelf.) 
There  WIT  on  honest  fellowship  is  bent, 

And  LEARNING  reaps  where  most  are  feign 
to  lease ; 


There  THOUGHT  is  great  with  child  of  Good 

Intent, 
Where  WISDOM,  the  grave  mid-wife,  takea 

her  ease. 
There  JUDGMENT,  FANCY,  TASTE,  and  GENIUS 

dwell, 
And  do  become  their  lodging  passing  well. 


In  traffic  like  the  merchant  Prince  of  old, 

A  very  Croesus  in  her  treasury, 
Hath  she  not  funds  to  pay  a  thousand  fold, 

For  whatsoever  I  would  have  her  buy  ? 
Ay,  with  such  gen'rous  spirit  doth  she  trade, 

It  seems  you  cannot  greatly  sink  your  store  ; 
And  with  the  wondrous  profit  I  have  made 

I  well  may  hope  to  better  me  still  more. 
Like  a  successful  gambler  do  I  pause, 

Exulting  in  my  winnings.     "  On  !  still  on  ! 
Once  more  be  swayed  by  Fortune's  crooked 
laws, 

Great  gains  remain  —  all  comes  or  all  ia 

gone  !" 

Shall  I  seek  ruin,  in  th'  increase  I  crave, 
Or  rest  me  now,  content  with  what  I  have  ? 

XI. 

Down,  ye  insatiate  longings  !     Hence,  avaunt 

All  covetous  influences  !     In  vain 
With  eager  restless  impulses  ye  haunt 

The  secret  chambers  of  my  heart  and  brain ! 
Have  I  not  gained  a  gracious  competence 

In  this  adventurous  barter  of  the  soul  ? 
And  shall  I  do  my  worth  such  huge  offence, 

When  blessed  with  part,  to  hunger  for  the 

whole  1 

Nay,  let  such  selfish  ends  be  thrust  aside, 
As  very  mire  that  muddles  the  pure  fount. 
We  have  sufficiently  the  traffic  tried —      , 

Let  us,  like  honest  merchants,  close  th'  ac- 
count ; 

And  should  there  be  a  balance  small  or  large, 
Let  each  to  the  other  grant  a  full  discharge. 


I  But  think  not,  bounteous  spirit,  I  withdraw 

From  thy  fond  dealings,  here  to  make  an  end : 
Conscience,  a  sworn  accountant,  learn'd  in  law, 

Is  in  this  matter  pleased  to  stand  my  friend : 
And  sheweth  me  a  way  where  without  ill 

I  can  my  grateful  feelings  cultivate ; 
Whereof  to  take  advantage  is  my  will, 

And  shall  my  study  be,  early  and  late. 
Trust  me,  that  nei'her  damp,  decay,  nor  moth, 

Shall  ever  touch  my  precious  merchandize ; 
Nor  shall  there  be  a  sign  of  ease,  or  sloth 

In  my  behavior  when  this  change  shall  rise. 
I  shall  have  constant  use  for  all  my  store, 
And  in  its  care  be  busier  than  before. 


Then  farewell,  honorablest  of  all  thy  kind, 
Epitome  of  Heav'n,  for  earth  to  grace ! 


128 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


Farewell,  thou  trusty  heart— thou  noble  mind, 

Thou  exquisite  in  nature  as  in  face ! 
Farewell  the  bounteous  hand,  whose  princely 
aims, 

Were  not  more  fair  than  is  its  dazzling  hue  ; 
Farewell  the  seraph  tongue,  whose  music  claims 

More   soul-subduing    power    than  Orpheus 

knew. 
Oh,  what  a  sum  of  sweetest  womanhood 

Makes  the  grand  total  of  thy  worthiness ! 
How  vast  a  heap  of  all  things  great  and  good 

Doth  in  thine  excellence  upon  me  press  ! 
Blessings,  and  happiness  too  great  to  tell, 
Be  ever  in. thy  path — Farewell!  Farewell ! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Such  is  her  beauty  as  no  arts 
Have  enriched  with  borrowed  grace  ; 
Her  high  birth  no  pride  imparts, 
For  she  blushes  in  her  place. 

Folly  boasts  a  glorious  blood — 

She  is  noblest,  being  good. 

HABINGTON. 

MASTER  SHAKSFEARE  had  by  this  got  so 
far  towards  recovery  as  to  be  able  to  resume 
his  ordinary  duties  and  employments;  and, 
being  busy  in  the  bringing  out  of  the  new 
play  at  "  The  Globe,"  his  mind  had  no  time 
to  dwell  upon  any  troublesome  matter  like 
to  disturb  his  peace.  He  had  many  very 
liberal  arrangements  for  the  comfort  of  those 
of  his  family  remaining  at  Shottery,  the 
knowledge  whereof  doubtless  gave  him  great 
contentation ;  but  the  gentle  and  faithful 
Susannai  still  abode  with  him,  one  cause  of 
which  was,  that  he  had  grown  so  attached 
to  her,  he  delayed  parting  with  her  till  the 
last  moment ;  and  another  was,  he  knew  not 
for  the  best  how  to  dispose  of  her  during 
his  travels,  for  he  doubted  she  would  live  in 
any  sort  of  comfort  if  she  returned  to  the 
cottage,  and  he  was  undecided  where  else 
phe  could  be  placed  with  satisfaction  to  her- 
solf  and  him. 

The  subject  of  the  new  play  he  had  taken 
from  Scottish  ,story,  in  compliment  to  the 
Scottish  king,  his  own  sovereign ;  and  he 
was  earnest  to  have  it  brought  out  with  as 
little  delay  as  might  be,  as  the  time  was  fast 
approaching  when  he  was  to  leave  England, 
in  charge  of  one  of  whom  he  could  never 
think  without  emotions  of  the  tenderest  sort. 
It  was  now  complete,  and  ready  for  the 
players ;  but,  before  he  gave  it  for  perform- 
ance, he  must  needs  try  if  it  wanted  not 
any  finishing  toacb.es,  and  he  did  so  after 
this  fashion: — IIo  sat  in  his  chair  in  a 


thoughtful  attitude,  with  Susanna  over- 
against  him,  reading  aloud  from  his  MS. 
She,  pleased  to  be  so  employed,  went  through 
her  task  very  lovingly,  and,  with  a  sweet, 
womanly  voice,  did  give  such  melody  to  the 
vigorous  lines,  that  the  author  felt  himself 
much  better  content  with  his  work  than  he 
had  before  been,  and  greatly  did  he  marvel 
at  the  excellent  rare  judgment  and  taste  dis- 
played by  the  reader,  as  she  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  that  especial  masterpiece  of  the 
writer's  genius. 

Of  a  surety,  it  made  a  most  admirable, 
loving  picture  the  father  and  daughter  so 
employed,  set  off,  as  their  figures  were,  by 
their  brave  apparelling,  and  surrounded  by 
the  picturesque  furniture  of  the  chamber 'in 
which  they  sat ;  and  the  understanding 
spectator,  had  he  seen,  could  not  have  failed 
to  have  noticed  how  much  the  pleased  ex- 
citement in  the  reader,  and  the  gratified 
pride  in  the  listener,  did  add  to  the  expres- 
sion of  their  noble  countenances.  Susanna 
had  scarce  finished  her  task,  which,  in  se- 
cret she  thought  much  too  soon — an  opinion 
shared  by  her  delighted  parent— when  Sir 
George  Carew  entered,  and,  after  saluting 
the  blushing  Susanna,  with  an  air  a  much 
younger  gallant  might  have  envied,  and 
cordially  congratulating  his  friend  on  his 
greatly  improved  looks,  he  at  once  opened 
on  his  errand.  This  was  no  other  than  to 
inform  his  old  acquaintance  that  he  had 
been  appointed  ambassador  to  the  court  of 
France — whereupon  he  received  congratu- 
lations no  less  hearty  than  awhile  since  he 
had  bestowed.  He  went  on  to  say  he  had 
a  project  in  his  mind,  which  not  only  him- 
self but  Lady  Carew  had  set  her  heart  on, 
that  Master  Sha,kspeare  could  alone  effec- 
tually help  him  to.  On  hearing  this,  the 
other  lost  no  time  in  assuring  him  his  poor 
services  were  ever  at  his  disposal,  and  that 
he  should  be  infinitely  glad  to  be  a  means 
for  securing  him  and  his  sweet  lady  their 
several  desires. 

On  this  assurance,  Sir  George  proceeded 
to  state  that  he  had  thought  very  much  of 
late  of  "  his  dear  mistress" — as  he  styled 
his  friend's  daughter — and  that  the  sorrow  of 
parting  with  one  he  affected  so  deeply  was 
so  great  he  could  by  no  means  be  brought 
to  endure  it,  and  that  it  did  seem  an  especial 
hard  case  that  so  true  and  well-disposed  a 
servant  as  was  he  should  be  debarred  the 
exquisite  sweet  content  he  had  been  used 
to  §nd  in  his  dear  mistress's  delectable  com- 
pany— indeed  it  was  altogether  intolerable, 
and  not  to  be  borne — so  that,  after  much 
debate  on  the  matter  with  Lady  Carew,  it 
had  been  decided  that  the  latter  should  in- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


129 


vite  hia  dear  mistress  to  accompany  her  to 
Paris,  where  it  was  earnestly  desired  she 
might  be  allowed  to  stay  under  her  honora- 
ble guardianship,  whilst  the  worthy  gentle- 
man, her  father,  proceeded  on  his  travels  till 
he  reached  Paris  on  his  return  home. 

During  this  sportive  speech,  which  want- 
ed no  grace  the  courtier  could  bestow  upon 
it,  was  in  course  of  utterance,  Susanna 
turned  a  rosy  red,  and  her  eyes  did  flash 
very  prettily,  as  much  at  the  conceit  of  it, 
as  at  the  exceeding  pleasant  prospect  it 
opened ;  and  her  father  could  not  conceal 
the  extent  of  his  satisfaction — for  the  propo- 
sal was  what  he  had  never  dared  to  hope 
for — it  was  such  an  unlooked-for  honor; 
yet  nothing  could  have  come  so  seasonably, 
seeing  that  he  had  been  at  a  loss,  for  some 
time  past,  to  dispose  of  her  during  his  ab- 
sence from  England.  Therefore,  with  a 
heart-felt  thankfulness  for  so  agreeable  a 
proof  of  his  consideration,  he  gladly  agreed 
to  such  a  disposition  of  his  faithful  Susan- 
na, and  soon  got  her  to  express  her  conten- 
tation  at  it,  though  she  did  so  with  that  dif- 
fidence the  nature  and  extent  of  the  obliga- 
tion could  not  fail  of  creating. 

After  this,  in  an  excellent,  pleasant  hu- 
mor, the  two  friends  fell  to  discussing  the 
state  of  the  French  king,  Henry  the  Fourth's 
court,  and  Sir  George  promised  both  his 
companions  he  would  take  care  they  should 
both  have  a  proper  knowledge  of  it,  of  the 
gallant  Henri  Quatre,  of  the  stately  Marie 
de  Medicis,  of  the  grave  and  politic  De  Ros- 
ni,  and  of  all  the  other  notable  characters 
there  to  be  found. 

"  But,"  said  he,  in  his  own  cheerful  hu- 
mor, "  'tis  of  another  Henry  you  must  now 
think  of  making  the  acquaintance,  who 
bids  fair  to  rival  the  French  king  in  all  his 
more  sterling  qualities."  Then,  seeing  the 
other  looked  puzzled,  he  added,  "  I  speak  of 
our  promising  young  Prince  of  Wales,  than 
whom  a  more  honorable,  noble  nature  never 
breathed  in  this  world  ;  and  for  the  proper 
qualities  of  a  gentleman,  as  to  learning, 
carriage,  and  the  use  of  arms,  I  kno-v  not 
where  to  find  his  peer.  In  some  discourse 
with  him  I  had  yesterday  at  HampVm  Court, 
where  he  is  staying,  he  chanced  to  make 
a.n  allusion  to  yourself,  and,  being  of  a  mar- 
vellous inquiring  mind,  put  to  me  a  vast 
number  of  questions  concerning  you  and 
your  writings,  of  which  he  appeareth  to  have 
a  fair  knowledge.  I  answered  him  in  such 
sort,  acquainting  him  with  your  intended 
journey,  that  he  commanded  me  to  bring 
you  to  him  without  fail  this  morning  ;  there- 
fore you  must  e'en  surrender  yourself  at 
once,  and  away  with  you  to  Hampton  Court, 
9  " 


for  which  journey  I  have  taken  care  to  pro- 
vide horaes  ready  for  our  riding." 

Master  Shakspeare  expressed  his  willing- 
ness to  be  gone  on  the  instant ;  and,  alter 
making  certain  arrangements  regarding  his 
new  play  the  necessity  of  its  speedy  perfor- 
mance required,  he  left  the  house,  accom- 
panied by  his  assured  friend,  but  not  till  the 
latter  had  made  many  gallant  speeches  to 
the  fair  Susanna,  with  a  devotedness  wor- 
thy of  the  perfectest  example  of  knighthood 
in  the  most  chivalrous  times  ;  and  in  a  lit- 
tle while  they  were  both  riding  together  in 
the  direction  of  Hampton  Court,  followed  at 
a  respectful  distance  by  several  mounted 
serving-men  of  Sir  George  Carew's,  in 
their  coats  and  badges. 

"  I  hugely  mislike  the  complexion  of  this 
trial  of  my  right  noble  friend,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,"  observed  Master  Shakspeare  in  a 
confidential  tone.  "I  am  assured  he  is 
much  too  wise  a  man  to  have  been  guilty 
of  the  practices  attributed  to  him,  and  his 
unworthy  associate  the  Lord  Cobham.  I 
have  heard  from  a  trusty  intelligencer  that 
Cecil  poisoned  the  king's  ear  against  him 
before  his  coming  to  the  throne,  out  of  jeal- 
ousy of  his  greater  virtues  and  talents; 
and,  having  completely  abused  the  king's 
mind,  so  that  he  could  not  endure  the  sight 
of  him,  notwithstanding  his  surpassing  ex- 
cellency, both  as  a  soldier  and  a  scholar 
more  securely  to  get  rid  of  him,  he  devised 
this  incredible  charge  of  treason,  and  had 
him  sent  to  the  Tower,  where  he  now  is  a 
close  prisoner." 

"  I  know  not  how  this  may  be,  Will," 
said  Sir  George,  somewhat  reservedly ; 
"  but  this  I  do  know,  that  if  any  of  Cecil's 
spies  be  abroad,  who  are  said  to  hear  every 
thing,  you  stand  an  exceeding  fair  chance 
of  sharing  his  imprisonment  for  what  you 
have  just  said ;  and,  indeed,  if  you  escape 
being  cast  for  a  traitor,  you  will  be  in  bet- 
ter fortune  than  many  others  in  a  like  con- 
dition." 

"Doubtless,"  replied  his  friend.  "Yet 
there  is  warrant  for  my  safety  that  I  am  not 
a  rival,  or  am  like  to  be  one.  In  sooth,  to 
tell  you  my  exact  sentiments,  I  like  not 
much  that  has  been  done  at  court  of  late." 

"  Neither  do  I,  Will,"  said  the  other,  in 
a  like  confidential  manner.  "  And  in  all 
honesty  I  have  sought  this  appointment, 
that  I  might  not  continually  see  what  I 
cannot  but  disapprove." 

"  I  would  have  sworn  as  much,"  observed 
Master  Shakspeare ;  then,  after  a  pause, 
asked  : — "  Holds  the  king  still  to  his  minion 
Carr  ?" 

"  Ay,  with  fonder  conceit  than  ever,"  an« 


130 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


swered  he.  "  This  shallow  popinjay  not 
only  hath  no  one  merit  to  entitle  him  to  be 
preferred  over  the  heads  of  the  bravest  and 
best  that  peek  the  king's  service,  but  he  hath 
a  marvellous  ill  reputation,  that  is  like  to 
dishonor  all  with  whom  he  may  chance  to 
get  connected." 

"  And  our  sweet  young  prince,  how  takes 
he  such  undue  preference  ?" 

"  He  is  too  deeply  intent  upon  his  various 
studies  to  heed  greatly  what  is  going  on 
around  him  ;  nevertheless,  his  carelessness 
in  this  matter  is  not  like  to  do  him  any  sort 
of  .service  where  it  should  be  most  ef- 
fective." 

"  How  so,  Sir  George  ?" 

"  Truly,  after  this  fashion,  Will.  He  is 
already  gaining  to  him  the  general  voices, 
for  which  his  many  admirable  sweet  quali- 
ties are  sufficient  warrant,  and  not  without 
some  comparisons  in  no  way  pleasing  to  the 
principal  subject  of  them.  Now  a  displea- 
sure so  created  will  greedily  be  taken  ad- 
vantage of  by  those  who  feel  assured  they 
can  make  their  advantage  of  it,  and  I  fear 
me  much  he  will  hardly  escape  some  terri- 
ble mischief,  however  discreet  may  be  his 
carriage." 

"  Like  enough.  But  Heaven  preserve 
our  fair  young  prince  from  all  such  evils!" 

"  Amen,  with  all  my  heart,  Will  !"• 

By  this  time  they  had  rode  so  far,  all  the 
beauties  of  the  country  were  fairly  display- 
ed before  them,  and  greatly  it  delighted  both 
travellers  to  see  the  farms  which  lay  on 
every  side,  with  here  and  there  a  windmill, 
a  group  of  hay  stacks,  and  a  goodly  man- 
sion, till  they  came  to  the  villages  on  their 
way.  They  beheld  much  which  excited 
their  observation  in  the  groups  they  passed, 
which  were  of  singular  variety,  from  per- 
sons of  the  highest  authority  and  worship, 
going  or  returning  from  the  court,  with  such 
speed  and  state  as  bespoke  the  greatness  of 
their  business,  to  those  of  the  humblest  call- 
ing, who  trudged  quietly  along,  with  a  per- 
fect indifferency  of  all  their  prouder  way- 
farers evidently  held  in  such  huge  estima- 
tion ;  and  much  was  said  by  them  of  very 
excellent  purport ;  but,  when  they  had  reach- 
ed the  neighborhood  of  Hampton,  and  saw 
spread  before  them,  as  in  a  picture, the  live- 
ly beauties  of  all  that  part  of  the  pleasant 
county  of  Surrey,  though  each  had  beheld 
them  scores  of  times  before,  they  frequently 
stopped  their  horses  the  better  to  admire 
them,  and  warm  were  the  commendations 
both  expressed. 

Nor  did  the  magnificence  of  the  building 
they  were  approaching  escape  without  a 
due  share  of  admiration,  and  before  they 


'  entered  its  walls  many  a  pleasant  anecdote 

1  and  many  an  interesting  history  had  been 
told  of  the  gay  doings  they  had  witnessed 
frond  the  stately  days  of  Cardinal  Wolsey, 
to  a  date  much  nearer  their  own  experience. 
And  thus  it  was  Master  Shakspeare  made 
himself  so  singularly  well  liked  wherever 
he  went,  either  affording  entertainment  from 
the  bounteous  stores  of  his  own  mind,  or 
eliciting  it  by  judicious  questioning  from 
such  as  could  dispense  it,  yet  lacked  incli- 
nation, that  his  company  was  ever  eagerly 

j  sought  after  by  any  who  had  once  enjoyed 
the  opportunity  of  knowing  how  profitable 
it  was. 

In  the  courtyard  were  men  waiting  with 
horses,  dogs,  hawks,  statues,  pictures,  books, 
armor,  and  weapons,  and  divers  other  things, 
hoping  to  find  a  purchaser  in  their  liberal 
young  prince. 

•  After  giving  their  horses  to  the  grooms, 
they  advanced  into  the  house  together,  un- 
checked by  the  porters  and  guards  standing 
with  their  halberts  about  the  entrance, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  see  none  had  admis- 
sion who  came  not  by  proper  authority,  for 
this  especial  reason — Sir  George  Carew, 
being  so  well  known  there,  any  gentleman 
in  his  company  would  be  sure  to  pass  un- 
questioned. But,  on  their  reaching  the  re- 
ception-room, Sir  George  was  speedily  ac- 
costed by  one  of  the  grooms  of  the  chamber, 
who,  on  hearing  the  other's  errand,  cour- 
teously bade  him  wait  with  his  friend 
amongst  the  company,  with  which  the  place 

,seemed  well  crowded,  whilst  he  went  to  ac- 
quaint the  Prince  of  Wales  of  his  coming. 
"  Surely,  that  is  my  Lady  Countess  of 
Essex  !"  exclaimed  Master  Shakspeare,  as 
they  stood  together,  where  they  could  have 
a  good  view  of  the  company. 

"My  Lady  Countess  that  was,  Will," 
whispered  his  friend.  "  She  hath  succeed- 
ed, Heaven  only  knoweth  by  what  arts,  in 
getting  a  divorce  from  her  husband,  on 
whom,  as  I  am  credibly  informed,  by  devil- 
ish practices,  she  hath  infamously  imposed 
ever  sii  ce  they  married." 

"  I  have  heard  the  like,"  answered  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  ;  "  in  especial  of  her  deal- 
ings for  chai  us  and  drugs,  by  the  help  of 
which  she  might  effect  her  horrible  purpose. 
Yet  to  look  at  her,  as  she  stands  there  so 
bravely  apparelled,  dealing  out  to  the  gal- 

i  lants  around  her  such  delectable  smiles,  one 

',  cannot  but  doubt  that  she  could  be  guilty 
of  such  thorough  infamousnesa.  She  hath 
an  angel's  shape." 

"  And  a  devil's  heart — if  one  half  of  what 
is  bruited  abroad  be  true,"  added  Sir 

; George. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


131 


"  It  hath  been  confidently  said,"  observed 
his  companion,  "  yet  I  know  not  on  what 
grounds,  that  the  prince  is  enamored  of  her, 
and  that  she  favors  him." 

"  That  the  prince  liketh  her  passing  well 
I  have  seen  enough  to  think  probable,  and 
that  she  is  disposed  to  return  the  liking  with 
unlawful  interest  I  cannot  doubt,  but  I  ques- 
tion there  is  such  attachment  between  them 
HS  is  like  to  be  lasting ;  for,  in  the  first 
place,  his  Highness  hath  no  more  know- 
ledge of  her,  than  her  woman's  grace  and 
woman's  wit  hath  bestowed  upon  him ;  and 
J  have  that  good  opinion  of  his  regard  for 
honesty,  I  am  in  hopes,  when  he  discovers 
what  a  terrible  cockatrice  she  is,  he  will 
speedily  be  quit  of  her,  and  in  the  second 
place,  I  have  good  reason  for  believing  that 
she  hath  cast  her  eye  on  the  king's  favorite 
— n  ly,  I  have  been  assured  that  he  hath  got 
himself  made  Earl  of  Rochester  at  her  in- 
stigation, and  that  it  is  his  intention  to  mar- 
ry iier  forthwith." 

"  It  is  at  least  a  marvellous  fit  and  proper 
match,"  said  Master  Shakspeare,  jestingly  ; 
"  never  were  two  people  so  well  assorted. 
Their  tastes  are  so  equally  abominable  and 
abhorrent,  there  can  surely  be  no  failing 
out  betwixt  them ;  and  their  reputations  are 
so  wondrous  alike  in  baseness,  it  is  clean 
impossible  they  should  ever  take  to  calling 
each  other  names." 

Sir  George  Carew  laughed  heartily  at 
this  conceit,  which  brought  to  them  a  cour- 
tier of  his  acquaintance,  who  would  needs 
know  the  cause  of  his  mirth  ;  which  the 
other,  not  being  willing  to  tell,  very  gravely 
laid  it  to  some  cause  so  trivial  and  ridicu- 
lous, a  child  would  scarce  have  taken  it  for 
a  jest ;  nevertheless,  the  courtier  laughed 
famously,  and,  satisfied  he  had  been  told  an 
exceeding  g  >od  thing,  went,  to  the  infinite 
satisfaction  of  his  present  company,  to  re- 
peat it  to  divers  of  his  friends  there  present. 
Master  Shakspeare  and  his  companion,  af- 
ter this,  continued  their  remarks  on  certain 
«f  the  persons  who  thronged  the  chamber, 
occasionally  interrupted  by  such  as  they  had 
knowledge  of,  who  were  not  disposed  to 
pass  them  without,  a  courteous  recognition. 

The  company  was  of  a  mixed  sort :  gal- 
lant ladies,  each  ambitious  to  monopolise 
the  young  prince's  smiles — with  the  most 
powerful  of  the  great  nobles  of  the  state, 
anxious  to  testily  their  respect  to  the  heir 
to  the  throne  ;  divines  and  lawyers,  elbow- 
ing each  other  in  the  hope  of  gaining  the 
attention  of  their  prince  to  certain  ponder- 
ous tomes  of  thoir  inditing ;  whilst  poets 
and  playwriters  trod  on  their  heels,  ready  to 
tear  each  other  to  pieces  to  be  first  in  get- 


ting his  Highness  to  :i  crept  their  high-flown 
dedications  to  their  labored  trifles.  Then 
came  scores  of  commanders  and  captains,  no 
less  eager  of  the  prince's  countenance  of 
their  merit;  whilst  ingenious  mechanics 
same  with  their  inventions  and  contrivan- 
ces, that,  in  their  opinions  at  the  least,  were 
marvels,  such  as  the  world  had  never  seen 
before.  With  these  came  jockeys  to  brag 
of  their  horses  ;  virtuosos,  to  put  oft'  their  pic- 
tures and  statues  ;  musicians,  matchless  in 
the  practice  of  their  art ;  possessors  of 
choice  dogs  and  hawks;  armorers,  paint- 
ers, players,  famous  swordsmen,  and  gun- 
ners unrivalled  any  where  in  the  world. 

They  were  employed  in  this  way,  when 
a  stately  gentleman,  with  a  serious  aspect, 
yet  gracious  manner,  came  up  and  accosted 
Sir  George  Carew  with  a  friendliness  that 
showed  they  were  of  old  acquaintance,  af- 
ter which  the  latter  introduced  him  to  his 
friend  as  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner,  the  prince's 
chamberlain ;  and  he  having  stated  that  he 
had  been  sent  by  his  Highness  to  bring 
Master  Shakspeare  and  Sir  George  Carew 
to  him,  they  immediately  proceeded  with 
him  to  the  chamber,  where  the  prince  await- 
ed them.  This  they  found  to  partake  much 
of  the  character  of  a  museum  of  arms  and 
other  warlike  matters,  with  a  few  things  of 
a  more  peaceful  sort.  There  were  ranged 
round  the  room  sundry  sorts  of  armor,  of 
curious  fabric,  confusedly  dispersed  with 
all  manner  of  weapons — models  of  ships, 
boats,  and  pieces  of  ordinance  stood  upon 
the  tables,  with  a  crowd  of  books  and 
pamphlets — whilst  in  other  places  were 
many  ingenious  instruments,  with  globes, 
maps,  and  the  like  objects  of  philosophical 
study. 

When  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner  entered,  an- 
nouncing his  companions,  they  beheld  a 
youth  of  grave  and  studious  aspect,  earnest- 
ly attending  to  the  explanation  of  a  plain 
seafaring  sort  of  man,  who  was  describ- 
ing the  various  parts  of  the  model  of  a  fine 
ship  before  them.  He  was  not  dressed  with 
such  grandeur  as  would  denote  his  dignity, 
yet  there  was  that  princely  air  with  him,  a 
stranger  would  have  been  at  no  loss  to  give 
him  his  right  title.  At  a  distance  was  one 
in  the  habit  of  a  priest,  with  a  mild  expres- 
sion of  countenance  that  greatly  became  his 
calling,  who  appeared  to  be  regarding  the 
young  Prince  with  an  unusual  deep  interest. 
This  was  his  secretary  and  tutor,  Master 
Adam  Newton. 

Prince  Henry  received  the  homage  of  his 
visitors  with  a  very  Prince-like  courtesy, 
noticing  of  Master  Shakspeare,  as  it  seem- 
ed, with  singular  curiousness,  the  which 


132 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


was  returned  by  its  object,  coupled  with  a 
feeling  of  the  purest  gratification  ;  and,  af- 
ter the  first  few  proper  speeches  had  pass- 
ed, his  Highness  addressed  him,  as  though 
he  was  his  assured  friend  and  counsellor. 

"  I  hear  you  are  about  venturing  on  a 
long  journey"  said  he,  "  for  that  you  are 
going  to  travel  as  governor  to  my  Lord  of 
Pembroke's  heir,  to  show  him  whatsoever 
things  are  worthy  of  note  in  ^er  coun- 
tries." 

Master  Shakspeare  briefly  answered  that 
he  was  about  taking  upon  himself  such  an 
office. 

"  Surely,  my  Lord  of  Pembroke  hath  sin- 
gular good  fortune  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Me- 
thinks,  it  is  rare  for  any  one,  let  him  be  as 
rich  as  he  please,  to  secure  for  his  son  in 
such  a  case  a  person  so  like  to  do  honor  to 
his  judgment,  and  justice  to  his  son's  good 
qualities."  The  compliment  was  graceful- 
ly and  gratefully  acknowledged. 

"  I  have  read  several  of  your  works 
Master  Shakspeare,"  added  the  Prince, 
"  and  have  seen  others  represented  by  mine 
own  players  ;  and  believe  me  I  am  exceed- 
ding  taken  with  them."  Here  the  well 
pleased  author  could  do  no  less  than  bow 
very  reverently  at  being  so  commended  by 
his  Prince.  "  There  are  passages  which 
methinks  can  never  be  read  or  repeated  too 
often,  that  will  bear  no  addition  to  their  ve- 
ry exquisite  sweet  beauty,  and  from  which 
nothing  can  be  taken  without  irreparable 
loss."  Master  Shakspeare  again  testified 
his  sense  of  the  honor  of  such  praise.  "  I 
have  long  wished  to  have  speech  with  you, 
having  received  such  excellent  profit  from 
all  that  you  have  writ ;  and,  hearing  'of 
your  speedy  departure,  I  begged  of  my 
greatly  esteemed  friend,  Sir  Geerge  Carew, 
that  he  would  manage  so  that  I  should  see 
you  before  you  sailed.  I  feel  infinitely 
thankful  to  him  he  hath  so  readily  accom- 
plished my  wishes." 

At  this  Sir  George  said  how  heartily 
glad  he  was,  at  all  times,  to  serve  so  gra- 
cious a  prince,  but  more  especially  in  this 
instance,  when  his  office  was  to  bring  be- 
fore His  Highness's  attention  an  honorable 
gentleman,  whose  qualities  of  mind  and 
heart  were  of  such  a  sort,  he  felt  it  a  dis- 
tinction to  be  of  his  acquaintance.  There- 
upon Master  Shakspeare  thought  himself 
bound  to  acknowledge,  more  at  length  than 
he  had  before  done,  the  honor  he  had  re- 
ceived ;  and  he  spoke  to  such  good  purpose, 
and  with  such  force  of  language,  the  prince 
seemed  to  listen  with  a  visage  that  plainly 
expressed  his  satisfaction.  He  then  in- 
quired concerning  his  route  ;  and  on  learn- 


ing the  cities  in  Italy  he  intended  visiting, 
he  turned  to  his  secretary,  and  bade  him 
write  such  and  such  letters  to  the  king  his 
father's  ambassadors  in  those  places,  to  be 
sent  to  Master  Shakspeare's  lodging  with 
all  proper  speed.  Then,  learning  he  was 
to  pass  through  France,  he  promised  he 
would  write  a  letter  in  his  own  hand,  to 
his  excellent  good  friend  the  French  king, 
as  well  to  recommend  unto  His  Majesty  a 
person  of  such  note  as  Master  Shakspeare, 
as  to  thank  him  for  certain  presents  of  ar- 
mor and  arms  Henri  Quatre  had  lately  pre- 
sented him  with. 

These  he  presently  showed  his  visitors, 
and  got  Sir  George  Carew,  whose  intimate 
knowledge  of  such  things  he  seemed  to 
take  into  great  account,  to  give  his  opinion 
of  them,  after  which  he  spoke  of  certain 
horses  he  had  got  fit  for  the  great  saddle, 
and  exhibited,  in  various  ways,  the  interest 
he  took  in  every  thing  of  a  warlike  charac- 
ter, particularly  dwelling  on  the  model  he 
had  been  so  intent  on  of  a  certain  ship  that 
was  to  be  built  for  him  under  the  direction 
of  that  approved  shipwright,  Phineas  Pett, 
who,  on  their  entering,  had  been  explain- 
ing to  him  many  interesting  particulars  re- 
lating to  it,  and  speaking  of  a  number  of 
other  subjects  with  such  vivacity  of  tongue 
and  extent  of  knowledge,  that  his  hearers 
were  as  much  gratified  by  his  speech  as 
they  were  charmed  by  his  courtesy. 

On  their  moving  to  depart,  the  prince 
again  spoke  very  earnestly  of  the  marvel- 
lous sweet  pleasure  he  had  had  from  the 
productions  of  Master  Shakespeare ;  so 
handsomely  alluded  to  the  entertainment  he 
looked  forward  to  on  his  return  from  travel, 
from  new  efforts  of  his  fantasy,  and  in  his 
deportment  so  kindly  carried  himself  to- 
wards him  and  his  friend,  that  it  seemed  as 
though  neither  could  find  language  suf- 
ficiently strong  to  express  their  contenta- 
tion.  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner  accompanied 
them,  and  to  him  they  mentioned  the  pride 
they  felt  in  their  good  fortune,  in  having  a 
prince  so  worthy  to  reign  over  them  ;  upon 
which  the  worthy  chamberlain,  who  was  go 
well  pleased  to  hear  as  they  were  to  speak 
his  praises,  gave  them  many  choice  anec- 
dotes of  the  like  behavior  of  his,  at  which 
they  found  excellent  entertainment. 

They  were  pushing  their  way  through 
the  crowd,  waiting  the  prince's  appearance, 
when  they  were  struck  with  the  stir  that 
was  made  at  the  other  end  of  the  cham- 
ber, and  soon  they  heard  the  cry  spread  of 
"The  King!  the  king  !" 

"  King  James  is  returning  from  hunt- 
ing," said  the  chamberlain ;  "  and  if  he 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


133 


Cometh  back  in  no  better  humor  than  he 
went,  I  would  as  lief  hang  as  ask  him  a 
favor." 

"  Hath  any  thing  in  particular  put  him 
out  ?"  asked  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  Ay,  something  exceeding  particular," 
answered  he. 

"  Carr  hath  got  the  tooth-ache,  per- 
chance ?"  inquired  Sir  George,  with  an  af- 
fectation of  gravity  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  No,  by  this  light  it  is  scarce  so  bad  as 
that,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  laughingly.  "  But 
touching  this  new-made  Earl  of  Rochester, 
for  I  hear  the  patent  of  his  nobility  is  al- 
ready made  out,  high  as  he  holds  himself, 
and  secure  as  he  thinks  himself,  methinks 
his  fall  shall  not  be  very  far  distant." 

"  How  so,  pray  you  ?"  asked  both,  ear- 
nestly. 

"  See  you  that  handsome  youth,  in  the 
satin  doublet,  curiously  embroidered  ?"  de- 
manded the  Prince's  chamberlain. 

"  A  well-limbed  youth,  by  this  hand !  and  of 
a  very  excellent  aspect,"  said  Master  Shaks- 
peare. "  Of  what  name  and  rank  is  he  ?" 

"  His  name  is  Villiers,"  answered  Sir 
Thomas ;  "  and  the  graces  of  his  manners 
are  not  more  conspicuous  than  those  of  his 
person.  Now  King  James  hath  more  than 
once  been  seen  to  cast  an  admiring  eye  on 
his  delicate  figure  ;  and  those. who  know  him 
best  say  it  waiteth  only  some  slight  differ- 
ence to  spring  up  betwixt  Carr  and  his  patron 
for  Villiers  to  step  in  and  be  preferred  at 
once." 

"  But  what  was  it,  I  pray  you,  Master 
Chamberlain,  that  hath  so  discomposed  His 
Majesty,  as  you  said  but  now  2"  said  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare. 

"  Marry,  matter  enough,  of  all  consci- 
ence," answered  he.  "  Some  one,  more 
blessed  with  tongue  than  brains,  hath,  in  his 
place  in  parliament,  so  roundly  abused 
Scotland  and  the  whole  Scottish  nation,  that 
every  one  of  that  honest  people,  from  the 
king  to  the  lowest  beggar  among  his  liege 
subjects,  look  upon  it  as  an  intolerable  af- 
front. His  Majesty,  in  especial,  is  in  hor- 
rible disdain ;  and,  if  the  orator  succeed  in 
keeping  his  ears,  he  will  have  better  fortune 
than  some  predict  for  him." 

Here  the  approach  of  King  James,  and 
the  bustle  it  created,  put  an  end  to  the  dia- 
logue. He  approached  in  a  hunting-habit, 
with  as  little  of  the  trappings  of  royalty  as 
of  its  demeanor,  wearing  a  dull,  stolid  counte- 
nance, marked  by  no  pleasing  lineaments, 
and  exhibiting  a  form  possessing  as  little 
pretensions  of  kingly  state  as  to  manly  grace. 
Near  him  were  several  of  the  courtiers,  who 


had  been  his  companions  in  the  chase,  look- 
ing tired  and  heated,  and  not  a  whit  better 
pleased  than  their  master,  for  they  had  all 
had  ill  success.  All  at  once,  as  the  king 
was  advancing  through  the  crowd,  who 
respectfully  made  way  for  him,  a  well- 
apparelled  female,  of  noble  appearance,  rOsh- 
ed  forward,  and,  with  every  sign  of  the 
deepest  distress,  threw  herself  at  his  feet. 
The  king  looked  no  less  displeased  than 
surprised  ;  but  he  evidently  knew  not  Who 
she  was,  or  what  was  her  object. 

"  By  this  light,  'tis  Dame  Raleigh !"  ex- 
claimed Sir  George  Carew. 

"  Ay,"  added  Sir  Thomas  Chaloner, "  she 
hath  come  to  sue  his  Majesty  for  the  restora- 
tion of  her  husband's  lands,  which  the  king 
hath  seized,  considering  them  forfeited  by 
Sir  Walter's  late  abominable  treason."  It 
was  no  less  than  he  had  said.  They  could 
hear  her  imploring  the  king,  in  the  most 
passionate,  moving  arguments  woman's  elo- 
quent tongue  ever  uttered,  not  to  strip  her 
innocent  children  of  their  inheritance ;  but 
the  monarch  turned  from  the  beautiful  ma- 
tron impatiently ;  and,  with  a  severe  aspect, 
and  almost  savage  voice,  cried  out,  "I  maun 
ha'  the  land  !  I  maun  ha'  it  for  Carr  I" 
then  hastily  continued  his  progress. 

Master  Shakspeare  smothered  the  execra- 
tion that  readily  rose  to  his  lips ;  and  his 
companions,  whatever  their  thoughts  may 
have  been,  had  too  much  experience  of  court- 
life  to  betray  them ;  nevertheless,  they  also 
remained  silent  till  it  came  to  leave-taking. 
Such  effect  had  the  scene  on  him,  that,  for 
some  time,  he  rode  on  in  silence ;  and, 
though  he  entered  into  conversation  with  his 
friend  during  their  return  with  his  accustom- 
ed spirit,  he  did  not  shake  off  the  feelings 
in  had  created  till  he  found  himself  at  the 
Globe,  and  was  busily  employed  in  making 
the  requisite  preparations  for  the  immediate 
performance  of  his  new  play. 

It  is  here  only  necessary  to  state,  that  this 
his  very  admirable  and  right-moving  tragedy 
of  Macbeth,  so  took  with  the  public,  that 
more  complete  success  was  never  known ; 
and  when  he  beheld  it  thoroughly  established 
with  the  audience,  he  took  leave  of  his 
friends,  and  prepared  himself  for  the  imme- 
diate commencing  of  his  travels. 


134 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

But  wot  you  what  ?     The  young  was  going 
To  make  an  end  of  all  his  wooing  ; 
The  parson  for  him  staid ; 
Yet  by  his  leave,  for  all  his  haste, 
He  did  not  so  much  wish  all  past, 

^  Perchance  as  did  the  maid. 

SUCKLING. 

MARVELLOUS  was  the  stir  in  the  cottage 
at  Shottery,  when  it  was  discovered  that 
Susanna  had  taken  herself  away  from  home, 
on  the  hazardous  and  difficult  errand  her 
affectionate,  grateful  heart  had  set  her. 
The  tongue  of  Aunt  Prateapace  wagged  as 
though  it  was  never  to  stop,  to  the  infinite 
disparagement  of  her  gentle  niece.  Aunt 
Gadabout  lost  no  time  in  going  hither  and 
thither  to  pick  up  what  information  she 
could  of  the  runaway,  and  returned  with  a 
budget  of  scandal,  for  which  she  found 
eager  listeners  ;  but,  ere  she  had  well  got 
rid  of  it,  these  two  came  to  words,  which 
Aunt  Breedbate  did  so  encourage,  that  no- 
thing was  like  unto  the  fierceness  of  their 
quarrel.  Nevertheless,  they  agreed  at  least 
in  this — that  they  had  always  been  satisfied 
in  their  own  minds  she  would  come  to  no 
good :  and  then  they  glanced  from  her  to 
her  estimable  worthy  father,  who,  for  the 
crime  of  encouraging  her  to  quit  her  home 
in  >o  horrible  scandalous  a  fashion,  was 
every  thing  most  intolerably  villanous  and 
to  be  abhorred ;  and,  for  the  shamefulness 
of  his  behavior  to  his  wife,  was  all  the 
brutes  that  ever  went  into  Noah's  Ark,  with 
a  commodity  of  monsters  sufficient  to  supply 
a  similar  establishment. 

Then  they  set  to  lamenting  most  pitifully 
how  poor  wives  were  horribly  tyrannized 
over,  and  laid  it  down,  as  a  well-ascertained 
fact,  that  husbunds  and  wives  were  natural 
enemies,  and  that  the  latter  being  so  abomi- 
nably put  upon,  ought  to  look  the  sharper 
after  their  proper  rights  and  privileges  ;  the 
which,  as  it  seemed,  principally  consisted  in 
doing  as  they  pleased,  whether  right  or 
wrong,  and  deceiving  and  defrauding  their 
tyrannical  helpmates  to  the  very  best  of  their 
abilities.  On  this  fruitful  subject,  it  may  be 
said  to  their  credit,  they  spoke  like  unto 
those  who  practiced  what  they  preached 
and  with  an  eloquence  equally  moving  anc 
edifying,  until,  as  usual,  something  was  saic 
offensive  to  the  other,  which  the  third  hand- 
led to  such  good  purpose,  that  a  bitter  wran- 
gle ensued  'more  sharp  and  lasting  than  the 
one  so  lately  concluded. 

She,  for  whose  pretended  benefit  they 
labored  so  assiduously,  said  little  ;  in  truth 
ehe  began  to  entertain  misgivings  she  ha< 


>een  led  to  act  a  good  part ;  but  such  idea* 
were  quickly  driven  from  her  by  her  mi»- 
;hievous  kinswomen,  and  she  was  fain  to 
rest  under  the  exceeding  consolation,  that  of 
11  ill-used  wives  she  was  the  most  infamous- 
y  abused.  Her  favorite  daughter,  Judith, 
lowever,  was  not  to  be  so  easily  contented. 
Jnder  the  careful  tutorings  of  her  aunts, 
he  had  made  such  progress  in  what  they 
took  to  be  a  woman's  proper  sense  of  her 
own  worth,  that  she  outrivalled  each  in  her 
peculiar  merit.  She  was  as  indifferent  to 
he  proper  pleasures  of  home  as  Aunt  Gad- 
about— as  greedy  of  gossip  as  Aunt  Pratea- 
jace — and,  not  only  was  as  prone  to  strife 
as  Aunt  Breedbate,  but  showed  her  discon- 
tent of  things  by  a  shrewishness  that  had 
come  to  be  the  general  talk  of  the  wholo 
county.  Though  it  was  a  matter  of  doubt 
a  young  woman  of  a  more  enticing  appear- 
ance could  have  been  met  with  anywhere — 
for  her  form  had  now  been  moulded  in  that 
ripe  and  tempting  perfectness  for  which  her 
mother  had  been  so  famed  at  a  like  age,  and 
the  rich  blooming  beauty  of  her  countenance 
was  admirable  to  look  on,  at  those  rare 
times,  when  it  was  free  from  the  marks  of 
passion — yet  the  young  men  who  knew  her 
took  such  heed  to  avoid  her,  as  though  she 
were  ugly  as  Hecate. 

The  simple  truth  was,  several  had  already 
taken  some  pairis  to  prove  themselves  her 
true  lovers;  but  one  having,  as  a  choice 
proof  of  affection,  got  a  broken  pate,  with  a 
besom-handle  from  her  own  fair  hand,  for 
venturing  to  express  an  opinion  of  colors 
differing  from  her  own,  another,  equally 
fortunate,  escaping  by  a  miracle,  a  martyr- 
dom she  intended  him  by  casting  a  pasty, 
two  wheaten  loves,  a  neat's  tongue,  and  a 
dish  of  pippins  at  his  head,  because,  at  din- 
ner, she  took  offence  at  his  arguing  for 
brown  meats  whilst  she  was  expressing  her 
preference  for  white ;  and  divers  having 
been  pretty  nearly  annihilated  by  the  flash- 
ings of  her  dark  eyes,  and  the  torrent  of 
searching  words  she  poured  upon  them,  for 
some  small  fault  they  had  unwittingly  com- 
mitted that  had  provoked  her  violent  temper, 
that  all  had  resolved  she  was  of  so  cursed  a 
tongue,  and  so  evilly  disposed  withal,  they 
would  have  none  of  her.  Therefore  had  she 
come  to  be  carefully  avoided  of  them  all,  as 
though  she  had  the  pestilence. 

At  home  she  was  often  as  difficult  to 
please  as  abroad,  and  had  more  than  once, 
in  scolding,  proved  herself  a  match  for 
either  of  her  aunts,  proficient  though  they 
were  in  the  art.  But,  though  they  had 
been  taught  to  understand  the  force  of  her 
temper,  never  did  it  come  upon  them  with  so 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


135 


sharp  and  pitiful  a  shower  as  after  the  dis- 
covery had  been  made  of  her  sister's  flight. 
On  a  sudden,  she  turned  upon  them,  and  so 
mauled  them  with  her  tongue,  they  were  for 
a  time  clean  dumbfounded  with  astonish- 
ment; nevertheless,  they  were  too  experi- 
enced in  such  warfare  to  be  easily  beaten, 
and  were  inwardly  ashamed  so  young  a 
hand  should  got  the  better  of  them,  even  for 
a  moment ;  therefore  they  took  to  their 
weapons  very  briskly,  in  the  hope  of  quickly 
silencing  their  rash  antagonist.  Thereupon 
ensued  a  terrible  din,  to  which  that  confu- 
sion of  tongues  which  existed  at  the  build- 
ing of  the  Tower  of  Babel  was  harmony  in 
comparison.  Judith,  so  far  from  being 
abashed  at  so  overpowering  an  attack,  did 
presently  meet  it  with  a  countercharge  so 
furious,  it  swept  down  all  before  her.  In 
sooth,  she  raised  such  a  hurricane  of  words, 
the  three  scolds  were  one  and  all  fairly  driven 
out  of  the  field ;  and,  after  this,  ever  held 
their  young  kinswoman  in  especial  respect, 
looking  up  to  her  with  much  the  same  sort 
of  admiration  men  of  war  regard  a  famous 
commander. 

The  more  grave  among  the  burgesses  of 
Stratford  became  at  this  time  exceedingly 
disturbed  by  the  wild  pranks  of  a  young 
kinsman,  from  London,  of  Malmsey,  the 
vintner,  who  was  called  Dick  Quiney.  He 
not  only  spent  his  money  prodigally  in 
roystering  with  divers  his  loose  companions, 
to  the  scandal  of  the  greybeards,  but  kept 
the  whole  town  in  continual  ferment  by 
some  mad  prank  or  another,  which  exceeded 
all  things  in  audacity  and  recklessness  the 
longest  liver  amongst  them  had  ever  heard  of. 

At  onetime  lie  would  cause  an  ass,  dress- 
ed in  the  robes  of  the  High  Bailiff,  to  be 
found  taking  the  bailiff's  place  in  the  Town 
Hall ;  at  another,  he  would  so  change  the 
signs  that  usually  hung  at  the  burgesses' 
doors,  that  every  one  had  something  as  dif- 
ferent as  possible  to  what  he  had  before, 
which  oft  had  some  satirical  meaning  in't, 
of  which  the  witty  rogues  made  rare  sport. 
There  was  a  bunch  of  grapes  seen  hanging 
over  the  parson's  porch,  and  a  fleece  swung 
before  the  lawyer's  ;  the  apothecary's  door 
boasted  the  sign  used  by  the  furnishers  of 
funerals  ;  and  the  baker's  had  that  which 
belonged  to  the  dealer  in  bones,  chalk  and 
the  like  stores.  One  who  was  known  to 
have  a  scolding  wife  found  his  house  deco- 
ra" ed  with  the  sign  of  the  good  woman — 
that  is,  a  woman  without  a  head  ;  and  an- 
other, who  had  shown  himself  deficient  in 
courage,  was  similiarly  pointed  at  by  a 
board  before  his  dwelling,  representing  a 
wlu'te  hart.  In  brief,  there  was  never  a  day 


passed  that  did  not  bring  forth  some  freak 
of  his  wanton  wit  at  the  expense  of  the 
more  sober-minded  of  the  community. 

But  though  by  some  he  was  regarded  as 
a  scandal  to  the  place,  his  free  spirit  and 
manly  bearing  made  him  a  favorite  with 
others.  He  affected  neither  fineness  of  dress 
nor  of  phrase,  though  his  well  knit  limbs 
and  comely  visage  would  have  right  well  be- 
come the  one,  and  his  ready  wit  might  not 
have  turned  the  other  to  bad  account.  And 
his  readiness  to  join  in  any  sport,  as  well 
as  to  create  such  sport  as  all  those  of  his 
station  were  sure  to  flock  to,  made  him  well 
liked  of  many,  among  whom  be  sure  were 
Tommy  Hart  and  his  merry  partner,  and 
their  constant  associate* and  good  gossip, 
Jonas  Tietape,  who,  by  the  way,  was 
shrewdly  suspected  of  assisting  in  most  of 
the  jests  which  young  Quiney  played  upon 
the  graye  burgesses  of  Stratford.  In  the 
kitchen  of  the  jovial  hatter  he  was  a  fre- 
quent visiter ;  and  there,  often  after  the  gay 
song  and  merry  tale,  many  a  famous  scheme 
had  been  devised  for  the  furnishing  of  good 
occasion  for  honest  mirth. 

One  night  they  were  altogether,  as  merry 
as  so  many  crickets  in  a  clover-field.  The 
hatter  and  the  vintner's  nephew  were  play- 
ing at  tables,  with  the  good-humored  Joan 
looking  on,  yet  occasionally  casting  aside 
her  eyes  to  watch  the  strange  movements  of 
Jonas,  who  was  balancing  himself  on  two 
chairs,  and  employing  other  strange  antics, 
much  to  the  diversion  of  herself  and  the 
players,  both  of  whom,  ever  and  anon,  forgot 
their  game  to  be  spectators  of  his  grotesque 
antics.  There  was  no  lack  of  converse 
amongst  them,  but  it  looked  not  to  be  of  the 
very  gravest  import,  if  any  judgment  of  it 
could  be  drawn  from  the  mirth  it  excited. 
The  chief  source  of  this  was  the  laughing 
dame,  strongly  recommending  to  the  young 
bachelor  beside  her,  certain  honest  maids  of 
her  acquaintance  as  wives,  the  whole  of 
whom  she  knew  to  be  as  little  to  his  taste 
as  ugliness,  shrewishness,  age,  or  folly, 
could  make  them.  At  last,  she  seemed  to 
fix  upon  her  neice  Judith,  of  whose  exceed- 
ing gentleness,  quietness,  and  pleasantness 
of  temper,  she  expatiated  so  largely,  out  of 
the  nrischievousness  of  her  spirit,  that  he 
looked  to  be  greatly  taken  with  the  descrip- 
tion, and  swore  lustily  he  would  have  her, 
come  what  would,  for  she  was  exactly  what 
he  wished  to  find  in  a  wife.  At  this  Tommy 
Hart  turned  his  head  on  one  side,  and  laugh- 
ed in  his  sleeve. 

Then  the  merry  Joan  went  on  to  state 
what  a  blessed  fainily  he  would  unite  him- 
self to,  particularly  referring,  with  famous 


136 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


imposing  words,  on  the  marvellous  sweet 
disposedness  of  her  three  ancient  kins- 
women : — how  singularly  homely  a  body 
was  Aunt  Gadabout — how  reserved  and 
prudent  with  her  tongue  was  Aunt  Pratea- 
nace  —  and  how  precious  and  notable  a 
peacemaker  was  Aunt  Breedbate.  There- 
upon young  Quiney  answered  these  were 
the  very  sort  of  persons  he  would  most  de- 
sire as  relations.  At  hearing  this,  his  merry 
host  could  contain  himself  no  longer  ;  and, 
after  the  hugeness  of  his  mirth  had  some- 
what abated,  he  undeceived  his  companion 
as  to  the  characters  and  dispositions  of  the 
damsel  and  her  intolerable  meddling,  mar- 
ring, mischief-malting  kinswomen.  And  all 
laughed  at  the  jest  that  had  so  cleverly  been 
played  upon  him.  They  very  cordially  con- 
gratulated him  on  his  meeting  a  person  so 
well  fitted  to  secure  his  happiness,  and  as- 
sured him  that,  if  his  heart  was  really  so 
set  on  having  a  shrew,  he  might  be  certain 
in  Mistress  Judith  to  have, the  most  perfect 
example  of  shrewishness  of  which  all  War- 
wickshire could  boast. 

"  Odds,  cat  o'  mouxtains  !"  said  he,  very 
merrily.  "  Be  she  ever  so  savage,  I  will 
tame  the  shrew,  I  warrant  you,"  and,  out 
of  bravado,  would  still  continue  -in  his  hu- 
mor of  taking  her  to  wife  ;  and  the  tales  he 
was  told  of  the  villanous  manner  she  had 
behaved  to  her  suitors  only  seemed  to  in- 
flame him  the  more.  He  seemed  to  like 
the  conceit  of  wooing  such  a  tigress,  and  in 
this  humor  started  the  next  morning  for 
Shottery. 

It  so  fortuned  that  Judith  had  that  morn- 
ing chose  to  remain  at  home  whilst  her 
mother  went  on  some  errand  of  revelry  with 
Aunt  Gadabout,  and  was  sitting  in  the 
kitchen,  earnestly  engaged  in  spinning, 
when  she  was  startled  by  a  loud  knocking 
at  the  outer  door.  Thinking  it  was  some 
one  of  her  acquaintance,  she  bade  them 
enter,  though  in  no  gentle  voice,  for  she 
was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  disturbed  ;  but  this 
mood  was  in  no  way  lessened,  when  she 
beheld  enter  a  young  fellow  with  a  counte- 
nance and  manner  betaking  of  a  careless 
impudency,  negligently  apparelled,  whom 
she  knew  slightly  by  sight,  but  more  by  re- 
port, as  the  wildest  roysterer  in  Stratford. 
The  cloud  on  her  brow  darkened  ominously 
as  he  hailed  her  on  his  entrance  in  intolera- 
ble familiar  language,  and  made  to  salute 
her  with  a  huge  profession  of  gallantry. 
She  started  up  from  her  seat  with  no  less 
indignation  than  amazement,  for  it  was  a 
marvellous  thing  for  any  man  to  offer  to 
come  near  her,  much  logs  to  address  her 
after  such  a  fashion. 


"Away  with  thee,  fellow !"  exclaimed  she, 
in  a  right  angry  pitch.  "  On  what  fool's 
errand  hast  thou  come  here?  Get  thee 
hence,  on  the  instant,  or  by  my  halidome 
I'll  crack  thy  crown  for  thee,  thick  as  it  is  !" 
"  What  exquisite  music  i"  exclaimed 
young  Quiney,  in  a  seeming  ecstasy.  "  Had 
the  trees  and  rocks,  that  were  so  moved  by 
the  power  of  Orpheus,  but  have  heard  thy 
harmonious  voice,  they  must  needs  have 
reeled  again  in  the  infinite  sweet  intoxica- 
tion of  its  too  absolute  charm  upon  the 
senses.  Permit  me  to  claim  a  faithful  ser- 
vant's privilege " 

"  Hands  off,  knave  !"  cried  Judith,  as  she 
started  back.  "  Nay,  by  the  rood !  this  im- 
pudency exceedeth  my  poor  patience.  Pry- 
thee,  have  done  with  it  straight,  or  I  will 
give  thee  cause  to  repent  it  the  rest  of  thy 
days." 

"  Deny  me  not,  fair  arbitress  of  my  des- 
tiny !"  continued  he,  putting  himself  into 
all  manner  of  extravagant  attitudes,  in  what 
looked  to  be  the  likeness  of  a  courtly  lover, 
only  the  homeliness  of  his  garb  made  it 
seem  infinitely  ridiculous.  "  My  heart  is 
overburthened  with  the  weight  of  my  ex- 
ceeding love  for  thee,  which  I  can  no  longer 
contain  in  pining  secrecy,  as  I  have,  O  light 
of  my  life,  for  so  long  a  time  past." 

"  Thy  heart  and  thee  may  go  hang  to- 
gether," replied 'the  damsel,  sharply.  "1 
need  no  such  garbage.  Thou  wilt  find,  I 
tell  thee,  thou  hast  taken  the  wrong  sow  by 
the  ear,  an  thou  comest  any  thy  fool's  tricks 
upon  me." 

"  The  greatness  of  my  passion  must  needs, 
find  vent,  dear  heart,"  persisted  he.  "  Love 
hath  such  wondrous  potency,  nought  can 
stay  him  in  his  fond  career ;  and,  having 
such  food  to  feed  on  as  thy  exquisite  beauty, 
and  admirable  sweet  gentleness  of  nature, 
what  marvel  is  it  he  should  be  uncontrolla- 
ble, as  in  mine  own  case.  Matchless  ex- 
ample of  woman's  perfectness,  I  must  needs 
do  thee  a  pardonable  violence " 

"  Wouldst !"  cried  she  in  a  fury,  as  she 
snatched  up  a  rollingpin  that  was  nigh  at 
hand.  "I'll  pardon  thee,  i'faith!"  And 
she  aimed  a  blow  at  him  which,  had  it  taken 
effect,  would  have  quenched  the  fire  of  his 
love  had  it  burned  ever  so  fiercely  ;  but  he 
caught  her  wrist  ere  she  had  time  to  use  it, 
and,  despite  her  struggles,  not  only  deprived 
her  of  her  weapon  but  inflicted  the  violence 
he  had  spoke  of;  uttering,  all  the  whilst, 
such  affectionate  declarations  as  it  seemed 
only  could  have  been  drawn  from  the  most 
thoroughly  enamored  heart.  She  broke 
away  from  his  caress,  and,  in  a  very  mon- 
strous passion,  took  to  flinging  at  his  head 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


137 


with  a  prodigal  store  of  abusive  and  con- 
temptuous epithets,  every  sort  of  thing  within 
her  reach,  that  might  do  him  a  mischief; 
but  he,  by  his  quickness,  succeeded  in  es- 
caping all  harm,  and  continuing  in  the  same 
loving  mood,  again  caught  her  in  his  arms, 
and  took  his  revenge,  malgre  all  her  kick- 
ings,  plungings,  and  cuffings,  till  he  was 
content.  It  was  terrible  for  her  to  be  so 
foiled  ;  so  directly  she  could  get  away,  her 
first  effort  was  either  by  taking  up  some 
heavy  weapon  to  fell  .him  to  the  ground,  or 
to  drive  him  out  of  the  place  by  means  of  a 
furious  shower  of  missiles ;  but  she  had 
small  profit  of  her  pains,  for  he  allowed  no- 
thing to  touch  him,  and,  watching  his  op- 
portunity, soon  succeeded  in  again  taking 
the  freedom  which  did  so  enrage  her. 

At  last,  thoroughly  exhausted,  and  pant- 
ing with  her  long  and  violent  struggles,  with 
a  heated  face,  and  disordered  hair  and  dress, 
she  threw  herself  into  a  chair.  Seeing 
which,  young  Quiney  sat  himself  familiarly 
on  the  table  over-against  her,  and  pursued 
the  gallantry  of  his  humor  in  his  speech,  as 
though  nothing  could  ruffle  him.  Judith 
was  so  spent  by  her  exertions,  she  could 
only  get  a  few  words  out  now  and  then,  but 
their  virulence  showed  the  greatness  of  her 
spirit  was  in  no  way  diminished. 

"  Thou  art  an  insolent  knave  !  I  doubt 
thy  true  errand  is  to  rob  the  place." 

"  My  true  errand,  sweet  heart,  is  to  woo 
thee." 

"  Woo  me  !  Ere  I  will  suffer  myself  to 
be  wooed  by  such  a  scurvy  rogue,  I'll  eat 
my  fingers  by  way  of  breakfast." 

"  I  will  not  only  woo  thee,  sweetest,  but 
wed  thee  ;  and  that  shortly." 

"  Nay,  if  thou  dost,  I  will  let  thee  call  me 
a  snipe.  /  marry  such  a  lackfarthing — 
such  a  ruffian  roystering  pickthank  ?  Why 
thou  hast  no  more  credit  than  wit,  and  as 
little  honesty  as  either !  I  would  as  lief 
marry  the  whipping-post,  for  it  could  not 
put  me  more  in  mind  of  all  manner  of  knav- 
ishness  and  ill-dealing. 

"  Nevertheless,  sweet  Judith,  be  assured 
1  will  marry  thee  and  none  other ;  and  I 
doubt  not  at  all,  out  of  the  absolute  affection 
thou  dost  kindly  entertain  for  me " 

"  I  entertain  affection  for  such  a  worth- 
less, ill-behaved  knave  as  thou  art.  I  would 
right  willingly  give  all  I  am  worth  in  this 
world  to  see  thee  have  thy  deserts  from  the 
hands  of  the  hangman." 

"  Thou  wilt  shorten  the  time  of  my  woo- 
ing, so  that  I  may  take  thee  to  church  in  as 
brief  a  space  as  may  be  possible." 

Judith  bitterly  disclaimed  any  such  in- 
tention ;  nevertheless,  her  lover  continued 


to  sit  with  his  heels  dangling  under  the 
table,  perseveringly  insisting  on  the  won- 
drous greatness  of  her  love  for  him,  and  the 
necessity  of  their  speedy  marriage,  and  took 
no  manner  of  heed  of  her  interruptions.  But 
whether  it  was  it  so  chanced  she  could  not 
help  being  influenced  by  such  singular  be- 
havior, or,  as  she  sat,  had  time  to  scan  the 
handsome  features  and  well-knit  figure  of 
her  determined  gallant,  which  was  evident 
enough  in  spite  of  his  rough,  unhandsome 
garments,  her  abuse  began  perceptibly  to  be 
less  violent. 

At  this  time,  her  aunts  Breedbate  and 
Prateapace  —  who  had  hitherto  been  no 
farther  off  than  the  garden,  yet  were  en- 
gaged in  so  violent  a  dispute  they  had  heard 
nothing  of  what  had  been  going  on  in  the 
kitchen — entered,  and  no  sooner  did  they 
spy  young  Quiney,  sitting  at  his  ease  so 
famously,  than  they  took  to  calling  him  to 
task  in  the  severest  language  they  had  at 
their  commandment ;  during  which  he  look- 
ed them  quietly  in  the  face,  and  whistled 
and  drummed  on  the  table  with  an  excess 
of  impudency  that  inflamed  their  rage  the 
more.  His  mistress,  who  seldom  missed 
an  opportunity  of  defying  her  meddling 
kinswomen,  was  drawn  more  towards  him 
by  this  opposition  of  theirs  to  him  ;  yet  she 
did  not  think  proper  to  interfere  in  the  mat- 
ter. 

Aunt  Breedbate  and  aunt  Prateapace  now 
became  quite  furious,  and  in  a  torrent  of 
villanous  language  bade  the  intruder  be- 
gone, or  they  would  tear  his  eyes  out ;  at 
which  he  suddenly  jumped  down,  and  put- 
ting on  a  horrible  fierce  look,  snatched 
up  a  spit  that  was  hanging  above  the 
chimney,  levelling  it  at  them,  shouted  out  in 
a  most  murderous  voice  : 

"Ha!  dost  dare  attempt  such  sacrilege 
as  to  disturb  two  happy  lovers  ?  Nay,  then, 
I'll  pin  thee  to  the  wall  like  a  couple  of  cock- 
chafers." But  the  sight  of  the  point  of  the 
blade,  presented  in  so  formidable  a  manner, 
was  enough  for  them,  and  ere  you  could 
count  one,  they  turned  tail  and  fled,  shriek- 
ing like  scalded  pigs,  into  the  garden,  in 
their  haste  stumbling  over  each  other  as 
they  got  to  the  threshhold. 

Judith  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  the 
ridiculous  fright  the  two  old  women  were 
put  into — but  there  were  other  laughers 
besides  herself— for  young  Quiney's  gossips, 
Jonas  Tietape  and  Tommy  Hart,  had  come 
to  see  how  their  friend  fared  in  his  wooing 
of  the  terrible  shrew,  and  from  the  open  door 
had  been  spectators  of  it  from  first  to  last. 
Jonas  was  so  well  pleased  with  the  conceit 
,  of  the  cockchafers,  that,  whilst  his  companion 


138 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


was  enjoying  his  mirth,  he  commenced  before 
the  house  a  series  of  tumbles,  with  all  his 
might,  quite  forgetful  of  a  young  terrier  he 
had  got  in  each  pocket,  who  put  out  their 
heads,  and  yelped  most  lustily  at  being  so 
strangely  turned  about. 

Judith's  lover  now  took  his  departure,  yet 
with  many  famous  speeches  denoting  the 
excess  of  his  love,  ana  the  intolerable  hard- 
ship of  tearing  himself  away ;  but,  the  next 
day,  after  watching  the  absence  of  her 
mother  and  aunts,  he  again  presented  him- 
self before  her,  and  a  like  scene  passed  be- 
tween them,  with  this  difference,  that  she 
did  not  put  herself  in  so  tearing  a  passion, 
nor  abuse  him  quite  so  scurvily  as  she  had 
done  the  day  before.  The  truth  was,  her 
mother  and  her  aunts,  hearing  of  his  strange 
visit  and  its  object,  did  declaim  against  him 
so  fiercely,  that,  out  of  sheer  opposition,  as 
was  her  wont,  she  took  up  the  cudgels  in 
his  defence,  and  swore  very  roundly  he 
should  marry  her,  an  she  liked  it,  come  what 
would.  Nevertheless,  when  he  repeated  his 
visit  every  day,  assuming  to  himself  the 
appearance  of  one  who  is  greatly  beloved, 
she  was  frequently  exceeding  sharp  upon 
him  ;  but  his  perseverance  won  so  upon  her, 
that  at  last,  looking  to  be  in  a  great  rage, 
she  promised  she  would  marry  him,  that  she 
might  be  the  better  able  to  punish  him  for 
his  matchless  impudency. 

In  this  humor  die  wedding-day  was  soon 
fixed,  but,  when  the  neighbors  came  to  hear 
of  it,  there  seemed  no  end  to  their  marvel- 
ling. To  think  that  Judith  should  find  a 
husband !  They  could  scarce  believe  it 
possible ;  and  that  so  reckless  a  fellow  as 
jDick  Quiney  should  have  sought  out  a 
helpmate  of  Judith's  villanous  temper,  so 
monstrous  looked  the  union,  they  could 
hardly  be  brought  to  believe  it.  The  matter 
though  was  settled:  and  everyday  the  dis- 
inclination of  the  damsel  to  it  became  less 
and  less  evident ;  in  truth,  she  could  not  but 
admire  the  spirit  with  which  her  lover  pur- 
sued his  object,  and  be  amused  with  the 
extravagance  of  his  professions  in  averring 
the  prodigious  extent  of  her  affection  for 
him.  Ever  and  anon  she  broke  out  into 
sudden  rages,  but  these  latterly  had  come  at 
longer  intervals. 

The  wedding  day  approached,  and  slie 
determined  on  carrying  it  with  a  high  hand, 
bid  all  her  friends  to  the  ceremony,  and  got 
together  as  much  finery  as  she  could  to 
grace  the  occasion.  Some  of  her  acquaint- 
ance affected  to  lament  her  so  casting  of 
herself  away;  but  others — and  these  were 
such  as  had  had  most  knowledge  of  her  dis- 
position— by  this  time  had  assured  them- 


selves this  marriage  promised  to  be  a  good 
riddance  of  her. 

The  wedding-day  arrived,  and  the  bride 
and  all  the  company  were  assembled  in 
their  holiday  suits,  ready  to  go  to  church. 
Of  the  latter,  whatever  might  have  been 
their  thoughts,  their  visages  were  as  pleas- 
ant as  though  the  match  was  one  of  their 
own  contriving.  They  had  been  waiting 
some  time,  to  the  damsel's  infinite  impa- 
tience, and  yet  no  bridegroom  had  arrived. 
Judith  began  to  chafe  at  this  neglect,  and 
her  brow  darkened,  and  her  foot  beat  the 
ground.  Still  no  bridegroom  came.  His 
absence  began  to  be  marked,  and  whispers 
went  round,  which  the  bride  observed  not 
without  a  marvellous  increase  to  her  former 
discontent.  For  a  time  she  managed  to 
comfort  herself  to  some  small  extent,  by 
imagining  that  in  honor  of  her  he  had  been 
making  extraordinary  preparations  which 
delayed  him,  and  in  a  brief  while  he  would 
doubtless  appear  at  the  head  of  a  gallant 
cavalcade,  all  in  new  suits,  got  ready  ex- 
pressly for  the  occasion.  But,  as  time 
passed,  and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  him, 
she  began  to  suspect  he  had  no  intention  of 
marrying  at  all,  and  only  cared  to  put  her  to 
this  public  shame. 

The  idea  of  it  so  galled  her,  that  she  was 
about  bursting  forth  in  »  horrible  tearing 
rage,  to  send  every  one  sans  ceremony 
about  his  business,  when  she  heard  the  wel- 
come intelligence  of  his  coming.  She  took 
a  hasty  peep  at  the  casement,  to  observe  the 
brave  fashion  in  which  he  had  chosen  to 
lead  her  to  church,  but  words  of  mine  can- 
not picture  her  dismay,  indignation  and 
shame,  when  she  beheld  him  approaching 
on  foot  with  hasty  strides,  not  only  in  the 
old  buff  jerkin  and  slops,  the  soiled  boots, 
and  the  worn  beaver,  she  had  ever  seen  on 
him,  but  so  covered  with  dust  from  head  to 
foot,  he  could  scarce  be  recognized.  Instead 
of  the  gallant  company  she  expected  with 
him,  there  followed  close  at  his  heels  the 
well-known  figure  of  Jonas  Tietape,  in  a 
similar  rude  suit,  making  the  most  extrava- 
gant strides  to  keep  pace  with  him,  with 
the  heads  of  two  young  water-dogs  peeping 
out  of  his  pockets,  a.  long  rusty  sword  at 
his  side,  and  a  pair  of  pistolets  in  his  belt. 

Without  a  word  said,  young  Quiney  strode 
through  the  astonished  crowd  assembled  to 
do  honor  to  his  nuptials,  and  the  woman's 
tailor  quite  as  indifferently  strode  after  him. 
The  bridegroom  stopped  before  the  enraged 
and  humiliated  bride,  and,  malgre  her  black 
looks,  accosted  her  with  a  familiarity  in  no 
way  corresponding  with  the  time,  and  in  a 
voice  ah1  could  hear,  vowed  he  had  been 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


139 


playing  at  bowls,  and  had  nigh  forgotten 
his  appointment;  then,  hastily  turning  to 
his  Crusty  squire,  who  had  assumed  a  very 
owl-like  visage,  he  iiiquired  whether  he 
thought  not  bowls  an  exceeding  pleasant 
pastime  to  while  away  a  dull  hour  or  so,  to 
which  the  other  answered,  in  a  monstrous 
aggravating  voice  : — "  By  goles,  there  was 
none  such  in  his  estimation,  when  he  was 
of  the  winning  side,  and  the  tipple  was 


The  whole  assembly  looked  thunderstruck, 
and  the  bride  could  not  conceal  her  intense 
mortification,  but  time  pressed  so  closely,  it 
admitted  of  no  remonstrance  on  her  part;  so, 
comforting  her  loving  nature  with  the  pros- 
pect of  an  ample  revenge,  she  allowed  her- 
self to  be  led  to  church,  her  lover  all  the 
way  behaving  towards  her  as  though  he 
had  done  all  that  was  best  and  littest,  and 
that  she  must  needs  be  satisfied  with  him 
in  every  respect,  and  occasionally  turning 
away  from  her  to  ask  some  question  about 
the  game  he  had  been  playing,  of  the  wo- 
man's tailor,  who  chose  to  walk  in  the  pro- 
cession a  little  way  behind  him.  Judith  felt 
disposed  to  have  brained  them  both,  so  hor- 
ribly indignant  was  she  with  the  slights 
that  had  been  put  upon  her,  but  she  satis- 
fied herself  with  nursing  her  wrath,  and 
vowing  all'  sorts  of  intolerable  retaliations. 
A»  they  came  to  the  church-door,  Q,uiney 
turned  round,  and  reminded  his  companion 
the  steeds  would  be  wanted  at  such  a  time, 
to  which  the  other  answered  : — "  The  noble 
animals  should  be  in  attendance  at  his 
worship's  order." 

The  ceremony  proceeded,  every  one  mar- 
velling more  and  more  at  the  strange  be- 
havior of  the  young  bridegroom.  Judith 
had  fancied  she  had  endured  enough  af- 
fronts ;  but,  when  the  priest  demanded 
"  who  gave  the  maid  away  ?"  and  Jonas 
Tietape,  puppy-dogs  and  all,  gravely  step- 
ped forward  to  claim  that  office,  she  felt 
ready  to  sink  into  the  earth  with  vexation ; 
and  at  the  termination  of  the  ceremony  she 
relished  not  a  whit  the  more  the  rough, 
rude  manner  in  which  her  husband,  before 
all  the  people,  gave  her  a  salute  which 
made  the  church  ring  again,  and  hailed  her 
as  Dame  Quiney,  after  such  boisterous 
fashion  as  might  be  seen  only  at  the  wed- 
ding of  a  tinker.  She  seemed  overpowered 
with  this  villanous  usage.  No  one  con- 
gratulated her;  for  in  truth,  all  were  so 
wonderstruck  they  knew  not  what  to  do ; 
and  she  proceeded  back  to  the  church-door 
in  so  discontented  a  state  of  mind,  she  had 
resolved,  when  she  mounted  on  one  of  the 
"  noble  steeds"  she  had  heard  would  be  pro- 


vided to  take  her  to  her  husband's  home,  to 
ride  away  somewhere,  she  cared  not  whith- 
er, so  that  "she  escaped  the  base  usage  to 
which  she  had  been  subjected. 

But,  whatever  had  been  her  discontent 
hitherto,  it  increased  to  a  pitch  beyond  all 
toleration  when  she  beheld  at  the  church 
door,  a  raw-boned,  wind-galled,  goose-rump- 
ed,  wall-eyed  animal,  that  seemed  in  age  a 
very  Methusalem  among  horses,  which  evi- 
dently by  the  pillion  fastened  upon  him,  was 
intended  for  her  riding ;  and,  by  his  side, 
was  a  half  starved  donkey — looking  as  mis- 
erable as  though  he  had  not  a  belly-full 
since  the  day  he  was  foaled — which  she 
supposed  must  be  for  her  husband.  At  the 
very  sight  of  these  "  noble  steeds"  she  held 
back,  and,  fearing  she  could  have  no  better 
conveyance,  she  flatly  refused  to  budge  a 
foot  to  mount  such  wretched  horseflesh. 

In  vain  the  bridegroom,  with  most  per- 
suasive gentleness,  assured  her  that  she 
could  not  reach  his  dwelling  in  any  other 
way,  and  dilated  on  the  matchless  qualities 
of  the  horse,  relating  a  pedigree  boasting 
of  the  first  blood  of  the  kingdom.  She 
vowed  she  would  not  be  a  laughing-stock 
to  her  friends,  and  stoutly  determined  no 
power  on  earth  should  make  her  mount  so 
sorry  a  beast.  At  this,  Quiney  himself 
mounted  the  horse,  all  the  whilst  giving  him 
as  many  flattering  expressions  as  though  he 
were  an  Arabian  of  the  purest  descent,  and 
then  made  a  sign  to  his  gossip,  the  woman's 
tailor.  In  a  moment  Judith  found  herself 
enclosed  in  two  powerful  arms,  raised  from 
the  ground,  and,  in  the  next,  despite  her 
struggles  and  cries,  placed  on  the  pil- 
lion by  the  side  of  her  husband.  Having 
done  this  with  singular  dexterity,  Jonas 
mounted  the  donkey,  and,  amid  the  laughs 
and  shouts  of  the  spectators,  the  three  started 
off. 

Finding  in  physical  force,  she  was  no 
match  for  him  into  whose  hands  she  had  fal- 
len, she  let  loose  her  tongue,  and  did  so  be- 
maul  him  with  it,  such  a  torrent  of  invec- 
tive was  surely  never  heard  before  ;  but  he 
minded  it  not  a  jot,  every  now  and  then  stop- 
ping in  the  tune  he  was  whistling,  to  ask 
her,  with  a  marvellous  show  of  affection,  if 
she  felt  herself  perfectly  comfortable ;  or 
turning  unconcernedly  around  to  his  trusty 
companion,  to  make  some  pleasant  remark, 
which  was  sure  to  elicit  a  smart  rejoinder, 
in  the  roughest  tone  voice  ever  had.  Her 
surprise  at  this  indifferency  became  much 
lessened,  when  she  discovered  tliat  her 
husband's  ears  were  so  stuffed  with  cotton, 
doubtless  for  the  occasion,  that,  had  she 
rated  him  in  ever  so  high  a  key,  he  could 


140 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


have  heard  no  more  than  one  who  was  a 
thousand  miles  off.  Finding  scolding  of  no 
avail,  she  grew  to  be  sulky,  and  would  an- 
swer no  questions  ;  but,  as  her  husband 
seemed  careless  whether  she  replied  or  not 
to  what  he  said,  she  got  but  small  satisfac- 
tion from  her  silence.  All  this  time  she 
was  exceeding  curious  as  to  where  she  was 
going  ;  but  it  did  not  appear  she  was  like  to 
have  any  information  very  speedily. 

In  a  few  hours  they  arrived  at  a  desolater 
looking  cottage  on  the  heath,  far  from  any 
public  road.  She  entered,  and  the  unprom- 
ising outside  was  not  a  foretoken  of  the 
want  of  comfort  within.  Indeed  it  did  so 
lack  all  proper  accommodation,  that,  forget- 
ting her  late  humor  of  sulkiness,  and  the 
small  likelihood  there  was  of  her  talking  to 
any  profit,  she  once  more  burst  out  into  the 
most  overwhelming  reproaches  and  abuse, 
till  she  remembered  how  idle  was  all  mat- 
ter of  speech  ;  then,  breaking  forth  in  a  rage 
to  be  so  foiled  and  unhandsomely  used,  she' 
began  to  scatter  and  destroy  everything  that 
was  within  her  reach.  Much  did  she  mar- 
vel-to find  her  husband,  instead  of  checking 
her  as  she  expected,  not  only  encouraging 
her  by  liis  voice,  but  assisting  her  in  the 
work  of  destruction,  and  with  such  extra- 
ordinary fury,  that,  in  a  brief  while,  there 
was  not  a  thing  of  any  sort  left  whole  in  the 
chamber.  Then  she  took  to  be  sulky  again, 
and  sat  herself  down  on  a  bench  fixed 
against  the  wall,  beating  her  foot  against 
the  ground,  and  biting  the  string  of  beads 
she  wore  round  her  neck  with  a  pull  which 
looked  as  if  it  was  about  to  be  torn  assun- 
der. 

Presently  the  woman's  tailor  made  his 
appearance,  and  he  and  the  bridegroom  be- 
gan jesting  with  each  other,  seemingly  to 
be  as  indifferent  of  her  presence  as  though 
she  was  a  stone.  From  this  Jonas  Tietape 
got  to  his  tricks — he  tumbled,  he  juggled, 
he  did  so  many  wonders  and  in  so  ludicrous 
a  vay,  that  Judith  found  herself  more  than 
once  unable  to  refrain  from  joining  in  the 
hearty  mirth  they  caused.  By  this  time, 
vexed  to  the  heart  as  she  had  been,  she 
could  not  help  feeling  unusually  hungry, 
which  cannot  be  thought  singular  when  it 
is  known  she  had  scarce  ate  anything  the 
whole  day,  and  had  had  a  long  ride  in  the 
keen  air.  It  was  now  getting  late,  yet  no 
sign  of  a  meal  had  appeared.  She  could 
not  bring  herself  to  say  anything,  were  it 
ever  so,  yet  she  would  have  been  right  glad 
to  have  had  an  opportunity  of  breaking  her 
fast. 

Notwithstanding  her  hunger,  hour  after 
hour  passed  by,  and  yet  she  saw  no  means 


of  satisfying  it.  Her  companions  continued 
to  divert  themselves  as  though  they  were 
so  used  to  long  fasts  they  cared  not  for  eat- 
ing. She  expected  no  abundance,  nor  any 
show  of  delicacies  where  she  was ;  but,  aa 
the  time  passed  without  bringing  forth  the 
slightest  sign  of  diet  of  any  sort,  she  began 
to  fear  she  was  in  a  fair  way  of  suffering  all 
the  horrors  of  starvation.  To  her  great 
relief,  an  old  woman,  with  a  visage  like  a 
dried  applejohn,  came  and  announced  sup- 
per; and,  all  at  once,  her  husband  seemed 
to  grow  marvellous  attentive,  and  offered 
his  arm,  with  a  wonderful  affectionate 
speech,  to  lead  her  to  the  chamber  where 
the  supper  was  laid.  She  did  not  think 
proper  to  accept  his  civilities,  but  she  rose 
and  walked  out  of  the  chamber  with  him,  as 
otherwise  she  would  have  been  left  alone 
and  in  the  dark.  She  passed  into  another 
chamber — where  there  were  a  few  stools 
and  a  table — as  a  ragged  boy  was  serving 
up  the  supper. 

The  place  was  mean  and  bare,  but  the 
meal  gave  her  even  less  satisfaction,  for 
there  looked  not  to  be  enough  for  one,  and 
it  was  such  as  none  but  a  beggar  might 
have  been  content  with.  Judith,  however, 
was  by  this  time  in  so  ravenous  a  mood  that 
she  was  willing  to  let  her  pride  wait'upon 
her  hunger.  1  he  meat  looked  stale  and  the 
bread  hard  and  dry,  but  she  felt  she  couki 
have  devoured  even  such  poor  eating  with 
a  fine  relish.  Such  relish,  however,  she 
was  not  fated  to  enjoy ;  for,  on  a  sudden,  as 
'the  bridegroom  was  paying  her  some  ex- 
ceeding gallant  compliments,  his  eye  seem- 
ed to  flash  at  Something  he  took  note  of  at 
the  table,  and  he  broke  out  into  the  most 
ungovernable  fury  of  passion  eye  ever  be- 
held. He  expressed  the  terriblest  indigna- 
tion and  rage,  and  actually  seemed  to  foam 
at  the  mouth  as  he  denounced  the  omission 
he  perceived.  There  were  no  custards  ! 

Though  custards  seemed  as  out  of  place 
amongst  such  miserable  odds  and  ends  as 
the  table  afforded,  as  a  court  dame  in  a 
lazar-house,  their  absence  was  regarded  as 
an  offence  not  to  be  pardoned.  In  vain  the 
bride  urgently  affirmed  she  cared  not  for 
custards ;  in  vain  she  acknowledged  she 
was  content  with  what  see  saw  before  her, 
and  was  willing  to  make  her  supper  of  it — 
her  husband,  increasing  in  his  fury,  threw 
the  viands  out  of  the  open  casement,  kicked 
over  the  table,  and,  taking  up  a  three-legged 
stool,  run  after  the  ragged  urchin,  swearing 
lustily  he  would  make  an  example  of  him, 
for  showing  such  neglect  towards  his  new- 
made  wife. 

The  woman's  tailor  had  disappeared,  ao 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


141 


that,  on  the  departure  of  her  husband,  Ju- 
dith found  herself  alone.  Great  as  was  her 
spirit,  she  felt  somewhat  alarmed  at  the 
outrageous  violence  she  had  just  witnessed. 
Her  appetite  was  gone ;  she  cared  not  now  for 
partaking-of  the  goodliest  banquet  the  world 
could  produce ;  and  when  the  old  woman 
entered,  scarcely  able  to  speak  for  very  fear, 
the  few  exclamations  she  uttered  pointed  to 
matter  so  horrible,  she  begged  she  might  be 
led  to  her  chamber.  This  was  readily  done, 
and  the  old  crone  did  not  leave  her  till  she 
had  filled  the  mind  of  the  young  bride  with 
the  most  fearful  accounts  of  the  terrible  fu- 
rious temper  of  her  husband  whenever  he 
met  with  any  sort  of  opposition.  In  other 
respects,  he  was  described  as  a  man  so  mar- 
vellously well  disposed,  any  woman  might 
be  happy  with  him  to  the  end  of  her  days  ; 
but,  whenever  it  chanced  he  was  crossed, 
or  contradicted,  or  opposed  in  any  manner 
whatsoever,  no  whirlwind  was  so  fierce  as 
his  wrath. 

Judith  locked  herself  in  her  chamber,  not 
without  a  secret  dread  the  door  might  pres- 
ently be  burst  open,  and  herself  be  made  a 
sufferer  from  such  frantic  violence  as  she , 
had  witnessed.  Her  meditations,  which  j 
were  none  of  the  pleasantest,  were  frequent- 
ly disturbed  by  strange,  unnatural  noises, 
which  made  her  tremble  from  head  to  foot. 
She  did  not  dare  to  stir — she  could  not  at- 
tempt to  go  to  sleep ;  but,  from  hour  to 
hour,  continued  to  expect  to  be  involved  in 
a  scene  of  uproar  which  appeared  to  be  go- 
ing on  below. 

Little  did  she  fancy  that  her  husband  all 
this  while  was  never  in  so  good  a  humor  in 
his  life,  and  that,  saving  a  few  minutes 
passed  in  making  for  her  sole  entertainment 
the  unnatural  screeches  that  so  frightened 
her,  he  was  feasting  right  merrily  from  a 
bountiful  store  of  excellent  meats,  with  his 
fast  friend  and  counsellors,  Jonas  Tietape 
and  Tommy  Hart,  and  kept  pledging  with 
them  bumper  after  bumper  of  most  choice 
Gascon,  to  "  The  speedy  and  thorough  tam- 
ing of  the  Shrew." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

These  are  the  works  of  our  God,  whereby 
he  would  admonish  the  tyrants  of  this  earth, 
that  in  the  end  he  will  be  revenged  of  their 
cruelty,  what  strength  soever  they  make  in  the 
contrary. 

JOHN  KNOX. 

Il  was  on  a  morning  of  matchless  beauty 


— the  sky  being  all  around  of  a  clear,  in- 
tense blue,  the  soft,  warm,  voluptuous  air, 
refreshed  by  its  closeness  to  the  sea,  which 
looked  of  a  delicious  coolness  and  transpa- 
rency— that  a  small  .ship,  of  that  sort  called 
a  pink,  was  seen  entering  the  Bay  of  Naples. 
It  was  evident  she  had  no  warlike  intention, 
from  the  absence  in  her  of  any  thing  which 
showed  a  disposition  for  hostilities  ;  never- 
theless, a  few  guns,  well  placed,  gave  sure 
sign  that  she  was  not  altogether  unprepared  to 
make  a  defence,  should  she  be  attacked.  At 
this  time,  however,  she  neither  expected  nor 
sought  to  use  such  weapons ;  her  sails  were 
spread  to  catch  the  breeze  that  was  gaily 
wafting  her  to  her  destined  port ;  and  on 
her  deck  might  be  seen  several  curious 
spectators  enjoying  the  lovely  prospect  that 
opened  before  them. 

Prominent  amongst  them  there  stood  the 
figure  of  one  in  his  full  manhood,  well  fa- 
vored in  countenance,  noble  in  figure',  hand- 
somely but  not  too  bravely  apparelled,  and 
bearing  about  him  many  other  marks  that 
point  out  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  note 
in  the  eye  of  the  world.  He  was  addressing 
a  youth  that  was  leaning  over  the  side  of 
the  vessel,  and  by  his  manner -it  might  be 
supposed  they  were  father  and  son,  had  not 
the  deep  affectionateness  which  beamed  in 
the  intellectual  countenance  of  the  elder  one 
been  mingled  with  a  respect  that  spoke 
more  of  homage  due  to  superior  rank.  The 
younger  of  the  two,  though  the  natural 
graces  of  his  face  and  person,  set  off  as  they 
were  with  such  admirable  bravery  as  he 
displayed,  might  have  seemed  to  furnish 
ample  proof  of  relationship,  the  indifferency, 
beyond  the  interests  he  could  not  help  feel- 
ing for  the  objects  to  which  his  attention 
was  directed,  with  which  he  listened  to  the 
speech  of  his  most  eloquent  companion  as 
he  pointed  out  the  beauties  of  the  magnifi- 
cent scene  that  every  moment  seemed  to 
become  more  enticing,  was  sufficient  assur- 
ance he  was  no  son  of  his. 

Such,  in  truth,  was  the  case — the  former 
being  no  other  than  our  marvellous  sweet 
Shakspeare,  and  the  other  Master  William 
Herbert,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke's  heir,  to 
whom,  at  the  desire  of  one  whose  slightest 
wish  had  long  been  the  most  absolute  of 
laws,  he  was  now  travelling  to  the  principal 
countries  of  Europe,  as  his  governor,  and 
diligently  did  he  endeavor  to  fulfil  satisfac- 
torily the  task  he  had  undertaken.  He 
strove,  by  all  means  in  his  power,  to  make 
the  mind  entrusted  to  him  acquire  whatever 
of  knowledge,  or  the  love  of  it,  he  himself 
possessed  ;  and  his  discourse  was  so  preg- 
nant with  high  and  noble  truths,  that  often 


142 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


the  nide  mariners  that  chanced  to  be  within  , 
earshot  of  him,  stopped  what  labour  they 
were  about,  and  forgot  their  business,  how- 
ever pressing  it  might  be,  as  they  listened  to 
his  wondrous  speech. 

Nor  was  it  done  less  lovingly  than  dili- 
gently. Indeed,  he  had  cheated  himself 
into  no  common  pleasure  in  the  conceit,  that 
the  sumless  heaps  of  love  he  might  not  feel 
for  the  mother,  he  could  allow  himself  to 
feel  for  the  son  as  her  representative,  image, 
and  second  self.  All  the  voyage,  he  had 
secretly  been  feeding  his  heart  with  the 
most  passionate  transports  for  his  young 
namesake  and  pupil ;  and  as  he  was  forced 
to  conceal  as  much  as  lay  in  his  power  the 
idolatry  with  which  the  youth  was  regarded 
by  him,  and  yet  could  not  restrain  the  busy 
world  within,  he,  at  every  convenient  oppor- 
tunity, privily  committed  his  thoughts  and 
feelings  to  paper, -in  the  form  of  the  most 
exquisite  verse  poet  ever  writ.  This  prac- 
tice he  continued  for  a  long  time  after. 
Often,  when  he  had  been  struggling  to  en- 
dure outwardly  unmoved-the  coldness  in  the 
unconscious  inheritor  of  the  features  of  the 
noble  lady,  against  the  powerful  influence 
of  whose  excellences  he  had  so  long  and 
vainly  struggled,  has  some  passionate  son- 
net expressed  and  eased  the  fulness  of  his 
o'ercharged  heart. 

But  this  excess  of  affection  rested  not  en- 
tirely, though,  in  sooth,  it  did  in  a  marvel- 
lous great  measure,  on  the  grounds  here  stat- 
ed, for  he  would  fancy  at  times  that,  had  his 
loved  Hamnet  lived,  he  would  have  been 
just  such  another  goodly  youth  to  look  on  as 
Master  Herbert,  and  thereupon  he  would 
mingle  the  gallantry  of  his  devotion  to  the 
representative  of  the  best  and  loveliest  lady 
of  her  age,  with  the  touching  earnestness  of 
that  fathomless  love  with  which  he  had  been 
wont  to  look  on  the  sweetest,  worthiest  son 
fond  father  ever  had. 

Whilst  he  was  talking,  one  who  looked  to 
be  the  captain,  a  sturdy  Englishman,  who 
knew  well  the  country  he  was  sailing  to, 
joined  the  group,  and,  in  answer  to  Master 
Shakspeare's  praise  of  the  smiling  Eden 
from  which  he  had  been  drawing  such  in- 
finite contentation,  he  launched  out  into 
very  sharp  abuse  of  it,  vowing  that  it  har- 
bored so  many  who  lived  by  spoiling  and 
murdering  all  such  ns  came  in  their  way, 
that  the  place  was  clean  unfit  for  a  Chris- 
tian to  live  in.  In  proof  of  what  he  ad- 
vanced, he  spoke  of  a  noted  brigand  called 
Zingano — who  had  lately  infested  those 
parts — a  captain  of  wandering  Bohemians, 
who  had  made  himself  a  terror  to  the  whole 
nei  Thborhood,  by  plundering  travellers  and 


attacking  and  carrying  off  to  their  secret 
caves  any  one  in  their  reach  who  could  pay 
a  tempting  price  for  his  ransom,  making 
short  work  of  such  as  they  could  not  make 
a  market  of.  This  intelligence  did,  in  some 
measure,  damp  the  pleasure  Master  Shak- 
speare  felt  in  observing  so  fair  a  scene  ;  but 
much  time  was  not  allowed  him  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  his  disappointment,  for,  by 
this  time,  the  pink  had  entered  so  far  into 
the  bay,  that  the  anchor  was  let  go,  and  pre- 
parations were  made  for  an  immediate  land- 
ing- 
Master  Shakspeare's  party  consisted  of 
himself  and  young  Herbert,  and  the  former's 
faithful  serving-man,  Simon  Stockfish  ;  with 
them  came  an  aged  mariner,  of  a  wild,  un- 
natural aspect,  whose  exceeding  taciturnity 
was  so  much  to  the  humor  of  Simon,  that 
he  engaged  him  to  attend  his  master  on 
shore,  and  help  take  charge  of  the  luggage. 
They  reached  the  landing-place  without  any 
hindrance  or  difficulty,  and  soon  were  in  the 
streets  of  Naples,  to  the  vast  content  of 
Master  Herbert,  who  seemed  to  admire 
hugely  every  thing  out  of  the  ordinary  that 
met  his  observation.  His  governor  failed 
not  to  direct  his  attention  to  what  was  most 
worthy  of  note,  but  he  looked  too  pleased 
with  the  aspect  of  all  that  met  his  gaze  to 
heed  much  what  was  said. 

In  the  house  in  which  they  presently  took 
up  their  lodging  they  were  so  fortunate  as 
to  meet  with  a  person  ready,  for  a  fitting  re- 
ward, to  do  them  all  good  services  in  show- 
ing them  whatever  in  the  city  was  consider- 
ed worthy  of  observation.  But  all  the  talk 
of  Naples  then  was  of  Vesuvius,  for  it  was 
generally  believed,  from  certain  signs,  that 
an  eruption  in  that  fiery  mountain  would 
soon  display  itself.  Great  alarm  seemed  to 
exist  amongst  the  Neapolitans  on  this  subject ; 
and  they  who  had  property  lying  in  the  di- 
rection it  was  expected  the  burning  lava 
would  take,  were  busily  devising  all  sorts  of 
idle  schemes  for  the  saving  of  it. 

Master  Shakspeare  determined  to  ascend 
the  mountain,  that  his  youthful  charge  might 
see  one  of  the  most  marvellous  of  the  deep 
mysteries  of  nature,  yet  no  sooner  was  this 
known  than  many  friendly  attempts  were 
made  to  dissuade  him  from  it.  The  most 
horrible  accounts  were  given  of.  the  danger 
there  must  be  in  making  the  ascent  at  such 
a  period  ;  added  to  which  there  were  awful 
stories  told  him  of  the  atrocities  of  the  terrible 
Zingano  and  his  band,  whose  haunts  were  in 
the  very  part  of  the  mountain  along  which 
they  must  proceed.  These,  however,  took 
little  effect  on  him.  He  caused  preparations 
to  be  immediately  made  for  attempting  the 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


143 


ascent ;  and,  in  case  he  might  be  molested 
by  the  brigands,  all  his  party  went  well 
armed,  and,  for  farther  security,  he  took 
with  him,  in  addition  to  the  usual  guides,  a 
strong  escort  of  the  town-guard. 

Simon  Stockfish  appointed  his  new  ac- 
quaintance to  help  him  in  carrying  whatever 
might  be  required  during  the  expedition  ; 
for,  though  old,  he  did  not  look  as  if  he 
lacked  strength,  and  there  was  something  in 
the  sternness  of  his  glance  that  satisfied 
Simon,  in  case  of  danger  he  would  stand  on 
his  defence  right  sturdily.  He  therefore 
was  properly  armed,  and  took  his  place  in 
the  party. 

They  left  Naples,  and  proceeded  in  the 
direction  of  the  burning  mountain,  Master 
Herbert's  governor  very  much  lightening 
the  way  for  him  by  pleasant  and  profitable 
discourse  touching  the  nature  and  history  of 
volcanos  ;  thence  proceeding  to  notice  the 
wondrous  mischiefs  they  had  done,  more  es- 
pQciauy  the  destruction  of  the  cities  of  Pom- 
peii and  Herculaneum  by  showers  of  red 
hot  cinders — this  brought  him  to  speak  of 
Pliny  and  his  miraculous  escape  from  the 
terrible  fate  that  overtook  the  inhabitants 
of  those  cities,  and  then  he  followed  on  with 
later  eruptions,  eliciting  by  apt  questions 
from  the  guides,  full  particulars  of  what  had 
happaned  in  their  experience  ;  and  thence 
arose  sundry  narratives  of  the  phenomena 
Vesuvius  exhibited,  descriptions  of  the  de- 
struction caused  by  the  progress  of  the 
burning  fluid,  and  certain  marvellous  es- 
capes of  the  country  people  from  the  scorch- 
ing and  consuming  element. 

There  was  no  great  difficulty  in  passing 
from  this  subject  to  the  brigands,  and  there 
followed  an  abundance  of  stories  of  their 
daring  and  savageness,  in  which  different 
captains  of  them  were  made  the  heroes  ; 
but,  in  especial,  there  was  great  mention  of 
Zinirano,  who,  according  to  all  accounts,  in- 
finitely exceeded  in  audacity,  courage,  and 
fierceness,  the  most  celebrated  of  his  villa- 
nous  brethren.  Some  spoke  of  him  as  a 
devil  incarnate,  not  satisfied  with  plunder- 
ing all  who  fell  in  his  way,  he  was  merciless 
as  an  enraged  tiger  to  such  as  he  took  of- 
fence at;  others  magnified  his  prowess  to 
what  was  far  beyond  the  ordinary,  and 
touched  upon  instances  he  had  afforded  of 
succor  to  the  distressed.  Then  came  such 
accounts  of  his  life  as  would  have  sufficed 
all  the  heroes  of  the  table  round.  No  ro- 
mance was  ever  so  marvellous,  no  ballad 
so  full  of  strange  adventure.  Nevertheless, 
the  guides,  one  and  all,  seemed  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  truth  of  the  most  incredible 


of  such  accounts,  and  if  need  were,  would 
have  borne  testimony  of  their  faithfulness. 

My  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  appeared  to 
take  but  little  heed  of  these  narratives,  as 
though  he  looked  on  them  as  old  wives' 
fables,  unworthy  of  the  attention  of  a  youth 
of  noble  blood. 

His  worthy  governor  had  marked  this  in- 
differency  to  matters  of  more  moment,  and 
not  without  some  slight  disquietude.  He 
would  put  himself  right  earnestly  to  exalt 
his  scholar's  mind  to  nobler  perceptions. 
With  the  deep  interest  in  him  he  could  not 
help  feeling,  no  wonder  his  councils  some- 
times, spite  of  his  efforts  to  conceal  how 
much  his  heart  was  in  his  task,  looked  to  be1 
of  a  warmer  character  than  the  situations 
of  the  parties  seemed  to  warrant ;  but  the 
coldness  with  which  such  manifestations 
were  invariably  regarded,  never  failed 
quickly  to  bring  him  back  to  a  proper  state 
of  self-control.  It  was  a  hard  task  for  him  to 
look  on  the  living  image  of  the  noble-hearted 
woman  to  whom  so  large  a  portion  of  his 
best  thoughts  had  been  dedicated,  with  the 
unconcern  of  one  who  hath  but  a  depend- 
ant's interest ;  but  it  was  harder  still  when 
the  tender  impulses  which  were  struggling 
in  his  breast  made  themselves  visible,  to  find 
them  met  by  the  proud  wondering  of  a 
haughty  spirit  that  considers  kindness  so 
shown  as  savoring  of  nothing  so  much  as  of 
a  presumption  that  he  is  bound  to  check  by 
every  way  in  his  power. 

This  time  the  behavior  of  his  youthful 
charge  had  struck  him  more  powerfully 
than  on  any  preceding  occasion,  but  he  dis- 
sembled as  well  as  he  might,  and  pursued 
his  way  up  the  mountain,  conversing  in  his 
ordinary  cheerful  manner  with  the  guides. 
The  path  now  began  to  be  a  troublesome 
one,  the  soil  being  composed,  for  the  most 
part,  of  cinders  and  lava,  which  made  an 
exceeding  loose  footing,  so  that  each  one  of 
the  party  was  forced  to  look  carefully  to  his 
own  progress. 

Young  Herbert,  with  an  active  guide, 
lightly  and  rapidly  led  the  way ;  he  was  fol- 
lowed closely  by  Master  Shakspeare,  who 
anxiously  kept  up  with  him.  At  a  little 
distance  followed  Simon  Stockfish,  silently 
entertaining  numberless  doubts  as  to  the 
advantage  .of  all  this  arduous  climbing,  and 
considering  whether  some  fine  stroke  of 
policy  could  not  be  hit  upon  whereby  such 
dangers  as  seemed  most  imminent  might  be 
diverted  from  his  good  master..  Simon  had, 
close  at  his  hand,  the  old  seaman  from  the 
Pink,  carrying  a  basket,  and  though  he 
seemed  to 'have  a  friendly  feeling  toward* 


144 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


him,  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  com- 
municate his  good  wishes ;  and  as  for  the 
other,  there  could  be  little  question  he  was 
in  a  like  hurr.or,  for  he  scarcely  so  much  as 
opened  his  mouth  all  the  way.  After  them 
came  other  guides,  and  the  escort  followed 
at  a  convenient  distance.  It  appeared  as 
tiiougti  nothing  was  so  plain  as  the  unne- 
cessariness  of  the  latter,  for  there  existed 
not  in  the  neighborhood  the  slightest  sign 
of  living  creature  of  any  sort ;  the  wild  and 
flesolate  scene  would  not  have  accorded  ill 
with  groups  of  savage  banditti,  but  there 
was  no  evidence  of  any  such  thereabouts. 

They  had  climbed  so  far  that  their  near- 
ness to  the  volcano  might  easily  be  judged 
by  the  sulphureous  fumes  that  pervaded  the 
air,  and  by  certain  rumblings  and  shakings 
in  the  belly  of  the  mountain.  At  last  the 
atmosphere  appeared  to  be  gradually  getting 
darker,  and  the  rumblings  did  so  increase  as 
to  shake  the  ground  beneath  their  feet. 
Whereupon  the  guides  wore  a  monstrous 
serious  aspect,  and  did  affirm  with  singular 
earnestness,  these  signs  portended  a  speedy 
eruption,  and  that  all  were  in  singular  jeo- 
pardy, from  which  there  was  no  likelihood 
of  escaping,  unless  they  met  with  very  mar- 
vellous good  fortune. 

The  gloomy  color  of  this  intelligence 
Master  Shakspeare  liked  not  at  all.  But  not 
on  his  own  account  was  it  so  little  pleasing 
to  him,  for  he  was  not  of  a  spirit  to  heed  his 
own  convenience  or  safety  in  a  case  of 
common  danger,  but  he  could  not  help  cer- 
tain uneasy  thoughts  of  the  infinite  respon- 
sibility he  had  taken  on  himself  in  leading 
his  young  charge  into  a  situation  so  fraught 
with  peril.  The  life  of  one  in  whom  the 
nature  lie  so  devotedly  worshipped  seemed 
part  and  parcel,  was  very  far  dearer  than 
his  own,  and  he  trembled  to  think  of  the 
consequences,  should  aught  of  evil  befal 
him.  But  Master  Herbert  would  not  hear  of 
any  retreating.  He  treated  the  prognosti- 
cations of  the  guides  as  statements  worthy 
of  no  credit,  and  being  exceeding  curious 
to  see  the  crater,  he  bade  all  push  on  with- 
out tin  instant's  loss  ;  and,  attended  by  his 
guide,  briskly  led  the  way.  His  worthy 
governor  followed  with  all  the"  speed  possible, 
and  his  faithful  serving-man,  with  his  des- 
perate looking  associate,  did  their  best  to 
keep  near  at  hand.  The  rest  came  stragg- 
ling on  at  their  leisure. 

With  all  the  activity  displayed  by  the 
foremost,  their  progress  was  slow,  and  not 
unattended  with  danger.  Frequently  did 
their  legs  sink  so  deep  into  the  hot  cinders, 
*heir  only  footing,  that  it  looked  as  if  they 


were  to  be  swallowed  up  in  that  treacherous 
soil.  A  guide  was  engaged  in  pointing  out 
to  the  travellers  the  course  of  the  last  stream 
of  burning  lava  which  had  poured  down  the 
sides  of  the  volcano,  when,  on  a  sudden, 
there  came  a  terrible  explosion,  that  seemed 
to  deafen  all  who  heard  it,  which  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  shooting  up  from  the  crater  of 
an  immense  pillar  of  burning  stone  and 
ashes,  that  fell  on  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, in  a  mass  that  would  soon  have  anni- 
hilated a  city.  Presently  this  black  pillar 
turned  into  one  of  fire,  spouting  up  to  an  in- 
measurable  height,  in  the  midst  of  which 
were  seen  huge  masses  of  rock  thrown  up 
as  though  shot  out  of  a  great  cannon,  which 
fell  thundering  down  the  sides  of  the  vol- 
cano, splitting  into  fragments  as  they  fell. 

Scarcely  had  this  terrible  eruption  com- 
menced, when  the  leaders  of  the  party  had 
reached  a  sort  of  shelf  or  platform  overlook- 
ing the  crater,  whence  the  fearfullest  sight 
broke  on  them  eye  ever  saw.  The^noun- 
tain,  like  an  enormous  monster,  continued 
to  belch  out  immense  volumes  of  fire  and 
flame,  that  reached  a  height  at  which  the 
eye  ached  to  follow  it,  and  it  broke  in  a 
resistless  flood  that  went  boiling,  hissing, 
and  scorching  down  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
and  into  the  valley  beneath,  threatening  the 
destruction  of  all  the  orchards,  gardens,  and 
villages  that  lay  in  the  direction  it  was 
taking. 

Master  Shakspeare  could  not  forbear 
shuddering  as  he  remembered  that  a  change 
in  the  wind  might  bring  upon  the  heads  of 
his  party  the  whole  power  of  this  consum- 
ing inundation.  He  could  not  sufficiently 
marvel  at  the  sublimity  of  the  spectacle  be- 
fore him ;  but,  attractive  as  it  was,  he 
would  have  given  all  he  was  worth  in  the 
world  to  have  got  his  charge  at  that  moment 
some  fifty  miles  off. 

A  new  danger  threatened  him  much  more 
imminent  than  the  one  he  had  such  dread 
of,  from  which  there  appeared  to  be  no  es- 
cape. Whilst  all  eyes  were  directed  to  the 
huge  mouth  of  the  burning  mountain  vom- 
iting such  prodigious  volumes  of  fire,  one 
of  the  guides,  in  accents  of  terror,  cried 
out,  "  Zingano!  Zingano  !"  and  all  turning 
at  that  instant,  discovered  a  tall,  stout  ban- 
dit, with  a  dark  and  savage  aspect,  well 
armed  with  sword  and  dagger,  pistolet  and 
arquebus,  within  a  few  yards  of  them,  on 
the  same  ledge  of  the  mountain,  whilst, 
from  various  eminences  that  overlooked 
them,  appeared  several  of  a  like  threatening 
appearance,  whose  pieces  were  pointed  at 
them  with  matches  ready,  as  much  as  tc 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


145 


say  if  they  stirred  they  were  no  better  than 
so  many  dead  men.  Resistance  was  hope- 
less ;  they  had  advanced  so  expeditiously  as 
to  leave  their  lagging  escort  behind  them, 
at  a  distance  too  far  off  to  know  the  strait 
they  were  in,  or  to  be  able  to  render  them 
any  assistance. 

Zingano  suffered  not  his  victims  to  have 
much  time  for  reflection,  or  to  mistake  his 
intentions.  With  a  monstrous  loud  and  in- 
solent voice,  he  bade  the  party  deliver  their 
purses  and  all  they  had  about  them  of  va- 
lue, threatening  speedy  dea1h  delayed  they 
a  moment  in  doing  his  bidding.  Had  as- 
sistance not  been  so  near,  they  would  have 
been  stripped  at  once  and  carried  off  cap- 
tive, but  the  object  was  to  get  what  booty 
they  could  easiest  obtain  and  quickest  de- 
part with. 

Seeing,  whichever  way  they  looked,  a 
horrible  cut-throat  visage  peering  at  them 
from  the  further  end  of  a  tube,  that  in  a 
moment  or  so  could  put  a  ball  through  their 
heads,  without  a  chance  of  escape,  they  took 
to  getting  ready  what  was  wanted  of  them 
as  speedily  as  was  possible.  Even  Simon 
Stockfish  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  he  pre- 
pared to  deliver  all  he  possessed,  without 
aiming  at  a  single  stroke  of  policy,  either 
for  his  worthy  master  or  for  himself. 

All  at  once  there  came  a  cry  from  one  of 
their  own  party — or  rather  a  shriek  of  ex- 
ultation such  as  a  savage  Indian  might  be 
supposed  to  make  at  the  sight  of  an  enemy 
in  his  power,  and,  turning  to  whence  it 
came,  how  greatly  did  they  marvel  at  see- 
ing the  aged  seaman  whom  they  had  taken 
from  the  Pink  to  help  them  in  the  ascent, 
leap  before  them  with  all  the  quickness  of  a 
deer,  and  armed  only  with  a  long  knife,  con- 
front the  captain  of  the  bandits.  The  re- 
cognition was  evidently  natural — a  cry  of 
terror,  involuntarily  as  it  were,  burst  from 
the  lips  of  Zingano,  better  known  to  the 
reader  as  Black  Sampson,  as  he  heard  the 
cry  of  "  Blood  !  blood  !"  hissed  into  his 
ears.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  eyes 
which  were  piercing  through  him  were 
those  of  the  old  shepherd,  whose  gallant  son 
he  had  so  ruthlessly  slain. 

With  a  mighty  effort  he  suddenly  sought 
to  nerve  himself  fora  deadly  encounter  with 
his  remorseless  pursuer,  and  swaying  with 
his  vigorous  arm  by  the  end  of  the  barrel, 
the  weapon  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  sought 
to  crush  him  at  a  blow.  Ere  it  descended, 
however,  the  shepherd  had  leapt  upon  him, 
and  his  knuckles  were  at  his  throat :  then 
commenced  a  most  fearful  struggle — not 
only  from  the  deadly  rage  which  animated 
the  breasts  of  each  with  equal  degree,  but 
10 


from  the  perilous  place  in  which  the  conflict 
was  carried  on. 

They  stood  only  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
spouting  gulf  of  fire,  the  intense  heat  of 
which  became  hardly  possible  to  breathe  in, 
and  for  their  footing  they  had  a  loose  soil 
of  cinders  and  lava  that  crumbled  at  the 
slightest  tread.  Nevertheless,  each  looked 
only  to  his  enemy,  thought  only  of  his  ene- 
my, and  in  such  looking  and  thinking  had 
but  one  object — his  quick  and  utter  destruc- 
tion. No  weapons  were  used,  there  was  no 
time  to  employ  them  ;  it  appeared  as  though 
the  first  thing  sought  was  by  mere  strength 
to  overpower  the  other,  and  then  dispatch 
him. 

The  old  shepherd  had  got  a  good  grip, 
and  he  held  on  like  grim  death.  The  ban- 
dit put  forth  every  muscle  to  free  himself, 
but  with  little  avail,  and  his  companions 
would  readily  have  put  a  bullet  through  his 
antagonist,  did  not  the  constant  twisting  and 
turning  of  the  combatants  make  a  sure  aim 
impossible.  Some  would  have  come  to  their 
captain's  assistance,  but  the  ledge  where 
they  stood  was  so  narrow,  from  a  part  of  it 
having  just  given  way,  that  another  could 
not  get  there  without  incurring  a  very  hor- 
rible risk,  and  they  also  thought  that  the 
old  man  was  not  strong  enough  to  be  a  fit 
match  for  their  famous  leader. 

Apparently  without  knowing  it,  they 
were  gradually  nearing  the  brink  of  the 
crater,  the  ashes  sunk  beneath  their  pres- 
sure, and  fragments  of  the  ledge  continued 
to  break  off,  and  fall  into  the  fiery  mass 
now  boiling  and  raging  so  awfully  near 
them.  Still  neither  relaxed  in  his  endeavors 
— neither  thought  of  the  horrors  of  his  posi- 
tion. Each  had  contrived  to  get  one  arm 
fixed  as  in  a  vice  round  the  other's  waist, 
and  the  gipsy  was  intent  on  drawing  the 
other  away  from  the  grasp  it  had,  to  seize 
a  weapon  ;  but  to  keep  such  advantage  as 
he  had,  he  was  fain  to  hold  on  and  -continue 
his  fierce  struggling  and  wrestling.  At 
last,  with  the  quickness  of  lightning,  he 
snatched  the  dagger  from  his  girdle  ;  but  in 
the  very  act  of  uplifting  it,  he  was  carried 
off  his  feet  by  a  tittnendous  exertion  of  the 
old  man,  who,  with  a  fierce  shriek  of  horri- 
ble laughter,  leapt  with  him  in  his  arms  in- 
to the  boiling  flood. 

The  horror-struck  spectators  saw  them 
disappear,  and  the  next  instant  they  rose  a 
whitened  shapeless  mass  in  the  midst  of  an 
enormous  spout  of  boiling  lava,  that  rose 
like  a  fiery  torrent  into  the  sky — then  they 
fell  back,  and  in  a  thought  became  indistin- 
guishably  commingled  with  the  flaming  in- 
gredients in  that  terrific  caldron. 


146 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


By  tliis  time  the  escort  had  approached 
so  near,  that  the  companions  of  Zingano, 
terrified  by  the  spectacle  they  had  witness- 
ed, disappeared  as  speedily  as  they  could, 
but  not  without  one  or  two  sho*.s  being  fired 
at  them,  which,  however,  it  is  believed  did 
no  great  damage.  The  travellers  had  seen 
enough  of  the  burning  mountain,  and  no 
one  seemed  disinclined  to  resist  the  wishes 
of  the  leader  of  the  party  to  get  back  to  Na- 
ples, before  a  change  in  the  wind  made 
their  fate  scarcely  less  terrible  tlian  that 
of  the  murderer  and  the  avenger  of  his 
crime. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

His  countenance  was  a  civil  war  itself, 
And  all  his  host  had  standing  in  their  looks 
The  paleness  of  the  death  that  was  to  come. 
BEN  JONSON. 

IT  was  about  the  midwatch,  in  a  serene 
night,  a  gallant  pinnace  might  have  been 
seen  cleaving  her  way  through  the  waves 
of  that  highroad  to  great  adventures,  com- 
monly called  the  Spanish  Main.  To  a  sail- 
or's eye,  she  was  as  fair  a  craft  to  look  on 
as  might  be  seen  anywhere  on  the  wide 
ocean,  bravely  appointed  with  warlike 
stores,  and  manned  with  a  valiant  company 
of  daring  adventurers,  most  of  whom  were 
as  careless  of  life  as  though,  in  their  esti- 
mation, it  was  not  worth  a  pin's  fee.  A 
famous  sight  was  it  to  see  the  good  ship, 
"  The  Little  Wolf,"  careering  over  the 
foaming  billows  that  ofttimes  raised  their 
huge  crests  as  though  to  topple  her  down 
headlong — in  sooth,  it  was  an  admirable 
goodly  sight :  yet  there  were  some  persons 
to  be  met  with  who  misliked  it  hugely ; 
they  could  not  hear  the  gallant  pinnace  so 
much  as  named  without  being  terribly 
moved,  and  to  get  sight  of  her,  no  matter 
how  strongly  furnished  they  might  be  for 
war,  they  instantly  fell  into  a  deadly  fear. 
These  were  no  other  than  the  Spaniards 
inhabiting  those  coasts,  or  had  occasion  to 
voyage  in  those  seas ;  and  the  reason  of 
their  monstrous  fear  was,  that  this  same 
ship  was  known  far  and  near  amongst  them 
as  the  terriblest  scourge  to  all  of  their  coun- 
try the  liveliest  imagination  could  conceive. 
The  crew  were  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of 
roaring  devils,  and  their  captain  it  was 
thought  could  he  no  other  than  the  arch- 
riend  himself.  Since  she  had  first  appeared 
on  that  coast,  it  was  wonderful  the  damage 
Bne  had  brought  upon  them  ;  the  strongest 
places  and  the  powerfulles'  chips  were  of 


no  avail  against  the  unnatural  fierce  valor 
of  those  on  board  of  her  :  they  were  storm- 
ed and  sacked  in  an  incredible  short  space 
of  time,  and  those  who  attempted  opposition 
greviously  hurt,  or  slain  outright. 

This  captain  was  known  on  the  coast  as 
"  the  devil-Englishman,"  England  having 
been  his  birthplace,  as  it  was  reported,  but 
it  was  more  generally  believed  he  was  a 
native  of  a  much  warmer  place  rumor  de- 
scribed after  divers  horrible  fashions  ;  some 
giving  oat  that  he  was  infinitely  beyond  the 
ordinary  stature  of  man,  with  a  wild  inhu- 
man countenance,  the  nostrils  whereof  had 
been  seen  to  breathe  fire,  as  several  credit- 
able witnesses  could  testify,  and  that  he 
was  of  a  most  savage  appetite,  loving  to 
pamper  his  delicate  stomach  on  nothing  so 
much  as  a  new-born  babe,  carefully  barba- 
cued  over  a  gentle  fire,  or  tit-bits  from  a 
young  virgin,  daintily  done  in  their  own 
gravy. 

That  he  had  cloven  feet  there  seemed  not 
to  be  any  dispute — nay,  there  was  a  certain 
priest  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  most  moving 
sermon  touching  the  identity  of  the  arch- 
enemy with  this  terror  of  the  Spaniards, 
did  avouch  most  solemnly  that,  when  a 
prisoner  on  board  the  dreaded  ship,  he  once 
came  upon  the  devil-Englishman  suddenly, 
and  found  him  paring  his  hoofs,  and,  as 
undeniable  proof  of  what  he  stated,  he  im- 
mediately produced  to  his  fear-struck  audi- 
tors a  portion  of  the  infernal  paring  he  had 
then  and  there  secreted. 

Much  more  of  these  awful  accounts 
found  ready  credence  in  those  parts  ;  but, 
although  in  some  points  they  were  exceed- 
ing contradictory,  as  regards  the  courage 
of  the  individual  to  whom  they  related, 
there  seemed  but  one  voice.  Nothing  could 
withstand  his  fierceness :  he  swept  all  be- 
fore him,  no  matter  how 'great  the  force,  or 
how  strong  the  defences,  the  whilst  no  hos- 
tile weapon  or  destructive  missile  had  pow- 
er to  do  him  the  least  injury.  Many  a  se- 
rious Spaniard  had  beheld  a  bullet  drop  to 
the  ground,  having  been  flattened  upon  his 
person  ;  and  more  than  one  goodly  rapier 
was  shewn,  the  edge  whereof  quite  turned 
from  having  been  forcibly  thrust  against 
him. 

Of  his  first  appearance  in  those  seas 
there  were  various  legends  ;  but  the  best 
informed  seemed  to  lake  on  themselves  to 
say  that  he  began  to  war  against  them  as  a. 
person  of  little  or  no  authority,  yet  that  his 
terrible  furious  courage  soon  raised  him 
above  his  associates.  From  a  small  com- 
mand he  quickly  rose  to  a  greater,  and  had 
been  wont  latterly  to  come  upon  them  with 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


147 


from  one  to  five  c?  six  large  ships,  well 
equipped  with  all  munitions  of  war,  and 
with  valiant  and  skilful  crews,  that  took 
all  vessels  coming  m  their  way,  attacked 
the  towns  and  villages  upon  the  coast,  and 
plundered  them  of  whatever  of  value  they 
possessed  that  could  be  carried  away,  spoil- 
ing them,  and  doing  them  such  intolerable 
mischiefs,  the  like  had  not  been  heard  of  in 
the  memory  of  man. 

The  men  who  joined  in  this  warfare  were 
known  in  that  part  of  the  world  by  the  name 
of  buccaneers,  from  the  manner  of  curing 
their  meat ;  and  the  chief  of  these,  or  at 
least  the  most  famous  amongst  their  leaders, 
was  now  this  terrible  fierce  captain.  It  was 
said  that  they  were  no  better  than  pirates, 
making  war  without  any  authority,  save 
their  own  desperate  inclinations  ;  but,  let 
them  be  what  they  would,  it  is  certain  they 
were  a  monstrous  evil  to  the  Spaniards  in 
those  seas,  against  whom,  in  especial,  they 
were  exceedingly  implacable. 

They  were  people  of  many  countries ; 
but  principally  English,  Dutch,  Portuguese 
and  Moors,  of  the  most  adventurous  and 
fearless  sort  the  world  contained,  who  took 
to  the  high  seas  as  a  road  to  fortune  ;  and, 
though  they  were  ever  in  a  constant  peril 
of  their  lives,  they,  for  the  most  part,  man- 
aged to  amass  great  riches,  with  which  they 
that  escaped  after  many  years'  fighting  with 
their  enemies,  returned  to  their  several 
countries,  and  were  ever  after  looked  upon 
as  persons  of  worship. 

These  buccaneers  would  appear  in  the 
Spanish  Main  with  sometimes  one,  some- 
times more  ships  ;  and,  making  a  landing  at 
some  place  on  the  coast,  where  they  knew 
beforehand  they  were  like  to  get,  with  a  few 
hard  knocks,  good  store  of  plunder,  they 
would  steal  upon  the  inhabitants  when  they 
least  expected  them,  and,  slaying  all  who 
made  opposition,  take  all  the  gold  and  silver, 
and  other  precious  stuff  they  could  lay  hand 
on,  and,  when  they  had  obtained  all  they 
could,  would  get  on  board  and  sail  away. — 
Perchance  they  would  meet  ships  of  the  Spa- 
niards of  equal  or  greater  force  ;  but  these 
they  would  attack,  and,  in  an  incredible  short 
space,  get  the  better  of. 

Such  was  the  marvellous  courage  on 
which  they  entered  upon  their  most  desper- 
ate enterprises,  it  seemed  as  though  there 
was  no  resisting  them.  On  Jand  or  at  sea. 
attacking  the  strongest  towns  or  the  biggest 
ships,  they  so  rarely  tailed  of  destroying  and 
spoiling  their  adversary,  that  many  of  the 
terrified  Spaniards  looked  upon  them  as 
leagued  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  and 
did  utter  or  give  credence  to  the  strange 


tales  concerning  them  and  their  captain, 
such  as  hath  awhile  since  been  mentioned. 

It  was  on  an  expedition  of  this  sort  that 
the  good  ship,  "  the  Little  Wolf^"  was  now 
pursuing  her  course.  She  had  sailed  in 
company  with  two  smaller  vessels  from  the 
general  place  of  assembling  of  these  adven- 
turers in  the  Western  Indies,  but  had  been 
separated  from  them  in  a  tremendous  storm, 
which  drove  her  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds, 
day  and  night,  till  the  crew  were  nigh  spent 
with  watching  and  labor.  Moreover,  the 
water  and  provision  were  found  to  run  short, 
which  greatly  increased  the  discontent.  Of 
buccaneers,  the  common  sort  were,  by  rea- 
son of  their  riotous,  disorderly  habits,  not  ea- 
sily kept  in  any  sort  of  discipline,  and  any 
mischance  or  reverse  of  fortune  they  took 
so  ill,  that  it  was  only  by  great  heedfulness 
on  the  part  of  their  appointed  officers,  they 
could  be  held  in  proper  subjection. 

In  the  case  of  the  Little  Wolf  they  were 
horribly  dissatisfied  every  one  of  them :  they 
had  been  so  tossed  about,  they  had  lost  their 
reckoning;  none  knew  for  certain  where 
they  were,  yet  many  presumed  to  find  fault 
with  the  course  they  were  steering,  and 
murmurs,  and  even  threats,  were  heard 
amongst  the  most  turbulent.  Their  captain 
they  knew  to  be  a  thorough  seaman,  and  as 
brave  a  leader  as  brave  men  ever  fought  un- 
der ;  nevertheless,  they  were  not  wanting, 
some  amongst  them  who  looked  upoh  his 
rule  as  intolerable,  and  were  for  any  change 
by  which  they  fancied  they  could  in  any  way 
better  themselves.  Their  captain  was  strict, 
keeping  every  man  to  his  duty,  and  punish- 
ing sharply  the  slightest  disobediency.  This 
fretted  their  proud  stomachs  monstrously, 
especially  those  who  were  not  of  his  nation. 
They  could  not  endure  such  sharp  handling, 
and  seemed  only  to  wait  for  an  opportunity 
to  put  an  end  to  it. 

It  was  under  such  circumstances  that  the 
ship  was  proceeding  on  her  way,  as  hath 
been  described  at  the  commencement  of  this 
chapter.  The  watch  had  been  set,  and  in 
general  all  seemed  fur  and  orderly,  save  ever 
and  anon  a  burst  of  riotous  merriment  would 
break  forth  from  the  forecastle,  where  it  was 
evident  enough,  of  all  conscience,  a  numer- 
ous party  of  the  crew  were  entertaining 
themselves,  after  their  own  rough  fashion. 
On  the  main  deck,  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  hearing  of  the  revellers,  two  boys  were 
sitting  together  away  from  close  scrutiny  on 
one  of  the  guns.  They  spoke  in  a  low  voice, 
and,  as  it  seemed,  in  a  manner  especially  sa- 
voring of  confidence. 

"  Nay,  I  like  not  this  seafaring  life,  Mar- 
tin," said  one,  who,  out  of  all  doubt,  was  no 


148 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


other  than  our  especial  acquaintance,  lazy 
Launce,  the  runaway  apprentice  of  Tabitha 
Thatchpole,  and  his  companion  was  his 
sworn  fellow  and  loving  friend,  Martin  Poins, 
his  opposite  neighbor.  Neither  looked  the 
better  for  their  rash  embracing  of  that  wild, 
adventurous  life  they  had  adopted — the  one 
from  impatience  of  the  hard  rule  of  his  se- 
vere mistress,  the  other  that  he  might  share 
the  fortunes  of  his  sworn  lover.  Hearing 
there  was  a  ship  of  war  lying  in  the  Thames, 
which  it  was  rumored  was  about  to  sail  for 
the  Spanish  Main,  where  her  captain  had 
already  greatly  signalized  himself  by  his 
valor  and  seamanship,  they  got  on  board, 
volunteered  to  serve  the  captain,  and,  being 
approved  of  by  him,  they  had  been  ever  since 
sharply  employed  learning  to  filfil  the  duties 
of  a  sailor. 

"  I  like  not  this  seafaring  life,  Martin.  It 
jumpeth  not  with  my  humor  at  all,"  said 
Launce,  with  marvellous  seriousness.  "  I 
wish  very  heartily  I  were  well  back  again 
in  Golden  Lane.  The  cuffs  and  ratings  I 
got  of  that  old  cat  afforded  fair  entertain- 
ment, in  comparison  with  the  intolerable 
climbings  aloft  for  the  bending  of  sails  or 
some  other  villanous  hard  work,  and  the 
constant  fear  of  my  life  I  am  in  through  the 
terrible  furious  storms  we  have  had  since 
we  left  the  Thames.  Though  I  had  in  Bar- 
bican such  monstrous  abundance  of  hard- 
ships and  ill-usage  as  ever  poor  'prentice 
endured,  I  had  on  an  occasion  no  lack  of 
good  sport,  but  in  the  horrible  case  in  which 
I  am  now  tossed  like  a  cat  in  a  blanket,  on 
the  Spanish  Main,  there  are  no  tailors  at 
hand  to  play  tricks  upon,  or  constables  of 
the  watch,  or  old  women,  or  stray  pigs,  to 
have  any  proper  diversion  with,  or  dogs  or 
cocks  to  set  a  fighting.  There  are  no  late 
passengers  to  pelt  privily  from  the  window 
as  they  pass  unsuspecting  along  the  street, 
nor  a  chance  of  a  stolen  game  of  bowls  as  1 
go  of  an  errand  ;  and,  as  for  a  delectable 
draught  of  tickle-brain  to  comfort  one's-self 
withal,  I  have  as  clean  lost  sight  of  such  a 
thing,  as  though  such  good  liquor  had  vanish- 
ed out  of  the  world." 

"  A  hard  case,  o'  my  life !"  exclaime( 
Martin  Poins,  very  gravely.  "  Were  I  you 
I  would  no  longer  put  up  with  such  grie- 
vous losses,  but  straightway  be  quit  of  the 
good  ship  and  her  company,  and  walk  my 
self  off." 

"  Ah,  there's  the  horrible  mischief  of  it,' 
said  the  other,  in  an  exceeding  lamentabL 
tone.  "  I  am  like  a  pig  in  a  pound  ; — 
must  e'en  stay  where  I  am,  whether  I  wil 
or  no." 


'  Doubtless  !"  answered  his  associate, 
drily. 

"  If  it  should  be  my  good  hap  to  get  back 
o  Golden  Lane,"  added  Launce,  with  a  pro- 
ligious  show  of  sincerity,  "  1  promise  you 
on  shall  not  catch  me  on  board  a  ship  of 
ny  sort,  come  what  will  on't." 

"  Dost  remember  the  famous  words  you 
rave  utterance  to  when  you  sought  me  to 
oin  with  you  in  this  adventure  ?"  inquired 
Martin.  "  How  hugely  you  comforted  your- 
self with  the  great  store  of  gold  you  were 
,o  gain  by  your  assisting  in  taking  of  some 
Spanish  galleon,  and  how  gallantly  you 
would  conduct  yourself  in  every  desperate 
enterprise,  till  you  had  raised  yourself  to  be 
a  great  captain,  and  how  you  would  marry 
some  king's  daughter  at  the  least,  when  it 
suited  you,  and  in  good  time  succeed  to  his 
wealth  and  kingdom  ?  Dost  remember " 

"  Body  o'  me,  I  am  in  no  humor  of  remem- 
bering of  anything,"  cried  his  friend,  impati- 

ntly.  "  But,  as  for  Spanish  galleons,  I  wish 
not  lor  their  acquaintance,  for  I  am  told  they 
are  armed  with  guns,  that  do  terrible  exe- 
cution when  they  are  let  off;  and  that  the 
Spaniards  we  are  so  intent  on  spoiling 
have  a  villanous  way  with  them  of  putting 
to  death  all  of  oar  nation  that  fall  into  their 
hands.  Methinks  they  and  their  goods  are 
best  let  alone.  For  mine  own  part,  I  regard 
them  with  no  malice,  and  care  to  do  them 
no  injury.  But,  hush,  what  choice  singing 
is  this  ?" 

The  two  young  men  listened  attentively, 
and  they  distinctly  heard,  in  a  fine,  manly 
voice,  tolerably  familiar  to  them  already,  the 
verses  which  are  here  set  down : 

THE  BUCCANEER'S  SONG. 
Come,  seek  •with  me  the  blushing  girls 

That  India's  spicy  islands  hold ; 
Where  ev'ry  stream  doth  brim  with  pearls, 

And  ev'ry  rock  doth  burst  with  gold  : 
And  where  some  overladen  tree, 

Holds  low  its  store  of  purple  berry — 
Their  charms  shall  prove  our  argosie, 

And  there  we'll  feast  and  live  right  merry 

You  paler  beauties  of  the  south 

May  serve  to  grace  a  gallant's  feast, 
Who's  tasted  not  the  luscious  mouth 

We  find  within  the  burning  East. 
Love  there  a  draught  more  sweet  secures, 

Than  gascon,  muscadine,  or  sherry  : 
Then  make  the  bounteous  vintage  yours, 

There  take  your  fill,  and  be  right  merry ! 

"  Doth  not  that  move  you  ?"  asked  Mar- 
tin Poins,  as  soon  as  the  singer  had  come 
to  a  halt. 

"  'Tis  an  exquisite  song,  o'  my  life,"  re- 
plied Launce,  "  and  I  have  heard  many  such 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


149 


from  the  same  sir.ger ;  yet  I  like  him  not, 
Martin." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  the  other,  with  more  se- 
riousness than  he  had  yet  affected.  "  I 
know  not  what  he  may  have  been  before  he 
sought  his  fortune  in  this  ship ;  but  there 
seemeth  to  be  that  in  him  which  smacks  of 
a  better  condition.  Nevertheless.  I  like  him 
none  the  better  for  it,  for  I  much  doubt  his 
honesty.  I  have  seen  him  laying  himself 
out  very  craftily  to  catch  the  voices  of  the 
worst-disposed  of  the  crew,  particularly  af- 
fecting the  foreigners.  I  cannot  help  fan- 
cying he  harbors  some  ill  design  ;  for  I  like 
not  the  manner  I  ever  find  him  in  corners 
holding  converse  with  all  who  are  known  to 
be  dissatisfied  with  the  voyage." 

"  I  have  heard  it  said,  and  very  roundly 
too,  the  captain  is  much  to  blame,"  observed 
Launce. 

"  And  so  have  I,  many  times,"  answered 
Martin.  "But,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  from 
the  best  informed  in  such  matters,  nothing 
better  could  have  been  done  in  such  stormy 
weather  as  we  have  had,  and  I  hugely  sus- 
pect these  grumblings  are  produced  only  by 
envy  and  jealousy,  and  the  like  evil  passions 
in  they  who  are  discontented." 

"Hush,  surely  this  is  him  coming  this 
way !"  exclaimed  the  other  ;  "  and  he  being 
to-night  captain  o'  the  watch,  may  chance 
not  be  well  pleased  to  find  us  loitering  here. 
Let  us  hide  till  he  has  passed." 

There  happened  to  be  thrown  over  the 
gun  a  large  piece  of  sail-cloth,  to  which 
some  repairs  had  been  made  during  the  day, 
and  not  having  been  finished,  it  had  there 
been  left  until  it  could  be  thoroughly  mended. 
Under  this,  Launee  and  his  friend,  as  quickly 
as  they  could,  disappeared. 

They  had  scarcely  done  so  when  two  men 
were  seen  approaching  slowly  towards  the 
place,engaged  in  deep  and  earnest  discourse. 
One  was  an  Englishman,  a  tall  fellow  of  his 
his  hands,  with  somewhat  of  a  slouching  gait 
and  with  an  exceeding  dissolute  look.  Doubt- 
less, this  was  the  person  to  whom  allusion 
had  just  been  made.  The  one  with  whom 
he  was  in  company  was  evidently  a  Moor, 
by  his  complexion  and  apparel.  His  yellow 
eye-balls  seemed  to  gain  additional  ghastli- 
ness  in  the  moonlight,  and  there  was  trea- 
chery in  every  line  of  his  swarthy  features. 
He  was,  like  his  companion,  a  proper  fellow 
of  his  inches,  and  of  an  exceeding  powerful 
frame.  To  look  at  the  countenance^  of  these 
two,  and  notice  the  earliest  manner  of  their 
discoursing,  the  understanding  observer 
might  readily  have  suspected  'something 
unusually  damnable  and  treacherous  ;  and 
such  suspicions  would  soon  have  received 


strength  through  a  little  attention  to  their 
discourse. 

"  I  tell  thee,  Abdallah,  the  plot  cannot  fail," 
observed  the  Englishman,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  he  approached  the  hiding-place  of  the 
runaway  apprentice  and  his  friend  ;  and 
these  were  the  first  words  they  heard,  but 
they  caught  much  of  what  followed,  the 
conspirators  continuing  to  pace  up  and  down 
close  to  them  on  the  moon  disappearing  be- 
hind a  cloud — "  I  have  got  over  all  but  my 
countrymen,  and  I  can  easily  secure  them 
also,  when  they  discover  there  is  at  least 
three  to  one  against  them.  But  there  is  one 
thing,  without  which  our  chance  of  success 
will  be  little,  even  with  all  the  advantages 
we  possess." 

"  Let  thy  slave  know  thy  pleasure  in  this 
matter,"  answered  the  Moor,  "  and  doubt  not 
it  shall  be  as  thy  heart  desireth." 

"  The  captain  must  be  made  away  with 
before  any  thing  else  is  attempted,"  said  the 
other.  "  I  know  thy  great  courage,  Abdal- 
lah, and  have  that  confidence  in  thy.  discre- 
tion, I  can  entrust  this  important  business 
only  to  thy  sure  hand." 

"  I  have  already  settled  the  proper  execu- 
tion of  it,  O  Compton,"  replied  Abdallah.  "  I 
have  so  planned,  that  I  can  readily  enter  hia 
cabin  when  he  sleeps — my  trusty  blade  will 
do  the  rest." 

"  Good ;  but  when  can  this  be  accomplish- 
ed ?"  inquired  Compton.  "  The  plot  is 
ripe ;  I  would  not  have  a  moment  lost. — 
Let  us  burst  forth  before  any  smell  it  out 
I  would  have  it  done  tin's  night — ay,  this 
minute, — if  within  the  warrant  of  possibi- 
lity." 

"  Such  is  thy  slave's  design,"  replied  Ab- 
dallah. "  Our  great  captain  shall  meet  hia 
death,  in  his  first  sleepy  this  night." 

"  That  is  well  thought  of,  Abdallah.  I 
like  the  plan  on  't  marvellously,"  said  his 
companion.  "  The  other  officers  we  can 
dispose  of  more  at  our  leisure ;  but  prythee, 
noble  friend,  take  good  heed  he  escape  not. 
Remember,  thou  art  to  be  my  lieutenant, 
and  that  a  life  of  sweetest  enjoyment,  with 
exhaustless  hoards  of  Spanish  gold,  await 
us  when  we  have  got  possession  of  this 
ship." 

"  By  the  beard  of  the  prophet,  I  swear  to 
thee,  he  shall  die  !"  answered  the  Moor. 

Launce  listened  with  very  different  feel- 
ings to  those  of  Martin,  though  both  youths 
were  horribly  astonished  at  the  treachery 
thus  laid  open  to  them.  The  one  felt  as 
though  he  dared  scarcely  breathe,  and  trem- 
bled from  head  to  foot ;  but  the  other,  though 
greatly  alarmed  with  the  imminence  of  the 
danger,  was  anxious  to  make  some  effort 


160 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  prevent  it.  To  issue  from  his  conceal- 
ment, he  knew  would  insure  certain  death, 
if  discovered.  The  arch-conspirators  would 
not  hesitate  to  slay  one  who  had  got  posses- 
sion of  their  villanous  secrets  ;  and  to  remain 
where  he  was  would  be  to  prevent  all  possi- 
bility of  an  alarm  being  given  in  time  to 
prevent  the  approaching  massacre. 

Not  an  instant  was»to  be  lost.  Whisper- 
ing to  Launce  to  remain  quiet  till  his  return, 
^Martin  softly  took  off  his  shoes ;  then,  when 
he  knew,  by  the  retreating  footsteps,  that 
the  backs  of  the  conspirators  were  towards 
him,  he  raised  the  sail-cloth,  and  crept  away 
from  it  very  cautiously  across  the  path  they 
would  make  in  returning.  When  he  thought 
they  had  got  their  usual  distance,  he  lay 
quiet,  and  endeavored  to  still  the  violent 
beating  of  his  heart.  This  was  the  critical 
moment.  It  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  ob- 
jects at  a  little  distance  ;  but,  should  the 
moon  appear  whilst  the  conspirators  were 
approaching,  he  could  not  fail  of  being  de- 
tected. 

He  waited  in  an  agony  of  suspense. — 
Suddenly  they  both  stopped,  and' he  felt  as- 
sured all  was  over  with  him.  To  his  great 
relief,  they  did  not  cease  talking,  and  he 
heard,  with  a  terrible  distinctness,  some  of 
the  details  of  the  murders  that  were  about 
to  be  acted.  At  last  they  continued  their 
paces,  evidently  too  intent  on  their  treason 
to  notice  his  closeness  to  them.  As  soon  as 
their  backs  were  fairly  turned,  he  again 
commenced  creeping  on  all-fours,  and  so 
continued,  stopping  when  they  approached, 
and  cautiously  proceeding  when  they  re- 
treated, till  he  had  got  himself  out  of  dan- 
ger. 

In  the  meantime,  Launce  lay  quaking  for 
very  fear.  He  would  have  given  all  he  was 
worth  in  the  world,  and  all  he  was  like  to 
be,  from  that  time  forward — his  hopes  of  the 
galleon,  of  being  a  great  captain,  and  of 
marrying  a  king's  daughter  into  the  bargain 
— only  to  have  been  safe  on  his  accustomed 
pallet,  in  the  well-remembered  chamber  in 
Tabitha  Thatchpole's  homely  dwelling. 

How  bitterly  he  lamented  his  folly  in 
quitting  such  a  delectable  spot  as  he  now 
looked  on  it,  and  so  sweet  a  mistress  as  he 
now  considered  the  very  shrewish  Tabitha, 
to  be  in  daily  risk  of  drowning,  escaping 
which  he  stood  in  hourly  fear  of  having  his 
throat  cut !  He  could  have  cried  with  vex- 
ation, had  he  not  been  well  aware  that  the 
slightest  noise  might  betray  him  ;  and  then 
— he  tremb'ed  from  head  to  foot,  and  dared 
not  think  or,  the  peril  he  was  in. 

He  marvelled  greatly  that  Martin  Poins 
had  left  him.  and  entertained  intolerable 


fears  that  it  mig'rt  lead  to^thc  discovery  of 
his  concealment — and  there  he  lay  crouched 
up,  like  a  frozen  snake,  expecting  the  very 
horriblest  deaths  in  every  creak  of  the  cord- 
age or  whistle  of  the  wind,  that  sounded 
louder  than  ordinary. 

The  two  conspirators  appeared  to  have 
much  to  say,  ere  they  could  settle  their 
plans  to  their  liking — they  agreed  that  the 
time  for  action  had  arrived,  and  that  the  mu- 
tiny should  break  out  forthwith. 

The  massacre  of  the  captain  and  his  offi- 
cers was  to  be  followed  by  an  attack  on 
those  of  the  English  amongst  the  crew  who 
were  not  disposed  to  join  them,  and  then  the 
ship's  course  was  to  be  altered,  and  a  cer- 
tain town  on  the  American  coast,  which 
was  believed  to  be  richly  furnished  and  but 
weakly  guarded,  was  to  be  surprised,  the 
place  sacked,  and  they  who  could  not  ran- 
som themselves  to  be  put  to  death ;  after 
which,  they  were  to  cruise  on  that  coast 
till  every  man  was  as  rich  as  he  wished  to 
be.  Then  they  were  to  sell  the  ship  and 
her  prizes  to  the  Portuguese,  and  every  one 
return  to  his  own  country,  or  wherever  else 
he  liked,  to  enjoy  his  gains.  At  last,  they 
parted — the  Moor  going  to  the  captain's  ca- 
bin for  the  purpose  of  murdering  him  with 
his  own  hand,  and  Compton  proceeding  to  the 
rest  of  the  conspirators  to  prepare  them  lor 
immediately  commencing  the  attack  on  the 
other  officers  and  men  they  had  determined 
on  getting  rid  of. 

Launce  heard  their  retreating  footsteps, 
but  he  was  in  so  deadly  a  fear  he  could  not 
dare  to  lift  up  the  sail  to  see  if  the  coast 
was  clear. 

Compton  proceeded  on  his  errand.  Just 
then  the  moon  escaped  from  the  clouds 
which  had  veiled  her  glories,  and  poured  a 
flood  of  soft  light  upon  the  ship  and  along 
the  waves  over  which  she  was  so  gallantly 
floating.  He  glanced  a  sharp  and  eager  eye 
around  him,  and  noted  the  extreme  negli- 
gence of  those  who  kept  watch.  This  au- 
gured well  for  his  plot,  and  he  smiled  exult- 
ingly,  as  he  saw  how  unprepared  those  from 
whom  he  feared  any  resistance  were,  for 
the  fierce  encounter  which  was  to  wrest 
the  ship  out  of  their  hands,  to  give  it  into 
his. 

This  man  had  been  born  in  a  respectable 
station,  and  was  not  without  parts,  but  had 
led  so  dissolute  a  life  that  all  his  friends 
had  disowned  him,  and,  after  committing  ah 
manner  of  villanies,  he  had  been  fain  to  go 
to  sea,  to  escape  the  hue  and  cry  set  for  him. 

In  the  present  expedition,  he  had  been  al- 
lowed a  small  command,  but  this  served  only 
the  greater  to  excite  his  huge  ambition.— 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


161 


He  must  needs  be  first  in  the  enterprise  he 
and  his  companions  were  upon,  and,  to  ob- 
tain this  station,  he  cared  not  what  monstrous 
crimes  he  committed. 

He  passed  on  to  the  forecastle,  where  se- 
veral of  the  conspirators  were  waiting  in 
expectation  of  the  summons  that  was  to  set 
them  at  the  work  of  slaughter.  They  ap- 
peared to  be  carousing,  as  if  they  had  no 
such  thoughts  in  their  heads.  The  English- 
men had  gone  to  their  hammocks.  This  was 
what  they  had  counted  on,  and  what  was 
wanted  for  the  full  success  of  their  infamous 
designs.  They  now  only  waited  the  appear- 
ance of  their  new  captain  to  break  out  into 
open  mutiny.  Compton  was  seen  approach- 
ing— whereupon  all  started  from  the  places 
where  they  had  been  sitting  or  lying,  as  the 
case  might  be,  and  hailed  him  as  their  cap- 
tain. 

They  were  a  wild  crew — the  scum  of  all 
nations — each  in  the  manner  of  dressing 
that  best  pleased  his  fancy,  and  all  variously 
armed, — fierce,  unruly  ruffians,  that  had 
lived  by  cutting  purses,  had  abandoned  that 
vocation  for  the  more  perilous  one  of  cutting 
throats,  and  had  taken  service  with  their 
captain  from  the  fame  of  his  bravery  and 
success  in  all  his  enterprises. 

"  Now,  my  masters,  to  our  rendezvous  on 
the  quarter-deck !"  exclaimed  Compton,  ex- 
ultingly — "  and  then  a  sharp  struggle,  and 
the  ship  is  our  own." 

"  Hurrah  for  Compton  !"  answered  the 
mutineers  right  lustily.  "  He  alone  shall 
be  our  captain  ! — Death  to  all  who  oppose 
him  ! — Away  with  the  tyrant,  Daring  ! — 
Ho,  for  Spanish  gold,  and  a  free  life !" — 
And,  with  divers  other  sentences  of  a  like 
character,  in  as  many  different  languages, 
the  mutineers  rushed  in  a  body  towards  the 
quarter-deck,  to  cut  down  all  who  should 
withstand  them,  as  they  sought  to  take  pos- 
session of  the  ship  ;  whilst  another  body  of 
them,  under  the  command  of  the  Moor,  was 
to  murder  the  officers  and  seize  on  the  ma- 
gazines. 

On  they  came,  sure  of  gaining  an  easy 
victory  over  their  unsuspecting  messmates  ; 
nor  did  they  discover  their  error  till  they  had 
made  good  their  footing  on  the  deck,  when 
they  were  brought  to  a  speedy  halt,  crowd- 
ed altogether  as  they  were,  by  perceiving 
the  Englishmen  they  believed  to  be  secured 
under  hatches,  with  the  officers  they  had 
supposed  to  be  murdered,  drawn  up,  well 
armed,  with  an  evident  intention  of  disputing 
their  further  progress. 

In  front  of  them  was  a  figure,  beneath  the 
fire  of  whose  eagle  eye  the  stoutest  of  them 
quailed.  He  had  not  had  time  to  put  on  his 


doublet,  and  most  of  his  people  were  in  a 
like  predicament,  but  all  had  got  arquebuses, 
or  pistolets,  or  swords,  or  pikes,  or  other  ser- 
viceable weapons ;  and,  though  greatly  infe- 
rior to  the  mutineers  in  numbers,  they  were 
like  to  make  the  contest  more  doubtful  than 
seemed  agreeable  to  any  of  them. 

The  captain  stood  in  front  of  his  faithful 
followers,  his  brawny  arm  bared  to  his  el- 
bow, with  his  trusty  sword  in  his  hand,  and 
the  other  clutching  a  pistolet  that  was  in 
his  belt.  His  countenance  bore,  in  every 
line  of  it,  the  desperate  valor  which  had 
carried  him  in  triumph  through  so  many 
fierce  encounters.  At  his  side  was  Martin 
Poins,  by  whose  timely  warning  he  had  been 
enabled  to  make  such  arrangements  for  his 
safety  as  we  have  noticed  ;  and,  at  a  conve- 
nient distance,  Launce  might  be  seen,  look- 
ing to  be  in  no  pleasant  plight,  very  desirous 
of  getting  out  of  harm's  way,  yet  not  being 
able  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  where  he  should 
be.  as  safe  as  he  desired. 

"  Why,  how  now  ?"  exclaimed  the  cap- 
tain, tauntingly,  as  he  noticed  the  surprise 
the  mutineers  exhibited.  '•  By  Gog  and 
Magog,  but  these  are  fine  doings  truly,  ye 
mutineering  dogs  !  Back,  every  one  of  ye,  or 
ye  shall  have  no  better  hammock  this  night 
than  a  shark's  paunch  is  like  to  afford. — 
To  your  duty,  knaves  !" 

"  Down  with  him  !"  cried  Compton,  who 
hoped,  with  his  superior  force,  to  bear  down 
all  opposition.  "  Behold,  my  masters,  we 
are  three  to  one,  as  it  is,  and  the  Moor  will 
anon  come  to  our  assistance." 

"  Methinks  you  are  reckoning  woefully 
without  your  host,  ye  thrice  treacherous  vil- 
lain!"  replied  bis  captain.  "Behold  him 
from  whom  you  expect  succor  !"  Compton 
turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  the  other 
pointed,  and,  to  his  extreme  horror,  discov- 
ered the  body  of  his  fellow-conspirator,  Ab- 
dallah,  hanging  at  the  fore-yard-arm.  The 
moon  shone  full  on  his  features,  which  were 
convulsed  with  agony,  so  that  he  presented 
an  awful  spectacle. 

Villain  as  he  was,  Compton  was  brave — 
and,  seeing  the  desperateness  of  the  case, 
he  determined  on  not  being  subdned  without 
a  struggle.  Turning  to  his  followers, 
amongst  whom  some  were  already  waver- 
ing, he  cried  out  amain — "  Revenge,  my 
masters  !  revenge  the  noble  Moor  !  If  you 
wish  to  'scape  his  fate,  follow  me,  and  the 
ship  is  our  own.  Down  with  the  tyrant  ! 
Ho,  for  Spanish  gold  and  a  free  life  !" 

He  was  answered  by  a  loud  cheer,  and 
the  mutineers  rushed,  in  a  body,  on  the  rest 
of  the  crew,  who  came  forward  manfully 


152 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


with  their  favorite  cry  of  "  A  Daring !  a 
Daring !"  and  a  fierce  and  terrible  fight 
ensued.  The  captain  was  attacked  at  once 
by  Compton  and  two  of  his  foreign  associ- 
ates, powerful  knaves,  who  singly  seemed 
more  than  a  match  for  him ;  but  pne  he 
pistoled  on  the  spot,  and  the  other  was 
knocked  on  the  head  by  Martin  Poins  with 
a  heavy  axe,  with  which  he  had  armed  him- 
self. Left  only  with  the  arch-plotter  to  deal 
with,  he  set  himself  to  bring  the  matter  to 
a  speedy  ending. 

Compton  was  both  strong  and  valiant, 
and  he  fought  with  the  fierceness  of  a  des- 
perate man,  who  has  set  his  all  upon  a  cast ; 
but  he  had  but  small  chance  against  so 
determined  a  combatant.  Whatever  might 
be  the  degree  of  credibility  attached  to  the 
Spaniards'  estimation  of  him,  certain  is  it 
the  terrible  Englishman  was  invulnerable  to 
his  present  assailant,  and  in  a  few  short 
minutes  his  sword  was  passed,  with  fatal 
effect,  through  Compton's  body.  As  they 
had  already  lost  many  of  their  number  by 
the  fire  which  the  English  part  of  the  crew 
assailed  them,  both  from  aloft  and  other 
advantageous  places,  directly  they  com- 
menced their  attack,  the  fall  of  their  leader 
further  dispirited  the  mutineers  that  they 
began  to  give  way. 

It  was  at  this  critical  moment  that  a 
voice  was  heard  shouting  out  from  the  mast 
head,  "  A  sail !  a  sail !"  which  appeared  to 
have  quite  a  magical  effect  on  the  crew. 
They  desisted  from  all  show  of  fighting  on 
the  instant.  Due  inquiries  were  presently 
made  ;  and,  on  its  being  stated  that  she  was 
a  Spaniard,  and  like  enough  to  be  the  very 
treasure-ship  they  had  been  so  exceedingly 
desirous  of  meeting,  one  shout  of  universal 
obedience  to  their  leader  broke  forth  from 
them  to  a  man,  the  mutineers  joining  in  it 
more  lustily  than  any  ;  they  acknowledged 
entire  submission  to  his  pleasure,  endeavor- 
ing to  excuse  themselves  for  their  late  crime, 
on  the  plea  that  they  had  been  worked  upon 
by  designing  villains,  who  sought  to  make 
of  them  the  stepping-stones  to  their  own 
ambition,  and  promised,  with  many  signs 
of  repentance,  that  if  they  were  forgiven 
their  fault  they  would  so  conduct  themselves 
against  the  enemy  as  should  prove  they 
were  not  unworthy  of  being  commanded  by 
so  great  a  captain. 

Captain  Harry  Daring  saw  the  politic- 
ness  of  agreeing  to  their  request  at  such  a 
time  ;  so,  after  a  brief  admonition,  and  a 
few  sharp  speeches  showing  the  enormity 
of  their  offences,  he  bade  the  wounded  to 
be  looked  to,  and  the  dead  to  be  thrown 
overboard,  but  solemnly  vowed  the  Moor 


should  hang  were  he  was,  as  a  token  of 
the  disgrace  of  the  crew,  till  they  had  made 
prize  of  the  Spanish  ship :  then  he  sent 
them  to  their  several  duties.  This  mingling 
of  severity  and  conciliation  had  its  due  ef- 
fect. Every  one  strove  to  do  his  utmost  for 
the  pleasuring  of  his  captain ;  and  few 
persons,  at  this  moment,  called  to  observe 
the  unanimity  and  extraordinary  diligence 
exhibited  in  every  part  of  the  ship,  could 
have  supposed  that  a  few  minutes  before  it 
had  been  the  scene  of  the  most  desperate 
mutiny. 

Under  the  able  directions  of  the  captain, 
assisted  by  his  officers,  the  good  ship,  the 
Little  Wolf,  was  rapidly  approaching  the 
Spaniard.  At  first,  those  in  the  latter  ap- 
peared to  give  themselves  no  concern,  per- 
chance noticing  how  greatly  superior  was 
their  size,  or  not  taking  the  other  to  be  an 
enemy ;  but  when  they  got  closer  view  of 
her,  and  beheld  her  to  be  no  other  than  the 
terrible  ship  that  had  already  done  their 
nation  such  huge  damage,  they  set  up  all 
their  sails,  and  strove  earnestly  to  escape  as 
speedily  as  they  could. 

The  gallant  leader  of  the  buccaneers  was 
not  of  a  temper  to  allow  so  golden  a  chance 
to  slip  out  of  his  hands,  now,  after  so  much 
watching  and  travail,  he  had,  as  it  were,  a 
hold  of  it ;  for  out  of  all  doubt,  it  was  the 
galleon,  to  intercept  which  had  been  the 
principal  object  of  his  expedition.  He  knew 
her  capture  would  enrich  himself  and  all 
his  followers  for  life — she  was  reputed  to 
carry  such  immense  wealth ;  therefore  he 
made  every  preparation,  not  only  to  overtake 
her  in  her  flight,  but  to  attack  her,  with  all 
his  means  of  offence,  as  soon  as  ever  he 
could  get  within  shot  of  her. 

The  Spaniard  was  too  heavily  laden  to 
be  a  good  sailer,  and  therefore  it  was  no 
marvel  the  smaller  and  lighter  vessel  gained 
upon  her  rapidly.  The  decks  were  cleared 
for  action ;  every  man  was  armed  with 
whatever  weapons  best  suited  the  occasion  ; 
ammunition  was  served  out,  the  guns  were 
loaded,  and  the  gunners  standing  by,  witli 
matches  lighted,  to  discharge  the  murderous 
missiles  they  contained,  and  all  were  on  the 
tiptoe  of  expectation. 

At  this  time  it  was  Captain  Harry  Dar- 
ing called  to  him  Master  Poins,  and,  after 
much  commendation  of  .him  before  all  his 
officers  for  the  good  service  he  had  rendered 
them  all,  presented  him  with  a  purse  of  gold 
to  provide  for  him  in  case  he  should  fall  in 
the  approaching  engagement,  and  named 
him  to  be  a  junior  officer  under  him,  ex- 
pressing a  hope  that  amongst  those  whom 
he  had  so  well  served,  he  would  find  a 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


friend  to  realize  his  good  wishes,  in  case  he 
should  be  deprived  of  the  power  of  doing  so 
himself.  Whereupon  all  his  chief  officers 
readily  promised  that,  should  any  mischance 
occur  to  their  captain,  which  he  hoped  might 
never  be,  they  would  see  that  Martin  Poins 
was  well  cared  for. 

Thus  was  Martin  already,  through  his 
courage  and  prudence,  placed  on  the  high- 
road to  fortune,  whilst  Launce  looked  only 
to  be  in  a  worse  case  than  ever.  In  the  first 
bruit  of  an  engagement  with  the  galleon, 
wishing  himself  cuffed  and  rated  by  the  un- 
gentle Tabitha  within  an  inch  of  his  life 
rather  than  were  he  was,  he,  unnoticed  by 
any  one,  stole  away,  and  hid  himself  in  an 
empty  tub  in  the  ship's  hold. 

The  report  of  the  Little  Wolfs  great  guns 
spoke  in  a  pretty  loud  voice  that  the  two 
ships  were  getting  to  be  within  reach  of 
each  other's  shot.  This  was  answered  by 
the  great  guns  of  the  Galleon,  who,  seeing 
they  could  not  get  away,  determined  on 
making  \vhatresistance  they  could, and  with 
their  immense  superiority  in  every  way  it 
seemed  probable  to  her  commander  they 
might  succeed  in  beating  off  the  buccaneers, 
or  sinking  the  dreaded  vessel  with  their 
heavy  ordnance.  These  discharges  soon 
began  to  be  v£ry  brisk  and  tierce  on  both 
sides,  but  the  Galleon  floating  so  much  high- 
er in  the  water  than  the  jnnnace,  her  shot 
usually  pitched  clean  over  her,  whilst  on 
the  contrary,  almost  every  time  the  buc- 
caneers fired,  the  shot  wounded  her  enemy 
either  in  the  spars  or  rigging  or  hull,  be- 
sides doing  infinite  mischief  upon  her  crowd- 
ed decks. 

The  little  pinnace  all  this  time  came  gal- 
lantly up  to  her  huge  enemy,  and,  after 
pouring  in  a  destructive  broadside,  lost  no 
time  in  grappling  with  her  for  the  purpose 
of  taking  her  by  boarding.  This,  however, 
was  an  exceeding  difficult  matter  to  accom- 
plish, the  sides  of  the  larger  ship  rising  up 
before  the  other  like  a  wall,  the  decks  being 
guarded  by  nettings,  behind  which  stood  a 
close  array  of  hostile  Spaniards,  pouring 
down  all  sorts  of  heavy  missiles,  and  shoot- 
ing of  their  pieces  at  their  assailants  as 
fast  as  they  could  load  them. 

The  sight  of  the  Moor  hanging  at  the 
fore-yard-arm  struck  an  extraordinary  terror 
in  them,  and  doubtless,  with  the  terrible 
reputation  of  the  Devil-Englishman,  made 
their  defence  more  weak  than  it  might  have 
been ;  for  when  they  found  that  so  deadly 
a  fire  was  kept  upon  them  from  the  tops  of 
the  Little  Wolf,  that  it  brought  them  down 
by  scores,  and  that  their  enemies  climbed  up 
to  their  decks  with  the  agility  and  fierceness 


of  wild  cats,  whils  others  dropped  upon  them 
from  the  over-hanging  rigging  of  their  own 
ship,  they  began  to  be  monstrously  dispirited, 
and  gave  way. 

Tbe  confusion  of  Babel  was  nothing  to 
the  uproar  which  existed  in  both  ships,  the 
one  crowded  with  grandees  of  Spaniards 
returning  with  all  their  treasure  from  the 
new  world  to  the  old,  inciting  by  their  ex- 
ample and  oratory  the  soldiers  that  were  on 
board  to  guard  the  galleon,  to  beat  back  the 
furious  enemy,  whilst  the  other,  no  less  in- 
tent on  making  their  way,  came  011  shouting 
of  all  sorts  of  wild  tumultuous  cries  and 
execrations,  in  divers  languages," enough  by 
thema&lves  to  daunt  the  stoutest  hearts. 
Then  interspersedly  were  heard  the  screams 
of  the  women  on  board  the  Spanish  ship, 
the  groans  of  the  wounded,  and  the  constant 
discharge  of  arquebuses  and  pistolets  mak- 
ing the  most  infernal  concert  that  can  be 
conceived. 

At  last  Harry  Daring,  supported  by  a 
considerable  number  of  his  crew,  made  good 
his  footing  on  the  deck  of  the  galleon.  He 
had  in  his  hand  a  monstrous  battle-axe, 
which  with  tremendous  force  he  swung 
around  him,  crushing  to  the  earth  every 
Spaniard  on  whom  it  fell.  Many  a  despe- 
rate intent  was  made  to  bring  him  down, 
but  the  few  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to 
survive  them  fled  from  before  his  terrible 
strokes,  crying  out  to  thei  r  fellows  to  save 
themselves  from  the  Devil-Englishman.  A 
gallant  band  of  Dons,  who  were  evidently 
made  of  the  best  stuff  their  country  afforded, 
still  kept  up  a  stiff  defence,  supported  by 
the  more  courageous  of  the  soldiers. 

"  Down  with  the  villain  Spaniards  '" 
cried  the  captain  of  the  buccaneers,  with  all 
the  energy  of  his  earlier  days,  as  he  rushed 
forward  to  attack  his  enemies. 

"A  Daring!  A  Daring!"  shouted  his 
men,  now  every  instant  increasing  in  num- 
bers, as  they  threw  themselves  upon  the 
Spaniards.  The  battle  was  fierce,  but 
short.  The  bravest  of  the  Dons  were  cut 
to  pieces,  and  the  rest  fled  or  surrendered  ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  huge  ship  with  all 
her  treasures  became  the  property  of  Harry 
Daring  and  his  crew. 

A  curious  incident  occurred  during  the 
hottest  part  of  the  engagement — the  body  of 
the  Moor  suddenly  disappeared,  and  no  one 
knew  where  or  how ;  but  divers  had  shrewd 
suspicions,  a  person  reputed  to  be  of  a  like 
color  with  him  had  come  and  claimed  his 
own ;  nevertheless,  I  incline  to  the  opinion 
that  he  was  shot  away  by  some  of  the  great 
)rdnance  and  fell  into  the  sea. 

The  wealth  found  in  the  galleon  exceed- 


154 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ed  the  conquerors'  expectations.  Ingots  of 
gold  and  bars  of  silver,  with  heaps  of  coin 
and  plate  beyond  all  counting,  and  bags  of 
pearls  and  other  precious  stones,  together 
with  an  incalculable  abundance  of  the  most 
costly  merchandize,  appeared  before  them 
till  the  eye  marvelled  there  should  be  such 
wondrous  store  of  riches  in  the  world.  This 
was  all  taken  from  the  galleon  and  placed 
in  the  pinnace,  after  which  the  former  was 
allowed  to  proceed  on  her  voyage.  A  divi- 
sion of  the  booty  soon  afterwards  took  place, 
to  the  monstrous  satisfaction  of  every  one 
of  the  crew  of  the  Little  Wolf.  As  Launce 
had  disappeared,  it  was  supposed  he  had 
fallen  in  the  contest ;  when,  whilst  h'm  fast 
friend  Martin,  who  had  behaved  himself 
very  stoutly  throughout  the  fight,  was  la- 
menting his  supposed  loss,  he  crept  from 
his  concealment  so  privily  no  one  knew  he 
had  been  there,  and  now  all  danger  was 
over,  took  care  to  make  it  believed  he  had 
distinguished  himself  amongst  the  Spaniards 
in  a  terrible  heroical  manner. 

Of  the  gallant  Harry  Daring  let  it  suffice 
here  to  say,  that  he  continued  to  be  the 
greatest  scourge  to  the  Spaniards  they  had 
ever  known,  spoiling  them  of  their  sub- 
stance, and  overthrowing  all  their  arma- 
ments, whether  on  land  or  on  sea.  Indeed, 
after  the  taking  of  the  treasure-ship,  his  re- 
putation as  "  The  Devil-Englishman"  was 
more  fierce  than  before.  Amongst  his  own 
men,  he  grew  to  be  in  such  extraordinary 
estimation,  he  had  soon  several  ships  and 
some  thousands  of  followers  of  all  nations 
desirous  of  being  led  by  him,  and  there 
never  after  was  any  thing  in  the  shape  of  a 
mutiny  attempted  by  any  one  of  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  sweeter  swan  than  ever  sung  in  Po — 
A  shriller  nightingale  than  ever  blest 
The  prouder  groves  of  self-admiring  Rome. 
THE  RETURN  FROM  PARNASSUS. 

She  who  tamed  the  world  tamed  herself  at 
last,  and,  falling  under  her  own  weight,  fell  a 
prey  to  time.  JAMES  HOWELL. 

WHO  that  hath  either  heart  or  brain  can 
walk  unmoved  among  the  vestiges  of  fallen 
greatness  thsft  attract  attention  on  every 
side  of  that  city  of  cities,  that  birthplace  of 
noble  soldiership,  that  cradle  of  honorable 
freedom,  that  home  of  classic  learning,  that 
seat  of  omnipotent  majesty,  that  altar  of 
true  religion  ;  the  feared,  the  honored,  the 
condemned,  the  classical,  the  venerable 


Rome  ?  Who  can  see  her  crumbling  baths, 
ner  ruined  temples,  her  tottering  aqueducts, 
her  prostrate  monuments,  her  shattered  am- 
phitheatres, and  her  desolate,  silent,  and 
choked-up  forums,  without  calling  to  mind 
the  greatness  that  hath  passed  away  ? 
What  a  marvellous  story  is  here  writ !  ay, 
and  what  pregnant  characters  compose  the 
writing  ! — they  are  your  true  hieroglyphics, 
whereof  one  hath  the  meaning  of  a  volume. 

Here  you  shall  have  a  whole  host  of  re- 
collections of  the  infant  colony  struggling 
with  its  neighbors  for  a  mere  existence. 
There  you  shall  gather  as  goodly  a  crop  of 
memories  from  the  Imperial  City  that  gave 
conquerors  and  laws  to  all  the  world.  In 
one  place  the  mind  is  crowded  with  augurs, 
vestal  virgins,  sacrifices,  incense,  and 
hymns,  and  all  the  impressive  worship 
which  of  old  was  offered  up  to  that  more 
powerful  than  creditable  assemblage  yclept 
the  gods  and  goddesses  ;  in  another  it  finds 
room  for  no  less  numerous  a  company  of 
lictors,  centurions,  praters,  conscript  fathers, 
.orators,  philosophers,  and  poets,  and  all, 
whether  of  the  patrician  or  plebeian  class, 
that  belonged  to  the  intelligence  of  the 
Seven  Hilled  City  in  its  palmy  days. 

Here  comes  a  gigantic  memento  of  its 
gladiatorial  barbarousness,  there  an  endur- 
ing sign  of  its  Apician  refinement.  One 
instant  brings  before  us  the  peaceful  luxury 
of  an  Augustus,  another  the  brutal  despo- 
tism of  a  Nero.  We  behold  in  every  thing 
presented  to  us  a  series  of  the  noblest  spec- 
tacles the  world  ever  saw.  The  joyful  city 
witnessing  an  ovation  ;  the  infant  republic 
forcibly  carrying  off  from  a  neighbor  state 
such  women  as  suited  them  for  wives  ;  the 
slaughter  of  Caesar  in  the  capitol ;  Coriola- 
nus  prevented  by  his  domestic  affections 
from  leading  the  Volscians  against  his  un- 
grateful city ;  Cincinnatus  called  from  the 
plough  to  lead  the  armies  of  his  country 
against  the  enemv ;  and  Belisarius,  blind 
and  old,  begging  his  bread  amongst  those 
whose  safety  his  talents  and  his  courage 
had  secured. 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  rallying  places 
that,  upon  some  remembrancer  starting  up 
— as  could  not  be  avoided,  wander  where 
you  might — gave  occasion  for  a  busy 
throng  of  associations  to  take  exclusive  pos- 
session of  the  mind.  But  these  are  such 
as  most  prominently  and  frequently  came 
before  the  imagination  of  Master  Shaks- 
peare  in  his  rambles  with  his  beloved  charge 
in  this  antique  city.  In  particular,  he  dwelt 
with  exceeding  interest  on  the  story  of  the 
exiled  Coriolanus,  lingered  over  the  tragic 
fate  of  the  noble  Caesar,  referred  to  the 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


165 


magnificent  follies  of  the  enamored  Marc 
Antony  with  the  seductive  Cleopatra,  and 
recalled  the  moving  history  of  the  haughty 
Tarquin  and  the  abused  Lucrece,  as  though 
lie  were  never  weary  of  having  them 
brought  under  his  consideration. 

And  on  these  subjects  would  he  dilate  to 
his  young  companion  with  an  eloquence  so 
winning,  that  the  usually  -indifferent  youth 
gave  him  all  his  attention,  and  appeared  to 
feel  almost  as  much  interest  for  what  he 
heard  as  he  was  sure  to  exhibit  did  a  pret- 
tier face  than  ordinary  come  within  sight 
of  him,  or  there  looked  to  be  a  horse-race, 
a  religious  procession,  a  mountebank,  or 
any  public  sport  or  show  that  promised 
something  new  or  marvellous. 

Though  my  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  did 
not  lack  ability,  he  was  strangely  deficient 
in  steadiness  ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  in- 
finite painstaking  of  his  worthy  governor 
that,  in  the  strange  cities  they  visited,  he 
should  see  all  that  was  commendable,  and 
know  all  concerning  them  that  was  worth 
the  hearing,  he  would  frequently  give  him 
the  slip  ;  and  there  was  but  too  good  reason 
for  believing  he  would  at  that  time  be  de- 
voting his  attention  to  objects  the  least  like- 
ly to  afford  him  any  wholesome  knowledge. 

As  his  person  and  countenance  were  sin- 
gularly well  favored,  and  he  dressed  as 
became  his  birth,  wherever  he  went,  there 
was  sure  to  be  divers  persons  anxious  to 
have  him  in  their  company,  whose  society 
could  confer  upon  him  little  credit.  There 
had  been  already  more  than  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  the  handsome  English  youth  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  many  beautiful 
signoras,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being 
as  kind  as  fair  ;  and  at  Naples  the  watch- 
ful governor  had  observed  sufficient  of  the 
willingness  of  his  charge  to  meet  their  ad- 
vances, to  make  him  hurry  away  with  him 
to  Rome. 

Though  the  earnest  affection  with  which 
Master  Shakspeare  regarded  him,  from  cer- 
tain deep  and  powerful  causes,  might  have 
led  him  to  look  on  his  faults  with  extreme 
leniency,  the  promise  he  had  given  to  the 
noble  lady,  whose  vowed  servant  he  was, 
made  him  exceeding  urgent  in  the  proper 
discharge  of  his  duty ;  and,  fearing  he 
might,  if  not  properly  cared  for,  fall  into 
the  hands  of  some  base  adventurers,  whose 
fair  visage  and  goodly  person  were  always 
ready  to  be  put  out  to  pawn  at  most  usu- 
rious interest,  whereof  the  penalty  was  the 
monstrous  infamy  of  the  lender,  he  was 
wondrously  anxious  to  save  him  from  such 
snares. 

But  in  this  there  was  a  difficulty  of  a 


kind  not  easy  to  be  got  over.  He  cared 
not  showing  too  open  an  interference  with 
the  youth's  inclinations,  as  he  knew  it  was 
like  to  be  resented  in  such  a  manner — from 
his  great  pride  and  high-spiritedness — as 
would  throw  an  insurmountable  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  all  further  leading  of  him  ;  or, 
governed  by  the  excellent  policy  which  says 
that  "  prevention  is  better  than  cure,"  he 
watched  carefully  and  anxiously  to  keep 
out  of  his  way  the  sort  of  dangers  he  had 
most  fear  of. 

Rome  he  thought  less  dangerous  than  Na- 
ples, where  the  hearts  of  its  fair  inhabitants 
seemed  akin  with  the  combustible  stuff  on 
which  that  gay  city  is  built ;  for  the  monu- 
ments of  antiquity,  and  the  associations 
connected  with  them,  gave  such  abundant 
food  for  the  mind,  that  there  was  scarce  op- 
portunity for  it  to  turn  for  nourishment  to 
those  mischievous  sources  whose  complex- 
ion he  so  hugely  misliked.  In  this  he  judg- 
ed by  the  influence  of  the  place  on  himself. 

He  had  been  furnished  with  letters  that 
insured  him  all  manner  of  courtesies  from 
the  noblest  families,  and  even  obtained  per- 
sonal notice  from  the  sovereign  pontiff ;  but 
these  flattering  favors  had  far  less  attrac- 
tion for  him  than  a  companionship  with  the 
mighty  spirits  whose  tombs  or  favorite 
haunts  he  loved  to  explore.  The  charms 
of  music  and  painting  were  placed  before 
him  in  such  perfectness  as  he  hud  never 
known  at  any  other  time;  but,  deeply  as 
his  soul  was  moved  at  hearing  the  won- 
drous harmonies  the  Catholic  Church  so 
well  knows  how  to  use,  and,  as  he  stood 
entranced  before  the  marvellous  works  of 
art  which  join  their  mighty  forces  in  the 
same  gorgeous  service,  to  him  there  was 
a  music  far  more  touching  in  the  pastoral 
sounds  that  enriched  some  of  the  many 
lovely  landscapes  the  neighborhood  affords, 
and  his  eye  was  fed  continually  wherever 
he  went,  with  pictures  painted  with  a  truth, 
a  force,  and  a  beauty  no  mortal  painter 
ever  yet  could  boast  of.  The  song  of  the 
herdsman  or  the  muleteer,  a  chorus  of  vine- 
dressers, or  the  jingle  of  a  rude  gittara,  to 
which  a  score  or  two  of  merry  feet  were 
tripping  it  in  artless  measure,  had  more 
charms  for  him  than  the  sweetest  airs  of 
Palestrina ;  and  a  young  girl  offering  her 
heartfelt  devotions  before  a  rude  statue  of 
the  Virgin  in  one  of  the  public  streets,  a 
sunset  scene  from  the  terrace  of  any  of  th? 
suburban  villas,  or  a  moonlight  on  the  Ti- 
ber, gave  him  scenes  which  neither  Ra- 
phael, nor  Titian,  norall  the  schools  of  Italy 
together,  could  ever  come  up  to. 
=It  was  in  that  gigantic  ruin,  known  as 


156 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


the  Coliseum,  that  Master  Shakspeare,  with 
his  young  charge,  were  standing,  lost,  as  it 
were,  in  utter  astonishment,  with  the  faith- 
ful Simon  in  attendance,  who,  if  one  might 
judge  from  his  looks,  was  in  as  huge  a  won- 
der as  either.  The  sunlight  streamed  upon 
the  desolate  amphitheatre,  investing  its  pic- 
turesque details  with  a  beauty  almost  magi- 
cal to  look  on.  The  eye  of  the  poet  re- 
garded those  broken  arches  with  a  double 
consciousness,  the  actual  and  the  ideal : 
first  it  embraced  the  wondrous  picture  of 
desolation  they  presented — the  stains  of 
time,  the  rank  verdure,  and  the  influence  of 
many  centuries  of  neglect,  laying  on  tints 
and  perfecting  forms  that,  combined,  gave 
the  image  of  antiquity  in  her  most  majestic 
garment ;  gradually  this  faded  away,  and 
the  glorious  fragments  made  one  more  glo- 
rious whole ;  and  the  wondrous  wreck  dis- 
played a  more  marvellous  perfectness. 

Tier  above  tier  became  thronged  with 
earnest,  anxious  countenances,  in  countless 
variety  and  with  well-defined  grade ;  the 
humble  plebeian,  the  haughty  patrician,  and 
every  class  and  dignity,  from  the  most  ab- 
ject of  the  citizens  up  to  the  highest  officer 
of  the  state — consul  or  emperor,  as  the  case 
might  be  ;  whilst  below,  to  whom  the  uni- 
versal gaze  was  directed,  there  raged  a 
fierce  combat,  perchance  some  of  the  very 
savagest  denizens  of  the  forest  against  each 
other — the  fell  rhinoceros,  the  cruel  tiger, 
the  raging  lion,  the  terrible  hippopotamus, 
and  the  majestic  elephant ;  or  mayhap,  with 
one  or  other  of  these  horrible  monsters,  a 
man  should  be  matched,  and  so  he  dares 
the  unequal  combat,  armed  only  with  a 
short  sword,  whilst  among  the  multitudi- 
nous host  above  there  exists  an  awful  si- 
lence, as  deep  as  that  of  one  in  a  trance.  Or, 
it  may  be,  public  gladiators  are  set  to  try 
their  strength  and  skill,  among  themselves, 
after  divers  fashions  of  fighting,  and  blood 
flows  like  water,  and  there  is  no  lack  of 
gaping  wounds,  crushed  bones,  and  bruised 
limbs  ;  and  the  shout  of  the  spectators  rises 
like  a  burst  of  mountain  thunder,  as  he  who 
hath  the  skill  or  good  fortune  to  survive 
this  monstrous  butchery,  steps  forward  the 
acknowledged  victor  of  the  day. 

On  this  fantasy  the  mind  of  the  poet  lin- 
gered till  all  sense  of  existing  things  seem- 
ed absorbed,  and  all  attention  was  concen- 
trated upon  this  fearful  leaf  in  the  mighty 
volume  of  the  past.  How  deeply  his  noble 
heart  was  touched  by  the  outrage  on  human- 
ity it  so  forcibly  exhibited,  abler  pens  than 
niine  must  seek  to  show.  But  to  one 
taught  in  that  most  ancient  of  free  schools, 
nature,  the  humiliating  reflections  which 


could  not  but  arise  from  it  must  have  cloth- 
ed his  spirit  with  a  bitterness  the  natural 
sweetness  of  his  disposition  could  scarce 
Bender  endurable. 

For  after  the  exulting  mind  has  been  tra- 
cing the  imposing  signs  and  tokens  of  Ro- 
man greatness,  from  what  small  beginnings 
a  brave  and  enlightened  people  became 
great  and  free,  triumphed  over  the  barba- 
rian, and,  for  his  loss  of  freedom  he  knew 
not  how  to  keep,  conferred  the  blessings  of 
civilization  he  would  soon  learn  how  to  ap- 
preciate, how  terrible  is  the  shock  that  fol- 
lows a  closer  inspection,  when  it  is  discov- 
ered that  the  cement  which  held  together 
these  immortal  monuments  is  composed  of 
the  blood  and  tears  of  tortured  and  degraded 
manhood  !  Rbman  freedom,  Roman  great- 
ness, Roman  glory,  raise  them  on  their 
towering  pedestals,  and  then,  behold  !  the 
whole  fabric  is  built  up  of  the  basest  sla- 
very, the  vilest  meanness,  and  the  saddest 
degradation,  that  ever  weighed  down  the 
aspiring  soul  of  man  since  the  gates  of 
Eden  were  first  closed  against  it. 

On  this  theme  the  intelligent  mind  of 
Shakspeare  was  wondrous  busy ;  and,  after 
he  had  found  sufficient  entertainment  in  the 
impressions  it  received,  he  bethought  him  of 
his  duty  to  his  young  companion,  and  ad- 
dressed him  in  a  marvellous  moving  speech, 
full  of  fine  scholarship,  and  finer  wisdom, 
touching  the  difference  of  false  greatness 
and  true  ;  and,  like  another  Cicero,  he  spoke 
high  and  learnedly,  distinguishing  the  gen- 
uine claims  the  Romans  have  on  the  res- 
pect of  posterity  for  the  many  signs  that 
have  been  preserved  of  a  surpassing  intel 
lect,  from  the  fictitious  demands  that  have 
been  so  prominently  brought  forward  to 
obtain  an  immortal  admiration,  for  causes 
purely  physical. 

Young  Herbert  listened  as  though  he  had 
forgot  he  was  my  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir, 
and,  which  was  of  no  less  consequence,  as 
if  he  had  not  seen  at  Naples  an  exquisite 
fair  face,  that  had  haunted  his  young  fancy 
with  the  glow  of  a  perpetual  sunrise.  He 
was  not  entirely  indifferent  to  the  force  of 
classic  examples,  and  the  scene  and  the 
sentiments  that  so  naturally  and  forcibly 
arose  out  of  it  touched  him  somewhat. 

He  began  to  ask  questions  which,  in  the 
result,  was  like  unto  one  beginning  to  dig 
in  a  soil  abounding  with  treasures,  every 
effort  was  so  singularly  productive  of  ster- 
ling truths  :  and,  pleased  with  his  acquisi- 
tions, he  grew  more  inquisitive  and  more 
eager  to  obtain  a  greater  sum  of  that  profit 
which  was  repaying  his  exertions  a  hun- 
dred-fold. By  his  inquiries  his  governor 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


167 


was  led  to  draw  a  comparison  between 
heathen  and  Christian  Rome ;  between  the 
Caesars  of  the  one,  and  the  Popes  of  the 
other ;  between  the  invincible  arms  of  the 
Roman-warrior,  and  the  absolute  ascenden- 
cy of  the  Romish  priest ;  and,  in  the  paral- 
lel, divers  new  and  striking  illustrations 
were  produced.  A  family  likeness  seemed 
to  run  in  the  heathen  Caesar  Caligula  and 
the  Holy  Catholic  Caesar  Borgia :  a  great 
similitude  was  showed  betwixt  the  supersti- 
tions of  the  classic  soothsayer,  and  those  of 
the  Christian  dispenser  of  Indulgences ; 
and  the  same  love  of  dominion,  which  ar- 
rayed the  Roman  phalanx  against  every  ap- 
pearance of  independence  in  other  coun- 
tries, was  proved  to  be  observable  in  the 
policy  which,  from  time  to  time,  influenced 
the  occupant  of  the  papal  chair  in  its  rela- 
tions with  foreign  states. 

But  here  the  parallel  ended,  and  the  most 
positive  contrast  commenced.  The  former 
trusted  to  obtain  their  ascendency  over  the 
rest  of  the  world  by  physical  means,  and 
conquered  by  force  of  arms  ;  whilst  the  lat- 
ter relied  on  a  moral  force  only,  as  a  means 
of  subjection,  and  maintained  a  despotic 
sway  over  every  part  of  the  civilized  globe 
by  force  of  opinion. 

Then  the  speaker  went  on  to  show  that 
this  opinion,  in  modern  Rome,  bore  the  name 
of  religion,  and  it  was  produced  in  a  man- 
ner best  suited  to  answer  its  desired  end. 
All  things  whatsoever  that  could  most  at- 
tract and  subdue  the  senses,  either  as  a 
source  of  gratification  or  one  of  fear,  were 
pressed  into  the  service  of  the  successors  of 
the  ancient '  sovereigns  of  Rome.  With 
this  object,  art  was  appealed  to  as  an  auxil- 
iary of  the  most  powerful  character  ;  and  the 
painter,  the  sculptor,  the  architect,  and  the 
musician,  were  taught  to  put  forth  all  their 
excellences  to  assist  in  subduing  the  Cath- 
olic world.  How  ably  they  fulfilled  the  pur- 
port for  which  they  were  devoted,  it  did  not 
require  a  journey  to  Rome  to  ascertain, 
though  undoubtedly  there  it  might  be  learn- 
ed in  more  perfectness  than  elsewhere ;  and 
if  the  Julius  Caesars  of  the  pontifical  chair 
had  been  satisfied  with  an  authority  based 
on  such  means,  they  need  not  have  been 
very  harshly  condemned ;  but  they  sought 
to  establish  a  despotism  with  more  ex- 
ceptionable weapons — the  terrible  thunders 
of  the  Vatican,  the  dreaded  whispers  of  the 
Inquisition,  torture,  injustice,  tyranny,  and 
superstition,  were  employed  upon  human 
conscience,  as  with  an  intention  of  binding 
it  forever  in  the  humiliating  bonds  of  credu- 
lity and  ignorance ;  and  then  it  became  a 


question  whether  the  state  of  heathenism  or 
Catholicism  were  the  most  desirable. 

But,  as  Master  Shakspeare  eloquently 
proved,  the  parallel  became  again  destroyed. 
The  world  grew  more  enlightened,  and  con- 
sequently less  tolerant  of  mental  bondage, 
and  each  succeeding  century  found  modern 
Rome  lessening  its  pretensions  to  a  power 
equal  to  that  which  existed  in  the  ancient  city; 
and  now  it  possesses  neither  mental  nor  phys- 
ical energy  sufficient  to  keep  a  creditable 
place  among  the  states  of  the  civilized 
world.  An  emasculated  race,  who  are 
slaves  to  the  most  lamentable  ignorance, 
pride  and  self-conceit,  bear  the  dreaded 
name  of  the  Conquerors  of  Carthage,  and 
if  any  one  individual,  to  whom  it  now  be- 
longs, obtaineth  any  sort  of  celebrity  in  for- 
eign countries,  you  shall  find  him  no  greater 
character  than  a  bigoted  monk,  who  hath 
not  a  thought  beyond  his  breviary ;  a  skil- 
ful limner,  whose  whole  soul  is  in  his  paint- 
pots  ;  or  a  fair  composer  of  madrigals, 
whose  highest  philosophy  is  drawn  from  an 
exact  application  of  his  mi  sol  re. 

They  have  lost  all  that  was  Roman  but 
the  name — valor,  glory,  and  all  the  nobler 
qualities  of  honorable  manhood  are  depart- 
ed ;  and  in  their  place  there  is  nought  but  the 
subtlety  of  the  fox  and  the  venom  of  the  ser- 
pent— a  fierce  hatred  of  liberal  thoughts  and 
institutions  —  and  the  most  degrading  ob- 
servance of  solemn  fooleries,  unmeaning 
self-abasements,  and  contemptible  decep- 
tions. 

But  the  utterer  of  these  strictures  was  of 
too  great  a  soul  to  omit  the  mention  of  what 
was  in  any  way  of  a  worthier  nature  than 
what  hath  just  been  set  down,  and  he  did 
ample  justice  to  the  piety,  charity,  humility, 
and  wisdom  that  characterized  many  of 
these  unwarlike  descendents  of  the  heroes 
of  Roman  history ;  nor  did  he  pass  over  the 
merits  of  those  illustrious  men  who  had 
made  Rome  the  metropolis  of  art.  It  can- 
not be  supposed  that  he  who  was  the  first 
and  noblest  of  artists  should  fail  in  appre- 
ciating those  ideas  of  the  grand  and  the 
beautiful  which  the  Roman  painters  had 
expressed  in  such  immortal  characters,  as 
in  their  frequent  visits  to  the  most  famous 
galleries  and  churches  of  Rome,  Master 
Herbert  and  his  governor  had  witnessed; 
far  from  it — the  latter  showed  how  much 
more  Catholic  was  the  religion  of  Raffaelle 
than  that  of  Leo ;  and  how  much  nearer 
heaven  were  the  labors  of  Michael  Angelo 
and  Sebastian  del  Piombo,  than  were  those 
of  the  College  of  Cardinals,  or  the  Society 
of  Jesus. 


158 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


If  the  palette,  then,  might  be  allowed  to 
stand  in  place  of  the  sword,  the  painters,  at 
least,  were  worthy  of  their  origin ;  and  if 
the  influence  they  maintained  was  peaceful, 
it  was  more  valuable,  pleasing,  ennobling, 
and  enduring,  than  that  obtained  by  their 
ancestors  with  so  vast  a  cost  of  injustice 
and  bloodshed.  They  admirably  upheld  the 
honor  of  Rome — they  had  triumphs  worthy 
of  rivalry  with  any  which  were  gloried  in 
throughout  the  rejoicing  streets  of  the  an- 
cient city — and  they,  be  it  remembered  to 
their  everlasting  credit,  had  no  Coliseum. 

This  was  not  uttered  without  some 
searching  questions  from  the  speaker's  com- 
panion, who  seemed  to  listen  with  more  than 
ordinary  attentiveness  and  satisfaction ;  but 
the  humor  was  only  a  little  less  transient 
than  usual,  and  as  soon  as  his  curiosity  was 
.sufficiently  gratified,  he  moved  off  to  where 
Simon  Stockfish  was  reclining  at  his  ease, 
diligently  employed  in  providing  for  imag- 
inary evils  that  might  visit  him,  by  subtle 
strokes  of  policy  such  as  would  do  credit  to 
the  exceeding  gravity  of  his  turn  of  mind, 
and  was  soon  deeply  engaged,  with  the 
faithful  old  servitor,  in  carrying  on  some 
business  of  his  own,  as  little  creditable  as 
profitable. 

Whilst  the  youth  was  thus  employed,  his 
tutor  returned  to  the  luxury  of  his  own 
thoughts,  which,  in  the  first  moment  of  lei- 
sure, took  the  following  complexion. 

THE  ADDRESS 

OF  A  FAITHFUL  SERVANT  IN  A  FAR-OFF  LAND 
TO  A  MOST  GRACIOUS  MISTRESS. 

The  ever-rolling  seas  in  vain  divide 
Two  separate  natures,  such  as  do  exist 

In  that  pure  shrine  where  thy  fond  wishes  hide, 
And  this  poor  heart,  who  hath  such  'vantage 

miss'd  ; 
For  I  thus  differ  from  the  egotist, 

Who  his  dear  self  in  ev'ry  thing  doth  see — 

Whatever  I  behold  is  full  of  tliee. 

Therefore,  nor  time,  nor  space,  availeth  much, 
Thine  image  is  so  constant  in  mine  eyes; 

For  here  ihou  liv'st  in  ev'ry  thing  I  touch : 
I  meet  thy  gaze  in  these  Italian  skies, 
I  hear  thee  in  these  glorious  harmonies. 

That  fill  with  marvellous  praise  each  holy  place, 

And  lind  thy  smile  on  each  Madonna's  face. 

If  from  the  presence  of  the  Past  I  turn, 
And  live  mid  relics  of  an  antique  time, 

Where  temple,  bust,  or  monumental  urn, 
Bang  back  the  classic  ages  in  all  its  prime, 
In  glory  infinite,  in  grace  sublime  ; 

Go  where  I  will,  consider  what  I  may, 

Signs  of  thy  nobleness  start  forth  straightwoy. 


Perchance,  some  crumbling  column  rears  on 

high 

The  remnant  of  a  glorious  architrave  ; 
Or  matchless  Torso  'witching  every  eye, 
With  shape  such  as  God's  noblest  creatures 

have, 

Doth  my  especial  wonder  seem  to  crave — 
Where  'tis  most  admirable  there  doth  dwell 
That  quality  in  which  thou  dost  excel. 

But  e'en  the  statue  most  divinely  bright, 

The  proudest  structure  of  our  proudest  days, 

The  fairest  picture  offered  to  man's  sight  ; 
In  brief,  whatever  marvels  art  could  raise, 
Can  never  take  one  atom  from  thy  praise. 

There  is  no  chance  'gainst  such  o'erwhelming 
odds — 

They  are  man's  masterpieces — thou  art  God's ! 

Yet  in  such  perfectness  as  they  possess, 
For  thee  they  bear  triumphant  evidence, 

Which  in  my  pleadings,  dwelt  on  more  or  less, 
So  well  establishes  thine  excellence, 
A  verdict  for  thee  must    be    drawn    from 
thence : 

Making  a  precedent  of  such  import, 

Who  deems  it  ill  should  be  put  out  of  court. 

How  then  can  I  from  thee  be  separate, 
Did  nought  express  a  closer  likelihood  ; 

But  when  mine  eyes  take  in  thy  goodly  state, 
Clothed  with  the  tempting  worth  of  flesh 

and  blood, 
Of  thee  I  am  so  thoroughly  imbued, 

So  rilled  with  thy  sweet  self,  in  heart  and  soul, 

We  stand  confessed  a  just  harmonious  whole. 

But  were  this  but  a  shadowy  fantasy, 
Bred  of  th'  imagination's  rank  conceits, 

I  should  allow  it  here  less  readily. 

The  understanding  no  such  mockery  meets, 
I  see  thee  not  in  visionary  cheats  ; 

Thy  honest,  tangible,  and  occular  grace, 

Presents  itself  before  me  face  to  face. 

Seeing  thy  living  image,  1  enjoy 

The  profit  of  thy  pleasant  neighborhood, 

And  ev'ry  step  of  time  I  do  employ 
In  storing  up  the  admirable  good 
Thou  dost  dispense  in  such  a  gracious  mood : 

I  see   thee,  hear  thee,  touch  thee,   and  from 
thence 

Sight,  hearing,  touch,  assume  a  threefold  sense, 

But  who  shall  set  aside  fate's  stern  decree  ? 

Zeuxis  his  painted  grapes  poor  birds  did  not 
More  hugely  disappoint  than  thou  poor  me 

In  the  fac-simile  which  thou  hast  got ; 

Thou  findest  me  a  most  unhappy  lot ; 
Like  him  who  sought  a  goddess,  pressed  a  cloud, 
I  find  the  robe  of  Love  become  his  shroud. 

Cold  slighting  looks,  and  high  and  haughty 

tones, 
Indiff'rfnce  rude,  and  careless  disrespect, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


169 


Sharp  questions,  and  some  few  uncivil  ones, 
And  wild  extravagances  passed  unchecked — > 
Tenants  at  will,  that  Time  will  soon  eject ; 
These  are  but  sorry  solace  for  the  lack 
Of  that  which  Memory  only  can  bring  back. 

Yet  hath  that  solace  some  sweet  gift  withal, 
Some  pleasant  power,  some  profitable  end ; 

The  contentation  it  affords  is  small, 

Still  doth  it  oft  a  wondrous  comfort  lend ! 
It  speaks  of  that  incomparable  friend, 

Whose  image  charges,  wheresoe'er  it  lies, 

Th'  unkindest  thoughts  with  kindliest  properties. 

Therefore  can  never  obstacle  divide, 

Nor  contrary  thing  oppose,  nor  time  delay, 

The  sweet  communion  that  must  now  abide 
All  tests,  all  chance,  without  change  or  decay, 
That  betwixt  thee  and  I  shall  from  this  day 

Live  wheresoever  I  take  up  my  rest, 

Making  the  cursedest  thing  appear  most  blest. 

One  of  those  gorgeous  assemblages  of 
the  countless  religious  orders  that  throng 
the  Seven  Hilled  City  had  passed  through 
its  chief  thoroughfare,  with  banners  and 
crucifixes,  and  images,  and  proudly  decora- 
ted prelates,  and  monks  in  humbler  garb, 
but  not  less  lofty  spirit,  and  incense-bearers 
making  the  air  rich  with  frankincense,  and 
choristers  filling  it  with  stately  harmony, 
which  occasioned  the  assembling  of  vast 
numbers  of  idle  Romans  and  curious  stran- 
gers, who  dropped  on  their  knees  as  the  pro- 
cession passed,  many  of  whom  affected  a 
marvellous  degree  of  devotion  and  rever- 
ence, and  others  no  small  extent  of  surprise 
and  wonder. 

The  chanting  of  the  priests  was  begin- 
ning to  be  inaudible  in  the  distance,  when, 
in  a  certain  open  space,  over  which  those 
holy  men  had  passed,  there  was  formed  a 
circle  of  the  good  people  who  had  but  a  mo- 
ment since  been  so  greatly  edified  by  the  im- 
pressive spectacle  that  hud  been  presented 
to  them,  who  were  as  busily  engaged  in  re- 
garding the  graceful  attitudes  and  marvel- 
lous tricks  of  a  party  of  Bohemian  dancers 
and  jugglers,  as  though  the  sight  had  clean 
put  out  of  their  mind  the  sacred  one  which 
had  immediately  preceded  it.  Of  the  exhib- 
itors there  were  two  men  of  monstrous  sin- 
ister-looking aspect,  who  flung  brazen  balls 
into  the  air,  and  sharp-pointed  daggers,  one 
after  another,  and  did  catch  them  with  a 
dextrousness  that  was  a  wonder  to  behold. 

Their  audience  looked  on  as  much  amazed 
as  delighted.  Presently  one  took  to  swal- 
lowing a  sword,  and  the  other  to  eating  fire, 
as  though  he  were  a  salamander,  and  the 
faces  of  all  present  seemed  bewildered  with 
the  beholding  of  sights  so  strange.  Anon 


one  seized  a  rude  chair,  strong  and  heavy, 
and  seated  on  it  a  young  boy  of  their  com- 
pany, exceedingly  well  favored,  though  he 
had  a  roguish  look  withal,  then  placed  it  on 
his  head,  balanced  on  one  leg,  where  he 
kept  it  as  he  walked  about,  picking  up  a 
certain  number  of  eggs  from  the  ground,  the 
boy  the  whilst  looking  about  him  uncon- 
cernedly cracking  of  nuts,  as  though  he  had 
the  securest  seat  in  the  world.  After  this 
he  took  his  comrade  by  a  linen  fastening 
round  his  loins,  and  fixed  it  between  his 
teeth,  and  so  carried  him  round  the  circle. 
These  tricks  were  also  regarded  with  the 
hugest  astonishment. 

But  the  most  pleasing  sight  of  all,  was  a 
woman  of  the  same  company,  of  a  beauty 
the  most  ravishing  eye  ever  dwelt  upon,  and 
attired  very  temptingly  after  the  Moorish 
fashion,  who,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
small  drum  decorated  with  silver  bells, 
which  she  struck  and  shook,  and  cast  about 
her  in  every  graceful  motion,  danced  the 
Romalis  or  gipsy  dance  in  so  moving  a  fash- 
ion, that  the  gazer  seemed  to  look  on  in  a 
manner  entranced.  Truly  the  swimming 
eyes  and  pottting  mouth,  and  the  eloquent 
motions  of  the  Bohemian,  were  enough  to 
warm  the  current  of  a  man's  blood  had  it 
flowed  less  sluggishly  than  it  doth  in  Italian 
veins. 

There  was  in  her  appearance  such  a 
mingling  of  the  ripe  Hebe  with  the  joyous 
Bacchante,  that  a  Roman,  even  of  the  clas- 
sic age,  would  have  felt  her  influence.  Her 
dance  was  a  sort  of  hymn  in  motion — an  in- 
vocation in  pantomime  to.  the  winged  ur- 
chin, who,  with  his  marvellous  keen  ar- 
rows, is  wont  to  cause  such  sharp  wounds 
in  every  one  that  hath  part  and  parcel  with 
humanity— in  the  which  every  twirl,  and 
every  bend  of  that  voluptuous  body,  every 
wave  of  those  delicate  arms,  every  spring 
of  those  elastic  feet,  each  glance  of  those 
subduing  eyes,  and  each  smile  from  that 
provoking  mouth,  were  examples  of  poetical 
meaning.°such  as  even  the  rarest  masters  of 
the  poet's  craft  seldom  reach.  There  seem- 
ed an  intense  ecstacy  of  animal  enjoyment 
breathing  all  around  and  about  her,  evident 
not  only  In  the  flashing  of  her  soft  dark  eyes, 
but  in  the  saucy  wantonness  of  her  raven 
hair,  and  in  the  expressive  buoyancy  of  her 
most  seductive  limbs. 

Perchance  the  reader  would  fain  have 
some  acquaintance  with  this  very  delecta- 
ble, sweet  creature,  but  he  must  needs  here 
be  reminded  that  she  is  not  so  complete  a 
stranger  to  him  as  it  would  appear  ;  he  hav- 
ing already  enjoyed  the  exquisite  pleasure 
of°hnr  company,  when  our  grave  young  stu- 


160 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


dent  of  medicine,  John  Hall,  and  his  polite 
serving-man,  Simon  Stockfish,  were,  hugely 
against  their  wills,  made  inmates  of  a  gip- 
sy encampment,  when  on  their  way  to  Lon- 
don. 

In  sober  honesty,  this  wondrous  dancer  in 
the  public  streets  of  Rome  was  no  other  than 
the  very  youthful  companion  of  Black  Samp- 
son, as  he  was  then  called,  the  king  of  such 
of  the  wandering  outlaws  as  were  to  be 
found  in  England  ;  and  the  strong,  sturdy- 
looking  urchin,  who  so  bravely  looked  from 
his  perilous  seat,  was  the  same  admirable 
fair  child  for  whose  existence  she  felt  herself 
so  deeply  indebted  to  the  skill  of  our  young 
physician. 

The  life  of  this  matchless  dancer  had  been 
at  every  step  the  sport  of  fortune — she  had 
gone  through  numberless  adventures  of  the 
most  extraordinary  character.  It  was  be- 
lieved, when  very  young,  she  had  been 
found  in  a  Moorish  barque,  that  had  been 
captured  on  the  coast  of  Barbary,  by  the 
crew  of  a  Spanish  sln'p,  the  captain  of  which 
had  sold  her  to  an  ancient  grandee,  who  had 
her  taught  all  feminine  accomplishments, 
and  brought  her  up  in  the  closest,  strictest 
retirement,  in  a  strong  castle  in  Andalusia. 
All  went  on  fairly  enough  with  the  Don,  till 
about  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  age,  the 
ripening  beauty  of  his  interesting  purchase 
induced  him  to  double  hi3  attentions,  and 
treble  his  vigilance.  The  old  gallant  strove 
earnestly  to  win  his  way  to  her  heart ;  and 
just  as  he  was  beginning  to  congratulate 
himself  on  the  favorable  result  of  his  exer- 
tions, the  astounding  intelligence  was  con- 
veyed to  him  that  the  incomparable  Dona 
Xariqua  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

Whether  he  hanged  the  Duenna  who  had 
charge  of  her  is  not  known,  but  certain  is  it, 
that,  whilst  he  was  employing  his  vast  re- 
sources to  recover  what  he  considered  a 
treasure  far  more  valuable,  she  was  being 
conveyed  from  the  nearest  port,  in  the  good 
ship,  "  Endeavor,"  of  Bristol,  by  a  famous, 
tall,  well-favored  young  fellow,  that  looked 
a  prince  at  the  least,  and  this  he  was  most 
assuredly,  for  he  was  a  prince  at  the  least 
sort  of  estimation. 

He  belonged  to  the  royal  tribe  existing 
amongst  that  wandering  people,  so  general- 
ly spread  over  Europe,  under  the  several 
names  of  Bohemians,  Rommanee,  Egyptians, 
jtrypsies,  and  Zincali ;  and,  though  born  and 
brought  up  in  England,  he  had  joined  some 
daring  smugglers  on  the  coast,  who  traded 
with  Spain.  Whilst  pursuing  his  adven- 
tures in  the  country,  he  had  got  sight  of  the 
Don's  destined  mistress,  and,  struck  with 
her  exceeding  loveliness,  had,  in  a  manner 


no  less  daring  than  ingenious,  carried  her 
off  from  the  garden  of  the  castle.  It  must 
be  acknowledged,  that  the  youthful,  nay,  al- 
most childish  Xariqua,  got  wonderfully  soon 
reconciled  to  the  change,  from  a  particular- 
ly crabbed,  ill-favored  old  lover,  to  one  as 
remarkably  young  and  comely ;  and  on  their 
landing  in  England,  she  made  no  objection 
to  be  married  to  him,  according  to  the  cere- 
monies of  his  tribe,  to  which  about  the  same 
time  he  was  elected  to  be  king,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  decease  of  his  predecessor  in 
the  roypl  dignity,  in  a  somewhat  unregal 
way  at  Tyburn. 

She  soon  made  herself  mistress  of  the  arts 
and  mysteries  practised  by  the  females  of 
the  strange  people  with  whom  her  life  was 
now  to  be  passed  ;  and,  though  her  partner, 
from  the  violence  of  his  passions,  did  not 
make  her  the  best  of  husbands,  she  made 
him  a  model  of  a  perfect  good  wife  down  to 
the  very  day  of  his  so  terrible  death,  sharing' 
in  all  the  hazards  of  his  dangerous  way  of 
living  with  a  fearlessness  and  devotion  wor- 
thy of  a  better  object.  After  she  was  left 
a  widow,  still  young,  still  of  ravishing  love- 
liness, she  was  prevailed  on  to  turn  her  at- 
tractions and  the  accomplishments  she  had 
been  taught,  to  some  account.  Therefore, 
she  made  part  of  an  exhibition  which  certain 
of  the  Bohemians  got  up  about  this  time,  and 
acted  from  town  to  town,  whilst  their  equally 
active  confederates  contrived  to  ease  the 
wondering  spectators  of  whatever  valuables 
they  had  about  them  that  were  accessible  to 
their  light  fingers. 

As  her  charms  were  set  off  to  the  great- 
est advantage  by  her  picturesque  dress,  and 
her  dancing  was  exceedingly  animated  and 
graceful,  after  the  Bohemian  fashion,  where- 
ever  she  appeared  she  gained  no  lack  of  ad- 
mirers, on  whom  she  never  failed  to  levy 
contributions,  often  gaining  from  them  some- 
thing additional  by  practising  for  their  edifi- 
cation the  science  of  palmistry. 

La  Xariqua  became  celebrated,  through- 
out more  than  one  of  the  Italian  states ;  and 
her  witcheries  turned  the  heads  of  all  the 
gallants,  and  also  of  men  of  graver  sort, 
who  might  be  expected  to  have  been  insen- 
sible of  such  follies.  Rumors  on  this  point 
had  got  abroad,  to  the  prejudice  of  divers 
holy  lathers  of  the  church,  which  had,  more- 
over, come  to  the  ears  of  their  superiors, 
who,  though  they  looked  to  be  horribly 
shocked  at  such  scandals,  were  secretly  as 
much  enamored  of  the  beautiful  Bohemian 
as  their  humbler  brethren.  Her  appearance 
in  the  Holy  City  caused  quite  a  stir,  both 
amongst  clergy  and  laity ;  and  although, 
generally,  she  was  spoken  of  as  a  creature 


THE  SECRET  PASSIOX. 


161 


worthy  to  be  worshipped  of  all  men  living, 
it  chanced  that  she  was  made  the  subject  of 
comment  in  another  and  totally  different 
quarter,  which  boded  her  no  good. 

Among  the  most  enraptured  of  those 
whom  she  had  gathered  round  her  in  Rome 
at  this  time  was  a  youth,  who  looked  on 
with  all  his  soul  in  his  eyes,  to  appearance 
fairly  bewitched  by  a  scene  so  exquisitely 
seductive.  The  emotion  he  exhibited  did 
not  escape  the  brilliant  eyes  of  the  dancer — 
neither  did  his  noble  visage  and  admirably 
formed  figure ;  for,  from  beneath  her  long, 
dark  lashes  she  ever  and  anon  shot  at  him 
such  glances  as  set  his  heart  in  a  flame  in  a 
presently. 

It  so  chanced,  during  the  performance  of 
the  Romalis,  that  she  was  exerting  herself 
to  the  very  utmost  to  outrival  all  she  had 
previously  done,  and  the  admiration  of  the 
surrounding  crowd  approached  to  a  frenzy ; 
the  enticing  scene  was  put  a  stop  to  by  the 
sudden  apparition  of  two  mysterious  figures 
in  sombre  robes  that  entirely  enveloped  their 
persons,  who  pushed  through  the  circle,  in 
which,  with  looks  of  mingled  awe  and  terror, 
all  fell  back.  They  made  their  way  to  the 
fascinating  Bohemian,  whom  each  seized 
by  an  arm,  and  placing  the  fore-finger  mys- 
teriously on  the  lip,  began  to  drag  her  away. 
At  seeing  this,  all  her  enraptured  admirers 
slunk  away  in  every  direction,  without  dar- 
ing so  much  as  to  look  behind  them,  and 
none  seemed  inclined  to  stay,  save  a  few 
ill-looking  knaves,  who,  out  of  all  doubt, 
were  her  companions,  and  the  youth  whose 
intoxicating  dream  had  been  so  rudely  dis- 
turbed. He  seemed  at  first  to  marvel  hugely 
at  the  appearance  of  the  two  mysterious 
figures,  taking  it  to  be  a  part  of  the  per- 
formance ;  but  when  the  cries  and  struggles 
of  the  dancer  convinced  him  her  seizure  was 
an  act  of  violence,  his  rapier  flew  out  of  his 
scabbard  on  the  instant. 

The  crowd  had  by  this  time  entirely  dis- 
appeared. The  youth  rushed  after  the 
struggling  Xariqua,  sharply  calling  on  those 
who  were  hurrying  her  along  to  loose  their 
hold  of  her  if  they  desired  to  live.  They 
paid  no  manner  of  heed  to  him,  'but  con- 
tinued to  hurry  away  their  terrified  prisoner. 
He  was  upon  them  sword  in  hand,  when 
from  a  neighboring  portal,  there  came  upon 
him  unawares  two  or  three  armed  men,  by 
whom  he  would  infallibly  have  been  slain 
or  taken  captive,  had  it  not  happened,  that 
almost  as  quickly  after  rushed  hastily,  from 
an  opposite  direction,  a  gallant,  who  ranged 
himself  on  his  side.  The  contest  lasted  not 
long,  for  the  Bohemians,  with  weapons  of 
various  sorts,  so  bestirred  themselves,  that 
11 


the  beginners  of  the  fray  were  speedily 
either  stretched  on  the  ground  with  grievous 
wounds,  or  running  for  their  lives  with 
what  speed  of  foot  they  had.  La  Xariqua 
was  rescued  out  of  .their  hands,  and  soon, 
by  the  contrivance  of  her  associates,  beyond 
all  fear  of  recapture. 

It  was  but  a  short  hour  after  this  occur- 
rence that  the  youth,  and  the  friend  who 
had  come  to  his  assistance,  were  with  a  single 
attendant,  pursuing  their  way  out  of  Rome 
as  fast  as  fleet  horses  could  carry  them. 
The  younger  of  the  two  was  no  other  than 
the  Earl  of  Pembroke's  heir,  who  had  giv&: 
his  Companion  the  slip  whilst  examining 
some  of  the  many  marvels  of  the  City  of  the 
Caesars  ;  and  the  other  was,  of  course,  his 
worthy  governor,  who,  as  he  came  upon  the 
spot,  and  beheld  the  danger  with  which  his 
charge  was  menaced,  could  do  no  less  than 
hasten  to  his  assistance.  But  when  he 
came  to  learn,  as  he  shortly  did,  that  Mas- 
ter Herbert  had  provoked  an  attack  from 
the  Pope's  guards,  by  endeavoring  to  rescue 
a  sorceress,  then  in  charge  of  the  messen- 
gers of  the  Holy  Office,  he  knew  there  was 
no  longer  any  safety  for  either  of  them 
within  the  Papal  States. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

And  with  that  word  she  smiled,  and  ne'erthe- 

thelesa 

Her  love -toys  still  she  used,  and  pleasures  bold. 

FAIRFAX. 

THE  treacherous  Millicent,  by  the  exer- 
cise of  that  craft  with  which  she  was  so 
eminently  gifted,  was  now  in  a  fair  way  of 
seeing  all  things  settled  as  she  would  have 
them.  She  persuaded  her  young  friend  and 
confidant  that  the  desirablest  thing  on  earth 
would  be  a  marriage  with  her  father  ;  and, 
by  dint  of  working  on  her  vanity  and  pride, 
of  which  she  had  no  slight  share,  got  her  to 
see,  in  a  union  with  one  thrice  her  age,  only 
famous  braveries,  money  at  command,  and 
the  covetable  situation  of  mistress  of  a  fine 
mansion.  Her  consent  was  obtained,  and 
a  day  fixed  for  this  May  and  December 
union  ;  when  it  was  also  settled  should  take 
place  the  marriage  of  AJillicent  and  Leon- 
ard. 

At  first,  when  his  mistress  urged  him  to 
complete  his  contract  with  her,  for  which 
she  failed  not  to  give  him  good  and  sufficient 
reasons,  he  seemed  somewhat  taken  by  sur- 
prise, as  not  only  had  he  long  given  up  all 
idea  of  such  a  thing,  but  he  had  seen  what 


162 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


had  assured  him  of  his  fellow-student's  at- ! 
tachment,  whose  true  friend  he  held  himself 
at  this  time,  and  would  have  been  right  glad 
to  have  furthered  his  happiness  in  any 
honest  way.  This  friendly  inclination  of 
her  destined  husband  towards  her  lover  it 
was  her  policy  now  to  destroy,  as  she  saw 
it  would  be  a  serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
the  success  of  her  fine  scheming ;  where- 
upon she  set  about  to  poison  his.  mind  with 
dark  hints  and  discreditable  insinuations  of 
and  concerning  his  friend's  integrity,  and, 
to  give  sufficient  color  to  these,  she  read 
otters  from  John  Hall  to  herself,  which 
proved  incontestibly  that  he  was  not  stfch 
as  he  took  him  to  be. 

Concerning  of  these  letters  it  is  sufficient 
here  to  state,  that,  though  Leonard  was  al- 
lowed to  recognize  the  handwriting,  he  had 
no  means  of  comparing  the  passages  read 
with  what  was  written,  and  entertaining  no 
suspicion  of  deceit,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
she  should  easily  have  passed  off  on  him 
what  was  entirely  her  own  invention,  for 
the  handwriting  of  John  Hall. 

Leonard  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  fall  into 
the  humor  of  one  whom  he  had  allowed  to 
govern  him  as  she  listed.  Yet  it  was  long 
before  he  could  reconcile  himself  to  what 
he  looked  on  as  the  violent  extinguishing  of 
his  fellow-student's  happiness.  In  due  time, 
by -the  constant  artifices  of  the  crafty  Milli- 
cent,  the  estrangement  was  complete.  Leo- 
nard^ habitual  indolence  and  indecision 
were  taken  advantage  of,  and  John  Hall 
every  day  became  less  and  less  cared  for. 
Indeed,  as  it  usually  happens  with  those 
who  wrong  their  fellows,  Leonard  felt  dis- 
posed ere  long  to  look  on  John  Hall  as  one 
possessed  of  the  absolutest  unworthiness 
ever  heard  of. 

But  how  fared  the  young  physician  all 
this  while  ?  How  took  he  the  intelligence 
his  mistress  artfully  conveyed  to  him  of  her 
being  forced  against  her  wish  to  complete 
the  betrothal  of  so  long  standing  ?  Of  a 
truth  it  came  on  him  like  a  thunder-clap. 
He  had  allowed  himself  so  completely,  in 
consequence  of  her  conduct  to  him,  to  lose 
sight  of  any  such  engagement,  that  he  could 
not  now  be  brought  to  tolerate  it  in  any  man- 
ner. It  was  a  most  moving  sight  to  see  the 
tears  which  chased  down  her  cheeks,  and  the 
passionate  fondness  of  her  bearing^  and  lan- 
guage, when  this  accomplished  dissembler 
informed  her  lover  of  her  father's  tyranny 
in  insisting  upon  her  immediate  marriage 
with  one  she  liked  not. 

No  man  who  has  ever  devotedly  loved 
could  reconcile  himself  to  another's  possess- 
ing his  mistress ;  and  the  heart  of  John  Hall 


was  too  completely  given  up  to  the  seduc- 
tive Millicent  to  be  easily  drawn  into  an 
abandonment  of  his  claim  upon  her.  Her 
representations  were  marvellous  powerful, 
and  his  nature  was  exceeding  yielding. 
Nevertheless,  though  he  did  not  in  any  way 
dispute  the  marriage,  in  heart  and  soul  he 
loathed  and  detested  it. 

From  the  first  hour  he  heard  of  the  ar- 
rangement he  became  a  different  being.  A 
slow,  consuming  fever  preyed  upon  him — 
his  flesh  fell  away — he  could  endure  no  em- 
ployment— he  could  enjoy  no  gratification. 
He  confined  himself  to  his  own  chamber, 
where,  hour  after  hour,  he  sat  a.t  the  table 
with  an  open  book  before  him ;  but  the  page 
was  never  turned,  and,  though  the  eyes 
dwelt  on  it,  they  took  in  nothing  of  its 
meaning.  His  thoughts  were  directed  else- 
where, but  kept  themselves  to  a  most  con- 
tracted circle  ;  for,  oppressed  by  a  sense  of 
his  own  misery,  they  seemed  to  have  no 
energy  to  get  beyond  it. 

Thus,  day  after  day  passed  by,  he  getting 
weaker  and  weaker,  his  cheek  more  trans- 
parent, his  look  more  haggard,  and  a  settled 
despair  seemed  stamped  upon  his  visage, 
with  a  sharpness  that  expressed  death  in 
every  line.  No  one  came  near  him  but 
Millicent,  who  used  some  arguments  to  con- 
sole him,  but  they  were  not  understood  ; 
and,  if  they  had  been,  they  would  not  have 
afforded  the  sufferer  any  consolation  ;  and, 
the  caresses  she  continued  to  heap  upon  him 
he  received  as  one  in  a  delirium  takes  a  drug 
that  is  to  give  him  present  composure. 

The  night  before  the  wedding-day  arrived, 
and  whether  her  bad  heart  was  touched  by 
the  youth's  uncomplaining  but  most  eloquent 
misery,  or  she  had  a  bad  purpose  in  view,  in 
which  her  heart  was  not  concerned,  is  not 
known ;  but,  most  assuredly,  she  sat  up  the 
whole  of  that  night  with  him :  all  which 
time,  by  every  word  and  deed  most  convinc- 
ing, she  let  him  know  that  he  was  beloved 
by  her  as  no  other  ever  could  be.  He  seem- 
ed moved  by  her  affectionateness,  and  clung 
to  it  with  all  the  wild  fervor  of  one  who 
knows  he  hath  before  him  his  only  stay. 
The  excitement  which  this  produced  bel 
came  at  last  two  powerful  for  his  enfeebled 
frame,  and,  towards  morning,  he  sunk  into 
a  stupor. 

It  was  full  noon,  on  that  eventful  day, 
before  the  unhappy  youth  recovered  to  a 
perfect  consciousness.  He  felt  more  than 
ordinarily  weak  and  feeble,  but  he  mechani- 
cally rose  and  made  his  morning  toilet  as 
usual.  He  noticed  that  his  customary 
breakfast  was  prepared  for  him,  but  he 
touched  it  not.  He  went  to  the  easement, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


and  marvelled  greatly  to  see,  by  the  shadow 
of  the  sun  on  the  opposite  house  how  late  it 
was  in  the  day. 

His  thoughts  were  strange  and  discon- 
nected. Now  he  was  with  his  mother  in 
the  home  of  his  childhood,  hearkening  to 
her  sweet  counsel ;  anon,  he  was  engaged 
with  such  profitable  company  as  Celsus  and 
Hippocrates,  in  the  familiar  seat  under  the 
old  walnut  tree ;  in  a  moment  he  was  in  the 
tent  of  the  gipsy  girl,  restoring  her  child  to 
life,  and  directly  after  he  was  no  less  de- 
lightfully listening  to  Master  Shakspeare's 
admirable  converse  in  his  well-remembered 
lodging  in  the  Clink  Liberty. 

In  short,  his  thoughts  went  from  one 
thing  to  another  with  no  settled  purpose, 
travelling  hither  and  thither,  yet  carefully 
avoiding  home.  He  dared  not  think  of  her. 
He  strove  all  in  his  power  to  avoid  recall- 
ing to  his  mind  anything  which  would  bring 
the  business  of  this  intolerable  day  before 
him.  Nevertheless,  do  what  he  would,  he 
frequently  found  himself  approaching  the 
dreaded  subject.  He  walked  about  .his 
chamber,  counting  his  strides  as  he  proceed- 
ed ;  and  when  he  tired  of  that,  he  leaned  out 
of  the  casement  and  watched  the  sparrow 
flitting  about  the  eaves,  and  the  smoke  of 
the  chimneys  curling  up  till  it  disappeared 
in  the  blue  sky. 

The  day  seemed  to  be  of  a  monstrous 
length.  He  ardently  longed  for  it  to  end, 
but  every  minute  had  to  him  the  duration  of 
the  most  tedious  hours.  He  was  struck 
with  the  extraordinary  quietness  of  the  house. 
In  directing  his  attention  to  this,  the  know- 
ledge of  why  it  was  so  rushed  upon  him 
with  a  force  that  overthrew  all  his  precau- 
tions. Millicent  was  gone  to  church  ! — by 
this  time  she  was  another's !  and  doubtless 
they  were  all  making  merry  every  one  with 
another  ;  and  while  he  was  in  the  extremity 
of  his  misery,  hovering  over  the  brink  of 
very  madness,  the  more  fortunate  Leonard 
was 

As  his  mind  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ex- 
quisite sweet  happiness  of  his  rival,  there 
seemed  to  him  to  come  a  sudden  whirlwind, 
which  crushed  the  walls  of  the  chamber  in 
upon  him  on  every  side,  and  making  a  feeble 
clutch  at  the  chair  on  which  he  had  been 
leaning,  he  fell  in  a  deadly  swoon  on  the 
floor. 

How  long  he  remained  in  this  state  he 
never  knew,  for  several  weeks  elapsed  be- 
fore he  recovered  the  facultiss  of  a  reason- 
ing being,  and  then  he  was  lying  on  his 
pallet  as  feeble  as  a  child,  with  an  entire 
oblivion  of  all  that  had  been  done  to  him 
during  that  interval,  and  all  the  wild  rav- 


ings and  monstrous  extravagances  he  had 
then  exhibited.  But  he  had  not  been  dis- 
covered till,  on  the  return  of  the  wedding- 
party  from  their  day's  pleasuring,  Millicent 
stole  up  to  his  chamber  hurriedly. 

If  ever  contrition  touched  her  cold,  selfish 
heart,  one  would  have  fancied  it  would  have 
been  now ;  but  her  sole  object  was  her  own 
security,  and  for  this  only  she  looked  to  his 
wants,  and  nursed  him  throughout  his  dis- 
order. She  feared  that,  despite  her  fine 
scheming,  her  treachery  might  be  made  vi- 
sible, and  albeit  her  influence  over  her  new- 
made  husband  was  none  of  the  weakest,  it 
was  possible  a  knowledge  of  her  infamous 
behavior  he  might  receive  in  a  fashion  little 
to  her  liking.  She  obtained  assistance  in 
which  she  could  trust,  and  the  malady  of' 
John  Hall  began  at  last  to  assume  a  more 
favorable  character. 

In  especial,  the  young  stepmother  of  his 
treacherous,  false  mistress,  was  untiring  in 
her  attentions,  and  showed  a  more  than  ordi- 
nary kindness  in  every  thing  she  did.  He 
felt  gratefully  disposed  towards  her,  for 
her  exceeding  friendliness  at  such  a  time, 
and,  noting  his  thankfulness,  set  her  to  make 
herself  still  more  agreeable.  She  had,  by 
this  time,  learned  the  true  value  of  the  po- 
sition into  which  she  had  been  cajoled — she 
saw  the  sacrifice  that  had  been  made  of  her 
— and  was  at  no  loss  to  discover  for  whose 
sole  advantage  she  had  been  thus  infamously 
bartered.  Her  mind  was  of  a  most  limited 
capacity,  but  it  was  large  enough  for  ven- 
geance, and  it  became  the  business  of  her 
life  to  study  some  sure  way  of  obtaining  it. 

She  sympathised  with  him,  and  denounc- 
ed the  unprincipled  conduct  of  her  quon- 
dam friend,  whose  whole  proceedings  she 
gradually  placed  before  him  in  their  proper 
light.  He  shrank  from  believing  her  stat»- 
ments,  but  she  returned  again  and  again  to 
the  charge,  supporting  her  accusations  by 
proofs  there  was  no  questioning. 

Loath  as  the  lover  always  is  to  believe  ill 
of  the  woman  he  loves,  he  cannot  resist,  for 
any  long  time,  insurmountable  evidence, 
unless  he  be  wilfully  blind.  Our  young 
physician  was  wondrously  moved  at  the  in- 
formation he  had  received,  and*  felt  much 
inclined  to  upbraid  the  crafty  Millicent  for 
the  infamousness  of  her  proceedings ;  but, 
on  her  next  making  her  appearance,  the 
consummate  hypocrisy  of  her  bearing,  and 
the  influence  of  old  impressions,  drove  him 
from  his  purpose,  and  he  let  her  take  her 
departure  as  though  she  were  still  the 
matchless,  spotless,  admirable  fond  creature 
he  had  so  long  been  used  to  consider  her. 
But  when  she  was  gone,  and  her  confidante 


164 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


returned  to  him  with  fresh  instances  of  her 
falsehood,  he  again  resolved  to  charge  her 
with  it,  and  break  off  all  intimacy  for  the 
future. 

He  was  now  sufficiently  recovered  to 
leave  his  chamber ;  and,  as  he  had  of  late 
been  schooling  himself  to  meet  the  woman 
of  whom  he  had  been  so  enamored,  in 
company,  with  a  sufficient  indifferency,  he 
resolved  to  have  his  meals  on  a  certain  day 
with  the  family,  as  had  been  his  wont  be- 
fore his  illness.  He  presented  himself  at 
his  customary  place,  and,  though  feeling 
horribly  restless  and  uneasy,  he  received 
the  general  congratulations  upon  his  recov- 
ery without  much  embarrassment.  He  took 
his  seat.  Towards  her  he  dared  not  look ; 
but  he  felt  she  was  sitting  over-against  him. 
Her  husband,  to  his  great  relief,  was  ab- 
sent, and  not  expected  to  return  till  late. 

The  meal  passed  off  without  anything 
worthy  of  notice,  save  that  old  Posset  strove 
to  show  himself  in  the  character  of  a  jester ; 
but  his  was  the  facetiousness  of  a  grinning 
skeleton.  Nevertheless,  his  daughter  en- 
couraged his  humor,  and  seemed,  to  the 
unhappy  student,  to  have  an  extraordinary 
flow  of  spirits.  He  could  not  fail  of  draw- 
ing some  comparisons  between  her  now 
ever  ready  mirth  and  her  constant  affecta- 
tion of  wretchedness  a  few  short  months 
before. 

The  dinner  had  all  been  removed,  and  the 
master  of  the  house  had  brewed  a  pot  of 
sack,  which  was  poured  out  in  glasses  for 
the  company.  Millicent  had  hardly  got 
hers  in  her  hand,  when,  in  a  manner  half 
of  carelessness  and  half  of  spite,  she  ad- 
dressed every  one  in  turn,  and  wished  them 
something  which  had  much  the  appearance 
of  being  what  was  least  desired.  John 
Hall  was  left  by  her  to  the  last,  when  she 
commenced  a  speech  to  him  in  the  same 
strain,  in  ambiguous  phrase,  but  sufficiently 
apparent  to  all  present.  She. alluded  to  his 
ill-placed  passion,  and  wished  him,  as  the 
best  thing  that  could  be  had  for  \i\rn,  farget- 
fultiess.  This  was  too  much  for  the  miser- 
abfe  lover;  his  pride  revolted  at  thus  being 
openly  pointed  out  as  the  sufferer  he  was, 
but  the  blow  was  one  he  could  not  ward  off 
or  withstand.  He  felt  the  Corners  of  the 
room  whirling  round,  and,  for  some  seconds, 
he  lost  all  consciousness  of  what  or  where 
he  was. 

It  chanced  that,  just  at  this  time,  word 
was  brought  that  one  badly  wounded  in  a 
scuffle  was  waiting  to  have  his  hurts  dressed? 
which  instantly  caused  the  room  to  be  emp- 
tied of  all  but  Millicent  and  John  Hall. 
The  former,  for  some  motive  or  other,  left 


her  place,  and  came  round  to  him,  when  sha 
presently  put  her  arm  round  his  neck,  as  of 
old.  "  Take  not  this  accursed  marriage  of 
mine  so  much  to  heart,  my  sweet  life !" 
whispered  she  in  his  ear  very  lovingly. 
"  Heed  thy  behavior,  and  thou  shall  profit 
by  it  to  thy  exceeding  contentation.  -  For 
now  such  can  be  done  safely  which — " 

John  Hall  looked  in  her  face  with  a  sort 
of  bewildered  stare,  every  vein  and  artery 
throbbing  as  though  they  would  burst.  He 
could  scarce  believe  his  ears,  which  had 
conveyed  to  him  a  meaning  which  seemed 
to  have  turned  him  to  a  mass  of  fire  ;  but 
the  gaze  that  met  his  own  there  could  be  no 
doubting ;  his  eyes  had  fallen  before  its  too 
obvious  expression  once  before ;  albeit,  now 
the  villany  of  it  came  to  him  so  glaringly, 
that  his  whole  soul  revolted  at  its  baseness, 
and  he  forcibly  pushed  her  from  him. 

Whilst  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
he  saw  nothing  of  the  horrible,  fiendish 
scowl  with  which  the  spurned  tempter  gazed 
upon  him.  The  comely  face  was  distorted 
out  of  all  likeness  with  humanity  ;  it  waa 
spectral,  Medusa-like,  and  devilish,  beyond 
all  expression.  In  a  short  time  it  returned 
to  its  ordinary  expression — nay,  was  more 
smiling  than  it  had  ever  been,  and  Millicent 
sp"oke  in  the  light  manner  she  had  a  mo- 
ment since,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  to 
change  her  humor.  When  he  found  him- 
self strong  enough,  the  young  student  stag- 
gered out  of  the  room,  and  was  soon  in  the 
privacy  of  his  own  chamber.  Here  he  had 
full  leisure  to  think  over  the  unquestionable 
evidence  he  had  just  obtained  of  the  worth- 
less nature  of  the  woman  he  had  so  dis- 
tractedly loved.  Had  the  testimony  come 
from  any  other  source,  he  might  have  en- 
tertained a  doubt,  but,  proceeding  as  it  did 
from  her  own  polluted  lips,  it  carried  with 
it  a  terrible  conviction.  A  sensitive  nature 
and  a  pure  mind,  that  have  remained  for  a 
long  period  in  the  most  blessed  conviction 
that  the  fair  creature  for  whom  all  their 
best  energies  were  devoted,  was  the  one 
rare  example  of  perfect  excellence  the  world 
possessed,  discovering,  of  a  sudden,  that 
she  is  among  the  very  vilest  of  her  sex,  can 
scarce  fail  of  receiving  a  shock  likely  to 
unsettle  his  whole  being.  He  who  truly 
loves,  loves  only  in  the  impression  of  his 
mistress's  superiority  in  all  worthiness — this 
conviction  is  to  his  passion  air,  and  food, 
and  raiment ;  this  it  is  that  leadeth  him  to 
adoration,  this  it  is  that  speaketh  for  him  in 
song  :  but  it  hath  more  than  once  fortuned, 
that  this  fair  seeming  hath  been  only  the 
fruit  of  a  much-studied  hypocrisy,  and  that 
under  the  outer  semblance  of  such  great 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


165 


goodness  there  existed  unparalleled  base- 
ness ;  and  such  was  it  beyond  all  manner 
of  doubt,  in  the  case  of  this  unnatural  false 
Jezabel. 

Our  young  student  was  sorely  troubled 
in  mind ;  but  he  saw  there  was  for  him  but 
one  measure,  which  was  a  proper  schooling 
of  himself  to  regard  the  tempter  in  the  light 
she  ought  only  to  be  looked  upon  by  him  ; 
and,  strengthening  his  heart  with  divers 
wholesome  resolutions,  he  succeeded  at  last 
in  quieting  his  disturbed  nature  somewhat. 
He  called  to  mind  his  mother's  tender  warn- 
ings, and  these  and  other  goodly  recollec- 
tions of  the  admirable  principles  she  had 
taken  such  infinite  pains  to  implant  into 
him,  did  strengthen  and  encourage  him 
wonderfully. 

It  was  a  little  after  midnight  on  the  same 
evening  that  Millicent  left  her  sleeping  bus 
band,  and,  wrapping  herself  in  a  loose  gown, 
stealthily  and  silently  crept  down  stairs. 
Having  provided  herself  with  a  lighted 
lamp  from  the  kitchen,  she  proceeded  to  the 
little  back  chamber  described  in  a  preceding 
chapter,  as  one  where  Master  Docter  Posset 
was  wont  to  enjoy  his  privacy  unmolested 
by  any  save  his  daughter,  the  door  of  which 
she  unlocked  with  a  key  she  took  from  her 
girdle  ;  then  entering  she  locked  herself  in. 
Placing  the  lamp  on  the  table,  she  went 
immediately  to  the  old  cabinet,  which  she 
opened  with  another  key.  The  doors  thrown 
back  discovered  nests  of  drawers,  save  at 
the  top  which  looked  to  be  blank ;  but.  Mil- 
licent, touching  a  secret  spring,  the  panel 
slid  on  one  side,  and  there  appeared  several 
curiously-shaped  little  bottles,  some  with 
powders,  and  some  with  liquids. 

She  opened  one  of  the  drawers,  and  took 
from  thence  a  pair  of  ivory  scales  with 
divers  small  weights  ;  from  another  she  took 
a  graduated  glass  measure;  from  a  third  a 
pestle  and  mortar  of  the  same  material. 
These  she  carefully  placed  on  the  table 
without  noise ;  then  took  several  of  the 
bottles,  and  weighed  and  hieasured  their 
contents  in  certain  quantities,  and  mixed 
them  in  the  mortar. 

Whilst  this  was  being  done,  it  was  curi- 
ous to  notice  the  dull,  unearthly  expression 
which  pervaded  her  visage.  Her  sallow 
cheek  was  more  bloodless  than  ever ;  her 
eyes  seemed  covered  with  a  dead  glaze ; 
and  her  lips  were  of  a  blueish  tinge,  and 
firmly  compressed.  Once  or  twice  she 
looked  as  though  she  smiled,  but  it  was  a 
smile  of  such  a  sort  as  might,  have  become 
a  corpse,  raised  to  life  by  some  awful  deed 
of  sorcery.  Anon,  at  a  sudden  noise  being 
heard,  she  suspended  her  operations,  shaded 


the  lamp  by  interposing  her  handkerchief 
between  it  and  the  door,  held  her  breath, 
and  glared,  listening  with  a  terrible  atten- 
tiveness,  with  an  aspect  that  seemed  to 
have  the  fearful  power  of  blasting  the  sierht 
of  any  too  curious  looker-on.  All  was  still 
again,  and  she  resumed  her  work  with  the 
cold,  inhuman  visage  with  which  ehe  had 
commenced  it. 

The  mixture  was  at  last  completed,  and 
secured  in  a  vial,  and  the  vessels  which 
had  been  used  were  each  separately  washed 
and  dried,  and  put  with  the  rest  of  the  things 
in  their  proper  places.  The  panel  was  then 
returned  to  its  place,  and  the  cabinet  locked ; 
and  the  lamp  was  held  close  before  the  table, 
and  then  to  the  floor,  to  see  that  nothing 
had  fallen  which  could  show  any  one  had 
been  in  that  chamber.  Having  sufficiently 
satisfied  herself  in  this  respect,  she  took  the 
vial  and  the  lamp,  and,  carefully  locking  the 
door  of  the  room  after  her,  blew  out  the 
light,  replaced  it  in  the  kitchen,  and  then 
cautiously  returned  to  her  own  chamber. 

John  Hall  awoke  much  weaker  in  body 
than  he  had  been  the  day  before  at  the  same 
time.  As  he  dressed  himself,  he  again  re- 
flected on  the  incident  of  the  previous  day, 
and  he  came  to  a  determination  of  renew- 
ing those  studies  that  had  been  so  complete- 
ly interrupted  by  the  violence  of  his  passion. 
In  accordance  with  this  very  admirable  re- 
solution, he  looked  to  his  favorite  books  with 
which  he  seemed  to  return  with  a  new 
relish.  But  he  was  not  in  a  condition  for 
any  serious  study — the  task  soon  became 
irksome  to  him,  and  despite  of  hjs  inclination 
to  continue  at  it,  he  more  than  once  found 
himself  indulging  in  his  old  habit  of  dreamy 
reveries,  instead  of  directing  his  attention 
to  the  page  before  him. 

To  his  infinite  wonderment  and  no  small 
confusion,  the  person  of  all  others  he  wished 
least  to  see  entered  the  room.  He  would 
gladly  have  told  her  he  desired  not  her  com- 
pany ;  but  there  was  such  a  winning  cheer- 
fulness in  her  manner,  and  such  an  impres- 
sive kindness  in  her  language,  that  any 
repulse  on  his  part  would  appear  a  rudeness 
there  seemed  no  warrant  for  his  shewing. 
She  had  brought  with  her  a  basin  of 
strengthening  broth,  which  she  had  made, 
as  she  said,  expressly  for  the  perfect  healing 
of  his  sickness — for  she  had  determined  to 
take  his  cure  into  her  own  hand — and  she 
continued  to  converse  with  so  graceful  a 
modesty,  and  so  admirable  a  good  humor, 
that  he  could  not  help  coming  to  some  doubts 
lie  had  understood  her  rightly  in  her  beha- 
vior to  him  the  previous  day. 

The  end  was,  that  he  allowed  himself  to 


166 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


be  persuaded  by  her  of  the  restorative  qual- 
ities of  the  broth,  and  was  content  to  make 
trial  of  its  effects.  She  insisted  she  would 
see  him  take  it,  as  was  the  duty  of  a  good 
nurse,  and  so  he  fell  into  her  humor,  and 
straightway  began  to  do  as  she  would  have 
him. 

The  broth  seemed  of  especial  excellence, 
and  cunningly  compounded,  as  she  said,  of 
certain  rare  herbs.  He  commended  its 
savor,  and  was  content  she  should  concoct 
the  same  mess  for  him  every  day  till  he  re- 
covered. Several  days  passed,  and  she 
came  regularly  at  the  same  hour,  and  be- 
haved in  the  like  commendable  fashion, 
always  overflowing,  as  it  were,  with  good- 
humor,  gentleness,  and  the  tenderest  sym- 
pathy. Nevertheless,  for  all  her  friendly 
care,  he  felt  himself  getting  much  worse, 
and  in  a  manner  for  which,  with  all  his 
skill  in  medicine,  he  could  not  account. 
His  pulse  was  sinking,  his  mouth  was 
parched  with  an  ill  taste,  his  head  ached 
strangely,  he  had  racking  internal  pains, 
and  his  limbs  could  scarce  support  his  body. 
His  new  nurse,  hearing  these  symptoms, 
made  light  of  them,  and  still  maintained  her 
restorative  broth  should  work  his  speedy 
cure.  This  while  he  saw  no  one  else  but 
Millicent,  for  she  had  taken  especial  pains 
to  keep  every  one  out  of  the  way. 

His  pains  were  getting  to  be  so  great, 
and  his  feebleness  so  to  increase,  that  he 
began  to  think  his  case  needed  the  most 
skilful  physician  he  could  find;  and  on  this 
point  he  spoke  seriously  to  his  attendant, 
but  she  treated  his  fears  as  proceeding  only 
from  lowness  of  spirits,  which  would  leave 
him  in  a  day  or  two,  and  pressed  on  him  her 
restorative  broth  as  an  unquestionable  re- 
medy. 

It  had  been  her  practice  every  day  to  stay 
in  the  room  whilst  her  patient  swallowed 
the  broth,  and  she  would  never  be  satisfied 
till  he  had  drank  it  all.  It  so  happened  on 
one  occasion  she  was  suddenly  called  away 
very  urgently  when  he  had  about  half  fin- 
ished it,  and,  not  feeling-  disposed  to  take 
any  more,  John  Hall  put  the  basin  on  the 
ground  before  a  favorite  little  spaniel  that 
usually  accompanied  Millicent  in  her  visits. 
The  dog,  nothing  loath,  licked  it  up  every 
drop ;  but,  scarcely  had  he  done  so,  when 
he  began  to  appear  exceeding  restless  and 
uneasy.  Presently  he  whined  very  piteous- 
ly,  and  ran  round  the  chamber  with  his 
tongue  out  of  his  mouth,  looking  terribly  dis- 
turbed. Anon  he  stopped,  and  straightway 
twisted  himself  about,  and  writhed  and  roll- 
ed, howling  wildly,  and  foaming  at  the  mouth 
as  though  in  a  monstrous  agony. 


John  Hall  gazed  on  the  poor  animil  in 
a  strange  amazement  and  alarm.  At  first 
he  was  fain  to  believe  he  might  be  taken 
with  a  sudden  fit ;  but  when  he  beheld  the 
evident  torture  he  endured,  and  saw  too 
plainly  he  was  dying  a  terrible  death,  ho 
was  bewildered  and  astounded  with  his  own 
thoughts.  The  symptoms  were  undoubtedly 
those  which  arise  from  the  taking  of  poison ; 
this  poison  could  only  have  been  in  the  broth 
he  had  just  swallowed ;  and,  if  the  broth 
had  been  mixed  with  any  poisonous  stuff,  it 
was  such  as  he  had  been  taking  for  several 
days. 

A  horrible  conviction  came  upon  him,  and 
he  gasped  for  breath  as  he  entertained  it. 
He  had  been  daily  taking  the  broth,  and  had 
been  daily  getting  into  a  state  like  one  who 
may  be  said  to  be  dying  by  inches. 

At  this  moment  the  dog  uttered  a  pierc- 
ing howl,  and  gave  up  the  ghost,  and  John 
Hall  sank,  sick  unto  death,  into  the  uighest 
chair. 

He  was,  however,  roused  from  the  stupor 
that  was  coming  over  him  by  the  return  of 
Millicent,  and,  making  a  desperate  effort  as 
he  clung  to  the  back  of  the  chair  for  sup- 
port, he  hurriedly  related  the  awful  sight  he 
had  just  witnessed,  and,  in  a  few  and  inco- 
herent words,  accused  her  of  attempting  his 
life  by  daily  administering  some  noxious 
ingredient.  As,  with  looks  of  horror  and 
alarm,  he  gazed  upon  her  visage,  he  was 
struck  by  the  ghastly  paleness  which  in- 
stantly overspread  it,  and  the  shrinking  eye, 
quivering  lip,  and  trembling  form,  were 
alone  sufficient  evidence  of  her  atrocious 
guilt. 

Where  was  the  matchless  hypocrisy,  the 
subtle  craft,  the  wondrous  readiness  of  de- 
ception that  had  so  often  served  her  in  times 
of  peril  ?  Where  were  her  tricks,  and  gloz- 
ings,  and  cheats  she  had  in  such  irfinite 
abundance  at  her  commandment  ?  Had 
the  ample  magazine  of  her  artifices  b^en  so 
exhausted,  there  was  no  lie  left,  ho  deceit 
practicable,  no  treachery  at  command,  by 
which  she  could  move  the  fcul  suspicion 
which  every  moment  grew  more  black 
against  her  ? 

-  A  few  seconds  of  horrible  silence  fol- 
lowed, which  the  young  student  at  last 
broke,  as  with  a.  superhuman  energy. 
Catching  his  breath  with  a  sharp  guttural 
spasm,  in  a  voite  scarcely  audible  for  its 
hoarseness,  he  bade  her  "Begone!"  The 
wretch  obeyed,  cowed  as  it  were  by  the  sud- 
denness of  the  discovery  of  her  damnable 
villanousness,  and  retired  as  quickly  as  she 
could — perchance  to  devise  means  of  prac- 
tising upon  hei  victim  more  effectually. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


187 


But,  scarce  had  the  door  closed  upon  her, 
when  John  Hall  started  up  with  frantic  ea- 
gerness, hurried  down  stairs,  and  rushed 
out  of  the  house,  with  the  fullest  determi- 
nation never  to  enter  those  accursed  doors 
again. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Then  the  Soldier 

*  *  *  *  * 

Seeking  the  bubble  reputation, 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth. 

SHAKSREARE. 

THE  state  of  Venice  had  been  famed  for 
the  vigor  wherewith  it  had  in  times  passed 
carried  on  war  against  the  Ottoman  ;  and, 
although  years  had  gone  by  since  any  dis- 
tinguishing victory  had  brought  honor  to  the 
arms  of  this  renowned  republic,  there  were 
not  wanting,  either  amongst  her  hardy  gon- 
doliers, her  skilful  artificers,  or  prodigal 
young  nobles,  spirits  as  ready  to  rally  round 
the  glorious  banner  of  St.  Mark,  as  when 
defended  by  the  most  heroic  of  her  doges, 
it  was  planted  on  the  walls  of  the  capital  of 
the  western  world. 

The  winged  lion,  though  far  less  promi- 
nent in  the  war  of  Christian  chivalry 
against  the  turbaned  infidel,  than  in  the 
time-honored  days  of  the  worthies  of  her 
golden  book,  had  not  yet  learned  to  live  in 
inglorious  peace  with  the  ancient  enemy  of 
its  protectors,  and  both  by  land  and  sea,  had, 
with  scarce  any  intermissions,  looked  over 
battles  and  skirmishings,  as  varying  in  their 
natures  as  in  their  fortunes.  Sometimes  both 
Venetians  and  Turks  carried  on  their  en- 
during contest  in  places  as  remote  from  the 
natural  home  of  the  one  as  of  the  other,  and 
upon  an  occasion  armaments  would  be  tit- 
ted  out  by  either  power  to  invade  the  do- 
minions of  the  other ;  but,  wherever  they 
might  chance  to  meet,  this  was  certain,  that 
very  pretty  fighting  would  soon  follow, 
which  was  thought  so  attractive  a  matter  to 
divers  of  the  restless  bold  hearts  of  the  more 
peaceful  kingdoms  of  Europe,  that  they 
liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  serve  a  cam- 
paign or  so  under  the  Venetian  commanders. 

It  chanced  that  the  whole  senate  of  Ve- 
nice became  thrown  into  a  sudden  commo- 
tion by  the  intelligence  that  a  powerful 
body  of  Turks  had  contrived  to  land,  and 
take  by  surprise  a  small  place  in  the  Vene- 
tjan  territory,  which  it  was  said  they  had 
entrenched,  as  though  with  a  view  to  re- 
tain. Measures,  however,  were  promptly 
taken  to  dispossess  them  of  their  conquest, 


and  the  warlike  citizens  of  the  republic,  in- 
flamed by  the  rumors  of  their  unfortunate 
countrymen  taken  prisoners  only  to  be  sold 
as  slaves,  thronged  to  the  ships  that  were 
to  transport  them  to  the  spot  they  intended 
to  signalize  by  the  punishment  of  their  au- 
dacious enemy,  and  the  deliverance  of  their 
pining  friends.  I  would  I  might,  with  a 
proper  convenience  of  this,  my  story,  here 
tell  the  goodly  show  of  weapons,  the  famous 
display  of  armor,  and  the  no  less  admirable 
array  of  all  other  proper  munitions  of  war, 
that  gave  such  a  brave  appearance  to  the 
lagunes  ;  but  I  must  for  certain  good  and 
proper  reasons  at  once  transport  the  reader 
to  the  camp  of  the  Venetians,  a  brief  space 
only  before  they  assaulted  the  position  the 
Turks  had  taken,  and  seemed  ready  enough 
to  defend. 

The  two  armies  lay  in  sight  of  each  other, 
the  Ottomans  on  a  hill  over-against  the  lit- 
tle town,  above  which  their  standards  still 
proudly  waved.  Afar  off  was  the  sea,  with 
the  Turkish  fleet  hotly  engaged  with  the 
ships  of  Venice,  which,  having  put  ashore 
the  force  intended  to  operate  against  their 
enemies  on  the  land,  had  sailed  to  destroy 
their  vessels,  and  so  prevent  their  escaping 
by  sea. 

The  town  seemed  to  be  defended  with  no 
lack  of  military  skill,  but  the  principal  reli- 
ance of  the  infidels  looked  to  be  a  battery 
of  six  petards,  which  already  began  to  pour 
forth  its  murderous  fire  as  the  front  col- 
umns of  the  Venetians  approached  with 
trumpets  blowing  and  banners  flying  to  be- 
gin the  combat.  The  whole  army  of  the 
republic  was  in  motion  ;  and  it  was  at  this 
period,  just  as  their  general,  surrounded  by 
his  ablest  captains,  had  given  his  last  or- 
ders for  the  disposition  of  his  forces,  an  an- 
cient approached,  and  with  a  vast  show  of 
respect  and  reverence,  delivered  certain  pa- 
pers into  his  hands.  The  general  was  a 
veteran,  tall,  stately,  and  severe  of  aspect, 
who,  it  was  easy  to  see,  had  fought  under 
the  banner  of  St.  Mark,  for  some  two  score 
years  at  least.  He  was  splendidly  appa- 
relled in  the  picturesque  Venetian  habit, 
which  lost  nothing  of  its  state  by  being  seen 
on  his  commanding  figure.  In  brief,  he 
was  just  that  manner  of  man  whereof  the 
skilful  limning  of  Titian  hath  given  such 
admirable  examples. 

Taking  the  papers  into  his  hands,  he 
broke  the  seals,  and  read  them  attentively, 
and  with  visable  appearance  of  interest. 
This  done,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  bear- 
er, and  said,  in  an  audible  sonorous  voice  : 
— "  Let  them  enter."  Straightway  the  of- 
ficer made  his  obedience,  and  departed 


168 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


thence  ;  presently,  however  returning,  ac- 
companied by  two  persons,  whom  he  an- 
nounced as  "  the  Signer  Shikspea,  and  the 
Signor  Guglielmo  Erberto,  Cavalieri  Ingle- 
si.  The  different  captains  looked  on  the 
strangers  with  a  pleased  curiousness,  for 
there  was  that  in  both  that  did  as  well  be- 
come as  bespeak  the  soldier.  The  captain- 
general  gazed  from  one  to  the  other  as  they 
saluted  him,  and,  if  satisfied  with  the  fiery 
valor  that  shone  in  the  glances  of  the 
younger  of  the  two,  his  eyes  rested  with  no 
less  approval  on  the  steady  resoluteness  that 
was  as  plainly  to  be  seen  in  the  graver  as- 
pect of  the  senior.  Him  he  addressed. 

"  I  have  read  with  very  singular  satisfac- 
tion, Signor,"  said  he  with  exceeding  gra- 
ciousness  of  manner,  "  these  letters  from 
certain  honorable  Councillors  of  State,  in 
Venice,  my  assured  friends,  stating  your  de- 
sire to  serve  with  your  young  companion, 
under  my  command,  and  urgently  recom- 
mending you  both,  as  persons  of  considera- 
tion and  worship,  to  my  countenance  and 
favor.  Signor,  I  am  right  glad  to  please 
the  state — and  am  well  content  to  have  any 
of  your  honorable  nation  to  be  my  good 
comrades  in  this  campaign.  By  the  favor 
of  God  and  St.  Mark,  I  will  anon  give  you 
such  opportunity  of  displaying  your  noble 
valor  against  the  infidel  as  I  doubt  not  will 
be  greatly  to  your  contentation. 

"  Da  Ponte  !"  he  exclaimed,  to  a  young 
soldier  of  the  group  around  him> "  take  these 
worthy  cavaliers  to  be  of  your  company, 
and  with  all  dispatch  join  the  division  now 
marching  against  the  enemy's  centre  ;  and, 
gentlemen,"  he  added,  to  the  others,  "  we 
will  all,  an  it  please  you  to  our  several 
posts." 

Thereupon  there  was  a  stir  among  that 
warlike  assembly — each  hurried  away  to 
his  company,  or  to  perform  such  duty 
as  had  been  previously  assigned  him — 
sounds  of  command  were  heard  in  all  di- 
rections— trumpets  were  blown  and  drums 
beat:  the  general  mounted  a  charger  richly 
caparisoned,  and  with  several  of  his  cap- 
tains about  him,  galloped  off;  and  my  Lord 
of  Pembroke's  heir  and  his  estimable  gover- 
nor found  themselves,  in  a  few  minutes' 
space,  marching  in  the  midst  of  a  well-ap- 
pointed body  of  Venetian  soldiers,  directly 
in  front  of  the  enemy's  position. 

At  this  time,  the  loud  report  of  the  great 
guns,  and  a  scattered  firing  of  matchlocks, 
told  that  some  of  the  advanced  parties  were 
already  engaged  with  the  Turks  :  but  it  was 
not  till  the  armies  approached  each  other 
more  nearly  that  the  contest  became  gene- 
ral, and  then  it  began  to  wax  fiercer  and 


fiercer  every  instant — for  both  were  inflam- 
ed with  religious  zeal,  and  a  national  ani- 
mosity that  had  endured  for  many  genera- 
tions. 

The  bravery  of  silken  scarfs,  embroidered 
vestments,  rich  banners,  gorgeous  turbans, 
costly  arms  and  armor,  that  figured  in  that 
battle-field  exceedeth  belief,  and  when  the 
smoke  cleared  away  from  any  part,  it  was 
like  unto  a  curtain  rising  above  some 
matchless  picture,  glowing  with  all  the 
deepest  colors  of  the  painter's  art. 

The  infidels  had  something  besides  fana- 
ticism and  hatred  to  urge  them  to  make  a 
stiff  fight  of  it,  for  they  were  well  aware 
that,  unless  they  beat  off  their  assailants, 
their  case  was  desperate  indeed.  What 
success  their  fleet  met  with,  they  could  have 
no  knowledge  of,  but  they  saw  it  was  in 
vain  to  look  there  for  assistance  at  that 
time.  Therefore,  they  encouraged  each 
other  with  their  warlike  cries,  and  rushed 
forward  with  shouts  in  praise  of  their  pro- 
phet, and  execrations  against  "  the  Chris- 
tian dogs,"  with  whom  they  were  so  eager 
to  engage  in  deadly  battle. 

Master  Shakspeare,  in  availing  himself 
of  that  favorable  opportunity  to  obtain  for 
his  beloved  scholar  the  prized  accomplish- 
ments of  a  soldier,  had  not  done  so  without 
some  inward  strife  with  himself.  All  the 
earnest  deep  passion  he  had  so  long  yet  se- 
cretly felt  for  the  noble  mother,  he  had  gra- 
dually transferred  to  her  high-spirited  son, 
as  her  representative  and  perfect  image  ;  to 
the  lawfulness  of  which  he  had  succeeded 
in  reconciling  himself,  though  he  was  as 
zealously  intent  as  ever  in  concealing  from 
its  object  the  influence  by  which  his  feel- 
ings were  ever  directed  towards  him. 

Moreover,  he  had  more  than  one  reason 
for  directing  his  steps  towards  the  Vene- 
tian camp,  not  the  least  pressing  of  which 
was  the  necessity  there  existed  of  removing 
his  charge,  where  pressing  duties  and  con- 
stant action  would  destroy  a  degrading  en- 
tanglement he  had  watched  with  solicitude, 
and  had  in  vain  by  other  means  endeavored 
'  to  destroy.  The  youthful  lover  would  needs 
!  be  his  own  judge  in  the  correctness  of  such 
matters,  and  like  a  fiery  horse  would  rush 
into  the  horriblest  mischief  were  any  rude 
means  employed  to  move  him  out  of  the  way 
of  it. 

To  his  governor's  huge  content,  he  found 
that  he  readily  embraced  the  attractive  pro- 
ject of  seeing  somewhat  of  the  art  of  war ; 
but  now  that  Master  Shakspeare  had  him 
where  he  so  desired,  he  was  by  no  means 
free  from  disquietude  ;  for  one  moment,  see- 
ing the  stoutness  with  which  the  battle  was 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


169 


contested,  he  feared  he  might  come  to  harm, 
and  so  cause  the  greatest  unhappiness  that 
could  befall  his  noble  mother ;  and  anon, 
noting  his  wilful  heedlessness  of  proper  dis- 
cipline, he  despaired  of  his  distinguishing 
himself  as  would  be  most  to  her  contenta- 
tion. 

Weapons  of  numberless  sorts  were  now 
glancing  threateningly  in  all  directions 
around  him — the  well-tempered  Damascus 
blade  crossing  the  trusty  Toledo,  and  the 
bright  Moorish  lance  ringing  against  the 
Milan  breastplate.  The  spirited  war  cry 
of  "  God  and  St.  Mark,"  from  the  stout 
goldiers  of  the  republic,  was  replied  to  by 
deafening  shouts  in  which  "  Allah"  and 
"  Mahomet"  could  not  fail  of  being  heard. 
The  Turks  opposed  the  Venetians  at  every 
inch,  endeavoring  with  frantic  furiousness 
to  break  their  ranks,  but  the  latter  forced 
them  back  with  great  slaughter  after  a  long 
and  severe  contest,  and  advanced  to  a 
bridge  entering  upon  the  town,  which  was 
defended  by  petards  supported  by  a  strong 
force  of  desperate  infidels.  If  Master  Shaks- 
peare  found  enough  employment  in  locking 
to  the  safety  of  his  young  companion  in 
arms,  awhile  since,  in  the  attack  on  the 
bridge  that  soon  followed,  the  service  was 
one  that  required  tenfold  watchfulness. 

The  winged  Lion  waved  proudly  above 
the  heads  of  its  defenders,  as  they  came 
steadily  on  to  the  assault  in  the  very  face 
of  the  terrible  iron  engines,  that  vomited 
their  deadly  iron  shower  amongst  them. 
Here  the  Venetians  suffered  severely,  for 
when  the  Turkish  engineers  had  fired  their 
formidable  artillery,  numerous  matchlock 
men  from  the  neighboring  houses  and  walls 
kept  up  a  murderous  fire,  whilst  they  pre- 
pared for  another  discharge.  Cries,  mingled 
with  groans,  and  defiances,  were  answered 
with  insults  and  execrations.  More  than 
once  the  brave  soldiers  of  Venice  were  bea- 
ten back  on  this  point,  but  they  eagerly  re- 
sponded to  the  voice  of  their  commanders, 
and  pressed  fonvard  to  revenge  their  slaugh- 
tered comrades. 

My  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  was  often  in 
the  most  imminent  peril — his  companions 
kept  falling  fast  around  him,  and  it  could 
scarce  be  expected  he  could  long  escape 
the  same  end,  for  he  had  got  himself  in  the 
foremost  ranks,  and,  to  the  admiration  of 
both  friends  and  foes,  was  ever  with  his 
anxious  governor  close  at  his  side,  the  first 
to  push  forward  after  a  repulse.  The  be- 
havior of  the  English  cavaliers  so  inspirited 
their  allies,  that  on  a  sudden  they  all  rush- 
ed, in  spite  of  the  storm  of  missiles  that  sa- 
luted them,  up  to  the  very  mouths  of  the 


cannon.  The  engineers  fled  from  their 
guns,  and  the  bridge  was  in  the  possession 
of  the  Venetians. 

It  was  here,  during  the  short  but  slaugh- 
tering conflict  that  took  place  before  the 
Turks  finally  gave  way,  that  a  gigantic  in- 
fidel threw  himself  suddenly  before  young 
Herbert,  as  he  impetuously  pressed  onward 
with  the  most  daring  of  the  assailants,  after 
their  retreating  foes,  and  easily  beating 
aside  his  slight  rapier,  the  glittering  blade 
he  wielded  with  no  less  strength  than  skill 
was  descending  on  the  youth's  head,  when 
it  fell  from  a  nerveless  grasp,  as  the  sword 
of  the  trusty  governor  was  buried  to  the  hilt 
in  his  heart.  Thrice  had  a  similar  service 
been  conferred,  in  that  perilous  fight,  by 
the  same  vigorous  arm  ;  then  the  watchful 
guardian,  assuming  a  calm  he  felt  not,  had 
been  forced  to  hurry  on  in  a  feverish  anx- 
iousness,  to  avert  the  mischiefs  that  seemed 
to  threaten  him  in  countless  numbers  ;  but 
in  this  instance,  the  greatness  of  the  escape 
of  his  charge  affected  Kim  so,  that  he  lost 
sight  of  his  ordinary  self-control,  and  with  a 
frantic  trans  port  embraced  him  with  all  man- 
ner  of  joyful  and  endearing  ejaculations. 
He  was  not  long,  however,  before  he  became 
aware  of  his  forgetfulness,  and  as  suddenly 
left  his  passionate  fond  humor  to  put  on  the 
more  sober  fashion  of  the  worthy  governor. 
Fortunately,  as  he  thought,  the  youth  marked 
not  the  strangeness  of  his  behavior,  taking 
it  to  be  excessive  pleasure  in  having  effect- 
ed his  rescue,  in  so  timely  a  manner,  and 
did  no  more  than  express  his  thankfulness 
for  such  excellent  service. 

Just  at  this  time,  the  Captain-General  of 
the  Venetian  army  coming  up,  stopped  at 
sight  of  the  two  English  cavaliers,  and,  be- 
fore all  the  captains  and  soldiers  around 
him,  did  commend  them  exceedingly  for 
•their  notable  gallantry.  Fired  with  this 
praise,  both  presently  hastened  with  the 
main  body  into  the  town,  which  was  storm- 
ed at  all  points.  Numbers  of  the  Turks 
were  driven  into  the  sea — many  perished  in 
the  houses  in  which  they  vainly  attempted 
to  defend  themselves — and  the  few  who  re- 
mained together  in  the  streets,  keeping  up  a 
desperate  and  hopeless  resistance,  disdain- 
ing quarter  and  shouting  defiance  to  their 
enemies,  were  cut  down  to  a  man. 

Scarcely  was  this  glorious  victory  com- 
pleted, when  the  fleet  of  the  republic,  after 
an  equally  successful  conflict  with  the 
Turkish  ships,  returned  with  several  prizes, 
the  rest  having  been  either  sunk,  or  scattered 
to  the  winds,  so  that  no  two  of  them  could 
be  found  together.  Such  an  humbling  of 
the  Ottoman  power  the  state  of  Venice  had 


170 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


not  achieved  for  many  a  year,  and  great 
was  the  exultation  among  all  classes,  both 
of  the  land  and  sea  forces  in  consequence. 

My  Lord  of  Pembroke's  heir  and  his  wor- 
thy governor  were  held  in  especial  honor  by 
their  principal  men  of  war,  for  the  exceed- 
ing valor  they  had  displayed  when  the  fight 
was  at  the  hottest;  and,  at  the  return  of  the 
expedition,  the  nobles  vied  with  each  other 
which  should  show  them  most  favor  and 
distinction. 

Nor  were  the  ladies  in  any  way  behind 
their  lords  in  this,  and  showered  their  most 
bewitching  smiles,  as  though  of  all  things 
they  cared  for  nothing  so  much  as  to  have 
such  gallant  spirits  for  their  declared  ser- 
vants and  devoted  favored  lovers.  As  there 
were  many  amongst  them  of  a  very  exqui- 
site and  ravishing  beauty,  Master  Shaks- 
peare  did  look  with  no  slight  degree  of  alarm 
on  the  greatness  of  the  temptation  with 
which  his  young  charge  was  now  surround- 
ed ;  and  he  had  need  of  all  his  watchfulness 
to  take  heed  he  thrust  himself  in  no  fatal 
mischiefs.  The  secret  assignations  —  the 
nightly  serenades — the  stolen  interviews — 
he  knew  to  be  full  of  deadly  peril ;  and  he 
never  saw  him  enter  his  gondola  but  he 
feared  the  poniard  of  some  envious  rival,  or 
the  poison  of  some  jealous  mistress,  would 
put  a  terrible  close  to  the  adventure,  in 
which,  he  was  but  too  well  aware,  he  was 
then  embarking. 

It  was  on  the  very  balmiest  of  moonlight 
nights,  when  the  silver  radiance  of  that 
planet,  which  is  so  well  liked  of  lovers,  was 
lighting  up  the  rich  architecture  of  one  of 
the  stateliest  palaces  in  all  Venice,  that  a 
lady  of  that  ripe  and  luscious  loveliness 
that  doth,  as  it  were,  take  the  senses  of  the 
gazer  by  storm,  was  seen  in  such  glorious 
robes  and  ornaments,  as  could  the  most 
temptingly  set  off  her  admirable  form  and 
countenance,  leaning  on  a  balcony  over- 
against  a  marble  terrace  that  led  by  a  flight 
of  steps  into  the  canal  that  washed  the  base- 
ment walls  of  the  building,  looking  with 
eyes  lustrous  as  fire,  yet  possessed  of  a  ten- 
derness withal,  that  did  marvellously  soften 
their  flaming  glances,  across  the  water,  as 
though  for  something  she  expected  there  to 
behold.  Ever  and  anon  a  melancholy  gon- 
dola would  be  seen  gliding  along,  and  the 
voices  of  the  gondoliers  might  be  heard 
answering  to  each  other  in  words  of  liquid 
sweetness  and  tones  of  passionate  music. 
Perchance  the  slight  breeze,  that  so  gently 
stirred  the  waters,  would  waft  to  the  etr 
of  the  watcher  a  burst  of  harmony  which 
was  readily  recognized  as  a  serenade  of 
some  fond  lover  for  the  peculiar  delectation 


of  his,  perchance,  equally  fond  mistress , 
but  these  were  all  afar  off,  and  evidently 
were  not,  in  any  way,  attending  upon  the 
pleasures  of  the  lady  of  the  balcony. 

She  seemed  to  span  the  blue  waves  that 
spread  out  before  her  glance  with  an  in- 
creasing interest — the  glowing  cheek  some- 
times paling,  and  anon,  flushing  to  a  warmer 
hue  than  before,  as  she  watched  the  course 
of  the  distant  gondolas.  Presently  she 
noted  one  dextrously  turned  into  the  chan- 
nel that  flowed  beneath  her,  and  then  her 
rosy  mouth  dimpled  into  an  expression  of 
such  delicious  sweetness,  that  doth  defy  the 
poet  or  the  painter's  craft  to  do  justice  to ; 
and,  after  waiting  awhile  with  an  eloquent 
heaving  breast,  a  softer  glance,  and  a  more 
crimsoned  cheek,  as  she  recognized  the  well- 
known  boat  being  propelled  towards  the 
palace,  she  retired  a  little  distance,  whence 
she  could  conveniently  see  and  yet  not  be 
seen. 

The  gondola  was  urged  onward  till  it 
stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs — thereupon 
a  strain  of  soft  music  commenced,  which 
presently  received  additional  harmony,  of 
no  ordinary  sort,  from  a  rich,  manly  voice, 
whose  every  note  was  as  full  of  passion  as 
of  music.  The  words,  which  lacked  no  art 
in  the  singer  to  make  them  sufficiently  ex- 
pressive, were  to  the  following  purpose : 

SERENADE. 

The  day  hath  lost  its  gladness, 

Bella  Donna ! 

The  night  is  wrapt  in  sadness, 

Bella  Donna ! 

The  wave,  the  shore,  the  skies, 

Now  don  their  sober  dyes, 

Pining  for  thy  sweet  eyes, 

Bella  Donna ! 

But,  ah  !  more  deep  emotion, 

Bella  Donna ! 

Than  earth,  or  air,  or  ocean, 

Bella  Donna ! 

Must  be  his  hapless  case, 

To  whom  all's  dull  and  base, 

That  lacks  thy  matchless  grace, 

Bella  Donna ! 

Then  bring  thy  fondest  glances, 

Bella  Donna ! 

To  chase  such  solemn  fancies, 

Bella  Donna ! 

And  hear,  till  blushing  morn, 

All  nature  put  to  scorn, 

And  love's  soft  worship  sworn, 

Bella  Donna  f 

As  the  song  of  the  unseen  singer  came 
to  its  close,  the  lady,  with  looks  that  did 
most  completely  bespeak  her  approval  of  its 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


171 


sentiments,  came  to  the  balcony  and  waved 
her  handkerchief.  A  moment,  and  there 
leapt  on  shore  a  young  and  handsome  cav- 
alier— a  moment  more  he  had  ascended  the 
stairs,  crossed  the  terrace,  reached  the  bal- 
cony, and  was  locked  in  the  arms  of  the 
kind  Venetian.  Scarce,  however,  had  the 
lovers  begun  to  give  utterance  to  their  mu- 
tual adoration,  when  a  shadow  fell  upon 
them,  and  the  figure  of  an  -old  man,  whose 
wrinkled  visage  was  distorted  with  hatred 
and  jealousy,  was  seen  creeping  stealthily 
behind  them,  with  a  long,  sharp  dagger 
clutched  in  his  nerveless  grasp. 

':  Fly,  Signer  Erberto !  Maledetto !  here 
is  my  husband !"  screamed  the  terrified 
dame,  as  she  glided  from  his  embrace  and 
disappeared.  The  youth  was  so  hugely 
surprised  that  he  knew  not  where  to  look 
for  tiie  unwelcome  intruder ;  and  the  threat- 
ening weapon  was  already  gleaming  in  his 
eyes,  when  a  figure,  closely  wrapped  in  a 
black  domino,  and  as  closely  masked,  rushed 
from  his  place  of  concealment,  and,  in  the 
same  instant,  the  meditated  assassin  was 
hurled  down  the  marble  stairs,  and  lay  stun- 
ned and  motionless  at  the  bottom. 

4i  Well  met  again,  Excellency,"  said  an 
unknown  voice,  cheerfully. 

"  And  a^ain  I  thank  thee,  Signer,"  re- 
.plied  the  gallant,  though  with  more  reserve 
than  might  have  been  expected  under  the 
circumstances.  "But  methinks  it  seemeth 
marvellous  strange  thou  shouldst  ever  be  at 
hand  when  my  life  is  in  jeopardy.  I  would 
fain  know  to  whom  I  am  so  hugely  indebt- 
ed." 

»  "  Pardon  me,  Signor  Erberto,"  said  the 
other,  "  my  name  is  not  of  such  importance 
to  deserve  the  attention  of  a  noble  English 
cavalier,  like  yourself.  But  let  me  warn 
you,  Excellency,  that  if  you  leave  not  this 
city  ere  another  sun  sets,  the  vengeance  of 
offended  husbands  and  jealous  rivals,  to 
whom  you  have  given  such  potent  provoca- 
tion, cannot  fail  of  overtaking  you." 

"  A  notable  warning,  i'  faith  !"  cried  the 
youth,  laughingly.  "  But  I  fear  me  much 
I  am  in  no  case  for  profiting  by  it,  while 
the  dames  of  this  beautiful  city  are  at  once 
so  fair  and  so  kind." 

"  Cospetto !  they  are  indeed  a  temptation," 
said  the  stranger,  but  added,  more  gravely, 
"  The  love  which  is  so  lightly  wen  me- 
thinks, ought  to  be  valued  by  any  man, 
who  is  not  a  fool  or  madman,  as  of  little  ac- 
count in  comparison  with  his  own  life." 

"Am  I  fool  or  madman,  Signor,  if  I 
choose  to  risk  my  life  in  such  pursuits  ?" 
angrily  demanded  the  fiery  youth. 


"  In  honest  truth,  so  it  would  seem,"  qui- 
etly replied  the  other. 

"  And,  perchance,  I  may  be  thought  some- 
thing worse  ?"  asked  Master  Herbert,  with 
every  symptom  of  a  rising  passion. 

"  I  doubt  not  you  would  be  open  to  such 
an  opinion,"  gravely  responded  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Nay,  by  this  hand,  this  is  sheer  insult !" 
exclaimed  the  impetuous  young  English- 
man. "  You  have  put  an  intolerable  affront 
on  me.  I  will  owe  no  obligations  to  one 
who  doth  good  services  only  to  hold  the 
person  on  whom  he  conferreth  them  in  con- 
tempt. I  charge  you,  draw  and  defend  your- 
self." 

The  stranger  seemed  unwilling  at  first  to 
comply  with  this  challenge  ;  but  soon  find- 
ing he  could  not  avoid  it,  he  opened  his 
domino,  and  drew  his  rapier.  He  had  but 
barely  time  to  put  himself  on  his  defence, 
when  the  rash  and  fiery  youth  came  upon 
him  so  vigorously,  yet  so  incautiously 
withal,  that,  after  a  few  rapid  passes,  he 
ran  upon  the  point  of  his  opponent's  weap- 
on, and  it  entered  his  side  to  some  depth. 
At  the  sight  of  his  blood,  the  stranger  ut- 
tered a  cry  of  horror  and  despair,  impossible 
to  be  expressed  ;  and  his  mask  dropping  off 
as  he  stooped  to  catch  the  wounded  youth, 
who  was  falling  in  a  swoon  to  the  ground, 
there  appeared  the  noble  features  of  Master 
Shakspeare.  He  hurriedly  caught  his  young 
charge  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him  down 
to  the  gondola,  where  he  presently  bound 
up  the  wound,  and  soon  had  him  safe  at  his 
own  lodgings,  unuer  the  care  of  the  skilful- 
lest  chirurgeons  in  Venice. 

Master  Herbert  never  knew  by  whom  he 
had  been  wounded,  and  believed  that  he  had 
been  discovered  after  he  had  received  his 
hurt.  The  worthy  governor  now  played  the 
part  of  the  anxious  nurse,  not  only  attend- 
ing strictly  to  the  surgeon's  directions,  but 
making  the  hours  of  the  invalid — restless 
at  all  times^  but  now  still  more  impatient  of 
confinement — so  pleasant  with  the  legends 
and  ballads  he  had  picked  up  from  the  gon- 
doliers and  others,  that  he  seemed  to  forget 
he  was  under  any  restraint.  Foremost  in 
these  narratives  in  his  favor  was  the  roman- 
tic story  of  a  Moor,  who  was  a  general  of 
the  Venetian  army,  and,  taking  to  wife  an 
:xquisite  Venetian  lady,  was  driven  to  such 
a  madness  of  jealousy  by  the  perjuries  of 
an  artful  villain,  that  he  stifled  his  fair  wife 
as  she  slept ;  and  when  he  found  how  deeply 
!ie  had  been  deceived,  presently  laid  violent 
lands  on  himself,  and  died,  in  the  old  Ro- 
man fashion,  with  his  own  sword. 


172 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


In  this  way  he  was  healed  in  an  incredi- 
ble short  time;  and,  leaving  Venice,  they 
travelled  in  the  direction  of  Verona,  visiting 
all  the  places  worthy  of  note  in  their  way. 
It  is  true,  young  Herbert  seemed  to  listen  to 
what  came  from  his  worthy  tutor  with  more 
attentiveness  than  formerly  ;  but  the  magic 
of  a  pair  of  black  eyes  soon  deprived  the 
forciblest  lessons  of  wisdom  of  their  attrac- 
tion ;  and  he  was  wont  to  neglect  them  al- 
together when  he  found  more  pleasing  stud- 
ies elsewhere.  Master  Shakspeare  lived  in 
a  state  of  exceeding  anxiousness  about  his 
young  charge,  who  would  be  absent  from 
him  for  two  or  three  days  together,  dreading 
he  was  engaged  in  some  questionable  ad- 
venture, endangering  as  much  his  credit  as 
his  safety ;  but  he  so  loved  him,  as  much 
now  for  some  nobler  qualities  he  had  seen 
in  him,  as  for  the  noble  mother  he  did  so 
forcibly  remind  him  of,  that  he  found  greater 
difficulties  every  day  to  put  on  the  governor 
towards  him,  as  harshly  as  he  made  it  ne- 
cessary. 

It  is  essential  that  here  the  author  should 
change  the  scene  of  the  many-colored  life 
he  has  essayed  to  draw,  to  one  as  strangely 
differing  from  what  the  understanding  reader 
hath  had  knowledge  of,  as  doth  a  phosnix 
from  a  barn-door  fowl.  So,  with  his  per- 
mission, I  will  at  once  transport  him  to  one 
of  the  wildest  landscapes  that  ever  figured 
in  a  painter's  canvas  or  a  poet's  dream. 
It  was  a  sort  of  ravine  or  gorge  in  the 
mountains,  enclosed  by  huge  masses  of 
granite,  covered  with  lichens  of  various 
colors ;  but  rank  and  luxuriant  vegetation 
of  shrubs  and  grasses  was  perceptible  where 
the  soil  was  deeper,  with  here  and  there  a 
tall  tree,  stretching  its  giant  arms  far  above. 

Picketed  where  the  best  fodder  seemed 
to  grow  were  two  or  three  young  horses, 
which,  to  all  appearance,  were  worth  a  fair 
sum,  save  only  to  such  as  were  well  expe- 
rienced in  the  buying  of  horse-flesh,  who 
would  detect  in  them  such  faults,  cunningly 
disguised  though  thoy  were,  that  made  them 
comparatively  worthless.  Further  off  were 
asses  and  mules  grazing  at  full  liberty,  save 
that  a  half-naked  urchin,  who  seemed  to 
find  excellent  sport,  as  he  lay  at  his  length 
on  the  ground, by  gambling  with  himself  for 
a  single  doit,  was  watching  that  they  strayed 
not  too  far.  In  one  place  tents  were  pitched ; 
in  another,  a  fire  burnt,  and  a  huge  black 
pot  was  reeking  over  it ;  but,  save  a  few 
boys  lying  about  in  idle,  listless  groups  here 
and  there,  whose  devil-may-care  features 
appeared  to  have  lost  half  their  audacity, 
thore  was  nothing  of  human  life  visible. 

But,  on   getting  behind  the  tents,  this 


could  be  no  longer  the  case,  for,  lo  !  there 
was  an  assemblage  grouped  together,  of 
man  and  woman,  of  age  and  youth,  swarthy 
as  Moors ;  all  looking  as  wild  and  lawless 
a  set  as  ever  cheated  or  robbed,  and  not  a 
few  having  just  that  sort  of  visage  commonly 
thought  to  belong  exclusively  to  such  as  deal 
in  witchcraft,  and  have  dealings  with  the 
arch  enemy  of  mankind. 

Truly  this  was  as  diabolical  a  set  of 
beings  as  could  ever  have  been  found  to- 
gether in  one  place.  They  squatted  on 
their  hams,  excepting  some  who  leaned 
against  the  rock,  or  lay  at  full  length,  rest- 
ing on  their  elbows ;  but  the  faces  of  all  had 
the  same  settled  stern  malignity,  whether  it 
was  that  of  the  toothless  crone,  or  the  bud- 
ding girl,  the  decrepid  grandfather,  or  the 
sportive  child — all,  save  one,  and  she  waa 
as  different  from  all  around  her  as  is  a  costly 
gem  among  basest  pebbles.  She  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  circle,  her  hands  tied  be- 
hind her;  and,  though  the  stream  of  silken 
hair,  that  hung  dishevelled  over  her  graceful 
shoulders,  almost  concealed  her  exquisite 
countenance,  there  was  enough  of  her  visi- 
ble to  show  it  could  be  no  other  thus  strange- 
ly placed  than  the  wondrous  dancer  of  the 
Romaica,  the  seductive  Bohemian,  the  idol- 
ized Xariqua,  whom  the  reader  last  beheld 
winning  all  hearts  in  the  streets  of  Rome. 

But  what  a  change  was  here  !  She  then 
was  free  as  a  bird,  and  as  though  her  heart 
was  only  lighter  than  her  fairy  feet.  Now 
the  downcast  eye,  the  cheek  of  deathlike 
paleness,  the  compressed  lip,  and  the  quick 
heaving  of  her  breast,  betokened  a  state 
fearfully  different.  What  meant  this  ?  In. 
honest  truth  no  other  than  this — she  had 
sinned  against  the"  laws  of  her  tribe,  and 
was  now  on  her  trial.  Her  offence  waa 
one  that,  in  their  savage  code,  was  visited 
the  most  heavily  of  all  for  which  they  sought 
to  legislate.  The  very  spirit  of  their  dis- 
tinct existence  was  an  irreconcilable  hatred 
against  all  who  were  not  of  their  blood,  and 
she  had  been  detected  in  indulging  a  passion 
for  a  stranger.  As  her  judges  and  accusers 
were  influenced  by  one  feeling,  and  as  their 
law  expressly  stated  the  crime  and  the  purf- 
ishment,  they  were  not  long  in  coming  to  a 
verdict.  In  short,  she  had  been  tried  and 
condemned.  The  oldest  man  of  the  tribe, 
a  hoary  patriarch,  with  beetling  eyebrows 
and  tanned  and  shrivelled  skin,  arose  in  all 
the  dignity  of  rags  and  dirt,  and,  leaning 
heavily  on  a  long  staff,  in  a  cold  and  malig- 
nant tone  thus  addressed  the  criminal. 

'  Woman,  thou  hast  brought  shame  and 
dishonor  on  the  Rommanee  !  thou  hast  be- 
stowed thyself  on  one  of  the  hated  Bosnee. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


173 


Woman  !  it  was  lawful  for  thee  to  have  so 
conducted  thyself  with  a  lover  of  that  ac- 
cursed race,  that  he  might  be  deluded, 
cheated,  and  tricked  for  thy  especial  sport 
and  satisfaction  ;  and  when  thou  hadst  had 
sufficient  gain  of  him,  there  was  plenty  of 
our  people  ready  to  cut  his  throat — too  good 
a  death  for  so  base  a  hound  ! — had  it  been 
thy  command.  Woman,  thou  hast  not 
sought  to  show  the  craft  of  the  Rommanee 
in  thy  dealings  with  this  son  of  a  hated  race ; 
it  is  known  and  proved  that  thou  hast  loved 
him— may  his  blood  be  drink  for  dogs  ! — 
only  as  thou  shouldst  love  the  man  of  thine 
own  people. 

"  It  is  provided  by  our  law  that  the  wo- 
man who  shall  commit  this  villany  shall 
assuredly  die  ;  that  the  manner  of  her  death 
shall  be  by  the  knife  ;  that  it  shall  be  done 
in  a  convenient  secret  place. ;  and  that  the 
punishment  of  her  crime  after  this  manner 
shall,  under  all  cases  and  circumstances,  be 
by  the  hand  of  her  next  of  kin." 

"  Oh  !  no,  no !"  shrieked  the  criminal, 
looking  wildly  at  her  judges,  "  you  cannot 
be  so  inhuman — an  act  so  monstrous  can 
never  be  intended.  I  am  ready  to  die.  I 
will  not  shrink — I  will  not  utter  a  groan. 
But  to  find  my  executioner  in  mine  own 
child — oh,  it  is  too  terrible  !  Spare  me  ! — 
have  mercy !  You  that  are  mothers,  you 
that  are  fathers,  you  that  have  seen  how  a 
mother's  heart  clingeth  to  her  own  offspring 
— I  pray  you  change  this  horrible  sentence, 
and  I  will  willingly  endure  a  thousand  deaths 
of  another  sort,  be  they  all  the  cruellest  that 
ever  were  devised  !" 

She  implored  in  vain.  They  who  chose 
to  take  any  heed  of  her  appeal  coldly  said, 
"  It  is  our  law  ;"  others  answered  her  with 
curses,  and  the  rest  moved  carelessly  away 
Then  she  frantically  called  on  one,  and  re- 
minded him  of  such  a  service  she  had  done 
him  ;  another  she  bade  remember  her  prom- 
ises of  returning,  on  a  tit  occasion,  some 
portion  of  the  benefits  she  had  bestowed 
upon  her ;  a  third  she  begged,  in  return  for 
the  securing  his  happiness  with  his  mistress 
he  would  strive  for  her  to  get  so  intolerable 
a  sentence  altered.  They  one  and  all  mut- 
tered, "  It  is  our  law,"  and  departed  their 
several  ways. 

At  this  time  two  horses,  with  rude  bri- 
dles were  brought ;  and  one  of  the  savages 
of  the  tribe  leaping  on  one,  the  criminal  was 
placed  before  him.  The  boy  noticed  in  an- 
other chapter  now  made  his  appearance 
dogged  and  sullen  in  visage,  yet  with  a 
resoluteness  worthy  of  one  of  the  devil's 
imps.  He  leaped  on  the  other  horse,  and 


;hey  both  rode  through  the  gorge,  till  they 
came  to  a  clump  of  cork-trees  quite  out  of 
sight  of  the  encampment.  At  the  foot  of 
one  a  grave  had  been  dug. 

The  poor  dancer  had  not  failed  to  use  the 
most  moving  entreaties  which,  in  her  agony, 
she  could  think  of ;  but  she  might  have  as 
well  addressed  them  to  a  stone  as  to  her 
ompanion.  He  interrupted  them  with  the 
lorriblest  imprecations;  and,  alighting  at 
.he  end  of  his  journey,  roughly  took  her  off 
ler  seat,  and  bound  her  with"  cords  to  a  tree, 
tie  then  addressed  the  boy,  and,  putting  a 
ongj  sharp  knife  into  his  hand,  bade  him 
act  as  became  one  of  the  true  blood,  and 

should  be  their  king,  as  his  father  was. 
Having  said  this,  he  mounted  his  horse,  and 
returned  to  his  people,  without  attempting 
•jo  look  back,  or  show  any  further  concern 
in  the  matter. 

The  criminal  had  uttered  never  a  word 
since  she  had  been  bound  to  the  tree.  But 
her  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  son  with  an  in- 
tensity of  horrible  curiousness  which  lan- 
guage can  give  but  an  exceeding  faint  idea 
of.  Her  face  was  of  a  bluish  paleness,  and 
in  the  expression  of  it,  at  that  time,  was 
something  which  seemed  awfully  unearthly. 
There  was  no  motion  at  her  heart,  there 
was  no  color  4i  her  lips  ;  in  her  eyes  only 
there  looked  to  be  life,  and  it  was  such  life 
as  the  living  had  never  before  been  known 
to  have  possession. 

The  boy  remained  for  a  few  seconds  gaz- 
ing on  the  weapon  given  him  for  the  atro- 
cious act  he  was  expected  to  perform. 
Whether  his  memory  fell  back  upon  the 
numberless  proofs  of  the  deepest  and  sin- 
cerest  love  woman  ever  felt  for  her  first- 
born he  had  experienced,  or  whether,  as 
was  more  common  to  the  children  of  these 
singular  and  abominable  race,  he  was  in- 
sensible to  any  grateful  feeling,  and  indif- 
ferent to  the  most  sacred  ties,  cannot  be 
ascertained ;  but  the  sounds  from  the  hoofs 
of  the  retreating  horse  had  died  away  be- 
fore he  ventured  to  look  up. 

At  that  instant  he  met  the  full  force  of 
the  spectral  gaze  that  had  been  fixed  upon 
him,  and  it  made  him  start  as  though  he 
had  felt  the  shock  of  an  earthquake.  He 
seemed  to  strive  to  avoid  it,  but  on  him  it 
had  the  power  of  fascination.  He  could 
not  glance  aside  ;  he  could  not  turn.  He 
felt  his  feet  rooted  to  the  ground,  and  his 
eyes  drawn  as  though  by  cords  in  the  di- 
rection of  those  whose  light  he  was  there 
to  quench  for  ever.  His  arms  fell  power- 
less at  his  side  ;  the  weapon  dropped  from 
his  feeble  grasp.  He  felt  sick  faint,  buru- 


174 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ing,  scorching,  suffocating ;  and  presently, 
with  a  loud  cry,  fell  down  in  a  fit  into  the 
open  grave  before  him. 

This  result  had  scarcely  been  effected, 
when  a  youthful  cavalier,  who.  had,  for  some 
moments  prior,  been  engaged  in  making  a 
cautious  descent  from  a  neighboring  tree, 
fbw  as  though  on  wings  to  the  intended 
victim  ;  and,  rapidly  cutting  the  cords  which 
bound  her,  easily  placed  her,  insensible 
as  she  was,  on  the  horse  quietly  grazing 
near,  which  he  then  mounted  and  rode  off 
over  the  broken  and  tortuous  paths  that  led 
from  this  savage  scene,  at  its  fullest  speed. 

It  was  not  till  all  chance  of  immediate 
pursuit  seemed  removed,  that  the  cavalier 
ventured  to  slacken  the  pace  for  the  purpose 
of  beholding  the  state  of  his  helpless  bur- 
then. He  unclasped  his  arms,  and  looked 
on  her  face.  The  current  of  air  to  which 
she  had  been  exposed  during  her  rapid 
journey  appeared  to  have  revived  her  some- 
what ;  a  more  natural  color  had  returned  to 
her  skin  ;  she  breathed  gently  but  regularly  ; 
anon  she  opened  her  eyes ;  and  then,  with 
a  very  ecstacy  of  gladness,  murmured  "  Er- 
berto  mio !"  as  she  gave  back  her  lover's 
affectionate  embrace.  She  then  fell  into 
another  swoon  ;  but  a  few  drops  from  the 
contents  of  a  hunting-flask  recovered  her 
presently,  and  he  pushed  on  as  fast  as  he 
could  to  where  his  own  horses  were  wait- 
ing, where  he  arrived  just  as  the  one  on 
which  he  rode  showed  undeniable  symptoms 
of  being  utterly  exhausted  of  its  strength. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

We  came  to  Paris  on  the  Seine, 

'Tis  wondrous  fair,  'tis  nothing  clean, 

'Tis  Europe's  greatest  town : 
How  strong  it  is  1  need  not  tell  it, 
For  all  the  world  may  easily  smell  it, 

That  walk  it  up  and  down. 

RICHARD  CORBET. 

IN  the  time  sought  to  be  illustrated  in 
this  veritable  story  there  was  a  worshipful 
city,  the  fame  whereof  was  bruited  far  and 
wide  as  the  abode  and  seat,  as  it  were,  of 
pleasure ;  for,  from  the  very  getting  up  of 
the  sun  to  its  lying  down,  nought  seemed  to 
In-  known  or  understood  in  that  gay  place, 
but  the  art  of  passing  time — or  wasting  it, 
according  to  some — in  the  pursuit  of  the 
most  agreeable  pastime  in  which  man  and 
woman  could  be  engaged.  This  pastime, 
be  it  known,  which  was  so  generally  en- 
gaged in,  that  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor, 


learned  and  ignorant,  the  greatest  states- 
men and  the  most  absolute  blockheads, 
joined  in  it  with  a  like  eagerness,  and  each, 
after  his  own  fashion,  made  it  the  very  busi- 
ness of  his  life,  was,  by  general  consent,, 
regarded  by  a  name  to  which  it  had  no  man- 
ner of  pretension.  As  in  a  great  cage  of 
monkeys  you  shall  see  every  one  of  them 
filching  his  neighbor's  apple  rather  than 
guard  his  own,  these  worthy  persons  took 
on  themselves  to  leave  their  wives,  or  daugh- 
ters, or  sisters,  or  mistresses,  as  the  case 
might  be,  for  any  man's  unlawful  having, 
while  they  were  dishonestly  intent  on  the 
wives,  daughters,  sisters,  or  mistresses  of 
their  especial  friends  ;  and  this  was  to  them 
a  source  of  infinite  contentation,  nay,  the 
summum  bonum  of  their  lives — and  the 
name  they  gave  to  this  pleasure  was  none 
other  than  "  Love." 

Now  it  chanced  that  the  king  of  this  peo- 
ple as  much  exceeded  any  of  his  subjects 
in  the  energy  with  which  he  embarked  in 
those  pleasant  adventures,  as  doth  a  triton 
exceed  a  minnow.  It  would  be  in  vain  to 
number  the  wives,  daughters,  sisters,  and 
mistresses  of  other  men  who  were  honored 
as  objects  of  his  particular  and  right  royal 
regard.  In  these  pleasant  affairs  he  was  a 
merchant  adventurer,  who  had  taken  out 
letters  of  marque  against  all  and  sundry  the 
fairest  dames  and  damsels  that  were  to  be 
met  with  on  the  high  seas  of  gallantry  ;  and, 
though  he  chose  to  appear  as  a  holiday 
barge  rather  than  as  a  corsair,  he  rifled 
such  as  fell  in  his  way  as  completely  as 
though  he  carried  a  black  flag  at  his  mast ; 
and  the  citizens  of  his  good  city  looked  up 
to  him  with  admiration,  assisting  him  with 
all  their  powers  to  secure  success  in  his 
several  adventures,  feeling  most  loyally  in- 
dignant when  he  met  with  any  obstinate, 
rebellious  virtuousness,  and  triumphing  in 
his  successes  over  chastity,  modesty,  and 
the  like  sort  of  traitorous  criminality,  as 
though  they  felt  a  more  than  ordinary  in- 
terest in  the  prosperity  of  his  undertaking. 

The  consequence  'whereof  was  that  the 
whole  city  was  continually  astir  with  every 
sort  of  entertainment  that  could  so  please 
the  fair  dames  and  damsels  within  its  walls, 
as  to  incline  their  hearts  to  share  in  that 
pastime  which  both  sexes  had  been  pleased 
to  distinguish  with  the  name  just  mentioned. 
Dancing,  singing,  feasting,  drinking,  gam- 
bling, and  all  other  pleasures  whatsoever, 
were  in  such  constant  requisition,  that  an 
indifferent  person  might  have  said,  after  ob- 
serving this  constant  humor  of  revelry,  that 
there  could  be  no  other  business  in  the 
world.  Such  was  the  city,  and  such  ita 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


175 


sovereign — such  was  Paris  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
such  its  popular  monarch  —  the  gay,  the 
gallant,  fond,  and  fickle  Henri  Q,uatre. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  the  circum- 
stance related  at  the  close  of  the  last  chap- 
ter that  the  gayest  palace  of  this  gay  city 
seemed  to  have  assumed  more  than  its  cus- 
tomary excess  of  revelry.  Wherever  the 
eye  turned  within  this  magnificent  building, 
it  fell  upon  evidences  of  luxury,  profusion, 
and  grandeur.  Such  carving,  such  gilding, 
such  painting,  such  tapestry,  such  gold  and 
silver  plate,  bright  burning  lights,  such  va- 
riety of  costly  raiment,  such  abundance  of 
rich  jewels,  such  dancing,  such  music,  such 
a  multitude  of  light  hearts,  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  lighter  heads,  could  be  found  in  no 
other  place  in  the  world.  And,  in  especial, 
the  principal  state  rooms  seemed  the  very 
court  of  pleasure,  where  every  one  "gave 
himself  up  to  the  most  absolute  enjoyment. 
Albeit,  instead  of  the  dwelling  of  a  Chris- 
tian king,  it  seemed  the  palace  of  a  heathen 
Aspasia,  where  beauty  was  the  passport  of 
both  sexes,  and  all  qualities,  gifts,  and  en- 
joyments made  to  minister  to  the  gratifica- 
tion of  personal  vanity. 

There  were  great  lords  and  great  ladies, 
great  statesmen  and  great  prelates,  great 
soldiers  and  great  wits,  one  and  all  intent 
npou  .considering  themselves  under  the 
shafts  of  the  rosy  urchin  whose  arrows  are 
of  such  intolerable  keenness.  The  very  at- 
mosphere was  pregnant  with  vows  of  ever- 
lasting devotedness,  and  praises  of  incom- 
parable attractions — whereof  the  vows  might 
stand  firm  for  a  week  at  the  least,  and  the 
attractions  be  deemed  matchless  for  a  dura- 
tion almost  as  long ;  provided  always  no 
other  form  and  features  appeared  with  any 
pretensions  to  rivalry. 

The  great  lords  and  ladies  made  their 
language  to  be  less  of  the  proper  court 
phrase  than  the  proper  courting  phrase. 
The  great  statesmen  pondered  less  on  na- 
tions and  their  policy  than  on  hearts  and 
their  affections.  The  great  prelates  preach- 
ed but  from  one  text,  which  was  "  Love 
one  another ;"  and,  to  their  praise  be  it  said 
— after  a  certain  fashion — they  practised  as 
they  preached.  The  great  soldiers  chose 
one  particular  campaign  only,  wherein,  in 
besieging  hearts,  taking  captive  such  as  re- 
sisted them,  and  in  bringing  their  fair  ene- 
my to  art  engagement,  they  covered  them- 
selves with  laurels  more  than  sufficient  to 
have  satisfied  all  the  Caesars  ;  and  the  great 
wits  were  ever  industrious, in  the  invention 
of  sugared  poems,  pretty  jests,  choice  epi- 
grams, quaint  sonnets,  and  the  like  dainty 


goods,  upon  one  theme  only,  whereof  the 
reader  may  presently  get  acquainted  by  the 
prominency  with  which  such  brave  worda 
as  "  love"  and  "  dove,"  "  heart"  and  "  dart," 
"  grace"  and  "  face,"  are  thrust  before  him. 

Filled  with  a  throng  of  such  worshipful 
good  company,  the  palace  of  the  King  of 
Fra'nce  presented,  a  scene  alike  joyous  and 
picturesque.  The  Bravery  of  dress  display- 
ed by  both  sexes  outrivalled  the  peacock 
and  the  dolphin  in  delicate  colors,  and  in 
gold  and  gems  looked  as  though  the  jewel- 
lers of  the  city  had  scattered  their  whole 
shops  upon  their  several  persons.  They 
were  engaged  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  In  one 
chamber  they  sat  round  tables  gambling 
with  cards  and  dice,  ladies  as  well  as  lords, 
and,  perchance,  the  winnings  of  the  latter 
from  the  others  were  rarely  paid  or  demand- 
ed in  the  current  coin ;  in  another,  they 
danced  to  amorous  tunes  measures  of  a  like 
tender  character ;  in  a  third  was  much  pas- 
sionate singing^  and  discoursing  a  mon- 
strous deal  of  flattery,  and  a  prodigal  al- 
lowance of  scandal — the  natural  sauces 
which  do  most  delight  a  court  palate.  There 
were  groups  of  spectators,  and  groups  of  gos- 
sips ;  groups  of  busy  bodies,  and  groups  of 
idlers ;  groups  of  young  courtiers,  discussing 
the  perfections  of  the  thousand-and-first  last 
new  favorite  ;  and  groups  of  old  ones,  equal- 
ly fluent  in  their  recollections  of  the  thou- 
sand who  had  preceded  her. 

Then  in  one  place  you  heard  a  sort  of 
popinjay,  with  the  earnestness  of  life  and 
death,  laying  down  the  law  respecting  the 
color  of  the  beard,  the  material  of  a  doublet, 
and  the  fashion  of  a  sleeve  ;  while  in  an- 
other should  be  a  throng  of  vain-glorious 
libertines,  making  free  with  the  reputation 
of  every  lady  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
of  their  acquaintance.  It  is  our  business 
with  none  of  these,  but  with  a  small  party 
of  young  gallants,  who  stood  in  a  recess 
some  little  way  apart  from  the  rest,  and 
seemed  exceeding  well  satisfied  with  them- 
selves, and  inclined  to  hold  every  one  else  at 
an  infinitely  less  valuation. 

They  spoke  of  their  own  little  exploits, 
both  in  the  duello,  and  in  the  favor  of  fair 
dames,  with  a  self-exultation  that  made  them 
appear  as  monstrous  fine  fellows  as  you 
shall  see  any  where.  There  was  no  lack 
of  names  of  great  ladies,  with  whom  they 
wished  it  to  be  known  they  had  become,  as 
it  were,  hand  and  glove,  and  they  abounded 
in  anecdotes  sufficiently  explanatory  of 
the  excellent  understanding  that  existed 
between  them.  From  this  they  took  to 
scandalous  gossip,  and  put  forth  insinua- 
tions respecting  certain  ladies  of  their  ac- 


176 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


quaintance,  that  were  exceeding  defama- 
tory. They  dilated  on  the  orgies  of  the 
Hotel  de  Sens,  and  disputed  as  to  the  exact 
number  within  a  score  or  two  of  the  lovers 
of  its  voluptuous  mistress,  Margaret  de  Va- 
lois.  They  made  comparisons  between  the 
last  batch  of  the  king's  mistresses,  and  the 
most  celebrated  of  their  predecessors,  in 
which  divers  delectable  tales  were  told  of 
the  fair  Gabrielle,  Charlotte  des  Essarts,  la 
belle  Corisande,  the  beautiful  daughter  of 
the  gardener  of  Aret,  and  many  others. 

One  thing  leading  to  another,  they  at  last 
began  to  discourse  of  the  appearance  in  Pa- 
ris of  a  mysterious  stranger,  whose  arrival 
had  for  some  days  past  caused  the  circula- 
tion of  the  most  marvellous  stories  ever  told 
of  a  pretty  woman,  and  had  set  the  youths 
of  the  court  and  city  in  a  fever  of  curiosity 
to  know  who  and  what  she  was,  and  whence 
she  came.  All  that  was  really  known  was 
that  she  entered  Paris  in  company  with  a 
young  gallant,  supposed  to  be  an  English 
nobleman,  who  affected  the  strictest  secrecy 
and  privacy  ;  that  they  lived  in  handsome 
lodgings,  without  friends  or  visiters  ;  that 
fc-he  was  young  and  of  a  ravishing  beauty, 
and  was  supposed  to  be  a  Jewess.  This 
was  but  scant  materials,  but  it  was  suffici- 
ent to  originate  the  most  strange  and  event- 
ful histories  ever  heard,  even  in  a  city  so 
famed  for  the  marvellous,  as  the  capital  of 
the  King  of  France. 

It  chanced,  that,  as  these  idlers  were  in- 
tent upon  their  discourse,  a  party  of  five  or 
six  individuals  in  passing  through  the  rooms 
took  up  a  position  close  to  them,  for  the  bet- 
ter observation  of  the  crowd  of  gay  compa- 
ny that  went  from  one  apartment  into  ano- 
ther. Sundry  of  these  were  of  the  courte- 
ous reader's  especial  friends :  to  wit,  the 
noble  and  gallant  Sir  George  Carew,  not  as 
had  been  his  wont  many  a  festive  day  in 
the  glittering  chambers  of  this  gay  palace, 
with  the  fair  and  gentle  Susanna  Shaks- 
peare  on  his  arm,  to  whom,  to  the  huge  en- 
vy of  all  the  gaUants  of  the  court,  who 
much  desired  to  bo|a>the  good  graces  of  a 
creature  so  fresh  aujd,  beautiful,  he  bore  him- 
self with  the  tenderness  of  a  parent,  and  the 
gallantry  of  a  lover,  out  of  respect  for  his 
especial  friend,  her  worthy  father ;  but,  in 
close  and  serious  converse  with  that  friend, 
whose  thoughtful  brow  was  impressed  with 
an  expression  of  deep  sadness,  as  if  the  im- 
port of  what  he  discoursed  of  was  a  matter 
of  life  and  death. 

They  were  a  little  in  advance  of  their 
party,    the    principal    persons    of   whom, 
out  of    all  doubt,   were  the   stately  Lady . 
Carew    herself,    having,  on   one    side   of ' 


her,  in  all  the  imposing  pomp  and  vanity  of 
his  church,  a  right  reverend  cardinal ;  but 
the  bravery  of  his  dress  fell  short  of  that  of 
his  speech,  which  did  out-compliment  the 
very  finest  words  courtier  ever  spoke.  Yet 
though  it  seemed  directed  to  this  excellent 
fair  lady  and  no  other,  she  was  wise  enough 
to  know  it  was  intended  for  her  exquisitely 
fair  companion,  our  admirable  acquaintance 
Susanna,  who,  dressed  in  the  full  court  tire, 
looked  a  princess  at  the  least,  as  she  bowed 
her  graceful  head  in  courteous  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  numberless  fine  things  said  to 
her  and  of  her,  by  a  distinguished  grand 
duke,  who  had  the  honor  of  walking  by  her 
side.  After  these  came  certain  princes, 
marshals,  and  prelates,  having  the  new 
made  knight,  young  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  in 
the  midst  of  them,  in  whose  hearing  they 
rivalled  each  other  in  the  extravagant  things 
they  said  of  the  charms  of  "  la  belle  Su- 
sanne,"  who  had  caused  the  composition 
of  ballads,  ditties,  sonnets,  and  madrigals, 
since  her  arrival  in  France,  out  of  all  num- 
ber. 

As  Master  Shakspeare  and  his  attentive 
friend  passed  the  knot  of  talkers  in  the  re- 
cess, he  heard  part  of  a  sentence,  which 
caused  him  to  interrupt  some  observation 
the  other  had  commenced. 

"  A  young  Englishman,  say  you  ?"  said 
one  of  them,  in  a  tone  of  exaltation. 

"  Perdie,  that  is  well !  These  Ehglish 
are  always  thrusting  their  insolent  preten- 
sions before  some  charming  creature  or 
other,  for  whom  a  Frenchman  is  her  only 
proper  lover  :  but  we  have  but  to  show  our- 
selves, and  the  intruder  is  content  to  make 
the  best  of  his  way  to  his  own  foggy  island, 
leaving  the  prize  in  our  possession." 

"Pardonnez  moi,  mon  ami"  replied  the 
one  who  had  spoken  immediately  before  ; 
"  but  this  Englishman  is  not  to  be  so  easily 
disposed  of.  I  am  told  he  carried  her  off 
from  an  army  of  Turks,  who  were  taking 
her  to  the  prince,  their  sultan,  after  slaying 
with  his  own  sword  I  know  not  how  many 
of  her  turbaned  escort." 

"  By  this  light,  these  English  are  mad  !'' 
observed  another. 

"  They  have  not  brains  enough  to  be  mad. 
They  are  only  foolhardy,"  said  one  less  cha- 
ritable. 

"  I  know  not,  gentlemen,  whether  they 
be  one  or  the  other,"  resumed  the  former 
speaker  ;  "  but  of  this  I  am  sure,  that  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  du  Barre,  my  cousin,  having 
contrived,  by  the  most  politic  stratagem,  to 
gain  admittance  by  the  door,  to  the  lodging 
of  this  charming  Jewess,  or  Moorish  prin- 
cess, or  whatever  she  may  be,  in  a  few  se- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


1T7 


."onds  was  seen  to  make  her  exit  by  the 
window,  in  a  fashion  that  must  needs  have 
been  intolerably  disagreeable  to  so  fine  a 
gentleman." 

"  How  was  that  ?"  exclaimed  half  a  dozen 
voices,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  It  was  the  pestilent  Englishman  !"  re- 
plied the  other,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoul- 
ders, that  said  a  great  deal  more  than  his 
speech. 

"  Bah  !"  cried  the  first  speaker,  in  great 
contempt ;  "  Monsieur  le  Comte  should 
have  chastised  this  rude  fellow  with  his  ra- 
pier, and  then  carried  off  his  mistress." 

"  My  cousin,  Monsieur  le  Comte  du 
Barre,  intended  so  to  do,"  answered  the 
other ;  "  but  the  Englishman,  almost  as  soon 
as  he  drew,  sent  my  cousin's  rapier  flying 
some  twenty  yards  off  in  one  direction,  and 
then,  taking  him  by  the  back  part  of  his 
embroidered  murray  velvet  trunks,  and, 
seizing  him  with  the  other  hand  by  the 
neck  of  his  satin  doublet,  sent  Monsieur 
le  Comte  du  Barre  flying  through  an  open 
window,  some  twenty  yards  off,  in  ano- 
ther." 

At  this  the  party  uttered  various  excla- 
mations of  indignation  and  horror,  with  a 
handsome  sprinkling  of  the  newest  oaths, 
during  which  a  few  words  passed  between 
Master  Shakspeare  and  Sir  George  Carew, 
which  ended  in  the  latter  making  his  way 
towards  the  group ;  and,  as  he  knew  them 
all  exceeding  well,  he  addressed  them  as 
his  familiars,  begging  to  be  made  acquaint- 
ed with  the  subject  of  a  discourse,  which 
could  not  be  but  of  surpassing  interest,  as 
it  rendered  them  indifferent  to  the  attractive 
scene  around  them.  Courteous  pleasan- 
tries followed  on  both  sides,  after  which  he 
heard  all  that  they  had  to  tell  concerning 
the  Moorish  princess,  or  Jewess,  or  the 
grand  Turk's  favorite  Sultana — as  she  was 
described  to  be  by  his  various  informants — 
and  her  English  lover. 

"  You  are  right,  Will,"  exclaimed  Sir 
George,  as  he  returned  to  his  friend,  with  his 
ever  pleasant  countenance  beaming  with  in- 
finite satisfaction  in  every  feature.  "  These 
fine  chattering  popinjays  were  talking  of 
your  lost  sheep,  and  the  seductive  wolf  who 
had  carried  him  off." 

"  Let  us  away,  Sir  George !"  exclaimed 
Master  Shakspeare,  eagerly,  all  trace  of 
his  late  seriousness  disappearing  :  —  "  He 
hath  led  me  a  fine  dance,  and  hath  filled  me 
with  the  most  absolute   anxiousness   poor 
governor    ever    endured,   since,   with  my 
trusty  squire,  Simon  Stockfish,  I  have  been  i 
tracing   his   footsteps.      I   prythee   let  us 
away,  and  secure  him  at  once  !" 
12 


"  Not  so  fast,  friend  Will !"  replied  Sir 
George.  "  At  present  he  is  safe  enough,  I 
warrant  you ;  and  it  will  be  as  well  hot  to 
disturb  his  fancied  security  till  we  have  tho 
means  of  holding  him  fast  for  the  future.  I 
will  lose  no  time  in  consulting  a  certain 
excellent  powerful  friend  of  mine,  who  will 
be  here  anon,  and  will  put  us  in  a  way  of 
securing  your  scapegrace,  and  of  placing 
his  dark  dulcinea  in  worse  than  Egyptian 
bondage,  where  she  must  needs  find  other 
pastime  than  stealing  young  noblemen  from 
their  proper  guardians  and  teachers.  But 
we  must  hasten  to  pay  our  respects  to  the 
crowned  majesty  of  France ;  for,  having  ob- 
tained permission  to  present  you  both  to 
Henri  and  the  royal  Marie  de  Medicis,  hia 
ill-beloved  consort,  I  should  get  myself  into 
huge  disgrace  were  I  to  allow  you  to  leave 
the  palace  without  the  necessary  presenta- 
tion, so  you  must  e'en  with  me,  my  master, 
as  my  poor  jest  hath  it, '  Willi  nilli.'  " 

Seeing  there  was  no  help  for  it,  Master 
Shakspeare  proceeded  through  two  or  three 
of  the  state  apartments,  and,  notwithstand- 
ing his  excessive  eagerness  once  again  to 
get  his  youthful  charge  under  his  govern- 
ance, he  could  not  help  being- famously  en- 
tertained by  the  little  histories  his  compan- 
ion gave  him  of  the  different  notables  with 
whom  he  exchanged  courtesies,  or  whom 
he  pointed  out-in  the  crowd,  as  well  as  some 
account  he  furnished  of  divers  intrigues  in 
which  the  present  favorite,  the  Marchioness 
de  Verneuil,  was  engaged  for  the  purpose 
of  securing  her  power  over  the  king,  and 
humbling  and  annoying  the  queen.  Ever 
and  anon  Sir  George  would  turn  round  and 
address  some  pleasantry  to  the  daughter  of 
his  friend,  who  replied  in  a  like  spirit,  which 
caused  the  tongues  of  his  eminence  the 
Cardinal  and  of  his  highness  the  Grand 
Duke  to  proceed  with  their  sweet  phrases 
with  a  new  impulse.  Tho  graceful  ease 
and  admirable  self-possession  of  the  village- 
girl,,  amongst  the  most  polished  portion  of 
the  most  polite  court  irf^hrjstendom,  was 
not  lost  upon  the  dehjJijMtfather.  But  he 
knew  that  Nature  hfflMPffiSfrlity  as  well' 
as  kings  and  queensF^and  there  was  no 
finer  example  than  he  exhibited  in  his  own 
person — and  findeth,  when  it  so  pleaseth 
her,  from  the  humblest  homesteads  her 
maids  of  honor,  who  could  confer  grace  and 
dignity  to  a  palace  or  to  a  throne. 

The  courtly  throng  increasing,  the  party, 
slowly  making  their  way,  were  at  last  allow- 
ed to  approach  a  group  composed  principally 
of  ladies  who  were  stationed  on  a  dais,  under 
canopy  of  state,  in  the  midst  of  which  was 
a  throne,  richly  carved  and  gilt,  whereon 


178 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


eat  the  proud,  majestic,  but  unhappy-look 
ing  Marie  de  Medicis.  The  display  of 
costly  silks  and  velvets,  embroidered  with 
gold  and  jewels,  were  here  exceeding  con- 
spicuous ;  indeed,  every  thing  in  that  grant 
apartment  bespoke  a  scene  of  luxury  ant 
magnificence  worthy  the  taste  of  a  daugh- 
ter of  a  de  Medicis.  The  proper  officers 
having  facilitated  their  approach,  Master 
Shakspeare  was  presented  in  due  form  by 
his  friend  ;  but,  although  the  queen  conde- 
scended so  far  as  to  grant  the  request  of 
the  English  ambassador,  having  subse- 
quently learned  that  Monsieur  Shakspeare 
was  neither  a  lord  nor  an  abbe  she  did  not 
at  first  think  it  necessary  to  notice  him  be- 
yond that  very  slight  attention  the  ceremony 
permitted ;  but  his  noble  bearing  and  grace- 
ful courtesy  of  manner  did  impress  her  so 
favorably  towards  him,  that  she  ultimately 
unbent  herself  of  much  of  her  stiffness,  and 
even  honored  him  so  far  as  to  mention  in 
terms  of  commendation  his  fair  daughter. 

"  There  is  a  Queen  of  France  for  you, 
now !"  said  Sir  George  Carew  to  his  com- 
panion, as  they  left  the  presence.  "  She 
certainly  lacketh  none  of  the  external  signs 
of  a  queen,  but  she  hath  no  more.  All  the 
real  power  and  consequence  that  should  be 
with  the  king's  consort  rests  with  the  king's 
mistress,  who,  besides  usurping  her  state 
and  inveigling  her  husband,  puts  monstrous 
affronts  upon  her,  ridicules  her,  and  seeks 
all  she  can  to  excite  the  king's  mind  against 
her.  The  knowledge  of  this  maketh  her  to 
wear  so  grave  a  visage  :  but  it  is  said,  on 
pretty  good  authority,  that  she  is  not  entirely 
without  consolation ;  for  that  supple  eccle- 
siastic on  her  right  hand,  the  very  reverend 
Master  Richelieu,  Bishop  of  Lucon,  hath 
the  reputation  of  being  able  to  preach  to 
her,  to  her  heart's  content,  on  matters  of 
which  his  breviary  aftbrdeth  him  no  text. 
Yet,  whatever  may  be  the  state  she  here 
supports,  that  with  which  the  Marchioness 
de  Verneuil  had  surrounded  herself  in  her 
splendid  apartments  in  the  Louvre,  and  in 
her  own  magnificent  chateau,  smacketh  in- 
'  finitely  more  of  the  queen." 

As  the  two  friends  were  pressing  on  with 
their  company,  a  general  murmur  of  "  Le 
Roi !  I,e  Roi !"  whilst  passing  through  one 
of  the  handsomest  of  the  saloons,  announced 
the  approach  of  the  king  ;  and,  in  a  minute 
or  two,  they  beheld  a  middle-aged  man,  roy- 
ally attired,  with  a  peculiarly  dignified 
bearing  and  pleasing  aspect,  though,  to  a 
close  observer,  it  bore  traces  of  sensuality 
and  satiety,  walking  along,  leaning  fami- 
liarly on  the  arm  of  a  man,  much  his  senior, 
of  a  most  profound  gravity,  to  whose  dis- 


course he  seemed  to  listen  with  very  little 
attention,  his  eyea  being  directed  to  the 
persons  within  his  observation,  yet  never 
resting  on  any  for  a  moment,  unless  the  in- 
dividual chanced  to.be  a  woman  with  a  new 
face,  and  a  famous  handsome  one.  fiut  he 
was  courteous  and  affable  to  all  who  recog- 
nized him,  returning  their  courtesies  in 
right  princely  fashion,  and,  to  those  who 
knelt,  giving  his  hand  to  kiss  with  the  air 
of  one  who  strove  earnestly  to  be  consid- 
ered the  father  of  his  people. 

"  Behold  the  invincible  Henri  Quatre, 
king  of  France  and  Navarre  !"  exclaimed 
Sir  George  Carew  to  his  companion.  "  A 
great  conqueror,  truly ;  though  his  conquests 
have  been  amongst  women  rather  than  men 
— a  great  hero,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
former ;  for  he  hath  often,  to  obtain  an  in- 
terview with  one  or  other  of  them,  put  the 
fortune  of  a  whole  campaign  into  jeopardy, 
and  hath  purchased  their  smiles  at  little 
less  than  the  cost  of  a  kingdom.  His  open- 
handed  generosity,  his  indulgent  humor,  and 
his  graceful  courtesy,  seem  to  blind  hii 
good  subjects  to  the  extent  of  the  evil  he 
has  created  in  France  by  the  general  laxity 
of  morals  throughout  the  country,  caused 
by  his  inattention  to  the  ordinary  decencies 
of  society.  There  is  scarce  a  barber  in 
Paris  who  would  care  to  live  in  honorable 
wedlock — there  is  not  an  idler  in  all  France 
who  hath  not  as  deep  an  interest  in  her  des- 
tinies as  his  king.  Fortunately  for  him 
and  for  France,  he  hath  for  his  counsellor  a 
man  capable  of  managing  the  state  for  him  ; 
and  equally  fortunate  is  it,  he  chooses  to 
leave  it  to  such  management." 

'That  must  be  Monsieur  the  Baron  de 
Rosni,  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much," 
said  Master  Shakspeare. 

"  It  is  no  other,"  answered  Sir  George. 
'  And  there  he  stands — the  Grand  Master 
of  the  Ordnance  and  Chancellor  of  the 
Kingdom — by  the  side  of  his  thoughtless 
master ;  in  all  honesty,  much  too  good  a 
mentor  for  so  indifferent  a  scholar.  But 
the  King's  eyes  are  upon  us.  Will. — We 
must  advance."  • 

The  two  approached  the  King  of  France, 
who  presently  accosted  the  ambassador  in  a 
sufficiently  cordial  spirit ;  and,  when  the 
alter  presented  his  friend,  received  his  hom- 
age with  a  marvellous  degree  of  courtesy, 
and,  after  inquiring  with  much  apparent 
larnestness  news  of  Prince  Henry,  he  spoke 
to  some  extent  of  the  English  stage,  not 
ailing  to  express  several  well-earned  com- 
)liments  respecting  the  important  share  Mas- 
er  Shakspeare  had  in  making  it  what  it 
was.  Presently  he  returned  again  to  Prince 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


179 


Henry,  whom  he  mentioned  in  exceeding  ex- 
cellent terms,  yet  seemed  to  be  in  doubt  his 
life  would  be  either  very  happy  or  very  long. 
Master  Shakspeare  proved  himself  an  ad- 
mirable intelligencer,  and  his  pertinent  an- 
swers so  pleased  the  king,  he  continued  his 
questions — now  asking  him  of  his  travels — 
now  of  his  plays — now  of  the  fair  dames  of 
England — now  of  those  of  Italy  and  France 
— now  of  his  brother,  the  King  of  England 
— and  now  of  him.  The  conference  broke 
up  at  last,  leaving  each  very  favorably  dis- 
posed towards  the  other.  Whilst  they  were 
thus  engaged,  Sir  George  Carew  took  the 
opportunity  of  entering  into  conversation 
with  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Ordnance, 
to  whom,  when  the  king  was  in  deep  dis- 
course with  the  Spanish  ambassador,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  was  presented.  They  con- 
versed together  for  several  minutes,  on  di- 
vers subjects,  in  which  the  great  counsellor 
of  the  French  king  showed  how  well  he 
merited  the  reputation  he  had  acquired,  and 
the  friend  of  the  English  ambassador  proved 
how  worthy  he  was  to  hold  discourse  with 
him.  After  sundry  courteous  expres-ions 
on  either  side,  Monsieur  de  Rosni  returned 


and  her  husband,  who  had  dared  to  evade 
the  King's  august  intentions,  were  stigma- 
tised as  traitors  of  the  blackest  die.  Several 
of  the  nobles  threw  themselves  at  the  feet 
of  their  unhappy  monarch,  and  offered  their 
services  to  trace  the  fugitives,  and  happy 
was  he  above  all  his  fellows  who  obtained 
the  envied  commission  of  proceeding  on  their 
footsteps, 

"  We  have  seen  enough  of  this,"  said  Sir 
George.  "  Let  us  away,  Will,  after  your 
lost  sheep.  The  Grand  Master  of  the  Ord- 
nance hath  promised  me  all  necessary  help, 
so  that  now  it  may  be  '  the  hunt  is  up,'  as 
soon  as  you  please," 

On  this  much,  Master  Shakspeare  was 
all  eagerness  to  be  going,  and  the  party  were 
soon  afterwards  seen  leaving  the  palace,  but 
not  before  his  Eminence,  the  Cardinal,  had 
taken  advantage  of  a  convenient  opportunity 
to  whisper  to  the  fair  object  of  his  attentions, 
a  communication  which  had  all  the  fervor 
of  the  most  devout  supplication  he  had 
ever  offered ;  and  his  Highness,  the  Grand 
Duke,  had  availed  himself  in  a  similar  man- 
ner of  an  occasion  to  express  his  senti- 
ments, which  were  ottered  with  no  less  im- 


to  his  sovereign,  who  had  just  received  some  I  pressiveness  than  he  could  have  employed 
nows  which  had  thrown  him  into  an  extra-  j  had  he  been  addressing  an  assembly  of  no- 
ordinary  state  of  disquietude.  He  kept  ex-  tables.  And  the  small  crowd  of  princes, 
claiming, "  All  is  lost!  All  is  lost!"  in  the  marshals,  and  prelates,  that  were  in  her 
most  moving  tones  ;  and,  in  his  looks  and  train,  either  by  look  or  speech,  ventured  to 


movements,  showed  as  a  man  suddenly  over- 
taken by  some  overwhelming  calamity. 

"  What  think  you,  Will,  is  the  monstrous 
evil  that  hath  so  moved  this  magnificent 
king  ?"  asked  Sir  George. 

"Of  a  truth  I  know  not!"  replied  the 
other,  "  but  methinks  it  must  be  something 
very  terrible." 

"  Perchance  you  would  take  it  to  be  the 
destruction  of  an  army  abroad,  or  a  terrible 
insurrection  at  home,  the  death  of  a  favorite 
child,  or  the  discovery  of  a  deep  spread  con- 
spiracy, the  intelligence  of  the  plague 


make  known  to  her  that  in  losing  sight  of 
her  inestimable  sweet  society,  they  should 
lose  everything  that  gave  attraction  to  the 
place,  or  pleasure  to  the  hour.  The  gentle 
Susanna  acknowledged  all  these  precious 
courtesies,  with  an  air  of  graceful  indiffer- 
ency  and  happy  pleasantry,  and  left  the 
glittering  magnificoes  with  as  much  of  her 
regard  as  they  had  on  the  first  moment  of 
their  acquaintance;  which  was  of  that 
smallnessail  the  resources  of  fractions  could 
not  give  it  quantity. 

VVhilst  these  tilings   were  proceeding, 


BptinCT]        tilt;        llltl  lUi/ClICC       Ul         LUC        ^fdglt^  ^T?   IIllOl*       Olltoo       WJIUgo        nrwii^       JJ»  ^v^v^uiu^, 

breaking  out  in  the  city,  or  the  news  of  its  j  doings  of  equal  import  to  this  our  story 


fairest  quarter  being  burned  to  the  ground  ?' 

"  Surely  it  must  be  one  or  other  of  these 
huge  calamities." 

"  By  this  hand  it  is  nothing  more  or  less 
than  the  knowledge  that  the  Princess  di 
(x»nti,  a  young  beauty,  recently  married, 
hath  ventured  to  save '  herself  and  husband 
from  dishonor,  by  flying  with  him  out  of  the 
country !" 

"  This  is  marvellous,  indeed  !*'  cried  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare. 

By  this^  time  it  had  become  generally 
known  how  the  King's  sudden  disorder  had 
been  created,  and  universal  was  the  sympa- 
thy for  the  royal  sufferer,  whilst  the  lady 


were  in  progress  in  a  quiet  but  respectable 
lodging  in  a  retired  part  of  Paris.  Thither 
had  arrived,  some  days  before,  a  noble  cava- 
lier, and  a  beautiful  lady  he  treated  with  all 
the  tenderness  and  consideration  due  to  an 
adored  wife.  The  young  cavalier  was  no 
less  handsome  than  liberal — qualities  that 
served  him  better  in  this  good  city  than  if 
he  had  brought  with  him  the  recommenda- 
tions of  the  greatest  princes  in  the  world. 

It  is  true  the  lady  was  of  a  dark  com- 
plexion, and  there  seemed  no  small  amount 
of  mystery  in  her  behavior ;  but  the  people 
of  the  house,  like  good  Parisians  of  that 
time,  finding  there  was  a  sufficiency  of  mo- 


180 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ney,  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  trouble ' 
themselves  about  what  seemed  inexplicable ; 
in  which  they  were  confirmed  by  their  lod- 
gers conversing  in  a  language  of  which, 
with  all  their  powers  of  listening,  they  found 
they  could  not  make  out  a  word. 

The  understanding  reader  will  find  no 
difficulty  in  discovering  that  the  strangers 
were  the  seductive  Bohemian  and  my  lord 
of  Pembroke's  heir.  This  thoughtless  pair 
had  sought  such  concealment  the  more  ef- 
fectively to  enjoy  the  happiness  they,  in  their 
short-sightedness,  fancied  was  in  store  for 
them.  For  anything  in  the  shape  of  real 
happiness,  neither  their  dispositions  nor 
their  circumstances  allowed  ;  and,  in  a  few 
days  after  their  mutual  flight,  they  awoke 
from  a  feverish  dream,  with  anything  save 
the  entire  concentration  of  feeling  for  each 
other,  writers  have  been  pleased  to  distin- 
guish with  the  name  of  love.  Nevertheless, 
they  would  have  been  exceeding  loath  to 
admit  there  was  the  very  slightest  diminu- 
tion of  their  mutual  devotion. 

If  the  truth  must  be  stated,  they  were 
both  of  much  too  restless  a  spirit  to  be  con- 
tent with  each  other's  society  for  any  length 
of  time  ;  and  a  short  period  after  their  en- 
trance into  Paris,  the  retirement  in  which 
they  lived  throwing  {hern  entirely  upon  their 
own  resources,  they  found  themselves  living 
after  a  monstrous  dull  fashion. 

La  Xariqua  yearned  for  the  exulting 
freedom  of  the  green  woods — the  guiltless 
intercourse  of  the  wild  family  of  which  she 
was  an  honored  member :  and  the  young 
noble  began  to  regret  the  seclusion  that 
kept  him  from  sharing  in  the  festivities  and 
revelries  that  were  going  on  in  every  quar- 
ter of  the  gay  city  in  which  he  had  taken 
up  his  residence.  He  had  been  both  an- 
noyed and  enraged  by  the  impertinent  cu- 
riosity of  some  hair-brained  Frenchmen, 
whom  the  extraordinary  charms  of  the  Bo- 
hemian had  influenced  to  an  extent  that 
made  them  desperately  eager  for  any  ad- 
venture that  promised  her  notice  and  favor : 
but  latterly  he  had  taken  less  notice  of  this 
curiosity. 

He  also  had  been  the  object  of  similar  no- 
tice, ns  he  had  received  several  tender  com- 
munications, one  of  which,  signed  "La  Dame 
des  Roses,"  had  not  failed  to  create  a  slight 
Impression  in  favor  of  the  writer. 

lie  had  all  along  behaved  to  the  compan- 
ion of  his  flight  with  the  very  utmost  devo- 
tedness  ;  but,  to  one  so  ignorant  of  anythinj 
iu  the  shape  of  restraint,  the  comforts  an 
luxuries  with  which  he  had  surrounded  her 
Beemcil  a  poor  recompense  for  the  inspiring 
dance  iu  the  free  air,  and  the  tumultuous 


plaudits  of  crowds  of  spectators.  He  began 
to  imagine  that  the  care  with  which  he  had 
kept  her  concealed  was  unworthy  of  him 
and  her.  He  had  heard  much  of  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  gardens  of  the  Hfttel  de  Sens, 
wherein  the  gayest  company  in  Paris  were 
wont,  not  always  creditably,  to  amuse  them- 
selves, and  proposed  to  her,  by  way  of  a 
frolic,  to  go  there  disguised,  and  be  enter- 
tained with  whatever  was  worth  seeing.  A 
joyful  assent  was  readily  given ;  and  as 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  the  way  of  admis- 
sion, he  having  a  few  days  since  received 
an  invitation,  the  pair  were  soon  promena- 
ding the  pleasant  walks  and  umbrageous 
groves,  masked  and  disguised  so  completely 
that  they  scarcely  knew  each  other. 

They  mingled  with  the  crowd  of  idlers 
that  had  there  assembled  to  kill  time  as 
agreeably  as  possible,  listening  to  concealed 
music  of  the  most  ravishing  description 
and  admiring  the  dancers,  the  jugglers,  the 
singers,  the  fountains,  the  flowers,  and  the 
trees,  that  gave  a  fairy-iike  beauty  to  the 
scene.  They  at  last  found  themselves  in  a 
path  into  which  all  the  company  seemed  to 
be  crowding,  as  if  it  led  to  some  peculiar 
place  of  attraction.  By  imperceptible  de- 
grees it  narrowed  till  it  was  impossible 
for  two  to  walk  abreast ;  and  on  each 
side  there  rose  a  wall,  as  it  were,  of  holly, 
that  seemed  about  to  contract,  till  further 
progress,  even  for  one  person,  looked  to  be 
impossible. 

The  cavalier  allowed  his  fair  companion 
to  precede  him.  The  path  ended  in  a  sort 
of  fairy  temple  divided  into  several  compart- 
ments. He  saw  her  enter  one,  when  the 
whole  structure  turned  on  a  pivot,  and 
placed  her  out  of  sight.  He  followed  into 
the  building,  and  found  as  soon  as  he  en- 
tered it,  that  it  revplved  writh  him.  On  its 
stopping,  he  beheld  a  flight  of  very  narrow 
stone  steps,  down  which  he  perceived  his 
companion  proceeding  with  considerable 
speed.  He  followed  very  quickly,  and  saw 
her  disappear  under  an  archway,  where  an 
ascent  of  steps  brought  him  again  into  the 
open  air,  but  in  a  grove  thickly  planted  with 
trees. 

Observing  female  drapery  fluttering  in 
the  distance,  he  was  quickly  in  pursuit,  al- 
most inclined  to  marvel  at  the  sportiveness 
which  made  his  mistress  so  nimble  of  mo- 
tion, now  she  was  once  more  under  the 
friendly  covert  of  such  old  familiar  friends 
as  the  tall  trees  of  the  forest.  He  mended 
his  pace,  but  so  quick  of  foot  was  she,  that 
only  with  much  ado  could  he  keep  her  in 
sight.  At  last  he  saw  her  enter  a  building 
1  by  a  postern  door.  He  followed  as  quick 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


181 


as  he  might,  and  found  himself  entering  up- 
on a  long  dark  passage.  Thinking  he  might 
lose  her  in  so  strange  a  place,  he  called  to 
her  to  stop,  but  to  his  huge  astonishment 
received  no  answer.  He  repeated  his  call 
with  a  like  success.  He  then  hurried  on, 
not  knowing  what  to  think. 

The  banging  of  the  door  led  him  towards 
it.  He  passed  through  as  he  beheld  another 
at  some  distance  thrown  back.  In  this  way 
he  went  on,  meeting  no  one,  the  chambers 
increasing  in  the  richness  of  their  furniture, 
in  as  great  astonishment  at  the  whole  ad- 
venture, as  a  youth  of  his  spirit  could  well 
be.  He  began  to  doubt  that  it  could  be  his 
enamored  mistress  running  from  him  in  this 
strange  fashion.  Alas,  poor  youth  !  She 
to  whom  you  direct  your  thoughts  is  far 
enough  away  in  a  different  direction,  well 
cared  for,  by  one  who  has  both  the  will  and 
means  ample  enough  to  secure  her  from  all 
others  whatsoever. 

He  at  last  entered  a  magnificent  saloon, 
with  hangings  of  the  very  richest  looms  of 
arras,  delicately  painted  with  the  stories 
from  Ovid  his  .Metamorphoses.  He  made 
for  a  door  he  saw  before  him,  and  nothing 
could  equal  his  surprise,  when,  on  pushing 
it  open,  he  found  himself  in  a  place  fash- 
ioned like  a  bower  of  roses,  and  giving  out 
the  most  ravishing  perfume  of  that  daintiest 
of  flowers.  On  what  seemed  to  be  literally 
a  bed  of  their  odorous  leaves,  reposed  a  fe- 
male figure  in  a  garb  no  less  classic  than 
seductive. 

He  gazed  as  it  were  spell-bound — scarcely 
willing  to  believe  his  eyes.  The  lady  rose 
gracefully  from  her  position,  and  bade  him 
welcome  to  her  palace,  where  she  added 
his  presence  had  been  long  hoped  (or.  Then, 
clapping  her  jewelled  hands  thrice,  there  en- 
tered several  nymphs  of  ravishing  loveli- 
ness, also  in  the  ancient  classic  garb,  bear- 
ing refreshments  of  the  most  tempting  sorts, 
which  they  set  before  him.  Half  inclined 
to  believe  the  whole  a  delusion,  he  tasted  of 
the  cates  and  the  wine  so  temptingly  brought 
for  his  delectation,  and  any  thing  for  the 
palate  so  truly  delicious  he  had  never  known 
before.  He  soon  ascertained  that  he  be- 
held his  fair  correspondent;  and,  recovering 
from  the  bewilderment  into  which  he  had 
at  first  been  thrown,  he  presently  poured  out 
a  bumper  of  wine,  and  with  a  gallant  air 
drank  to  the  health  of  "La  Dame  des 
Roses." 

As  the  attendant  nymphs  disappeared,  he 
could  almost  fancy  himself  that  he  had  gone 
a  vast  way  back  in  the  history  of  the  world , 
and  was  at  the  'moment  in  classic  Athens, 


in  the  luxurious  villa  of  the  voluptuous  AB- 
pasia.  Although  this  was  not  the  case,  he 
could  not  be  considered  in  better  hands ;  for, 
as  he  soon  discovered,  he  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Margaret  de  Valois,  the  divorced 
Queen  of  France. 

The  ladies  of  Paris  were  not  more  active 
in  seeking  new  objects  of  attachment  than 
the  cavaliers,  and  the  arrival  of  a  young  and 
handsome  Englishman  created  as  great  a 
sensation  amongst  them,  as  his  companion 
had  done  amongst  the  other  sex.  Marga- 
ret de  Valois  had  early  intelligence  of  the 
stranger's  appearance,  and  determined  to 
captivate  him,  if  possible.  She  took  her 
measures  without  delay,  and  the  reader  has 
seen  how  far  they  succeeded.  The  Lord 
of  Pembroke's  heir  had  heard  too  many  sto- 
ries of  Margaret  de  Valois,  not  to  be  well 
satisfied  as  to  who  was  his  entertainer  ;  and 
neither  his  taste  nor  his  principles  were  suf- 
ficiently vitiated  to  make  him  see  any  grat- 
ification in  an  intimacy  with  such  a  person- 
age. Nevertheless,  he  thought  it  necessary 
not  only  to  conceal  his  sentiments,  but  to 
behave  with  a  certain  degree  of  gallantry. 

This  had  its  due  effect.  After  a  suffi- 
cient commodity  of  impassioned  looks,  ten- 
der speeches,  amorous  ditties,  and  the  like 
artillery,  the  regal  beauty  fancying  she  had 
made  a  sufficient  impression  for  one  inter- 
view, gave  another  summons,  which  was 
answered  on  the  instant  by  a  black  slave 
dressed  in  the  Indian  fashion,  who  was  di- 
rected to  le\d  her  honored  guest  to  his 
chamber.  The  Lady  of  the  Roses  accepted 
his  murmured  adieus  with  a  glance  suffi- 
ciently encouraging,  and  he  lett  her  bower 
to  all  appearance  her  vowed  servant. 

With  the  assistance  of  his  sable  conduct- 
or, he  very  shortly  made  his  way  to  a  cham- 
ber furnished  in  the  most  magnificent  man- 
ner. Vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  costly 
hangings,  richly  carved  furniture  were  pre- 
sented to  his  observation  in  every  direction, 
and  an  almost  overpowering  air  of  luxury 
seemed  to  pervade  the  chamber.  Our  young 
adventurer,  in  a  cursory  glance  he  gave  to 
its  ornaments,  saw  that  if  the  senses  could 
be  operated  upon  by  external  objects,  noth- 
ing had  been  left  undone  in  the  furnishing 
of°this  chamber  to  make  the  influence  as 
perfect  as  possible.  He  found  a  suit  of  the 
most  splendid  description  ready  for  him, 
and  every  arrangement  for  a  change  of  ap- 
parel worthy  of  a  crowned  head.  A  silver 
bell  lay  on  a  table  of  porphyry  for  his  use, 
when  he  required  an  attendant.  He  was, 
however  in  no  mood  for  availing  himself  of 
such  munificence.  There  were  some  un- 


182 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


pleasant  stories  afloat  respecting  the  fate  of 
certain  gentlemen  and  lords,  who  were 
known  to  have  been  the  lovers  of  Margaret 
de  Valois,  and,  with  every  disposition  to  play 
the  gallant,  he  had  no  ambition  of  following 
them  too  closely.  Besides  which  he  was 
anxious  to  learn  something  concerning  his 
so  suddenly  lost  mistress,  who  had  disap- 
peared after  so  very  marvellous  a  fashion  in 
the  gardens  of  the  Hotel  de  Sens  ;  but  this 
he  knew  full  well  he  was  not  likely  to  do  as 
long  as  he  remained  in  his  present  sump- 
tuous quarters. 

By  drawing  aside  the  arras,  he  discovered 
a  window,  and,  although  the  day  had  closed, 
he  could  easily  see  that  the  chamber  was 
elevated  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve  feet 
from  the  ground.  His  resolution  was  eoon 
taken.  Opening  the  casement,  he  cautious- 
ly glanced  at  the  ground  beneath,  and  find- 
ing there  nothing  likely  to  impede  his  de- 
scent, he  carefully  let  himself  out  feet  fore- 
most, with  his  face  to  the  window,  till  he 
was  supported  only  by  his  hands  clinging  to 
the  sill — he  then  let  go  his  hold  and  dropped. 
The  shock  was  considerable,  but  in  divers 
of  his  adventures  he  had  had  worse. 

lie  now  found  himself  in  a  deepening 
twilight,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  spa- 
cious mansion,  in  an  enclosed  space  that 
seemed  to  be  a  courtyard.  If  this  were  the 
case,  he  knew  that  high  walls  and  impassa- 
ble gates  still  stood  between  him  and  his 
liberty.  He  had  not  yet  concluded  what  he 
should  next  attempt,  when  he  heard  the 
hum  of  voices  approaching,  and  presently 
discerned  several  figures  by  the  light  of 
flambeaux  crossing  the  courtyard.  He  kept 
in  the  shadow  as  close  as  possible. 

As  the  party  approached  nearer,  he  fan- 
cied he  recognised  a  voice.  He  redoubled 
his  attention.  He  could  discern  a  figure 
and  countenance  in  which  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  be  mistaken.  It  was  that  of 
an  English  gentleman  to  whom  he  was  well 
known,  and  whose  powerful  protection  he 
might  rely  upon.  With  him  were  several 
persons ;  but  the  majority,  from  being  in  the 
livery  of  Margaret  de  Valois,  it  was  evident 
were  attending  his  departure  as  an  honored 
guest  of  their  mistress.  As  they  passed,  he 
heard  his  friend  say,  "  'Tis  marvellous 
strange.  I  can  prove  he  entered  the  gar- 
dens at  three  of  the  clock,  and  hath  not  been 
heard  of  since.  O  my  life,  'tis  exceeding 
strange  !"  What  reply  was  made  he  could 
not  distinguish,  but  what  he  had  already 
heard  was  quite  sufficient  to  cause  him  to  de- 
cide what  he  should  do.  Stealthily  creeping 
from  hi&  hiding,  he  made  for  the  great 


gates,  which  a  gigantic  porter  was  unfast- 
ening for  the  Englishman'sexit ;  when  one 
gate  opened,  he  VatcJied  his  time,  and,  as 
the  man  was  pulling  back  the  other,  he 
quickly  glided  out. 

He  waited  close  by.  In  a  few  minutes, 
to  his  great  relief,  he  heard  the  sound  of  the 
horses'  hoofs.  His  friend  and  his  retinue 
of  grooms  and  running  footmen  were  sweep- 
ing by ;  when  he  called  out  his  name,  the 
latter  pulled  up  instantly,  and  the  whole, 
party  stopped.  It  was  the  English  Ambas- 
sador, who,  not  finding  his  friend's  scholar, 
had  traced  him  to  the  gardens,  and,  as  he 
had  never  returned,  had  been  to  make  in- 
quiries at  the  palace,  where  he  was  assured 
by  the  chamberlain,  the  groom  of  the  cham- 
bers, and  other  domestic  officers,  that  such 
a  cavalier  as  he  described  had  not  been  seen 
there.  As  their  mistress  was  not  visible, 
he  was  returning  to  seek  the  assistance  of 
the  Grand  Master  of  the  Ordnance,  when 
the  object  of  his  disquietude,  to  his  great 
relief  and  astonishment,  unexpectedly  pre- 
sented himself  before  him. 

Sir  George  Carew  had  been  a  frequent 
visitor  at  the  mansion  of  the  Earl  and  Coun- 
tess of  Pembroke,  and  was  on  such  intimate 
terms  with  the  family,  as  to  allow  of  his 
taking  upon  himself  to  play  the  counsellor 
to  the  son  ;  and  this  he  did  so  earnestly  and 
pleasantly  withal,  that  the  thoughtless 
youth  promised  to  be  guided  by  him,  and 
told  him  all  his  story  from  his  Hight  with 
the  Bohemian.  Sir  George  knew  too  well 
the  character  of  the  divorced  Queen,  not  to 
be  fully  aware  of  the  hazard  his  young 
friend  would  run  by  remaining  in  Paris. 
He  found  him  well  enough  inclined  to  take 
his  departure,  but  felt  bound  to  remain  for 
the  purpose  of  finding  out  where  his  mis- 
tress had  been  kidnapped.  This  duty  Sir 
George  promised  he  would  himself  perform, 
assuring  his  young  friend,  from  his  know- 
ledge and  influence,  he  was  far  more  likely 
of  the  two  to  succeed. 

The  joy  of  his  worthy  governor  at  seeing 
him  again  was  of  the  deepest  sort  the  heart 
could  have  experienced.  Master  Shaks- 
peare  had  ever  since  the  discovery  of  his 
flight  endured  the  most  painful  anxiety. 
His  love  for  the  youth,  notwithstanding  his 
wilful  unsteadiness,  was,  as  it  were,  twined 
with  his  life  ;  and  his  anxiousness  became 
the  more  painful,  as  he  saw  how  impossible 
it  was  for  him  to  present  himself  before  the 
youth's  noble  mother,  to  inform  her  what 
little  heed  he  had  paid  to  the  trust  she  had 
reposed  in  him,  as  to  allow  of  his  giving 
him  the  slip  with  so  ill-chosen  a  companioo. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


183 


Having  experienced  such  deep  distress, 
there  is  the  less  cause  for  marvelling  that, 
on  the  youth's  making  his  appearance,  in- 
stead of  being  severely  lectured  for  his 
monstrous  ill  conduct,  he  found  himself 
clasped  in  the  arms  of  his  faithful  fond 
governor,  as  though  he  were  a  prodigal  son 
returned  to  a  doting  father.  Nevertheless, 
having  learned  all  Sir  George  Carew  could 
inform  him  of,  he  was  in  such  a  fever  to  be 
gone,  that  he  would  give  no  one  any  peace 
till  he  had  left  Paris  far  behind. 

He  now  came  to  the  determination  that 
these  travels  should  end,  and  in  a  few  days 
he  was  on  the  sea,  shouting  "  Ho,  for  Eng- 
land !"  with  a  more  cheerful  heart  than  he 
had  known  since  his  undertaking  so  great 
a  charge. 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

Ay,  but  the  milder  passions  show  the  man ; 
For  as  the  leaf  doth  beautify  the  tree, 
The  pleasant  flowers  bedeck  the  painted  spring, 
Even  so  in  men  of  greatest  reach  and  power, 
A  mild  and  piteous  thought  augments  renown. 

LODGE. 

OTJR  young  physician  had  now  so  long 
sojourned  amongst  the  scenes  he  so  well 
loved,  as  to  have  recovered,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, from  the  violent  shock,  both  his  moral 
and  physical  nature  had  sustained,  through 
the  abominable  villanyofthe  infamous  Mil- 
licent.  His  very  excellent  fond  parent  had 
tended  him  with  all  a  mother's  affection, 
and  all  a  woman's  delicacy.  She  asked  no 
questions,  and  made  no  comments  likely  to 
give  her  son  pain  ;  but  she  had  contrived  to 
obtain  a  tolerable  correct  knowledge  of  his 
trials  and  sufferings,  and  took  heed  to  min- 
ister to  the  diseased  mind  with  that  marvel- 
lous gentle  hand  for  which  her  exquisite 
sweet  sex  are  famous.  She  talked  indiffer- 
ently as  .it  were,  yet  was  there  in  every 
thing  she  said  a  healing  balm,  that  soon  be- 
gan to  show  its  wholesome  effect. 

With  such  soothing  converse,  joined  to 
the  healthy  inspirations  which  nature  ever 
giveth  to  such  as  seek  her  medicinal  aid  John 
Hall  began  once  more  to  take  a  proper  in- 
terest in  the  small  concerns  of  daily  life.  He 
again  had  recourse  to  his  books,  and,  in 
studying  the  art  of  healing  others,  rapidly 
obtained  a  cure  for  himself ;  albeit,  though 
the  wound  was  in  time  healed,  it  left  a  pain- 
ful cicatrice.  He  could  not  think  of  the 
peril  he  had  passed  without  a  shudder — as 
one  who,  by  wonderful  good  fortune,  is 
saved  from  the  jaws  of  a  venomous  serpent. 


long  after  remembers  with  fear  and  tremb- 
ling the  vehemency  of  his  danger. 

It  so  chanced,  that  an  incident  occurred 
about  this  time,  which,  though  it  was  fruit- 
ful of  misfortune  to  him  beyond  any  thing 
that  could  have  happened,  by  engrossing 
his  attention,  perfected  his  cure  more  read- 
ily than  other  things  could.  This  was  the 
death  of  his  admirable  mother.  Her  only 
son  had  been  to  her  the  very  well-spring  of 
her  pure  life.  Her  late  anxiety  had  been 
infinitely  greater  than  it  seemed,  but  it  did 
not  show  itself  upon  her  delicate  system, 
till  it  appeared  no  longer  to  be  excited  by 
the  subject.  Then  she  fell  ill,  and  though 
she  was  cared  for  by  the  most  skilful  and 
tender  of  nurses,  she  daily  grew  worse. 
The  fiat  had  gone  forth,  and  it  found  her 
well  prepared,  though  it  was  a  sore  strug- 
gle to  part  from  all  she  so  dearly  loved  and 
prized.  Her  beloved  son  had  her  last  wishes, 
her  last  blessings,  and  her  last  prayers ; 
and  then  the  fragile  form  that  rested  in  his 
arms  became  but  as  a  clod  of  the  earth,  ob- 
livious of  the  active  world  of  fine  percep- 
tions and  excellent  influences  that  had  so 
long  and  well  supported  the  claim  of  its  spir- 
it to  immortality. 

John  Hall  buried  her  in  the  well  remem- 
bered nook  in  the  green  churchyard,  where 
his  other  parent  had  found  his  last  resting- 
place,  and  he  went  forth  from  its  melan- 
choly memorials  with  a  saddened  heart,  it  is 
true,  but  with  a  vigorous  desire,  that  be- 
came a  joy  to  him  in  after-life,  to  prove 
himself  worthy  of  that  immeasurable  love 
he  had  just  seen  shut  out  from  communion 
with  mortality,  by  the  only  gates  that  never 
re-open  for  those  they  enclose. 

On  proceeding  to  examine  the  papers  the 
fond  mother  had  with  a  careful  foresight 
prepared  in  case  of  her  decease,  our  young 
physician  found  fresh  evidence  of  her  rare 
affection.  By  the  most  rigid  economy  and 
comprehensive  self-denial,  she  had  contriv- 
ed to  save  what  he  saw  at  once  was  a  suf- 
ficient sum,  not  only  to  finish  his  education, 
but  to  give  him  a  good  start  in  his  profes- 
sion, and  in  the  directions  with  which  this 
sum  was  made  over  to  him,  he  read  what 
was  henceforth  to  become  the  twelve  tables 
of  his  law. 

As  soon  as  possible,  he  prepared  to  fol- 
low the  first  and  most  important  of  her 
wishes,  and  entered  himself  a  student  in  one 
of  the  most  esteemed  colleges  at  Oxford. 
Here  he  remained,  steadily  pursuing  his 
studies,  and  winning  the  esteem  of  the 
learned  in  that  famous  school,  till  he  ob- 
tained his  degree.  It  was  about  this  time, 
that  he  was  found  by  his  father's  faithful 


194 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


serving-man,  Simon  Stockfish,  when  at  Ox- 
ford on  business  of  Master  Shakspeare. 
The  result  was  their  travelling  to  London 
together,  which  journey,  thanks  to  omission 
of  all  attempts  at  policy  from  the  over-poli- 
tic serving-man,  partly  perchance  from  his 
conviction  that  his  old  master's  son  was  of 
an  age  to  take  care  of  himself,  was  attend- 
ed with  no  accident. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  lodgin'g  of  Master 
Shakspeare,  he  was  enforced  to  make  his 
home  under  his  roof,  for  no  denial  was  al- 
lowed, and  Master  Doctor  Hall,  as  he  must 
now  be  styled,  found  himself  in  greater  con- 
tentation  of  mind  than  a  few  months  since 
he  could  have  hoped  for,  which  he  owed  to  the 
pleasant  intercourse  of  his  excellent  friend-, 
and  of  his  excellent  friend's  very  excellent 
fair  daughter. 

This  careful  friend  provided  against  any 
further  designs  from  his  vindictive  enemy, 
the  false Millicent,  by  gettinghim appointed 
physician  to  the  embassy  in  Paris,  where  he 
shortly  afterwards  proceeded  to  fulfil  the  du- 
ties of  his  office. 

In  the  meantime,  there  had  been  other 
doings  connected  with  the  principal  person- 
age in  this  my  story  that  deserveth  not  to  be 
lost  for  lack  of  a  chronicler,  for  as  soon  as 
his  return  was  known,  so  well  was  he  loved 
of  all  who  had  any  acquaintance  with  him, 
lie  was,  as  it  were,  besieged  with  visitors. 
Among  the  first  comers  were  that  truly 
honest  heart,  Master  Edward  Allen  and  his 
buxom  honest  partner ;  and  whilst  the  latter 
closeted  herself  with  Susanna,  to  hear  the 
marvels  she  had  seen  in  foreign  countries, 
the  other  two  friends  gossipped  about  their 
own  matters  with  as  ready  an  eloquence. 
The  master  of  the  Fortune  spoke  of  the 
various  admirable  new  players  and  match- 
less fresh  bears  he  had  got,  so  confusedly 
withal,  that  many  times  was  his  friend  led 
into  asking  questions  concerning  the  famous 
brute  he  spoke  of,  when  the  other  had  all  the 
while  been  praising  a  man  ;  and  when  he 
desired  to  know  what  place  had  the  honor 
of  giving  birth  to  the  estimable  famous  gen- 
tleman he  mentioned  in  such  high  terms, 
learned,  in  some  astonishment,  that  he  be- 
lieved it  must  have  been  a  den  in  some  of 
the  trackless  forests  of  Muscovy. 

One  interview  he  had  long  looked  for- 
ward to  with  the  most  excited  feelings. 
Perchance,  the  courteous  reader  hath  not 
forgotten  the  memorable  secret  visit  of  a 
noble  lady  to  Master  Shakspeare's  lodgings, 
in  the  Clink  Liberty.  The  hour  had  arrived 
when  he  should  present  himself  before  her, 
and  declare  how  he  had  fulfilled  the  honor- 
able office  she  had  induced  him  to  take. 


Many  a  time  and  oft,  when  in  far  off  lands, 
he  thought  of  the  time  when  he  should  again 
stand  before  her,  and  hear  what  estimate 
she  made  of  his  services ;  but,  with  the  an- 
ticipation of  the  happiness  of  again  behold- 
ing her,  there  mingled  no  small  share  of 
disquietude,  when  he  called  to  mind  how 
little  benefit  he  had  been  able  to  effect  in 
the  exercise  of  his  office,  where  benefit  was 
so  greatly  needed. 

He  had  now  little  cause  of  congratulation 
on  that  score,  and  he  could  not  but  take  a 
heavy  share  of  blame  to  himself  for  not  hav- 
ing been  more  strict  in  the  execution  of  his 
duty  ;  but,  circumstanced  as  lie  wasj  how 
was  he  to  put  on  the  pedagogue  ?  Pie  had 
made  many  resolutions  to  use  a  proper  se- 
verity ;  but  when  he  .beheld  the  face  of  the 
offender,  all  thoughts  of  harshness  disap- 
peared from  his  mind,  as  the  dews  of  the 
morning  before  the  flashing  sun.  And  now 
he  was  to  render  an  account  of  his  steward- 
ship !  He  had  neglected  his  trust.  The 
want  of  discipline  that  had  previously  been 
so  marked  had  blazed  forth  in  ungovernable 
wantonness,  and  what  excuse  could  he  have 
for  having  caused  so  discreditable  a  blot  to 
be  produced  so  close  to  her  unsullied  nature  ? 

He  had  but  one  consolation.  This  wild- 
ness  arose  in  a  great  measure  from  the  ex- 
cess of  animal  spirits.  These  must  exhaust 
themselves  before  long,  and  then  there  was 
every  hope  that  the  many  noble  qualities  he 
inherited  from  his  noble  mother  would  have 
fair  play,  when  he  must  needs  become  an 
honor  instead  of  a  reproach ;  a  source  of 
unbounded  content,  instead  of  one  of  mon- 
strous disquietude. 

The  worthy  governor  had,  as  carefully  as 
he  could,  concealed  his  feelings  towards  his 
young  charge  from  him ;  and  though  his 
affection  would  often  burst  through  the  re- 
straints he  put  upon  it,  the  other  saw  only  in 
these  displays  a  more  than  ordinary  attach- 
ment to  him,  which  it  was  impossible  to  re- 
sent. Had  he  not  found  vent  for  the  power- 
ful emotions  that  often  so  moved  him,  by 
writing  down  his  thoughts  from  day  to  day, 
in  many  a  powerful  sonnet  and  lofty  rhyme, 
he  could  not  have.worn  the  mask  so  well. 
It  was  now  more  than  ever  imperative  on 
him  to  keep  his  nature  under  the  strictest 
subjection.  The  old  Earl  had  been  called 
to  his  ancestors,  and  the  youth,  clothed  with 
the  proud  distinctions  of  nobility,  was  in  a 
situation  where  an  evil  surmise  might  work 
incalculable  mischiefs. 

After  many  delays,  the  interview  took 
place.  There  was  now  no  longer  a  necessity 
for  its  being  clandestine ;  and,  instead  of 
creeping  in  disguise  to  obtain  the  conversa- 


TIIE  SECRET  PASSION. 


185 


tion  she  wanted,  the  noble  lady  gave  him 
audience  in  her  own  mansion.  As  Master 
Shakspeare  was  ushered  into  the  lofty  cham- 
ber, surrounded  on  all  sides  with  the  impos- 
ing evidences  of  rank  and  fortune,  and  be- 
held the  stately  form  of  that  most  queen-like 
woman,  in  her  mourning  habit,  he  felt  much 
inclined  to  doubt  her  identity  with  the  self- 
denying,  heart-devoted  being  who  had  so 
long  carried  on  an  untiring  war  with  her 
own  feelings.  But  it  needed  not  this  change 
to  induce  him  to  treat  her  with  the  most 
profound  respect.  He  bowed  his  head  as  to 
a  shrine  of  unsurpassable  holiness,  and  his 
heart  partook  of  the  same  reverence.  A 
deep  and  eloquent  silence  was  maintained 
for  a  few  minutes.  The  lady  had  schooled 
herself  with  the  severe  discipline  of  pride 
and  self-respect  to  pass  through  this  ordeal 
with  a  spirit  worthy  of  her  race.  But  blood 
respccteth  no  discipline — it  taketh  marvel- 
lous little  heed  of  any  lessons  of  inward  or 
outward  application. 

Finally,  as  though  determined  to  express 
one  of  the  many  sentences  that  presented 
itself  to  her,  to  break  the  embarrassing  si- 
lence, she  said  in  a  low  tone  : — "  My  son 
Herbert  hath  borne  testimony,  Master  Shak- 
speare. of  your  great  zeal  and  affectionate- 
ness  for  his  interests,  whilst  he  had  the 
benefit  of  your  trusty  guardianship." 

"  Truly,  it  glads  rny  heart,  my  lady,  to 
hear  he  hath  been  so  good  to  me." 

"  In  truth,  he  is  ever  sounding  your 
praises.  He  loveth  you  well  indeed.  Me- 
thinks  he  hath  profited  much  of  your  proper 
teaching." 

Her  companion  could  not  in  conscience 
affirm  this. 

"  He  seemeth  to  be  well  disposed  ;  which 
is  a  huge  comfort-to  me.  I  am  wondrously 
anxious  he  should  prove  himself  deserving 
your  attentions,  and  worthy  of  his  family." 

Master  Shakspeare  was  anxious  also,  but 
had  had  reason  to  doubt  the  youth  was  in 
the  right  way  to  worthiness.  As  it  was 
utterly  impossible  he  could  breathe  a  word 
of  such  doubt  to  the  devoted  mother,  he  felt 
forced,  somewhat  against  his  conviction,  to 
affirm  that  my  lord  would  prove  himself 
every  thing  that  was  desired  of  him. 

The  lady  had  got  so  far  with  some  effort ; 
but  here  she  came  to  a  stop.  This  lasted 
not  long,  however  ;  for,  as  though  she 
thought  silence  more  dangerous  than  speech, 
anon  she  strove  to  enter  into  conversation 
with  her  companion  on  indifferent  matters, 
the  which  he  encouraged  by  many  perti- 
nent remarks  and  just  conclusions.  But  an 
uninterested  spectator  might  easily  have 
perceived  that  she  was  talking  at  random, 


and,  though  she  strove  most  earnestly  to 
conceal  her  real  -  sentiments,  her  emotion 
was  getting  so  evident,  it  was  impossible  it 
could  escape  observation.  At  last  she  seem- 
ed to  have  come  to  a  sudden  resolution,  foi, 
leaving  all  her  idle  questions  and  unmean- 
ing remarks,  she,  though  evidently  hugely 
excited,  addressed  him  in  a  hurried  and 
somewhat  wild  manner  : — 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Master  Shakspeare,"  said 
she,  "  to  make  one  request  of  you."  See- 
ing he  was  about  to  speak,  she  added  : — "  I 
know  what  you  would  say.  Your  assent  is 
already  on  your  tongue.  Your  willingness 
to  give  me  further  assurance  of  the  noble 
spirit  I  have  so  long  admired  in  you,  I  see 
and  know  how  to  appreciate.  I  am  now 
about  making  a  greit  demand  upon.it.  It 
is  a  sacrifice  which  very  few  of  your  sex 
would  make,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped,  still 
fewer  of  mine  require." 

"  Be  assured,"  answered  her  companion, 
emphatically,  "  you  cannot  ask  anything  I 
should  find  any  difficulty  in  granting." 

A  pause  of  a  few  seconds  succeeded, 
which  seemed  employed  by  the  lady  in  ar- 
ranging her  thoughts  for  expressing  the  re- 
quest of  which  she  had  given  notice.  Pre- 
sently she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  evidently 
laboring  under  increased  excitement,  and 
with  downcast  look,  which  seemed  not  able 
to  raise  itself  from  its  enforced  humbleness, 
"  It  is  proper  and  necessary  that  this  should 
be  our  last  meeting." 

Master  Shakspeare  seemed  to  hear  this  in 
some  surprise,  and  with  more  regret.  With- 
out noticing  him,  the  lady  continued : — 
"  There  seemeth  to  me  to  be  but  one  way 
in  which  our  coming  together. .  either  by 
accident  or  design,  can  be  prevented.  Whilst 
you  a*re  in  London,  I  can  scarce  help  my- 
self from  meeting  you  at  some  time  or  an- 
other, and  hearing  of  you  at  all  times.  I 
pray  you,  sir,  of  your  infinite  goodness,  of 
which  I  have  had  ample  evidence,  this  long 
time  passed,  to  satisfy  me  in  tiiis.  I  must 
not  see  you  again.  I  am  asking  a  great 
matter,  I  am  exacting  a  serious  condition  ; 
but,  sir,  if  you  could  only  know  how  vital  a 
thing  it  is  to  me,  so  noble  a  gentleman  as  I 
have  found  you,  would  not  deny  me.  I  pry- 
thee  leave  this  place,  and  avoid  where  I  am 
with  all  possible  care ;  and  deem  me  not 
moved  to  this  on  light  grounds.  Avoid  in", 
sir,  avoid  me.  It  is  necessary  for  my  peace 
of  mind.  As  God  is  my  help,  it  is  a  thing  so 
absolute,  it  cannot,  must  not,  be  avoided  !" 

"  Your  wishes  shall  have  a  speedy  ac- 
complishment," replied  he,  striving  to  con- 
ceal his  great  emotion.  "  But  this  much 
let  me  say  before  I  depart.  If  blessings-atid 


186 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


prayers,  good  wishes  and  honorable  thoughts 
can  minister  to  your  contentation,  be  sure, 
my  lady,  that  there  never  can  exist  a  more 
earnest  laborer  in  your  happiness." 

At  this  her  heart  seemed  too  full  for 
speech.  After  a  while  she  held  out  her 
hand,  which  he  advanced  to  take.  As  he 
knelt  with  more  of  the  spirit  of  a  devotee 
than  of  a  lover  to  raise  it  to  his  lips,  she 
pressed  his  hand  eagerly  in  her  own,  and, 
snatching  it  towards  her,  covered  it  with  ca- 
resses ;  then,  muttering  a  fervent  blessing 
as  she  rose,  she  rushed  wildly  out  of  the 
room. 

A  few  days  after  this,  Master  Shakspeare 
surprised  all  his  good  friends  and  gossips, 
by  announcing  his  intention  of  leaving 
London  entirely,  and  retiring  to  live  in  his 
native  town.  By  his  fellows  at  the  Globe 
such  intelligence  seemed  most  unwelcome. 
Since  his  return  to  England  he  had  taken 
his  place  amongst  them  as  of  old,  occasion- 
ally enrapturing  the  town  by  some  new  pro- 
duction from  his  golden  pen,  the  sterling- 
ness  whereof  all  readily  acknowledged.  But 
it  was  not  alone  as  the  most  successful 
writer  of  the  day  that  his  character  was  ad- 
mirable. He  was  the  friend  of  all  writers, 
no  matter  how  obscure,  who  possessed  ta- 
lent of  any  sort.  He  gave  them  honest 
counsel ;  he  improved  their  ideas  by  con- 
tact with  his  own  ;  he  increased  their  know- 
ledge out  of  his  own  boundless  stores  ;  and, 
after  each  several  play  had  been  by  him  and 
by  his  well  advised  hints  improved  into  an 
effective  drama,  he  tooE  care  to  have  it 
played  in  such  a  manner  as  to  secure  it  a 
fair  chance  of  success. 

With  the  players,  not  only  of  his  own  com- 
pany, but  of  all  others,  he  was  looked  up  to 
as  their  head  and  chief,  and  all  Master-Shak- 
speare  did  in  the  bringing  out  of  a  play  was 
accounted  as  a  law,  which  was  well  worthy 
their  observance.  If  the  tiring-room  of  the 
players  was  resorted  to  by  the  gallants  in 
Queen  Elizabeth's  days,  it  became  quite  a 
fashion  in  those  of  her  successor.  All  the 
gayest  courtiers,  the  bravest  gallants,  and 
many  even  of  the  graver  sort  of  our  nobles, 
were  wont  to  be  found  thronging  round 
Shakspeare,  either  at  the  theatre  in  the 
Blacklriars,  the  one  at  Southwark,  or  at  the 
Mermaid  Tavern  ;  and  his  lively  wit  and 
his  general  handsomeness  of  behavior  did  so 
recommend  him,  that  to  several  of  the  no- 
blest and  best  amongst  them,  he  was  on 
such  near  terms  of  intimacy,  no  brother 
could  be  more  kindly  and  honorably  treated. 

His  circumstances  had  so  .continued  to 
thrive,  that  he  had  become  quite  a  man  of 
worship  as  to  property,  having  been  able  to 


make  sundry  purchases  of  houses,  both  in 
London  and  in  Stratford.  He  had  also  bo- 
come  possessed  of  a  principal  share  in  the 
property  of  the  company  to  which  he  be- 
longed. Though  his  purse  was  ever  open 
to  a  distressed  brother,  and  he  did  not  fail  to 
send  ample  remembrances  to  Stratford,  he 
might  be  called  a  rich  man.  His  affairs 
were  in  an  excellent  flourishing  state,  out 
gf  all  doubt,  but  he  was  far  from  being 
happy.  The  continued  wildness  of  the 
young  Lord  Pembroke  often  caused  him 
much  uneasiness  ;  and  in  his  own  domestic 
state,  saving  only  the  treasury  of  love  with 
which  the  gentle  Susanna  had  enriched  him, 
there  was  but  little  room  for  congratulation. 
Nevertheless,  save  only  a  few  admirable 
rare  verses,  wherein  he  expressed  his  feel- 
ings towards  his  late  pupil,  and  took  his 
leave-taking  of  the  idolized  object  of  his 
Secret  Passion,  he  never  gave  any  evidence 
of  complaint.  In  society  he  was  ever  the 
courteous,  gracious,  witty  gentleman,  that 
made  his  company  so  sought  after,  and  his 
discourse  so  listened  to.  It  was  only  in  the 
retirement  of  his  study,  when  left  to  the  ex- 
pression of  his  own  thoughts,  that  they  took 
a  melancholy  and  unsatisfactory  tone. 

Among  those  of  his  old  acquaintances 
most  surprised  by  his  determination  to  quit 
the  field  of  his  triumphs,  and  the  scenes 
where  his  greatness  had  been  realized  and 
acknowledged,  was  honest  Ned  Allen.  He 
would  not  at  first  believe  he  could  have  en- 
tertained any  such  serious  intention,  and  in 
the  feelings  with  which  he  regarded  the 
matter,  he  forgot  every  thing  relating  to  the 
two  different  objects  of  his  regard,  that 
played  such  fantastic  tricks  with  his  me- 
mory. But  much  against  his  will,  he  was 
convinced  that  he  was  going  to  lose  his 
good  gossip  and  fast  friend.  He,  however, 
proved  a  friend  to  the  last,  by  purchasing 
whatever  property  Master  Shakspeare  had 
in  London,  he  could  not  or  cared  not  to  lake 
with  him. 

There  were  friends  of  a  higher  though 
not,  perchance,  of  a  warmer  sort,  who  as 
little  approved  this  retirement  of  their  fa- 
vorite. His  intention  became  talked  of  by 
the  nobles  and  courtiers  ;  and,  among  others, 
it  came  to  the  ears  of  that  gracious  young 
prince,  now  so  completely  the  idol  of  the 
whole  nation  for  his  great  virtues  and  gal- 
lant spirit.  Prince  Henry  had  oftentimes 
sought  his  pleasant  society,  and  at  each 
grew  more  and  more  to  like  it.  Since 
Master  Shakspeare's  return,  they  had  had 
much  discourse  together,  the  prince  asking 
numberless  questions  concerning  of  what 
'.  remarkable  things  fell  under  his  observation 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


187 


during  his  travels,  and  at  every  interview 
the  other  coming  away  more  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  excellences  of  his  heart 
and  mind.  A  mutual  liking  of  these  noble 
spirits  had  sprung  up  betwixt  them  ;  and 
now  the  prince  was  threatened  with  the  loss 
of  his  pleasant  associate,  he  had  resolved 
not  to  let  him  go  till  he  had  been  able  to  ex- 
press his  high  estimate  of  his  character. 

Master  Shakspeare  had  fixed  that  the 
last  day  of  his  stay  in  London  should  be  the 
last  day  of  his  appearance  as  a  writer  of 
plays.  But  he  wished  to  close  his  London 
career  with  some  crowning  work,  that 
should  excel  alt  previous  efforts.  With  this 
object  in  view,  he  had  selected  a  subject 
that  he  had  studied  during  his  travels  ;  and 
ho  bestowed  upon  it  more  than  ordinary 
pains.  Of  a  s.irety,  the  result  was  of  the 
most  sterling  sort — one  on  which  the  world 
hath  stamped  its  hall  mark  of  immortality. 
What  he  was  intent  on  was  well  known  to 
the  young  prince,  who  had  had,  at  his  de- 
sire, many  passages  read  to  him ;  and  he 
took  counsel  with  certain  of  his  friends  that 
the  representation  should  be  as  great  a 
triumph  to  its  author  as  it  deserved  to  be. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  fixed  for  the 
first  perlbr.nance  of  the  new  play,  the  door 
of  the  Globe  was  besieged,  as  it  were,  with 
a  crowd  impatient  to  get  admittance.  Al- 
most as  soon  as  it  was  opened,  the  interior 
was  as  full  as  it  could  cram,  the  best  places 
being  filled  with  the  prince  and  his  friends, 
and  even  among  the  understanding  gentle- 
men of  the  pit  were  divers  persons  of  wor- 
ship, who  were  fain  to  be  content  with  what 
accommodation  they  could  there  find.  There 
was  no  room  on  the  stage  now  for  any  tine 
gallant  to  set  up  his  stool,  and  enjoy  his  pipe 
of  tobacco,  as  he  criticised  the  play.  He 
was  forced  to  be  well  content  to  take  up 
with  standing  reom  where  it  could  be  had. 

The  play  commenced  with  an  audience 
exceedingly  content  to  be  well  pleased ;  but, 
as  the  exquisite  poetry  of  this  new  creation 
fell  upon  their  minds,  their  satisfaction  grew 
upon  them  until  it  burst  forth  in  loud  and 
frequently-repeated  plaudits.  When  the 
object  of  their  esteem  first  appeared,  as  the 
magician  Prospero,  it  seemed  as  though  he 
really  had  the  gifts  he  assumed,  for  he  rais- 
ed a  famous  storm  throughout  the  whole 
house ;  and  as  the  delighted  spectators 
learned  all  the  excellence  of  the  work  his 
genius  had  set  before  them,  had  sufficiently 
admired  the  tender  Miranda,  had  marvelled 
at  the  monster  Caliban,  and  had  begun  to 
love  the  graceful  Ariel,  the  enthusiasm  that 
then  manifested  itself  in  all  quarters  was  of 
the  most  extravagant  character.  At  the 


closing  of  the  play,  there  was  such  a  scene 
before  the  curtain  as  that  curtain  had  never 
fallen  upon.  Every  one  seemed  under  the 
same  influence.  Acclamations,  praises,  and 
good  wishes,  burst  from  all  the  tiiroats  with- 
in the  walls ;  and  a  sea  of  handkerchiefs, 
and  a  forest  of  hats  and  caps,  were  waved 
to  and  fro,  as  though  their  owners  were 
complimenting  a  hero  who  had  gained  a 
province,  or  saved  a  kingdom. 

A  few  hours  after  he  had  broken  away, 
with  monstrous  difficulty,  from  the  hearty 
congratulatious  and  dolorous  farewells  of 
his  fellow  players  and  play-writers,  he  might 
have  been  seen  seated  at  the  festive  board, 
whence  the  remains  of  a  sumptuous  banquet 
were  being  removed,  and  surrounded  by 
some  of  the  noblest  of  his  friends,  making 
the  enjoyment  of  his  society  more  prized 
than  the  precious  wine  and  sweet  cakes  that 
were  placed  upon  the  table.  The  chamber 
was  one  worthy  of  a  palace,  and  this  most 
assuredly  it  ought  to  have  been,  for  to  a 
palace  it  belonged.  The  furniture  was  of 
the  richest,  the  attendants  numerous,  and  of 
the  royal  livery,  and  every  object  within 
sight  bespoke  an  enlightened  mind,  and  am- 
ple means  for  affording  it  every  desirable 
enjoyment.  Pictures,  bronzes,  carvings, 
armor,  books,  and  musical  instruments,  met 
the  eye  in  every  direction,  intermingled  with 
a  profusion  of  gold  and  silver  plate,  costly 
hangings  and  rich  drapery. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  was  a  noble 
youth,  in  a  suit  of  embroidered  velvet,  in 
whose  pleasing  features  and  thoughtful 
brow  the  observant  reader  cannot  fail  to  re- 
coimise  that  darling  of  the  nation,  and  de- 
light of  all  who  had  the  honor  of  being  of 
his  acquaintance,  his  highness  Henry  Prince 
of  Wales.  On  his  right,  sat  Master  Shak- 
speare, whose  right  witty  speech  had  evi- 
dently done  its  office,  for  the  prince  was 
attending  to  him  with  such  a  face  of  enjoy- 
ment as  bespoke  his  full  appreciation  of 
some  inimitable  jest.  On  his  left  was  the 
prince's  governor  and  chamberlain,  Sir  Tho- 
mas Newton,  his  grave  aspect  relaxing  into 
pleasantry  under  the  influence  of  the  mirth- 
ful spirit  then  ruling  the  hour. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  table  sat  the  most 
courteous  of  old  courtiers,  Sir  George  Ca- 
rew.  but  lately  returned  from  France  ;  he 
appeared  to  be  bantering  the  young  Lord 
Pembroke,  who  was  seated  near  him,  which 
the  latter  took  in  a  humor  as  if  he  was  far 
from  being  displeased.  Of  him  it  is  neces- 
sary to  add  that  he  was  as  bravely  appar- 
elled as  the  last  new  tire,  and  no  lack  of 
means  for  paying  the  mercer  and  tailor 
could  make  him.  He  was  known  as  a  very 


183 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


model  of  a  gallant ;  a  reputation  he  to  ik 
what  measures  he  could  to  increase.  His 
nandsome  person  and  gay  appearance  caus- 
ed him  to  be  no  less  a  favorite  with  the  fair 
dimes  and  gentle  damsels  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, than  he  was  the  dread  of  their  hus- 
bands and  fathers.  If  the  truth  must  be 
told,  in  the  respect  of  his  wildness,  little 
improvement  was  to  be  seen  in  him  ;  and 
tliough  his  mind  had  prolited  much  from  the 
admirable  lessons  he  had  had  during  his 
travels,  and,  in  some  respects,  he  had  been 
awakened  to  g.  clearer  sense  of  what  was 
due  from  himself  to  his  own  honorable  sta- 
tion, it  still,  much  too  frequently  happened, 
that  in  the  gratification  of  his  passians  he 
was  equally  wilful  and  wanton. 

Near  him  was  the  young  Sir  Hugh  Clop- 
ton,  in  appearance  as  fine  a  gallant  as  my 
Lord  of  Pembroke  ;  my  Lord  Southampton, 
returned  from  his  exile,  and  much  honored 
at  court ;  Sir  Charles  Cornwallis,  the 
prince's  treasurer,  and  one  or  two  more  of 
the  hi giiest  officers  of  the  prince's  house- 
hold. The  discourse  was  full  and  exceed- 
ing animated,  tiie  prince  eagerly  putting 
questions  to  Master  Shakspeare  of  his 
travels,  and  afso  of  books  that  had  been 
sent  him  from  other  countries,  and  men- 
tioning what  intelligence  he  had  had  from 
divers  noblemen  and  gentlemen  his  corres- 
pondents ;  thereupon  Master  Shakspeare 
would  reply  in  speech  full  of  pleasant  recol- 
lection?, not  only  of  books  and  men,  but  of 
all  the  countries  he  had  visited.  His  de- 
scriptions of  scenes  were  very  pictures ; 
and,  when  he  spoke  of  ancient  Rome,  or 
classic  Naples,  he  so  filled  his  hearers  with 
remembrances  of  their  wisdom  and  glory, 
that  his  words  seemed  to  bring  back — with 
the  memories  of  the  Caesars  and  of  the 
more  powerful  Caesars,  the  great  poets  and 
historians  whose  monuments  survive  in  all 
tlioir  freshness  and  beauty,  whilst  those  of 
emperors,  conquerors,  and  gods  are  crumb- 
ling into  dust — the  classic  days  of  the 
world's  youth,  when  the  song  of  the  melli- 
fluous Ovi'd  was  not  less  honored  than  the 
law  of  the  imperial  Augustus.  The  dis- 
course was  greatly  enriched  by  the  appeals 
of  the  prince  to  Southampton,  Carew,  and 
Cornwallis,  who  had  recently  been  travel- 
lers, and  could  furnish  excellent  garnish  to 
the  sumptuous  feast  their  friend  and  favor- 
ite was  setting  bafore  them. 

Their  prince  did  not  fail  to  fulfil  the  du- 
ties of  a  host  in  other  matters  besides  find- 
inir  sufficient  subjects  for  the  conversation 
of  his  guo.st.3,  and  the  wine  having  done  its 
genial  otnce,  a  little  less  coremoniousness 
might  have  been  perceived  in  the  younger 


portion  of  them.  The  Prince  of  Wales 
himself  set  the  example  in  a  pause  which 
ensued,  whilst  the  principal  speaker  wae 
doing  due  respect  to  the  rare  Malmsey  that 
had  been  placed  before  him,  by  calling  for 
a  song  from  my  Lord  Pembroke,  who  was 
diligently  carving  an  .  orange,  with  his 
thoughts  where  he  had  last  seen  such  choice 
fruit  growing. 

Now,  of  all  the  accomplishments  of  this 
young  lord,  none  stood  him  in  such  good 
stead,  amongst  his  numerous  fair  mistresses 
— whose  sworn  servant  he  would  sometimes 
be,  for  a  matter  of  four  and  twenty  hours 
— as. his  very  exquisite  sweet  voice.  Whe- 
ther he  chose  to  handle  the  lute  or  not — 
which,  by  the  way,  had  many  a  time  and 
oft  been  a  famous  letter  of  introduction  to 
him  to  the  tempting  dames  of  Italy — his 
song  was  sure  to  be  infinitely  relished.  The 
knowledge  of  his  musical  qualities,  to  the 
which  that  choice  musician,  Dr.  Bull,  had 
given  its  best  graces,  made  him  ever  amongst 
the  first  to  procure  the  freshest  ballads  and 
love  ditties,  and  nothing  of  the  choicer  sort 
ever  came  from  Lawes  or  Wilbye  but  he 
was  ready  to  pour  out  its  sweetness  in  a 
moment  of  gentle  dalliance  or  of  social 
festivity. 

The  Prince's  desire  excited  loud  applause ; 
and  without  any  delayings  or  excusings  he 
commenced. 

THE  GALLANT'S  SONG. 

I  lead  the  gallant's  pleasant  life,  who  liveth  a,t 

his  ease, 
Having  no  aim,  but  buxom  dame  and  dainty 

maid  to  please ; 
My  doublet  is  of  velvet  piled,  my  trunks  are 

gay  and  new, 
But  if  my  purse  be  all  the  worse,  "  Why 

what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

To  see  me  as  I  walk  along,  it  is  a  goodly. 

sight — 
No  maid  or  wife  can,  for  her  life,  but  gaze 

with  all  her  might; 
The  jewel  glitters  in  my  hat,  the  feather's  cock 

is  true, 
But  if  she  cares  for  other  wares,  "  Why — what 

is  that  to  you  ?" 

Or  seated  at  the  social  board,  where  good 

wine  doth  abound, 
Now  this  I  try,  now  that  put  by,  until  the 

room  goes  round. 
A  catch  I'll  roar  with  any  man,  and  have  my 

jest  heard  too, 
And  if  my  gains  be  loss  of  brains,  "  Why — 

what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

Perchance,  I  meet  some  brawling  knave,  who 
giveth  me  the  lie, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION, 


189 


Thtn  at  a  word  I  draw  my  sword,  and  at  him 

I  let  fly; 
I  all  my  skill  of  fence  employ  and  make  a 

great  to  do, 
If  then  give  in,  to  save  my  skin,  "  Why — 

what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

But  see  me  when  "  A  hall !  a  hall !  my  mas- 
ters !"  hath  been  cried, 

Forth  I  advance,  to  lead  the  dance,  the  host- 
ess at  my  side — 

We  foot  it  well,  the  dame  is  pleased,  and  pass- 
ing fair  to  view, 

And  if  I  find  I'm  to  her  mind,  "  Why — what 
is  that  to  you  ?" 

Should  I  away  from  town  delights,  to  rustic 

folk  resort 
From  blushing  maid  (but  half  afraid),  to  learn 

her  country  sport ; 
To  couch  amid  the  golden  sheaves,  and  hear 

the  ringdove  coo, 
But  if  you  spy  her  coif  awry,  "  Why — what 

is  that  to  you  ?" 

Thus  do  we  glide  from  youth  to  age,  like 

water  through  a  trench, 
A  game  of  bowls  to  glad  our  souls,  and  now, 

a  pretty  wench : 
New  braveries,  new  toys,  new  jests — and  thus 

our  course  pursue ; 
But  :f  that  Death   should  stop  our  breath, 

"  Why — what  is  that  to  you  1" 

The  applause  being  subsided,  and  also 
the  many  pertinent  allusions  which  the 
Prince,  my  Lord  of  Southampton,  and  Sir 
George  Carew  gave  to  it,  Master  Shak- 
speare  took  the  opportunity  of  privately 
communicating  some  intelligence  to  his 
highness,  that  seemed  to  interest  him  mar- 
vellously. The  subject  was,  that  noble 
gentleman,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  still  a  close 
prisoner  in  the  Tower,  whom  Master  Shak- 
speare,  at  the  direction  of  the  Prince,  had 
lately  visited.  He  was  the  better  able  to 
state  what  he  was  intent  on  without  attract- 
ing observation,  as  a  conversation  had 
sprung  up  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table, 
seeming  of  such  interest  as  to  engross  the 
attention  of  all  but  themselves.  As  what 
passed  was  so  strictly  confidential,  no  part 
of  it  has  been  handed  down  to  these  times, 
the  courteous  reader  must  be  content  with 
knowing  that  it  was  no  doubt  expressive  of 
the  greatest  possible  sympathy  for  the  illus- 
trious hero,  scholar,  and  gentleman,  whom 
fear  and  envy,  in  the  most  contemptible  of 
kings,  had  consigned  to  a  dungeon.  Leav- 
ing the  Prince  and  his  friend  to  their  pri- 
vacy, the  author  will  give  him  an  insight 
into  the  interesting  subject  discussing  by 
the  rest  of  the  Prince's  guests. 

"  Never  was  there  so  beauteous  a  lady 


in  all  Paris,"  said  my  Lord  Southampton. 
"  Courtiers  and  citizens,  for  once  in  their 
lives,  were  of  one  opinion,  and  united  in 
declaring  the  pre-eminence  of  her  attrac- 
tions." 

"  I'  faith  that  was  a  miracle  at  the  least !" 
exclaimed  Sir  George  Carew. 

'•  But  the  stories  said  of  her  beauty,"  con- 
tinued the  young  nobleman, "  were  not  half 
so  marvellous  as  those  said  of  herself.  The 
popular  version  of  her  history  varied  every 
day,  but  that  which  was  most  in  repute, 
spoke  of  her  as  a  princess  brought  to  their 
city  from  some  far  kingdom  in  the  East,  by 
a  youthful  Sultan  of  a  neighboring  state, 
who  had  suddenly  disappeared,  without 
leaving  so  much  as  the  slightest  clew  by 
which  he  might  be  traced." 

"  I  will  wager  my  George  he  had  grown 
tired  of  his  princess,  and  had  gone  to  get 
him  another,"  said  Sir  George,  merrily. 

"  Some  were  of  such  an  opinion,"  replied 
the  Lord  Southampton",  "  but  the  majority 
were  of  an  opposite  way  of  thinking.  They 
found  it  was  clean  impossible  for  any  man 
to  have  done  so  ungallant  a  thing./  Her 
beauty  was  of  that  excessive  rareness,  he 
who  had  once  felt  its  power  could  no  more 
tear  himself  from  it,  than  he  could  have 
created  it.  It  was  the  common  rumor  that 
he  must  either  have  been  hurried  away  pri- 
vately to  some  secure  hiding-place,  by  one 
or  other  of  the  great  nobles  envious  of  his 
exceeding  good  fortune,  or  slain  outright 
and  made  away  with,  by  a  vindictive  rival, 
intent  on  the  most  villanous  courses  to  pos- 
sess such  ravishing  perfections." 

"  What,  kill  a  Sultan  !"  cried  my  Lord 
of  Pembroke,  as  he  put  a  tall  glass,  of  rare 
workmanship,  from  his  lips.  "  By  this 
hand,  he  deserveth  the  strappado !" 

"  I  warrant  you  he  is  no  man  of  Paris," 
observed  Sir  George,  in  a  like  tone.  "  They 
prize  such  rare  birds  too  well  to  make  away 
with  one,  unless  it  might  be  by  killing  him 
with  kindness." 

"  Of  a  truth,  'tis  hardly  credible,"  said 
Sir  Charles  Cornwallis. 

"Any  great  personage  from  a  far-off 
land,  were  he  from  the  savagest  state  of 
Africa,  is  sure  of  being  sufficiently  caressed 
by  those-  good  people,  out  of  their  love  for 
what  is  new  and  strange." 

"  This  may  be,  my  masters  ;  nevertheless 
the  young  sultan  was  nevermore  heard  of," 
replied  the  Lord  Southampton.  "  But  the 
strangest  part  of  the  story  is  yet  to  come 
After°she  had  disappeared  for  some  time 
and  a  score  of  new  wonders  had  in  theij 
turn  outlived  the  marvelling  of  the  people 
of  that  famous  city,  she  suddenly  reappear 


190 


TIIE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ed  at  court.  Some  say  she  had  superseded 
the  Marchioness  de  Verneuil  in  the  exceed- 
ingly comprehensive  affections  of  the  mag- 
nificent Henri  Quatre  ;  others  gave  her  to 
the  Prince  de  Joinville,  and  not  a  few  to  the 
Duke  de  Guise ;  but  there  were  many  who 
insisted  on  affirming  much  scandal  relating 
to  her  in  connexion  with  the  name  of  the 
queen's  confessor,  the  wily  Richelieu,  to 
whom  they  attributed  the  merit  of  her  con- 
version to  their  holy  religion  from  the  errors 
of  paganism  and  the  knowledge  of  the 
French  tongue." 

"  Monstrous  !"  exclaimed  Sir  George, 
laughing.  "  What,  not  content  with  a  Chris- 
tian queen ! — did  the  holy  man  covet  a 
heathenish  princess  ?  What  very  villany  !" 

"  He  assured  it  is  a  calumny,"  said  Mas- 
ter Newton,  who  liked  not  to  hear  the  char- 
acter of  a  priest,  of  even  an  opposite  faith, 
rudely  assailed. 

'!  Like  enough,"  replied  my  Lord  South- 
ampton. "  They  are  not  quite  so  careful 
of  what  they  say  in  that  good  city,  that  is 
out  of  all  doubt.  But  certain  it  is  that,  for 
I  know  not  quite  how  long,  from  the  high- 
est to  the  humblest,  little  was  said,  except 
about  her  peerless  beauty,  her  unparalleled 
extravagance,  her  magnificent  banquets,  her 
splendid  palace,  and  her  innumerable  do- 
mestics. Not  a  song  was  written  that  was 
not  to  her  praise  ;  and,  of  all  the  newest 
oaths,  you  could  only  be  in  the  highest  fash- 
ion when  swearing  by  the  matchless  splen- 
dor of  the  infinitely  lustrous  eyes  of  the  in- 
comparable Xariqua !" 

"Xariqua!"  exclaimed  the  young  Lord 
Pembroke,  with  an  air  of  utter  astonish- 
ment, as  soon  as  that  familiar  name  met 
his  ear. 

The  speaker  continued,  without  noticing 
the  interruption — 

"  The  crowning  marvel  is  yet  to  come/' 

"  By  this  light,  my  lord,  you  are  like  a 

conjuror  at  a  fair."  cried  Sir  George  Carew, 

very   merrily ;    "  you   keep  your   greatest 

woader  for  the  last." 

"  .Of  a  surety,  this  is  an  extraordinary 
l.idy,"  remarked  Sir  Thomas  Newton,  in  a 
more  serious  tone  ;  "  yet  she  doth  not  ap- 
pear to  have  been  a  very  creditable  one." 

"  Ah  !  Sir  Thomas,  credit  is  no  commo- 
dity in  this  good  city  we  are  speaking  of," 
replied  Sir  Charles  (Jornwallis.  "  One  who 
hath  the  least  character  is  sure  there  of  get- 
tvng'on  the  best ;  and  he  that  doth  the  most 
nil  warrantable  things,  is  more  talked  of  than 
he  hath  the  least  chance  of  being  were  he 
one  of  the  seven  sages." 

"  But  touching  this  crowning  marvel," 
said  my  Lord  of  Southampton,  "  which  it  is 


but  proper  you  should  have  the  benefit  of. 
Know  then  that,  after  keeping  the  whole 
city  in  a  ferment  with  her  brave  way  of  liv- 
ing, she  suddenly  disappeared  ;  and,  after 
incredible  labor  spent  in  tracing  her  retreat, 
it  was  discovered  that  she  had  fled  to  an  en- 
campment of  Bohemians,  or.  as  some  call 
them,  Rommanees,  or  gypsies,  who  had 
scarcely  a  day  before  made  their  appearance 
in  the  neighborhood.  A  deputation  was  des- 
patched on  tile  instant  to  the  peerless  Xari- 
qua, to  offer  her  two  palaces,  two  innumer- 
able trains  of  domestics,  with  permission  to 
be  twice  as  unparalleledly  extravagant  as 
she  had  hitherto  been ;  but  when,  with  their 
horses  in  a  foam,  they  reached  the  spot  that 
had  been  pointed  out  to  them,  not  a  vestige 
of  a  Bohemian  or  any  other  creature  of  any 
sort  was  to  be  seen  ;  nor,  though  messen- 
gers were  despatched  in  every  direction 
throughout  the  kingdom,  and  most  tempting 
rewards  offered  for  any  information  that 
would  lead  to  her  recovery,  was  any  one 
able  ever  to  get  sight  of  her  in  France 
again." 

"A  strange  tale,  o'-my  life !"  exclaimed 
Sir  George.  Perceiving,  for  the  first  time, 
how  closely  connected  with  it  was  the 
young  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and  wishing,  with 
his  natural  good  feeling,  to  spare  him  any 
embarrassment,  he  sought  to  change  the  dis- 
course. "  But  strange  tales  are  the  natur- 
al property  of  every  traveller.  I  remember 
one  now " 

"  But  was  nothing  further  heard  of  this 
singular  woman,  my  lord?"  inquired  the 
prince's  secretary. 

"  I'  faith,  yes,  and  in  a  manner  which  is 
not  the  least  marvellous  part  of  the  busi- 
ness," replied  the  young  noble.  "A  cer-> 
tain  French  nobleman,  travelling  on  an  em- 
bassy into  the  Low  Countries  about  a 
month  after,  in  one  of  the  towns  through 
which  he  was  journeying,  was  stopped  by  a 
crowd  who  were  fixed  in  admiration  on  the 
movements  of  a  woman  dancing  in  a  style 
no  less  animated  than  graceful  to  some  rude 
music,  fie  stopped  and  looked  on  with  the 
rest.  The  dancer,  having  finished  her  per- 
formance, comes  to  him  for  money  ;  and 
prythee,  if  you  can,  imagine  the  noble 
count's  consternation  in  discovering  that 
the  woman  who  in  Paris  had  enjoyed  all  the 
state  of  a  queen,  had  been  displaying  the 
graces  which  captivated  the  powerfullest 
princes  of  France,  for  a  few  coins  drawn 
from  the  chance  passengers  in  the  dirty 
street  of  an  obscure  Flemish  town." 

"  An  extraordinary  change,"  observed 
Master  Newton.  "But  was  it  never  ex- 
plained r' 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


IS. 


Sir  GeOTge  Carew  saw  it  was  useless  at- 
tempting to  stem  the  current  of  inquiry,  and 
wisely  desisted.  The  object  of  his  regard, 
however,  had  in  a  great  measure  recovered 
the  shock  he  had  received,  and  was  listen- 
ing without  any  greater  appearance  of  in- 
terest than  the  character  of  the  narrative  de- 
manded. 

"  He  questioned  her,"  replied  my  Lord 
Southampton  ;  "  and  she,  after  some  hesi- 
tation, acknowledged  that  she  was  a  Bohe- 
mian, and  was  so  enamored  of  that  wander- 
ing way  of  life,  that  she  returned  to  it  the 
first  opportunity  she  had,  and  for  no  tempta- 
tion would  be  induced  to  abandon  it  again. 
It  then  came  out  that  she  had  carefully  trea- 
sured up  the  dress  she  had  been  used  to 
wear,  throughout  the  whole  of  the  time  she 
had  been  queening  it  so  bravely  at  Paris. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


See'st  thou  not,  in  clearest  days, 
Oft  thick  fogs  cloud  heaven's  rays: 
And  the  vapors  that  do  breathe 
From  the  earth's  gross  womb  beneath, 
Seem  they  not  with  their  black  steams 
To  pollute  the  sun's  bright  beams, 
And  yet  vanish  into  air, 
Leaving  it  unblemished,  fair  ? 
So,  my  Willy,  shall  it  be, 
With  Detraction's  breath  and  thee. 

GEORGE  WITHEB. 

He  is  great  and  he  is  just, 
He  is  ever  good,  and  must 
Thus  be  honored 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

THERF,  were  merry  doings  at  Stratford. 
The  whole  town  was  astir,  as  with  a  new 


The  sight  of  this  served  to  call  her  back  to  impulse.     Such  gossippings  at  street-cor- 


the  free  air  of  the  forest,  and  the  green 
nook,  and  the  murmuring  stream,  that  had 
been  so  long  her  familiar  friends ;  and, 
when  she  heard  that  some  of  her  people  had 
arrived  in  the  neighborhood,  she  put  on  her 
humble  yet  treasured  garments,  leaving  all 
her  jewels,  velvets,  satins,  every  coin  of  the 
large  sum  she  had  at  her  disposal,  and  all 
the  luxuries  she  had  so  long  enjoyed,  and, 
like  a  bird  escaped  from  a  gilded  cage, 
made  off  for  the  tents  of  the  Bohemians,  to 
fare  coarselv  and  become  a  vagabond." 


ners — such  visitings — such  a  commodity  of 
endless  questions,  and  seemingly  equally 
endless  answers — had  never  been  known 
before.  Mine  host  of  the  Twiggen  Bottle, 
in  attending  to  the  demands  for  intelligence 
from  his  numerous  customers,  made  his 
throat  so  dry  that  he  was  fain  to  moisten  it 
from  the  nighest  tankard  every  quarter  of  the 
hour  at  the  least,  to  keep  it  from  splitting ; 
and  Ralph,  the  barber,  got  so  bewildered  by 
the  interminable  catechism  he  had  to  en- 
dure from  those  of  his  townsmen  whose 


Was  it  never  known  why  and  in  what  beards  he  trimmed,  that  even  his  tongue, 
manner  she  had  at  first  forsaken  this  so :  inured  to  as  much  clatter  as  the  parish 
prized  way  of  living  ?"  inquired  Sir  Charles  bells,  became  at  last  dumb  from  exhaustion 
Cornwallis.  The  baker  allowed  his  batch  to  spoil  while 

"  On  this  point  she  would  not  give  any  swallowing,  with  more  zest  than  his  him 
direct  information,"  said  the  other.  "  Yet  |  griest  patrons  ever  felt  for  anything  of  his 
it  was  generally  rumored  there  had  been  a  j  handiwork,  the  surprising  account  brought 
lover  in  the  case,  from  whom,  by  some  to  him  by  his  journeyman  and  apprentice 


trick,  she  had  been  separated." 


who  had  heard  the  strange  news  from  the 


My  Lord  of  Pembroke  was  inexpressibly  '  chandler's  son.  The  butcher  allowed  a 
Believed  at  this  moment  by  hearing  the  !  long  reprieve  for  the  bound  and  panting 
voice  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  challenging  sheep,  while  he  made  inquiries  of  the  one- 
his  guests  to  a  bumper.  The  subject  of  j  eyed  water-carrier  for  the  latest  news  of  the 
their  discourse  was  presently  lost  sight  of ;  all-engrossing  subject.  The  blacksmith 
and,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  the  time  that  stopped  his  hammering,  and  almost  let  trie 
had  been  devoted  to  conversation,  the  Prince;  forge-fire  burn  out,  whilst  listening  to  the 
took  care  that  sociality  should  rule  para-  last  particulars  of  a  travelling  tinker.  The 
mount,  and  healths  were  drank,  and  songs  aldermen  and  burgesses,  in  their  town-hall, 
sung  with  unabated  spirit,  many  compli-  equally  with  the  humblest  of  the  beggars  in 
ments  being  paid  to  Master  Shakspeare  by  the  streets,  seemed  wonderfully  interested 
all  the  company,especially  by  their  prince-  in  this  strange  matter, 
ly  host,  to  which  he  responded  in  language  \  And  what  think  you  was  it  that  so  corn- 
worthy  of  himself,  till,  the  hour  getting  late,  pletely  turned  one  of  the  quietest  towns  in 
the  party  broke  up.  !  all  England  into  one  of  the  most  active  and 

j  talkative  ?  Of  a  truth,  it  was  no  more  than 
this  :  The  fair  mansion,  known  as  New 
|  Place,  which  had  remained  so  long  tenant- 
less,  that  all  hope  of  its  again  becoming  a 
dwelling  seemed  to  have  departed  from  tho 


193 


TIIE  SECRET  PASSION. 


minds  of  every  inhabitant  of  the  town,  at 
last  was  enlivened  with  an  owner,  and  this 
owner  was  no  other  than  their  excellent  ac- 
quaintance and  fellow-townsman,  William 
Shakspeare. 

But,  of  all  the  houses  in  Stratford  town, 
there  was  not  one  to  equal  the  amount  of 
gossipping  on  this  marvellous  proper  topic, 
that  took  place  in  that  of  the  merry  hatter 
and  his  buxom  little  helpmate.  The  topic 
was  dear  to  both  of  them — Master  Shaks- 
peare possessing  their  love  and  reverence, 
to  an  extent  it  was-  impossible  to  exceed ; 
therefore,  all  who  had  got  any  thing  to  say 
respecting  him,  were  sure  of  a  right  honest 
v/elcome  under  their  roof — always  provided 
their  speech  was  sufficiently  respectful — 
for,  if  not,  they  stood  a  monstrous  chance 
of  being  sent  out  of  the  house  faster  than 
they  came  in — a  chance  that  had  happened 
to  more  than  one,  as  the  three  inveterate 
mischicfmakers,  Aunt  Breedbate,  AuntPra- 
teapace,  and  Aunt  Gadabout,  bad  discover- 
ed to  their  exceeding  sorrow. 

Under  this  impression,  the  kitchen  of 
Tommy  Hart  was  rilled  with  visitors,  either 
desirous  of  telling  or  of  hearing  something 
concerning  the  object  of  the  general  talk. 
There  was  Jonas  Tietape  in  his  motliest 
wear,  the  little  dogs,  as  usual,  ever  and 
anon  peering  and  yelping  out  of  his  great 
pockets,  when  any  vagary,  more  violent 
than  the  rest,  disturbed  them  in  their  hi- 
ding-place ;  and,  as  usual,  he  was  keeping 
the  company  in  an  incessant  roar,  by  the 
si  range  freaks  of  his  wild  fancies — grima- 
cing, posturing,  tumbling,  juggling,  and 
singing  old  snatches  of  ridiculous  songs,  as 
though  he  must  needs  be  doing  some  out-of- 
the-way  thing  or  other,  or  cease  to  live. 

There,  too,  came  Dick  Quiney,  in  his 
roughest  suit,  full  of  strange  oaths  and  mon- 
strous unpolished  speech,  like  a  mariner  af- 
ter a  three  years'  voyage.  With  him  was 
Cuthbert  Dredger,  the  old  miller  ;  his  hair 
and  board  and  suit  of  friar's  gray  covered 
with  meal ;  and  there  was  his  son,  in  all 
things  his  very  fac-simile,  even  to  his  style 
of  speech ;  and  there  also  was  Jasper 
Broad  foot,  the  sturdy  ploughman,  with  his 
huge  honest  face,  bearing  unanswerable 
testimony  of  his  extreme  satisfaction.  These, 
with  the  merry  hatter  himself,  in  a  merrier 
I  rim  than  ever,  constituted  the  male  part  of 
the  company. 

The  women  consisted  of  the  laughing 
Joan,  who  had  not  lost  somuch  as  an  atom  of 
h  ;r  overwhelming  good  nature  ;  her  buxom 
kinswoman,  Judith,  no  longer  the  desperate 
shrew  she  Was,  for  i'  faith,  the  shrew  had 
been  tamed  so  absolutely,  that  there  never 


was  a  more  excellent  obedient  wife,  quiet 
and  modest  withal,  as  a  good  wife  should 
ever  be.  With  them  was  Goody  Poppet 
with  a  face  like  a  harvest  moon — always 
excepting  the  matter  of  the  triple  chin.  The 
two  maypoles,  starched  and  stiffened,  and 
looking  like  a  couple  of  ninepins  left  stand- 
ing after  a"  successful  cast  of  the  bowl 
amongst  their  fellows ;  and  Peg  o'  the  Twig- 
gen  Bottle,  with  such  a  dextrous  use  of  her 
somewhat  sinister  looks,  as  made  it  mar- 
vellous she  had  not  become  a  Peg  for  some 
of  her  admirers  to  hang  himself  on  withal, 
the  which  would  most  certainly  have  been, 
had  it  not  been  thought  by  all  the  better  sort 
that  she  was  a  Peg  too  low. 

As  none  of  these  worthies  had  much  ac- 
quaintance with  the  rare  gift  of  holding 
their  tongues,  as  pretty  a  confusion  of  voi- 
ces was  going  as  might  have  been  produced 
in  a  rookery  by  a  sudden  shot.  The  sole 
subject  and  object  of  this  Babel  was  the 
new  tenant  of  New  Place.  Some  of  them 
had  been  enabled  to  obtain  intelligence  of 
matters  respecting  him  and  his  establish- 
ment, of  which  the  others  were  clean  igno- 
rant, and  their  interest  in  him  would  have 
made  them  good  listeners,  had  not  their  ea- 
gerness in  asking  questions  far  outspent 
their  patience  to  hear  the  answers.  Some 
had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  see  him  ;  and 
wondrous  appeared  the  result  of  their  inter- 
view. At  last  the  notion  seemed  to  bo 
gaining  ground  that  the  best  way  of  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  the  strange  matters 
their  more  fortunate  associates  were  com- 
municating, was  to  allow  the  latter  to  speak 
their  minds  uninterruptedly.  They,  there- 
fore, grouped  round  the  principal  speakers, 
and,  saving  a  due  allowance  of  eager  inter- 
jections and  judicious  comments,  appeared 
disposed  to  become  respectable  listeners. 

"  To  think  that  Ragged  Launce  should 
have  been  taken  into  favor  !"  observed  the 
ploughman,  in  a  sort  of  amazement,  "  a 
thoughtless,  idle  varlet,  that  knoweth  not  so 
much  as  the  coulter  from  the  furrow  it 
turns  over." 

"  Not  so  fast,  good  Jasper,  1  prythee," 
said  Tommy  Hart.  "  Ragged  Launce  will 
not  now  answer  to  his  title.  He  hath  since 
been  styled  '  Lazy  Launce :'  but  methinks 
he  shall  now  rejoice  under  the  style  of 
1  Bragging  Launce ;'  for  jje  be  ever  telling 
you  the  wonderfullest  brags  concerning  his 
adventures  beyond  the  sea,  that  can  be  con- 
ceived." 

"  He  it  is,  then,  that  is  to  look  to  the 
beasts  ?"  inquired  the  old  miller. 

"  By  the  bunghole  of  the  cask  of  Bac- 
chus!"  exclaimed  young  Quiney,  "  he  can- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


193 


not  look  to  one  requiring  more  looking  to 
than  himself." 

"  But  commend  me  to  the  varlet  whom 
Master  Shakspeare  hath  brought  with  him 
as  his  steward,"  observed  Tommy  Hart, 
with  a  chuckle.  "When  I  said  to  him, 
'  Simon  Stockfish,'  quoth  I,  '  wilt  take  a 
draught  ?'  he  fixed  on  me  a  wonderful  pen- 
etrating look,  as  though  he  thought  my  ci- 
vility intolerably  suspicious,  and,  with  a 
grave  face,  informed  me  he  would  think  of 
it.". 

"An ass  of  a  notable  breed,  o'  my  life  !" 
added  Jonas  Tietape,  "  for  I  have  good  rea- 
son for  knowing  he  thinketh  himself  three 
parts  fox.  Nevertheless,  with  all  his  hu- 
mor of  sublety,  the  plainest  trap  that  ever 
was  set  shall  hold  him  fast,  though  he  be  so 
on  the  guard,  he  fancieth  snares  in  every 
body's  speech." 

"  We  will  take  the  fox  out  of  him  before 
he  is  many  days  older,  I  promise  you,"  said 
Joan,  laughingly.  "  I  am  no  woman,  if  I 
fail  to  make  him  stand  confessed  the  goodly 
breed  he  is,  ere  our  acquaintance  be  thor- 
oughly ripened." 

Affairs  of  such  importance  soon  began  to 
bs  discussed,  and  of  such  interest  too,  that 
even  Jonas  Tietape  left  oft'  his  vagaries  to 
take  part  in  the  conversation.  Tommy 
Hart  had  spoken  to  the  aldermen  and  bur- 
gesses about  holding  a  festival,  and  having 
all  sorts  of  country  games  in  the  town,  in 
honor  of  tlieir  worthy  Master  Shakspeare  : 
and  as  they  determined  Stratford  should  pro- 
duce all  that  was  most  attractive  in  the  way 
.of  revels,  every  one  of  the  company  felt 
bound  to  do  his  or  her  best  to  afford  amuse- 
ment. The  question  was,  what  shape 
should  this  amusement  assume.  Various 
sports  were  then  thought  of,  and  each  in 
turn  discussed  ;  every  one  giving  an  opin- 
ion for  some  favorite.  There  were  advo- 
cates for  Coventry  Plays  :  for  mock  tourna- 
ments ;  for  mummings  ;  for  a  morrice  ;  for 
a  chase  after  a  soaped  pig ;  for  a  bear  bait- 
ing ;  for  a  badger  hunt;  for  chuck  farthing  ; 
and  for  divers  other  approved  sports  of  a 
similar  sort. 

At  last  it  seemed  settled,  that  nothing 
could  be  chosen  so  likely  to  do  honor  to 
their  distinguished  townsman  as  a  play ; 
and  although  to  other  sports  they  might  also 
have  recourse,  a  play*  they  determined 
should  be  the  great  feature  of  the  day.  On 
this  decision  baing  come  to,  Jonas  Tie- 
tape  put  himself  forward  to  arrange  not 
only  the  particular  play,  but  the  particular 
way  in  which  it  should  be  played,  and  the 
particular  persons  who  were  to  share  in  its 
performance.  Considering  they  had  got 
13 


neither  scenery  nor  wardrobe,  the  company 

appeared  less  doubtful  of  their  resources 

than  might  have  been  expected :  but  this 

|  was  the  result  of  the  superlative  confidence 

I  of  their  leader,  who  acted  the  part  of  each 

in  turn,  showing  how  marvellous  well  it 

!  might  be  done,  after  a  fashion  that  was  a 

marvel  indeed. 

Jonas  took  immeasurable  pains  to  in- 
struct his  associates,  who  were  not  all  of 
j  them  so  apt  at  their  lessons  as  they  might 
have  been.  This,  let  it  be  observed,  was 
the  first  of-  several  meetings  of  the  same 
kind,  when  the  same  lessons  were  repeated, 
'  and  the  assistance  of  other  worthies  pro- 
cured to  help  out  the  personation  of  the  va- 
rious characters  that  were  to  speak  on  this 
momentous  occasion.  But,  leaving  them 
to  arrange  such  business  in  their  own  way, 
we  must  at  once  to  higher  game. 

As  the  reader  hath  already  learned,  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  had  returned  to  hrs  native 
town,  a  prosperous  if  not  a  happy  man. 
That  he  left  London  with  some  reluctance 
is  exceeding  probable.  There  he  had 
achieved  his  first  triumphs ;  had  secured 
his  best  friends  ;  there  he  had  obtained  the 
flattering  notice  of  one  of  the  noblest  of 
created  beings,  whose  attentions  were  re- 
garded by  him  as  honors,  to  which  those  of 
Czars  and  Caesars  were  empty  and  puerile. 
He  had  been  driven  forth  out  into  the  wide 
ocean  of  the  world  without  chart  or  compass, 
stores,  or  necessaries  of  any  sort  by  which 
the  fearless  mariner  might  pontend  out  the 
fiercest  storms,  and  had  found  there  a  port 
in  which  he  had  rode  at  anchor  for  many 
years  in  safety  and  honor,  whilst  others, 
seemingly  better  provided,  had  been  cast 
away. 

London  and  her  multitudes,  therefore, 
might  well  be  dear  to  him.  He  was  grate- 
ful, he  was  proud,  he  was  happy  in  the 
greatness  they  had  brought  him ;  and  it 
was  with  a  sighing  breast  and  dimmed  eyes, 
he  left  the  crowds  of  warm  friends  and  hon- 
est admirers  its  numberless  streets  contain- 
ed. But  with  one  individual,  the  parting 
was  more  difficult  than  with  all  the  others 
put  together,  or  even  a. thousand  times  their 
sum ;  and,  such  are  the  marvellous  freaks 
of  human  nature,  this  one  was  no  other 
than  his  quondam  scholar,  my  Lord  of  Pem- 
broke, from  whom  he  had  more  trouble  than 
every  other  besides.  It  is  not  in  the  art  of 
poor  words  to  express  the  depth  of  his  feel- 
ings in  being  obliged  to  tear  himself  from, 
an  object  that  had  lately  become  the  very 
principle  of  his  life.  He,  however,  knew 
the  huge  necessity  there  was  for  this  forced 
separation,  and  with  a  swelling  heart  school- 


194 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ed  himsell  into  a  proper  affectation  of  indif- 
ferency. 

If  there  was  regret  in  leaving  a  place  in 
which  he  had  been  made  so  rich  in  friends, 
there  was  much  of  the  same  feeling  await- 
ed him  on  his  return  to  a  place  where  all 
he  had  known  of  sorrow  and  humiliation 
had  visited  him.  The  wound  may  have 
healed,  which  the  death  of  his  sweet  young 
son  had  created  ;  and  that  equally  painful 
blow  which  had  annihilated  his  domestic 
happiness  may  have  ceased  to  give  any 
very  acute  pain  ;  but  there  were  times  when 
they"  would  not  bear  touching,  and  these 
times  the  scenes  that  every  day  met  his 
gaze  seemed  to  bring  before  him.  But  if 
he  had  his  discomforts  in  this  return  to  a 
spot  which,  whatever  of  pain  or  disappoint- 
ment there  was  with  it,  he  had  his  pleasures 
also  ;  the  satisfaction  which  his  coming  to 
dwell  among  his  townsmen  gave  to  one  and 
all,  filled* him  with  a  peculiar  satisfaction. 
For  the  rude  but  honest  affection  of  the  com- 
pany that  assembled  in  the  kitchen  of  Tom- 
my Hart,  he  had  a  deeper  sympathy  than 
for  his  popularity  with  the  gay  butterflies  of 
the  court  of  King  James. 

Bat  the  great  source  of  his  gratification 
was  his  most  admirable  fair  daughter.  Su- 
sanna had  become  his  companion  and  friend. 
With  her  he  was  wont  to  visit  the  old  fami- 
liar faces  that  had  haunted  him  so  often  in 
his  dreams — the  favorite  walks,  and  views, 
and  resting-places  in  and  about  Stratford, 
where,  during  the  vernal  spring  of  his  fruit- 
ful life,  he  had  learned  so  many  lessons  of 
beauty,  purity,  and  love,  that  he  had  since 
reproduced  in  materials  as  indestructible 
as  the  pyramids,  and  as  intelligent  as  the 
stars. 

She  gave  earnest  attentiveness  to  all  such 
reminiscences — they  were  to  her  as  the  re- 
velations of  an  oracle.  But  at  times  he 
felt  somewhat  disappointed  in  her  hearing. 
It  was  kind,  considerate,  soothing,  full  of 
exquisite  comfort  and  consolation :  but  a 
sensible  change  seemed  lately  to  have  pass- 
ed over  her.  She  was  no  longer  the  crea- 
ture of  life  and  light  he  had  seen  her  at  the 
French  Court.  Perhaps,  thought  he,  she 
cannot  reconcile  herself  to  the  sudden  alte- 
ration of  her  position — from  being  one  of 
the  brightest  ornaments  of  the  brilliant 
court  of  Henri  Quatre,  where  all  eyes 
were  upon  her  and  all  hearts  at  her  devo- 
tion, to  be  the  repository  of  melancholy 
thoughts,  and  receive  no  other  courtesies 
than  might  fall  from  a  solitary  in  a  small 
provincial  town  in  England.  He  enter- 
tained some  hopes  that  this  gloom  might  be 
removed  in  due  course  of  time.  He  would 


take  care  to  secure  her  amusement  and  so« 
ciety  more  worthy  of  her  time  of  life. 

Poor  Susanna !  There  was  indeed  a 
change  in  her.  Her  buoyant  nature,  that, 
like  the  brighter  glories  of  the  sky,  came 
upon  your  vision  floating  in  an  atmosphere 
of  its  own  light,  had  received  so  rude  a 
shock,  that  nothing  but  the  possession  of 
that  steadfastedness  of  spirit,  which,  in  per- 
sons so  excellently  disposed,  bears  up  against 
the  rudest  shock  of  evil,  could  have  ena- 
bled her  to  keep  her  proper  place,  and  re- 
tain her  proper  part.  A  settled  melancholy 
had  possessed  her — the .  light  and  grace- 
ful gaiety,  which  had  thrown  around  her 
natural  gentleness  and  modesty  so  winning 
a  charm,  had  given  way  to  a  gravity  almost 
solemn.  But  it  was  not  any  yearning  after 
the  lost  splendors  of  Paris  life,  that  had 
created  in  her  so  painful  a  gravity.  Of  a 
truth,  so  far  from  it,  she  was  right  glad 
she  was  well  quit  of  the  place,  and  all  its 
hollow  pleasures.  Nor  would  the  sunshine, 
which  her  courteous  admirer,  Sir  George 
Carew,  was  preparing  to  fling  across  her 
path,  penetrate,  to  the  slightest  extent,  the 
deep  shadow  by  which,  in  her  idea,  she  was 
surrounded. 

What  had  caused  this  shadow  to  fall ' 
there  was  no  telling — the  discreet  Susanna 
kept  a  strict  silence.  Her  father  asked  her 
no  questions.  His  quick  eye  perceived  the 
change,  but  mistook  the  cause.  Yet,  had 
this  been  otherwise,  he  respected  her  too 
much  to  have  attempted  to  pry  into  a  secret 
she  seemed  inclined  to  preserve. 

On  her  part,  whatever  gloom  may  have 
overspread  her  mind,  she  felt  bound  to  con-  ' 
ceal  it  as  much  as  possible  from  her  indul- 
gent parent,  and  ofttimes  took  upon  herself 
the  humor  of  pleasantry,  as  if  she  had  not 
a  care  she  need  trouble  herself  about.  She 
appeared  to  take  a  sensible  interest  in  the 
approaching  revels,  and  put  some  touch  of 
liveliness  upon  her  speech,  whilst  she  des- 
canted on  the  infinite  pleasure  it  would 
afford  to  the  worthy  people  of  all  the  neigh- 
boring villages.  Nevertheless,  she  would 
have  liked  nothing  so  well  as  hearing  it 
abandoned — or  that  she  could  in  any  way 
escape  appearing  there.  Yet,  of  all  strange 
matters,  this  seemed  the  most  unaccounta- 
ble— for,  next  to  her  father,  whom  she  re- 
verenced above  aH  human  creatures,  and 
loved  with  an  affectionateness  akin  to  wor- 
ship, she  regarded  the  gallant  Sir  Georgo 
Carew,  and  his  equally  kind  and  conside- 
rate lady,  who  had  been  active  in  planning 
and  settling  all  the  necessary  arrangements. 

Far  and  near,  for  many  miles,  these  ap- 
proaching revels  had  become  the  favorite 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


195 


theme  of  every  idle  tongue.  As  the  day 
they  were  to  be  held  drew  near,  there  was 
no  subject  so  generally  discussed,  and  every 
one  seemed  to  be  making  extraordinary 
preparations  for  a  visit  to  Stratford. 

At  Shgttery  this  was  especially  the  case  ; 
and,  at  the  cottage,  the  three  aunts  seemed 
to  be  talking  themselves  into  a  fever.  Aunt 
Gadabout  had  been  to  Welford  Wake,  to 
Bidibrd  Whitsun  Ale,  to  a  hurling  at  Ful- 
brooke,  to  a  wedding  at  Charlcote,  and  to  a 
christening  at  Bidford  ;  yet  she  looked  for- 
ward to  her  jaunt  to  Stratford  as  to  a  plea- 
sure that  cometh  but  once  in  a  way.  Aunt 
Prateapace  had  heard  a  world  and  all  of 
gossip  concerning  Giles  of  Binton  and  the 
parson's  maid ;  had  managed  to  get  even 
on  the  right  scent  respecting  the  secret 
visits  of  Tom  the  Piper,  to  the  widow  at 
Bardon  Hill ;  and  had  ferretted  out  the  rea- 
son why  the  young  squire  went  so  fre- 
quently to  Wellesbouru  Wood ;  neverthe- 
less, her  talk  was  all  of  Stratford,  of  what 
was  doing,  and  what  was  to  be  done.  Aunt 
Breedbate  ceased  to  inveigh  against  the 
horrible  tyranny  of  Batch,  the  baker,  to  his 
prentices,  though  she  had  succeeded  in  per- 
suading the  latter  that  they  were  monstrous- 
ly ill-used,  because  they  had  puddings,  no 
more  than  thrice  a  week ;  and  made  no 
boast  of  having  caused  her  neighbor, 
Hunks,  the  carrier,  to  turn  his  only  son  out 
of  doors ;  she,  too,  could  find  no  other  mat- 
ter for  speech  than  all  that  she  knew  or 
guessed  of  Stratford  Revels,  in  which  she 
quarrelled  with  her  sisters  no  more  than 
some  half  score  times  during  the  hour. 

The  old  and  favorite  source  of  their 
tinited  mischief-making  and  bickerings, 
hugely  to  their  discontent,  they  had  for  some 
time  past  been  denied.  Their  kinswoman 
would  hear  no  more  of  their  meddling  in 
anything  that  related  either  to  her  "  villa- 
nous  husband,"  or  her  "  horrible  infamous 
children."  Indeed  a  marvellous  change 
had  taken  place  in  her.  She  remained  at  i 
home  from  morn  till  eve — took  no  concern 
in  the  affairs  of  tlxne  around  her,  and  cared 
not  for  the  visits  of  any  of  her  gossips  ;  the 
more  especially  for  those  of  her  loving  aunts. 
No  one  knew  but  herself  how  the  weary 
hours  were  employed ;  but  it  might  have 
been  guessed  that  they  were  none  so  plea- 
sant, as  her  looks  were  not  those  of"  one 
whose  privacy  was  happiness.  She  would 
not  be  induced  to  go  to  Stratford,  but  let 
her  kinswomen  depart  without  her ;  and 
then  shut  herself  in  her  chamber,  in  the 
same  gloomy  humor  in  which,  of  late,  she 
was  commonly  to  be  found. 

Bright  gleamed  the  golden  sunshine  on 
the  diy  of  the  Stratford  Revels,  and  from 


every  village  and  town  for  miles  round — not 
only  from  Bidford,  Wixford,  Exhall,  Alces- 
ter,  Great  Alne,  Aston-Cantlow,  Snitter- 
field,  Barford,  and  Wasperton — a  distance 
of  some  five  or  six  miles  or  so — but  even 
from  Evesham,  Warwick,  Coventry,  and 
Worcester,  from  ten  to  thirty  miles,  came 
horsemen,  ay,  and  divers  stout  footmen,  to 
enjoy  the  sports  that  had  so  long  been  talked 
of  over  the  whole  country.  They  came 
pouring  into  the  town  in  every  accessible 
direction,  but  over  Clopton  Bridge  they 
pressed  like  an  invading  army.  They  passed 
I  under  the  famous  triumphal  arches  made  of 
flowers  and  evergreens,  which  had  been 
erected  at  the  bidding  of  the  corporation 
across  the  principal  streets,  where  as  fa- 
mous companies  of  musicians  as  all  War- 
wickshire could  produce  were  stationed, 
making  such  a  glorious  piping,  trumpeting, 
and  drumming,  as  none  ever  heard  before. 
Much  they  talked  as  they  passed  alongj 
concerning  that  marvellous  man,  for  whom 
fortune  and  fame  had  done  such  wondrous 
things,  and  of  whom  every  group  possessed 
some  one  or  more  who  could,  of  his  own 
knowledge,  testify  to  the  strangest  matters 
that  ever  befel  one  of  mortal  nature.  Be 
sure  they  had  scores  of  eager  listeners.  He 
who  could  tell  some  unheard-of  tale  of  his 
estimation  aftnong  great  lords  and  princes, 
of  which  he  had  himself  seen  ample  war- 
rant, ensured  for  himself  the  consequence  of 
their  chief  and  director  during  the  rest  of  the 
journey  ;  but  he  whom  chance  and  a  good 
memory  had  furnished  recollections  of  cer- 
tain glorious  plays,  seen  in  London  or  else- 
where, was  regarded  by  his  associates,  from 
that  time  forward,  as  a  friend  to  be  proud  of. 

The  high  bailiff,  with  the  powerful  back- 
ing of  Sir  George  Carew,  had  taken  espe- 
cial care  that  due  provision  should  be  made 
for  the  sustenance  and  refreshment  of  all 
comers  during  the  day.  Nearly  every 
house  had  a  bush  over  the  door,  where  a 
good  draught  of  ale  or  cider  might  be  had 
almost  for  the  asking ;  and  there  had  been 
more  boiling,  roasting,  and  baking  in  the 
town,  during  the  last  three  days,  then  had 
been  for  a  full  twelve  months  passed :  so 
that  he  that  was  tired,  athirst,  or  ahungered, 
had  only  to  turn  into  the  first  open  door,  and. 
might  be  sure  of  getting  all  he  desired. 

For  the  gentry,  other  arrangements  had 
been  made.  New  Place  had  been  so  rarely 
garnished  with  green  boughs  and  gay  flow- 
ers, that  not  a  foot  of  the  front  could  be 
seen  ;  and  within  was  the  same  dainty  dis- 
play in  every  possible  direction :  for  the 
which  gay  work  the  humblest  poor  person, 
as  well  as  the  wealthiest  burgesses,  had 
joyfully  contributed.  But  there  was  store 


196 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


of  other  things — tables  were  laid  out  in  the 
hall,  and  over  them  was  such  bountiful 
store  of  good  eating  and  drinking,  as,  so  it 
seemed,  might  suffice  for  a  garrison  to  sus- 
tain a  seven  years'  siege.  The  high  bailiff 
also  kept  open  house — so  did  the  vicar — and 
BO  did  the  chiefest  aldermen.  The  inns 
were  as  admirably  well  provided  :  and  them 
were  also  capacious  covered  booths  erected 
in  various  directions,  with  flags  and  goodly 
branches  at  top,  whereof  some  showed  such 
a  commodity  of  good  victual  as  the  whole 
town  could  not  have  supplied  at  another 
time — others  were  for  dancing  ;  wherein 
could  be  had  wine,  or  ale,  or  cider,  in  such 
plenty  as  it  was  a  marvel  to  see. 

The  fame  of  these  revels  had  brought  all 
sorts  of  mountebanks,  pedlars,  ballad-sing- 
ers, conjurors,  masters,  of  puppets,  exhibi- 
tors of  monsters,  quack-doctors,  and  the  like 
sort  of  folk,  who,  in  every  street,  were  to 
be  seen  pursuing  their  vocations,  infinitely 
to  the  amusement  of  the  rustics.  This  kept 
the  immense  multitude  from  crowding  too 
much  in  one  place,  which  the  corporation 
had  likewise  endeavored  to  avoid  by  caus- 
ing different  attractive  sports  to  be  going  on 
at  the  same  time — some  within  the  town 
and  some  without. 

On  the  road  to  Shottery  there  was  to  be  a 
hurling-match — on  that  to  Bi4ford,  a  bull- 
baiting — close  to  the  chapel  of  the  Guild 
was  to  be  a  game  at  barley-break — near 
the  church,  a  cudgel-play — provision  for 
sliooting  at  the  butts  in  one  field,  and  for 
running  at  the  quintain  in  another — a  bad- 
ger-hunt on  the  Avon — a  jumping-match  in 
the  meadows — by  the  elm,  at  the  Dove- 
house  Close  end,  in  the  Henley  Road,  a 
maypole  for  a  dance — and  at  the  opposite 
boundary,  the  two  elms  in  the  Mesham 
highway  a  bonfire.  There  was  also  to  be 
every  thing  as  at  a  May-day — Robin  Hood 
and  Maid  Marian — Hobby-horse  and  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon — and,  greatest  of 
all  attractions,  in  the  most  open  place  in  all 
the  town,  was  set  up  a  stage,  in  which  was 
to  b*e  represented  the  exceeding  admirable, 
most  moving,  and  very  delectable  choice  pa- 
geant of  "  The  Nine  Worthies." 

But  now  there  is  a  cheerful  sound  of 
trumpets,  and  it  is  made  known  that  the 
corporation  are  going  in  procession  from 
the  Town  Hall  to  New  Place,  and  present- 
ly there  is  a  vast  show  of  running  and 
scrambling.  The  high  bailiff,  in  the  garb 
of  his  office,  descends  from  his  horse,  and 
enters  Master  Shakspeare's  dwelling,  amid 
a  flourish  of  trumpets  and  a  great  shout  of 
applause,  to  invite  him  and  his  exquisite 
fair  daughter,  in  the  name  of  the  people  of 
Stratford,  to  see  all  the  goodly  sports  that 


have  been  provided  for  their  especial  honor 
and  delectation  ;  and,  presently,  he  is  seen 
bringing  forth  Master  Shakspeare  ;  where- 
upon there  is  set  up  so  main  a  cry,  and  so 
piercing  a  flourish,  that  thousands  are  s&en 
hurrying  to  the  spot  in  every  direction. 
Master  Shakspeare  acknowledged!  the  ap- 
plause with  such  gracefulness  and  noble- 
ness of  bearing  as  speedily  brought  it  forth 
with  double  strength.  The  whilst  he  was 
so  engaged,  there  was  brought  up.  to  his 
door  a  most  stately  steed,  caparisoned  as 
for  a  king,  which  had  been  provided  by  his 
loving  friends  for  his  accommodation.  He 
leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  held  his  seat 
with  so  commanding  an  air,  doffing  his 
beaver  courteously  to  all  around,  as  the 
proud  beast  curveted  and  pranced  his  best 
paces,  as  though  knowing  what  inestimable 
honor  he  bore,  that  the  hurraing  was  re- 
newed and  continued  as  if  never  to  end.  . 

Anon  there  appeared  at  the  door  the  figure 
of  the  gentle  Susanna,  looking,  from  the 
flush  of  affection  and  pride,  in  seeing  her 
father  so  honored,  that  spread  over  her  deli- 
cate features,  more  lovely  than  ever  she 
had  been.  She  seemed  for  a  moment  over- 
powered by  the  tumultuous  greeting  that 
awaited  her;  but  this  speedily  passed,  and, 
with  one  graceful  recognition,  assisted  by 
the  ever-gallant  Sir  George,  she  leaped 
upon  the  noble  steed  that  had  been  provided 
for  her,  and,  by  her  noble  horsemanship,  was 
winning  the  hearts  of  the  vast  masses  that 
thronged  to  every  point,  window  or  house- 
top, that  could  command  a  view  of  what 
was  going  on. 

A  number  of  the  gentlefolks  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, of  both  sexes,  next  appeared  ; 
who,  having  mounted  their  horses,  the  pro- 
cession started  from  New  Place  in  the  fol- 
lowing order — 

Constables  of  the  watch. 

Twenty-four  poor  men  of  Stratford,  be- 
longing to  the  alms-houses,  in  blue  coats. 

Scholars  of  the  Free-School — where 
Master  Shakspeare  had  received  his  learn- 
ing— two  abreast. 

Vicar  and  Schoolmaster. 

The  different  trades,  with  their  banners. 

Trumpeters — followed  by  the  great  ban- 
ner of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  like  unto 
that  famous  representation  on  the  chapel  of 
the  Guild. 

The  high  bailiff,  on  horseback. 

The  two  churchwardens,  a-foot.  Also 
the  aldermen  and  other  officers  of  the  corpo- 
ration, two  and  two. 

Another  great  banner,  bearing  the  arms 
of  England  united  with  Scotland. 

A  company  of  musicians,  playing  joyful 
Junes. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


197 


MASTER  ,SHAKSPEARE,  on  a  tall  horse, 
richly  caparisoned.  By  his  side,  MISTRESS 
SUSANNA  SHA.KSPEARE,  riding  in  a  like  man- 
ner. 

Indies  and  gentlewomen,  on  prancing 
palfreys. 

Knights  and  gentlemen  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, all  riding. 

Yeomen  of  Stratford  and  the  Hamlets  of 
Shottery,  Dray  ton,  Little  Wilmecote,  and 
Bishopton — every  man  on  his  own  horse. 

Serving-men  of  the  gentry,  in  their  coats 
and  badges,  a-foot. 

A  great  banner  of  the  cross. 

Two  trumpeters. 

Constables  of  the  watch. 

As  the  procession  passed  through  the 
principal  streets,  there  was  such  a  general 
craning  of  necks  from  opetfed  casements 
and  crowded  house-tops,  doorways,  and  every 
other  convenient  place,  and  such  shouting 
arid  hurraing,  and  waving  of  hats  and  hand- 
kerchiefs, as  was  truly  wonderful  to  see  and 
hear.  There  was  no  lack  of  comment  on 
the  personal  appearance  of  both  the  princi- 
pal personages,  nor  was  there  any  lack  of 
admiration.  Of  their  feelings,  nothing  can 
be  said  to  make  them  sufficiently  under- 
stood. Master  Shakspeare  felt  elated — of 
a  surety,  the  sight  that  presented  itself  to 
him  was  sufficient  to  have  exalted  the  most 
earthborn  of  mortals :  but  the  satisfaction 
arose  less  from  gratified  vanity  than  from  a 
love  of  that  kindness  that  seemed  the  moving 
spirit  of  the  whole  scene. 

It  was  not  till  he  passed  by  the  well-re- 
membered house  in  Henley  Street,  that  his 
feelings  seemed  to  be  getting  the  mastery. 
He  thought  of  the  estimable  hearts  at  rest, 
under  the  churchyard  turf,  that  would  have 
rejoiced  beyond  all  mortal  joy  to  have  seen 
that  day  :  and,  for  one,  what  a  day  of  honor 
it  would  have  been  held,  had  not  the  de- 
stroyer, so  prematurely,  cut  him  off  from 
the  world  he  was  so  well  fitted  to  adorn  ! 

He  was  aroused  from  an  unhappy  reverie 
by  a  fresh  burst  of  plaudits,  which  brought 
his  thoughts  into  a  more  agreeable  channel. 

Susanna  rode  by  his  side  with  a  swelling 
heart.  She  seemed  entirely  oblivious  of 
her  own  peculiar  ideas  and  sensations — and 
she  had  much  to  forget.  She  thought  and 
felt  only  for  her  father.  She  had  always 
been  proud  of  him,  but  now  her  pride  had 
in  it  something  so  reverential,  it  looked  like 
an  angelic  appreciation  of  immortal  excel- 
lence. They  passed  on,  viewing  with  in- 
finite contentation  the  arrangements  that 
had  been  made  for  the  enjoyment  of  the 
people  of  the  different  revels.  They  beheld 
several  in  full  operation.  Most,  however. 


|  had  suspended  their  operations  to  obtain  a 
view  of  the  approaching  procession,  but  they 
saw  enough  to  know  how  well  everything 
had  been  managed. 

They  now  drew  »ear  to  the  spot  where 
the  stage  had  been  erected,  and  were  soon 
marshalled  within  view  of  it ;  the  footmen 
being  placed  in  front,  and  the  horsemen  be- 
hind. Here  they  had  been  but  a  brief  space, 
when  the  grand  and  wonderful  pageant 
commenced  with  the  appearance  on  the 
stage  of  three  marvellous  ill-visaged,  ill- 
shaped,  ill-clad  personages,  in  turbans  and 
sandals,  with  monstrous  long  beards,  who, 
in  rare  ranting  speech,  proceeded  to  pro- 
claim to  their  audience  that  they  were  the 
three  Hebrew  worthies,  Joshua,  David,  and 
Judas  Maccabaeus — they  spoke  some  ex- 
ceeding fine-fustian  sentences,  and  made 
no  small  exertions  to  appear  to  perfection 
the  heroes  of  Israel,  albeit  they  were  but  in- 
different Christians,  that  answered  to  the 
names  of  Jaspar  Broadfoot,  Cuthbert  Dred- 
ger, and  his  son. 

When  they  had  ranted  sufficiently  about 
their  distinguished  names  and  deeds,  they 
made  off — and  presently  they  were  succeed- 
ed by  three  as  odd-looking  varlets  as  ever 
were  met  within  the  world,  in  helmets,  hav- 
ing naked  feet  with  sandals,  and  an  odd 
kind  of  drapery  thrown  over  their  naked 
shoulders.  Their  very  appearance  was  the 
signal  for  a  burst  of  mirth  that  seemed  to 
shake  the  whole  town.  First  came  the 
mighty  Hector,  and  a  rare  hectoring  blade 
he  proved  himself.  He  swore  pretty  round- 
ly there  was  not  so  fine  a  fellow  of  his  inches 
any  where,  and  that  he  had  just  come  from 
the  walls  of  Troy  at  the  rate  of  a  sheriff's 
post,  to  show  the  whole  world  what  match- 
less choice  spirits  there  were  in  the  old 
times.  In  sooth,  he  talked  big  enough ; 
yet,  for  all  his  fine  feathers,  he  was  no  other 
than  the  reader's  politic  friend,  Sirnon  Stock- 
fish, who,  after  due  deliberation,  had,  at  a 
pressing  request,  lent  his  excellent  powers 
to  secure  a  proper  performance  of  the  pag- 
eant. » 

Next  came  a  fellow  who  seemed  full  as 
broad  as  he  was  long ;  yet  his  length  was 
little  better  than  that  of  a  dwarf,  and  in  his 
bullet  head  appeared  a  brace  of  open  jaws 
that  looked  to  be  ready  to  devour  any  one 
of  the  company  inclined  to  test  his  powers 
of  swallow-  When  he  declared,  in  the 
highest  sounding  phrase,  that  he  was  Julius 
Caesar,  there  was  a  laugh  among  all  such 
as  had  any  acquaintance  with  that  worthy. 
Nevertheless,  he  strutted,  and  grimaced,  and 
vapored  for  an  intolerable  long  time,  con- 
cerning his  valorous  doings  ;  few  there 


198 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


would  have  taken  him  for  Julius  Czesar, :  busy  with  the  tankard,  and  had  become  pot- 
but  if  there  had  been  any  doubt  on  the  mat-  valiant.  Tin's  burst  of  indignation  set  the 
ter  amongst  the  townspeople,  it  must  have  whole  audience  laughing,  and  in  this  merry 
ceased  when,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his  most  •  mood  concluded  the  "  exceeding,  admirable, 
tearing  speeches,  from  two  cavities  or  pock-  •  most  moving,  and  very  delectable  choice 
ets  befow  his  girdle,  sprung  forth  the  heads  j  pageant  of  the  Nine  Worthies." 
of  two  little  dogs,  who  set  up  such  a  yelp- 1  Certes,  Master  Shakspeare  found  no 
ing,  that  Julius  Caisar  stopped  sudden  short !  slight  degree  of  amusement  in  this  perform- 
in  his  heroics,  and  with  two  smart  pats  on  ance  ;  he  often  discovered  himself  wishing 


their  heads,  the  voice  of  Jonas  Tietape  bade 
them  "  get  in,  and  be  hanged  !" 

At  his  heels  came  a  like  sort  of  knave, 


that  honest  Ned  Allen,  Dick  Burbage,  or 
any  other  of  the  great  London  players  could 
see  how  choicely  the  players  of  Stratford 


about  the  same  height,  but  not  so  stout ;  •  employed  the  resources  of  their  art ;  and  he 
albeit,  however  small  he  was  in  his  inches*,  could  have  laughed  right  earnestly,  had  he 
he,  too,  was  a  famous  tall  fellow  with  his  not  remembered  that,  however  burlesque 


tongue.  He  made  it  out  that  he  had  con- 
quered the  world  ;  and  by  his  bearing  it  was 
plain  to  be  seen,  in  his  own  conceit,  he 
could  do  it  again  as  easy  as  he  could  drink 
off  a  pint  of  small  ale.  But,  let  him  have 


was  the  playing,  the  players  were  honest 
hearts,  whose  sole  aim  was  to  do  him  honor. 
Thus  influenced,  it  was  no  marvel  he  ex- 
pressed himself  exceeding  gratified  with 
every  part  of  il. 

After  this  the  procession  moved  on,  arid 


bragged  till  doomsday,  it  was  plain  enough, 

Alexander  the  Great  was  but  Tommy  Hart '  in  turn  visited  the  scene  of  the  rest  of  the 

the  Little.  I  ^Stratford  Revels,  with  the  which  he  was 

These  three  having  departed,  there  ap- 1  equally  well  pleased. 

peared  another  lot  of  a  like  number,  to  An  important  feature  in  the  day's  festivi- 
make  up  the  nine  ;  and,  however  the  Jews  ties,  was  a  grand  banquet  at  the  Guildhall, 
and  Infidels  had  bestirred  themselves  in  this  j  mostly  at  the  expense  of  the  Corporation ; 
business,  these  three,  who  came  as  Chris-  j  where  they  feasted  their  illustrious  towns- 
tians,  in  full  suits  of  armor,  outcrowed  them  man  and  his  friends  right  sumptuously  ; 
all  to  nothing.  It  came  out  that  they  were  •  many  handsome  things  being  said  of  him, 
no  other  than  King  Arthur,  Charlemagne, '  to  which  he  replied  in  a  tone  of  earnest 
and  Godfrey  of  Boulogne.  King  Arthur  j  thankfulness  that  did  famously  express  his 
had  got  a  squint,  and  was  lame  of  a  leg,  j  sense  of  the  honor  they  did  him.  When 
that  marked  him  for  tlie  constable  of  the  i  this  was  over,  Sir  George  Carew,  with  more 
watcli ;  and  Godfrey  of  Boulogne  was  high-  j  tender  gallantry  than  any  of  his  juniors 
shouldered,  and  spoke  with  a  cracked  voice,  could  have  used,  must  needs  lead  off  the 
nobody  would  have  owned  but  the  school-  j  first  dance  with  his  fair  favorite,  Mistress 
master.  As  for  the  illustrious  and  very  ab-  j  Susanna.  They  kept  it  up  till  a  late  hour, 
solute  valiant  potentate  the  great  Charle- )  having  all  the  most  approved  dances,  and 
magne,  by  some  chance  or  other,  ere  he  had  j  every  admired  tune ;  and  when  the  time  for 
spoke  many  lines,  he  wanted  prompting. ;  parting  could  no  longer  be  delayed,  it  was 
Charlemagne  the  great,  it  was  soon  ob- !  said  of  all — both  such  as  came  from  a  dis- 
served was  gifted  with  a  wonderful  little !  tance,  and  by  those  living  in  the  neighbor- 
memory.  He  hardly  knew  who  he  was— :  hood — that,  in  their  memory,  there  had  been 


clean  torgot  what  he  had  done,  and  could 
not  for  the  life  of  him  say  why  he  was 
there.  The  spectators  made  many  sharp 


nothing  in  the  county  that  afforded  such  ex- 
cellent desport  as  these  Stratford  Revels; 
and  it  was  the  general  desire  that  on  the 


remarks  on  this  strange  failing  in  Charle- 1  twenty-third  of  every  succeeding  April,  the 


magne — and  at  last,«things  growing  worse, 
the  great  man  was  so  badgered  that  he 
scarce  knew  which  way  to  turn. 

When  the  public  disapproval  of  him  be- 
gan at  last  to  show  they  would  bear  with 
him  no  longer,  he  presently  opened  his  hel- 
met and  threw  it  aside,  swearing  pretty 
roundly  to  the  crowd  beneath  him,  "  He  was 
none  of  Charley  Main,  but  only  simple 
Launcelot  Curthose,  Master  Shakspeare's 
boy,  and  he  didn't  care  a  fico  for  the  nine 
worthies,  or  any  of  their  generation." 

In  simple  truth,  Launce   had  been  tool 


town  should  be  rendered  attractive  by  a 
similar  entertainment. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


199 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Hark  hither,  reader  !  wilt  thou  see 
Nature  her  own  physician  be  ? 
Wilt  see  a  man  all  his  own  wealth, 
His  own  music,  his  own  health  ; 
A  man  whose  sober  soul  can  tell 
How  to  wear  her  garments  well  ? 

CRASHAW. 

MASTER  SHAKSPEARE  had,  by  this  time,  be- 
come settled  in  his  new  position.  His  man- 
sion was  large  and  commodious,  and  he  had 
taken  good  care  that  in  it  he  should  be  sur- 
rounded with  such  comforts  and  accommoda- 
tions as  he  most  liked.  There  was  his  li- 
brary full  of  choice  authors,  with  here  and 
there  a  rare  specimen  of  old  armor,  that 
recalled  the  glories  of  the  Black  Prince, 
and  the  triumphs  of  Henry  of  Monrnouth, 
There,  too,  was  a  goodly  hall,  with  no  lack 
of  helmets,  swords,  and  bucklers  around  the 
walls ;  a  dining  parlor,  with  well-carved 
furniture  and  handsome  panels,  with  a  few 
choice  old  portraits;  a  "blue  chamber,"  so 
called  from  being  hung  with  arras  of  that 
color  ;  a  "  paradise,"  bearing  this  designa- 
tion in  consequence  of  its  having  the  story 
of  our  first  parents,  to  their  expulsion  from 
the  Garden  of  Eden,  done  in  German  water- 
colors  on  the  walls ;  a  "  yellow  chamber," 
styled  so  from  its  yellow  hangings,  and 
divers  others,  distinguished  in  a  like  man- 
ner by  some  peculiarity  in  the  character 
of  the  furniture.  There  was  also  ample 
accommodation  in  the  way  of  buttery,  kit- 
chen, and  the  like  sort  of  places,  with  stable, 
and  a  choice  garden. 

The  chamber  he  most  affected  was  the 
one  used  as  a  common  refectory.  It  was 
distinguished  by  a  bay  window,  and  a  most 
capacious  chimney-corner.  Here  in  his 
high  chair  he  loved  to  sit,  surrounded  by 
admiring  friends,  who  affected  nothing  so 
well  in  the  long  winter  nights  as  to  get  him 
in  the  humor  of  telling  stories  ;  and  number- 
less narratives,  of  wonderful  interest,  did  he 
narrate  to  that  enviable  circle..  There  were 
tales  of  all  hues  and  complexions,  to  suit  all 
manner  of  tastes  and  inclinations ;  tales  of 
all  countries  and  of  all  times  ;  yet  each 
marked  with  the  same  marvellous  invention, 
that  kept  the  rapt*  hearers  in  a  very  ecstacy 
of  mingled  pleasure  and  wonder,  till  they 
had  deeply  encroached  into  their  ordinary 
hours  of  rest. 

When  he  chose  to  seek  relief  from  his 
in-door  amusements,  he  looked  after  his  ! 
lands  and  herds  as  attentively  as  ^iy  yeo- 
man  in  Warwickshire.     If  it  pleased  him 
better,  he  would  mount  his  horse ;  and,  with 


the  fair  Susanna  riding  by  his  side,  each 
with  a  favorite  bird,  would  enjoy  the  delec- 
table sport  of  hawking.  Or,  mayhap,  he 
might  be  ready  for  any  other  pastime  that 
looked  to  be  most  ready  for  him.  His  gar- 
den and  his  farm  seemed  to  possess  for  him 
inexhaustible  resources  ;  and,  next  to  them 
in  interest,  he  regarded  a  cheerful  ride  or 
walk  into  any  of  the  most  pleasant  places  in 
the  neighborhood. 

He  daily  grew  into  more  esteem  with  his 
honest  townsmen  and  neighbors,  and  was 
much  talked  of  for  many  miles  round,  not 
so  much  in  relation  to  the  great  gifts  which 
had  secured  him  his  great  name,  but  rather 
as  one  Squire  Shakspeare  of  Stratford.  In 
truth  the  character  of  squire'  suited  him  as 
well  as  it  would  any  who  had  been  born  in 
it ;  and  so  it  is  palpable  would  any  other, 
let  it  have  been  of  whatsoever  rank  or  sta- 
tion it  could  have  possessed. 

He  had  been  appointed  to  the  honorable 
office  of  justice  of  peace  ;  and,  having  had 
his  hall  in  New  Place  turned  into  a  justice- 
room,  it  was  his  wont,  with  certain  assist- 
ants of  his,  to  examine  such  offenders  as 
were  brought  before  him.  Frequently  would 
he  so  admonish  the  evil-doers  that  they 
straightway  abandoned  their  vile  courses, 
and  became  of  a  notable  honesty  ever  after. 
He  saved  many  from  the  commission  of 
base  offences  ;  and  those  notorious  malefac- 
tors he  was  obliged  to  condemn,  he  did  so 
in  so  impressive  a  fashion,  they  presently 
clean  repented  of  their  infamy,  and  took  to 
better  behaving  from  that  time  forth.  In 
brief,  the  fame  of  his  justice,  and  his  skill 
in  rinding  out  the  intricatest  matters,  spread 
so  every  day,  that  he  became  looked  upon 
as  the  chief  judge  of  such  offences  in  those 
parts  ;  so  that  it  was  seldom  he  had  not  his 
hands  full  of  it. 

He  sat  in  his  chair  of  worship,  which  he 
filled  wiili  no  lack  of  dignity,  his  person 
being  now  full  and  portly — mayhap  the 
combined  results  of  good  living  and  of  good 
nature — Sir  George  Carew  sitting  near, 
who  shared  in  such  business  whenever  he 
could  ride  over  from, his  own  house;  and 
Simon  Stockfish  over-against  them  acting 
as  clerk,  who  occasionally  ventured  on 
giving  a  hint  in  the  way  of  deep  policy, 
which,  though  profiting  no  one,  was  sure 
of  being  taken  in  good  part.  Launce  had 
been  promoted  to  the  office  and  dignity  of 
crier  of  the  court,  the  which  he  filled  to 
marvellous  admiration,  allowing  of  no  noise 
or  disturbance  of  any  sort,  save  what  he 
made  himself,  which  was  sure  to  be  enough, 
in  all  conscience,  for  all  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany. There  were  also  certain  constables, 


200 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  wit,  young  Quiney,  of  whose  discretion 
and  diligence  in  his  office  Master  Shaks- 
peare  entertained  an  excellent  proper  opin- 
ion ;  Tommy  Hart,  who,  an  he  could  be 
serious,  would  have  arrested  any  offender 
that  came  in  his  way ;  but  he  was  so  ready 
to  crack  a  jest  with  him.  instead  of  proceed- 
ing with  such  serious  matter,  that  it  was 
scarce  safe  to  put  him  on  such  office  alone. 
To  these  were  added  Jasper  Broadfoot,  and 
old  Cuthbert  Dredger  and  his  son,  who  were 


where  Master  Shakspeare  and  his  friend 
were  discussing  some  favorite  subject  with 
marvellous  earnestness. 

At  this  period  the  reader's  familiar  ac- 
quaintance Launce,  the  crier  of  the  court, 
who  looked  on  himself  as  little  less  in  dig- 
nity than  his  worship,  shouted  out  in  his  most 
worshipful  tone,  "  One  to  speak  with  his 
worship!"  and  immediately  afterwards  there 
appeared  at  the  door  a  female,  humbly  clad 
and  closely  veiled,  attended  by  Susanna  and 
her  sister  on  each  side  of  her. 

"  A  plain  case  tin's,"  said  Master  Shaks- 
peare, in  an  under-tone.  "  These  two  jades 
of  mine  take  under  their  protection  all  the 
amiable  offenders  and  interesting  criminals 
they  can  hear  of ;  and,  forsooth.  I  am  to 
stand  godfather  for  their  misdemeanors." 

"None  so  well,  Will — none  so  well," 
replied  Sir  George,  merrily.  "  There  are 


strength.  She  continued  advancing,  but  it 
was  evident  that  her  emotion  increased 
wonderfully. 

"  Merit  reduced  to  beg ;  or,  misfortune 
forcing  an  unwilling  petitioner,"  observed 
Master  Shakspeare  to  his  friend,  as  he  be- 
gun to  regard  her  with  considerable  interest. 
"  Well,  well,  Master  Justice,"  said  the 
other,  who  also  looked  favorably  in  the  same 
direction,  "  in  such  cases,  it  is  easy  enough 
to  see  to  which  side  the  scale  leans  ;  and, 
she  being  a  wolnan,  she  is  entitled  to  the 
most  liberal  dealing  of  that  most  worshipful 
member  of  her  sex,  the  blind  lady,  whose 
office  you  have  been  called  upon  to  fulfil." 

All  this  time,  Simon  Stockfish  was  fid- 
geting on  his  seat,  his-  eyes  now  dwelling 
with  no  small  .degree  of  alarm  upon  the  ad- 
vancing female — anon,  winking  and  point- 
ing at  the  constables,  who  were  all  close  at 
hand,  in  a  remarkable  state  of  vigilance. 

'  Well,  dame  !"  exclaimed  Master  Shaks- 
peare, gently.  "  Whatever  may  be  your 
cause,  you  have  taken  care  to  provide  your- 
self with  such  counsel  as  the  judge  is  pretty 
sure  to  listen  to  with  some  favorableness." 
No  reply  was  given  to  this  assurance — 
unless  it  was  offered  in  the  increasing  sobs, 
which  came  from  the  person  to  whom  it 
was  directed.  The  gentlemen  seemed  af- 
fected, and  even  the  constables  looked  some 
what  bewildered. 


so  many  of  thine  own  to  answer  for,  that  a       "  Prythee,  come  nearer,  dame !"  said  Mas- 
few,  more  or  less,  need  not  trouble  thee."      [  ter    Shakspeare,   in  a  still   kinder  voice. 


"  Let  her  not  come  any  nearer,  I  pray 
you,"  earnestly  whispered  Simon  Stockfish, 
across  the  table,  interposed  between  them. 
"  She,  perchance,  may  have  some  danger- 
ous weapon  hid  about  her  :  if  she  be  made 
to  stop  where  she  is,  there  need  be  no  fear 
of  her  using  it  to  any  fatal  purpose." 

Thereupon  he  made  a  particular  move- 
ment with  his  head  to  Launce,  who  ap- 
peared to  understand  its  import  on  the  in- 
stant, for  he  repeated  it  to  certain  of  the 
constables,  who,  quite  as  quickly  on  the 
alert,  presently  drew  nigher  to  the  prisoner, 
or  petitioner,  or  whatever  she  was ;  so  that, 
had  she  offered  any  violence,  they  could 
have  pounced  upon  her  before  she  could 
have  done  mischief.  But  the  person  who 
had  thus  engrossed  their  regards  seemed  in 
no  case  for  any  deed  of  desperation.  If  it 
was  not  for  her  fair  supporters,  she  must 
have  fallen  to  the  ground,  her  steps  seemed 
so  monstrous  weak  and  irresolute.  She 
trembled  violently,  and  her  sobs  were  deep 
and  frequent.  She  paused  a  few  moments, 
and  seemed  as  though  she  desired  to  go 
back,  but  a  few  words  from  her  kind  con- 


"  Perchance  you  may  have  something  to 
tell  me  in  confidence.  Be  assured  you  will 
find  me  anxious  to  afford  you  any  reason- 
able assistance,  and  all  proper  sympathy." 

At  this  the  sobbing  increased  wonderfully; 
but  never  a  word  was  spoke.  Master  Shaks- 
peare was  almost  inclined  to  think  that  it 
was  a  case  of  crime,  followed  by  deep  re- 
morse. He  looked  steadily  at  her ;  but, 
from  the  thickness  of  her  veil,  could  make 
out  nothing  but  a  drooping  head,  a  heaving 
breast,  and  a  trembling  form.  Both  Susan- 
na and  Judith  had  occasionally  addressed 
words  of  encouragement  to  her  in  an  under- 
tone, but  they  ceased  to  produce  any  bene- 
ficial results.  At  last  the  elder  spoke. 

"  I  have  ventured,  sweet  sir,"  said  she, 
"  to  bring  hither,  at  her  most  urgent  prayer 
and  solicitation,  one  who  is  deeply  sensible 
of  certain  unworthinesses  by  her  committed, 
when  her  heart  and  mind  was  clean  inno- 
cent of  any  knowledge  whatsoever  of  the 
nature  and  extent  of  her  ill-doing." 

'•  If  sincere  repentance  of  what  ill  she 
hath  dflhe,"  added  the  younger  sister,  im- 
pressively, "  for  which  others  are  more  ac- 


ductors   appeared  to  give  her    additional  I  countable  than  herself,  may  be  considered  a 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


201 


claim,  of  a  surety,  dear  father,  she  hath 
admirable  grounds  for  being  indulgently 
dealt  with  in  this  state." 

"  I  am  ever  right  glad,"  said  her  worthy 
parent,  "  to  hear  of  a  turning  back  to  the 
right  path,  when  any  deviation  hath  been 
made  from  it.  If  it  be  in  my  power  to  set 
your  mind  at  ease,  be  content.  I  pray  you  ;  I 
will  insure  you  every  consolation  your  case 
admits  of.  But,  an  it  so  please  you,  I  would 
fain  see  your  features.  In  a  business  of 
this  sort,  such  mystery  is  by  no  means 
desirable." 

At  this  the  trembling  and  the  sobbing 
became  more  violent  than  ever.  The  party 
had  approached  close  to  Master  Shakspeare, 
to  a  vast  increase  to  the  fears  and  doubts  of 
Simon  Stockfish,  who,  with  his  mind  in  a 
whirl  at  the  imminency  of  the  danger,  was 
racking  his  brain,  to  discover  some  politic 
plan  of  removing  his  honored  master  out  of 
the  way.  Sir  George  Carew  looked  on  the 
ground  with  singular  interest — so  gallant  a 
heart  as  was  his  was  alive  in  a  moment  to 
the  distresses  of  a  woman ;  and  he  felt  the 
more  sympathy  from  seeing  the  amiable 
part  played  in  it  by  his  fair  friends,  Susanna 
and  Judith. 

Master  Shakspeare  gently  attempted  to 
lift  up  the  veil — to  which  no  resistance  was 
made  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  the  wearer  of  it  fell 
on  her  knees  before  him,  in  an  agony  of  tears 
and  sobs.  He  started  back,  overcome  as  it 
were,  with  extreme  astonishment.  There 
knelt  before  him,  as  a  suppliant  and  a  peni- 
tent, the  creator  of  his  earliest  and  sweetest 
pleasures — the  originator  of  his  early  griefs 
and  miseries.  She  knelt  not  alone ;  her  two 
daughters  knelt  on  each  side  of  her,  and  all, 
in  the  mute  eloquence  of  tears,  prayed  for 
forgiveness. 

Sir  George  Carew  could  look  on  no  longer; 
on  pretence  of  brushing  back  the  hair  from 
his  forehead,  he  removed  from  his  eyes  the 
abundant  moisture  that  there  suddenly  start- 
ed forth.  Simon  Stockfish,  in  despair  of 
devising  any  stroke  of  policy  to  meet  the 
occasion,  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  for- 
ward to  seize  upon  the  suspected  assassin, 
when  he  became  transfixed  with  wonder- 
ment— staring  with  open  mouth  like  one 
beholding  a  ghost.  Not  less  of  marvelling 
was  seen  in  the  countenances  of  the  consta- 
bles ;  and  one  or  two  turned  aside  their 
heads,  and  drew  their  sleeves  across  their 
eyes. 

What  a  flood  of  subduing  recollections 
rushed  upon  the  mi  ml  of  Master  Shakspeare, 
at  the  sight  of  that  still  lovely  face  !  -The 
exquisite  sweet  pleasure  of  early  love,  and 
all  the  bewildering  trances  of  passion  and 


romance  it  brings  in  its  train — the  admirable 
influence  of  a  faith  strong  as  life,  in  the 
existence  of  the  most  complete  perfectness 
in  womankind — the  deep  and  ennobling 
sympathy  which,  whilst  it  exalts  the  object 
!  of  preference  to  the  dignity  of  a  saint,  places 
the  admirer  in  the  privileged  position  of -a 
devotee — all  pressed  upon  him  at  one  and 
the  same  moment.  He  thought  not  of  things 
evil,  as  arising  out  of  this  overgrowth  of  grate- 
ful feeling,  like  fungi  spreading  at  the  base 
of  the  noblest  plants  of  the  verdant  forest — 
he  saw  before  him  the  Anne  Hathaway  of 
his  happiest  hours,  the  wife  of  his  bosom, 
the  mother  of  his  children,  and  the  partner 
of  his  cares  and  sorrows,  ere  both  had  be- 
come intolerably  familiar  to  him,  and  caught 
the  trembling  penitent  in  his  arms  to  hush 
her  tears  and  terrors,  on  the  breast  from 
which  she  had  too  long,  by  her  own  sen- 
tence, been  banished. 

This  blessed  event  had  been  brought 
about  by  the  judicious  and  affectionate  man- 
agement of  Susanna  and  Judith — though 
the  former  had  much  the  largest  share  in  it. 
Scarcely  had  she  returned  to  Stratford, 
when,  unknown  to  any  one,  she  made  for 
the  cottage  at  Shottery,  where,  if  a  rough 
reception  awaited  her,  she  contrived,  by 
good  management,  to  get  it  passed  over 
without  any  ill  consequences  ;  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  absence  of  the  three  harpies, 
who  were  as.usual  juanting  it  together  some 
few  miles  off,  she  commenced  her  advances 
towards  the  object  nearest  her  heart.  They 
were  less  ill  received  than  she  had  expected ; 
and,  at  her  next  visit,  which  she  so  timed  as 
to  avoid  her  aunts,  she  pushed  forward  more' 
boldly,  with  such  satisfactory  results,  that, 
on  the  next  occasion  of  her  coining,  she 
took  Judith  with  her,  and  their  united  re- 
presentations and  entreaties  effected  every 
thing  that  was  desired. 

Aunt  Prateapace  managed  to  gain  intel- 
ligence of  the  reconciliation,  and  hastened 
with  her  two  allies  to  their  kinswoman  to 
use  alf  their  influence  to  prevent  it ;  but, 
when  they  arrived  at  the  cottage,  there  were 
persons  there  they  little  expected  meeting. 
Master  Shakspeare  had  gladly  proceeded  to 
the  dwelling,  which  had  so  often  rose  up  in 
his  reveries  to. bring  him  pleasant  remem- 
brances of  the  pleasant  hours  he  had  once 
known  in  it,  and  a  large  party  of  humble 
friends  had  been  collected  to  welcome  him 
back  to  his  old  threshold.  When  the  three 
mischief-makers  made  their  appearance, 
they  were  horribly  astonished  at  seeing  tho 
room  filled  with  company,  over  whom  the 
object  of  their  bitter  calumnies  were  presid- 
ing like  a  host,  with  both  power  and  wish 


202 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


to  make  his  guests  happy  around  him. 
Prominent  amongst  these  were  Tommy  Hart 
and  liis  merry  helpmate ;  Cuthbert  Dredger 
and  his  son  ;  Jasper  Broad  foot;  Peg  o'  the 
Twiggen  Bottle,  and  her  old  acquaintance 
with  the  triple  chin  ;  Quiney  and  his  affec- 
tionate partner;  Susanna  and  Jonas  Tietape. 

After  a  stare  of  intolerable  astonishment, 
at  the  company,  the  three  worthies  stared 
as  fixedly  at  each  other.  The  company 
looked  as  though  they  enjoyed  their  confu- 
sion ;  one  or  two  wore  a  grave  aspect,  a 
few  seemed  inclined  for  sport ;  and,  when 
the  old  Jezabels  looked  at  young  Quiney, 
or  Tommy  Hart,  or  Jonas  Tietape,  they 
found  faces  so  disguised  by  the  extravagant 
grimaces  with  which  each  strove  to  rival 
the  other,  that  they  knew  not  what  strange 
animals  they  had  got  amongst. 

"  O'  the  dickens  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Prate- 
apace,  who  was  not  easily  abashed.  "  Wh'o 
would  have  thought  of  meeting  here  so  plea- 
sant a  company  ?  There  is  Tom  Quiney, 
as  I  live  !"  At  this  recognition,  the  afore- 
said Tom  put  his  visage  into  a  horrible 
squint.  "  How  fare  you,  Tommy  Hart  ?" 
continued  she,  whereupon  little  Tommy  set 
up  a  squint  more  horrible  still.  "  And  my 
merry  gossip,  Jonas  Tietape  !  how  goes  all 
with  you  ?"  Jonas  answered  only  with  so 
unnatural  a  contortion  of  eyes,  nose,  and 
mouth,  that  such  as  had  with  great  difficulty 
kept  a  serious  aspect  could  restrain  them- 
selves no  longer,  and  there  was  a  general 
laugh. 

"  Let  us  off  to  the  church-ale  at  Wilme- 
cote,"  said  Aunt  Gadabout;  "  I  warrant 
vou,  we  shall  be  more  welcome  there  than 
here." 

"  Go  hang  thyself  for  an  old  fool !"  ex- 
claimed Aunt  Breedbate,  evidently  bursting 
with  rage  and  spite.  "  What  care  I  for 
their  welcome  !  Anne  hath  not  the  spirit 
of  a  woman,  that's  plain."  Here  young 
Quiney  set  up  a  caterwauling.  "  But  if  she 
fiincyeth  being  trampled  on,  I  doubt  not 
she'll  have  enough  of  it,  poor  wretch  !"  At 
this  Tommy  Hart  addeth  an  exquisite  at- 
tempt at  caterwauling  in  a  higher  key. — 
"  She's  an  unthankful,  false,  worthless,  vile, 
treacherous  jade  as  ever  was  born;  her  fine' 
husband  will  find  that  out,  I  can  tell  him. 
God  give  her  grace  to  mend  her  ways,  say 
1  !  for  the  villany  I  have  known  of  her 

— "  She  was  interrupted  by  such  a  ter- 
rible burst  of  cat  music  from  Jonas  Tietape, 
as  though  a  fight  of  tabbies  had  broken  out 
more  general  than  had  ever  been  known. — 
Thereupon  young  Quiney  and  Tommy  Hart 
joined  in  full  chorus,  which  made  so  intol- 
erable a  din,  Talbot,  who  had  hitherto  re- 


garded -the  whole  scene  in  silent  wonder 
rose  up  and  commenced  howh'ng  with  al. 
his  might,  and  some  of  the  company  were 
glad  to  put  their  hands  to  their  ears,  the 
rest  having  enough  to  do  holding  their 
sides. 

The  three  worthies  waited  not  for  any 
thing  else.  They  bounced  out  of  the  house 
like  very  furies  ;  but,  ere  they  had  well  got 
into  the  road,  commenced  so  fierce  a  qu<-r- 
rel  amongst  themselves,  as  to  who  was  to 
blame  for  this  misbehaving  of  their  kinswo- 
man, that  for  the  first  time  since  they  had 
been  together,  they  would  have  none  of  each 
other's  company.  It  may  be  here  added, 
that  soon  after  this  they  found  themselves  so 
ill  received  wherever  they  went,  that  they 
thought  it  best  to  leave  Shottery.  Each 
proceeded  in  a  different  direction,  and  for  the 
rest  of  their  lives  never  again  entered  into 
that  neighborhood. 

Perchance '  the  reader  will  not  object  in 
this  instance  to  diverge  a  little  from  the 
current  of  the  narrative,  to  follow  the  for- 
tunes of  one  of  his  especial  acquaintances, 
the  young  physician.  It  has  been  shown 
how  he  went  to  the  French  king's  city  of 
Paris,  to  be  physician  to  the  ambassador. — 
When  Sir  George  Carew  returned  home, 
Dr.  John  Hall  was  recommended  to  a  great 
nobleman  'of  France,  with  whom  he  travel- 
led into  the  Low  countries.  He  ultimately 
left  Flanders  for  England.  On  his  landing 
he  made  directly  for  London,  where,  as  he 
approached,  he  was  sensible  of  some  un- 
pleasant feelings.  What  further  annoy- 
ances might  be  in  store  for  him  he  had  yet 
to  learn,  but  the  subject  was  one  he  could 
not  think  of  without  many  discordant  asso- 
ciations. It  chanced,  as  he  entered  London 
by  the  Oxford  road  early  in  the  ^morning,  he 
descried  a  great  assemblage  of  persons 
pushing  towards  him  with  a  horrid  yelling 
and  screaming : — "  Prythee,  good  friend," 
said  he,  to  one  of  a  group  who  were  pass- 
ing close  to  him,  "  what  meaneth  this  com- 
motion ?" 

"  Know  you  not.  valiant  sir,"  replied  the 
other,  seemingly  in  some  astonishment, 
"  that  this  is  the  morning  of  the  execu- 
tion ?" 

"  A  morning  which  all  London  have  been 
thinking  of  this  last  fortnight  or  more," 
added  a  middle-aged,  flauntingly-dressed  fe- 
male beside  him.  Dr.  Hall  recognised  the 
voice.  It  was  one  he  had  often  heard.  It 
was  that  of  Tabitha  Thatchpole,  of  Golden 
Lane.  He,  however,  stood  iu  no  fear  of 
being  recognised,  as  in  the  last  few  yeara 
he  had  greatly  altered.  He  briefly  men- 
tioned that  he  had  been  but  scarcely  a  day 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


203 


in  England.  This  made  the  other  commu- 
nicative. 

He  stated  that,  in  the  midst  of  .the  ap- 
proaching crowd,  two  of  the  horriblest  cri- 
minals ever  heard  of  were  being  conducted 
to  Tyburn. 

"  I  would  not  have  believed  it,"  said  Mis- 
tress Thatchpole,  "  had  it  not  been  so  clear- 
ly proved  against  them.  They  were  among 
my  most  familiar  gossips.  Alack,  who 
would  have  thought,  after  such  pleasant 
hours  passed  with  them,  that  I  should  go  so 
far  to  see  them  hanged  !  In  sooth,  'tis  a 
strange  world,  excellent  sir.  This  noble 
soldier,  Captain  Swashbuckler,  is  my  hus- 
band." 

"  A  master  of  fence  to  the  Czar  of  Mus- 
covy, and  to  the  Emperor  of  China,  at  your 
service,  valiant  sir,"  whispered  the  cast 
captain. 

"  And  we  have  'known  these  villanous 
wretches  as  familiarly  as  we  have  known 
each  other,"  added  the  female.  "  But  it  was 
clean  impossible  any  one  could  have  dreamt 
of  the  villany  they  practised.  As  for  Mistress 
Millicent " 

"Millicent  who?"  demanded  the  young 
physician  earnestly. 

"  Why  the  intolerable  base  wretch,  who, 
with  her  horribly  infamous  father,  Doctor 
Posset,  as  he  was  styled,  are  now  about  to 
suffer  the  punishment  due  to  such  abomi- 
nable wickedness  as  they  have  been  guilty 
of  during  a  long  course  of  secret  poison- 
ings, by  which  it  has  been  proved  they  got 
great  gains."' 

On  hearing  this,  Doctor  Hall  strove  to 
put  his  horse  in  another  direction,  but  he 
was  encompassed  by  the  crowd,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  wait  till  it  had  passed.  The  in- 
telligence he  had  heard  was  .but  too  true. — 
An  enquiry  into  the  mysterious  death  of  a 
nobleman  excited  suspicion,  a  connexion 
having  been  proved  between  the  widow  and 
the  physician's  daughter.  Sufficient  came 
out  in  the  examination  to  warrant  the  com- 
mittal to  prison  of  both  father  and  daughter. 
Evidences  of  their  guilt  were  discovered  in 
the  little  back  chamber  in  the  house  in  Gol- 
den Lane,  which  contained,  in  a  secret 
press,  a  collection  of  the  most  subtle  poi- 
sons, with  every  apparatus  for  weighing, 
measuring,  and  mixing ;  and  it  was  proved 
in  the  trial  that,  under  cover  of  being  a  phy- 
sician, the  self-styled  doctor  had  for  many 
years  securely  carried  on  the  trade  of  a  se- 
cret poisoner,  in  which  his  daughter  had  ac- 
tively assisted,  among  others  having  been 
employed  for  that  purpose  by  the  infamous 
Countess  of  Rochester. 

It  was  in  vain  Dr.  Hall  strove  to  keep 


his  horse  out  of  the  press  ;  the  yelling  and 
shouting  so  increased,  the  animal  became 
almost  unmanageable  ;  and,  in  a  state  of 
horror  not  to  be  conceived,  he  found  himself 
so  close  to  the  sledge  on  which  the  crimi- 
nals were  being  dragged  to  the  gallows, 
that  he  could  distinguish  their  haggard, 
ghastly  features.  He  closed  his  eyes — a 
sense  of  suffocation  seemed  to  (jverwhelm 
him,  and  he  knew  not  how  he  got  out  of  the 
crowd,  or  completed  his  journey  to  his  inn 
in  Smithfield,  for  afterwards  all  seemed  a 
blank. 

It  may  here  be  added,  that  these  villanous 
wretches  were  hanged  at  Tyburn,  accord- 
ing to  their  sentence,  after  having  confessed 
to  a  series  of  murders,  by  secret  poisoning, 
that  made  the  very  blood  run  cold  to  hear. 
Such  was  the  detestation  felt  by  the  citi- 
zens for  their  hellish  practices,  that  the 
house  in  which  they  dwelt  was  presently 
razed  to  the  ground  ;  and,  for  many  years 
afterwards,  jnany  an  awful  tale  was  told  of 
the  dark  practices  of  the  secret  poisoners 
of  Barbican.  The  rest  of  the  family  disap- 
peared, and  were  never  more  heard  of. 

It  was  not  until  he  found  himself  in  the 
genial  society  of  his  fast  friend,  Master 
Shakspeare,  a  welcome  visiter  at  New 
Place,  that  Doctor  Hall  could  get  out  of 
his  mind  the  terrible  end  of  the  base  wretch 
whose  villanous  arts  had  cast  such  a  blight 
upon  his  youth.  There,  however,  he  spee- 
dily regained  his  wonted  composure.  Cheer- 
ful society,  continued  intercourse  with 
minds  of  a  pure  and  lofty  character,  could 
not  fail  to  elevate  his  own.  He  soon  found 
himself  taking  a  deep  interest  in  matters 
that  entirely  led  him  away  from  the  past  ; 
and,  as  this  grew  more-  engrossing,  the  in- 
fluence of  the  latter  entirely  disappeared. 
But  the  restoration  of  his  mind  to  its  native 
tranquillity  he  owed  rather  to  the  daughter 
than  to  tjie  father.  Ever  since  their  mutual 
attendance  at  the  sick  bed  of  the  honored 
inmate  of  the  dwelling  in  the  Clink  Liberty, 
they  had  entertained  a  most  favorable  opi- 
nion of  each  other  from  the  amiable  quali- 
ties they  exhibited. 

Many  a  miserable  hour  had  been  bright- 
ened by  the  recollection  of  the  gentle,  self- 
denying  creature,  with  whom  the  young 
physician  had  shared  so  many  anxious  vi- 
gils at  the  bedside  of  Master  Shakspeare  : 
and  it  may  also  be  said  that,  in  the  brilliant 
scenes  in  which  she  afterwards  moved.  Su- 
sanna did  not  forget  the  grave,  pure-minded 
youth,  whose  devotion  to  her  parent  had  so 
entirely  won  her  esteem.  On  their  meeting 
under  happier  auspices,  these  favorable  es- 
timates of  each  were  much  strengthened. 


204 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


They  now  possessed  ample  opportunities  of 
studying  each  other's  disposition,  and  every 
day  'they  gave  to  the  task  increased  thei  • 
admiration. 

They  were  necessarily  thrown  much  into 
each  other's  society  under  circumstances 
which  allowed  the  cultivation  of  the  most 
agreeable  impressions.  Master  Shakspeare 
was  ever  intent  on  setting  afoot  some  plea- 
sant pastime  in  which  all  those  around  him 
might  join.  One  day,  a  party  went  a-bird- 
ing  to  Tiddington, — another  a-hunting  in 
Drayton  Bushes,  a  third  a-fishing  by  the 
meadows  near  Welford,  a  fourth  they  would 
proceed  to  fly  their  hawks  along  the  river 
by  Ludingtdn  ;  then  they  would  take  ram- 
bles, perchance,  to  Hampton  Lucy,  or  Low- 
er Clopton,  or  Bardon  Hill,  a  summer-day's 
stroll  in  the  woods,  or  a  moonlit  walk  on  the 
banks  of  the  Avon.  In  all  such  cases,  Mas- 
ter Doctor  Hall  and  Mistress  Susanna 
Shakspeare  frequently  found  themselves 
together,  taking  exceeding  delight  in  each 
other's  observations.  Although  since  his 
appearance  she  was  observed  to  be  a  shade 
less  grave  than  she  had  been  for  some 
months,  she  was  far  from  being  the  same 
careless-hearted  being  she  had  seemed  dur- 
ing her  appearance  at  the  court  of  France. 

The  young  physician  seemed  to  possess 
unusual  buoyancy.  The  vast  stores  of 
learning  he  had  accumulated  he  gave  out 
with  liberal  hand,  and  took  his  share  in  the 
conversation  with  the  many  noble  spirits 
continually  appearing  at  Master  Shaks- 
peare's  hospitable  board,  in  a  way  that 
shewed  he  was  not  unworthy  of  such  fel- 
lowship. 

Their  mutual  liking  had  been  of  long 
standing,  but  it  appeared  as  though  warmer 
feelings  were  now  exercising  their  influ- 
ence. This  was  not  so  plainly  visible  in 
their  conversation  as  in  their  general  bear- 
ing towards  each  other.  There  was  a  con- 
stant attention  paid  by  the  one  to  the  other's  j 
feelings  and  sentiments.  Neither  expressed 
the  emotions  the  other  had  inspired,  but  a 
thousand  graceful  attentions  gave  evidence 
of  their  existence.  They  were,  however, 
becoming  much  too  strong  to  remain  longer 
undeclared. 

It  chanced  that,  in  one  of  their  customary 
moonlit  rambles,  which  had  been  prolonged 
somewhat,  beyond  the  usual  time,  they  con- 
versed in  that  low,  earnest  tone  used  only 
whore  the  speaker  speaketh  to  the  heart  ra- 
ther then  to  the  ear.  The  subject,  either 
by  accident  or  design,  was  the  possibility 
01  the  existence  of  a  second  attachment,  af- 
ter the  first  had  ended  in  horrible  disap- 
pointment. The  young  physician,  •with 


deep  earnestness,  and  a  tremor  in  his  voice 
that  bespoke  the  powerful  interest  he  felt 
in  his  -subject,  was  expressing  his  argu- 
ments in  favor  of  the  mind  and  heart  reco- 
vering themselves  even  after  the  terriblest 
shock. 

Susanna  listened  with  unusual  attention. 
Her  eyes  were  directed  to  the  ground,  and 
her  complexion  seemed  a  shade  paler  than 
ordinary.  There  was  a  balmy  freshness  in 
the  air,  peculiarly  welcome  after  a  sultry 
day ;  and  the  stars  shone  in  the  clear  hea- 
vens with  a  brightness  that  seemed  truly 
magical.  The  mill  and  the  mill-stream 
looked  bathed  in  an  atmosphere  of  liquid 
silver,  that  gleamed  over  the  river,  and  on 
the  neighboring  barn,  the  trees,  and  the 
town  and  church  spreading  out  in  the  near 
distance.  In  brief,  it  was  a  landscape  which 
lacked  nothing  but  a  pair  of  lovers  to  appear 
a  very  paradise  upon  earth.  It  can  hardly 
be  said  that  there  was  any  thing  of  such  a 
sort  wanted  here.  If  the  two  who  walked 
so  quietly  through  this  unfrequented  path 
were  not  lovers,  they  were  in  a  state  aa 
near  to  loving  as  it  was  possible  for  them 
to  be  in. 

"  Methinks,"  continued  he, "  nature  would 
be  losing  sight  of  justice,  were  the  heart, 
that  hath  already  been  once  strongly  acted 
upon  to  no  end  but  its  own  deep  uuhappi- 
ness,  never  to  know  the  genuine  taste  of 
that  extreme  bliss  of  the  which  it  hath  been 
wilfully  cheated.  That  it  doth  so  happen 
cannot  be  denied, — for,  in  some,  the  shock 
which  misused  affection  enclureth  is  of  that 
terrible  soit  that  it  bringeth  all  to  one  con- 
fused ruin  ;  but  as,  in  the  physical  world, 
we  see  after  the  fiercest  tempests  the  land- 
scape look  more  lovely  than  ever,  so  in  the 
moral  world,  these  rude  tornadoes  may 
spend  their  fury,  yet  in  time  there  shall 
arise  sensations,  hopes,  and  wishes,  of  that 
goodlier  sort  no  appreciation  can  fully  ap- 
praise. The  clouds  have  passed  oft';  the 
atmosphere  hath  become  clear ;  the  mind 
rebounds  from  the  severe  pressure  that  hath 
fallen  on  it  to  an  elevation  far  above  its  or- 
dinary level ;  and  the  sense  of  enjoyment 
becomes  the  more  active,  it  being,  as  it 
were,  a  rebound  from  the  sense-  of  misery 
which  preceded  it." 

Susanna  still  listened  with  downcast  eyes. 

"  If  any  one  look  carefully  to  the  laws 
which  govern  the  great  sphere  we  inhabit, 
there  will  be  found  to  be  a  carefully  adjust- 
ed system  of  compensation.  No  injury  is 
done  for  which  a  recompense  is  not  offered. 
No  loss  is  sustained  which  is  not  followed 
by  a  gain.  The  leaves  that  the  autumnal 
blast  tears  from  the  boughs,  form,  during 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


305 


winter,  a  source  of  nourishment  and  warmth 
to  the  roots.  The  fire  that  destroyed  an 
impassable  tangled  thicket,  where  there 
grows  nothing  wholesome,  creates  a  soil 
that  will  speedily  produce  the  richest  ver- 
dure. Wherever  there  is  evil,  be  sure  there 
is  some  good  at  hand  to  neutralise  it.  It  is 
not  enough  to  know,  that  the  bee  that 
stingeth  you  can.  sting  you  no  more  ;  the 
true  satisfaction  lieth  in  learning  he  posses- 
ses a  honey-bag,  that  is  at  once  the  best 
remedy  for  the  wound,  and  the  exquisitest 
gratification  to  the  taste.  When  you  are 
tossed  in  a  storm  that  mingleth  sea  and  sky 
together,  you  may  draw  comfort  from  the 
conviction  that  the  same  mighty  force  which 
plungeth  your  ship  into  the  trough  of  the 
sea,  sends  her  careering  over  the  next 
mountainous  billow,  a  good  step  towards  a 
secure  port." 

The  speaker  paused,  but  he  heard  neither 
reply  nor  comment. 

•'  And  touching  our  inward  natures," 
salJ  be.  ';  It  standeth  to  reason  that  the 
Rime  beneficence  should  equally  preside 
there.  Surely  there  is  a  fund  to  draw  upon 
in  case  of  reverses :  and  that  he  who  is  a 
bankrupt  in  heart  shall  find  means  to  begin 
the  world  again  with  fairer  hopes  than  ever. 
Perchance  I  shall  be  better  understood,  if  I 
put  the  case  in  this  sort."  At  this  part  his 
voice  began  to  falter  somewhat.  "  I  will 
say  that  I  have  loved — loved  wholly  and 
most  passionately ;  but  have  been  made  the 
victim  of  the  most  consummate  craft  and 
treachery.  My  affections  have  suffered 
shipwreck,  but  Time,  the  consoler,  hath  at 
last  enabled  me  to  put  to  sea  again,  far 
away  from  any  such  breakers  as  have  done 
me  such  ill  service.  Suppose  it  should 
chance  to  be  my  good  fortune  to  meet  with 
a  person  so  admirably  disposed  as  yourself, 
and,  under  the  influence  of  your  number- 
less sweet  virtues,  I  should  surrender  up 
my  faith,  my  hope,  my  pleasures,  unto  your 
honorable  custody.  Let  it  not  be  conceived 
that,  having  been  robbed  of  my  happiness,  I 
am  so  thorough  a  pauper  in  that  commodity, 
I  am  in  the  state  of  him  who  seeketh  a  pro- 
vision out  of  the  abundance  of  another,  on 
the  claim  of  destitution.  So  far  from  the 
sweet  well  of  human  comfort  being  exhaust- 
ed in  me,  it  is  only  in  that  state  which  re- 
quires a  touch  of  genuine  sympathy  to  bring 
it  out  in  more  freshness  and  abundance, 
than  followed  the  smiting  of  the  rock  by  the 
great  law-giver  of  ancient  time.  Well 
then,  excellent  Susanna  ;  in  this  case  I  pre- 
sent myself  before  you — I  look  to  you  for 
the  happiness  I  should  have  found  elsewhere. 
I  require  of  you  to  answer  whether,  knowing 


my  misadventure,  you  can  assure  yourself 
of  the  same  perfectness  of  contentation,  you 
might  have  looked  for  from  one  who  hath 
had  no  experience  in  such  matters." 

These  words  were  not  expressed  without 
some  hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  speaker, 
and  on  the  part  of  the  listener,  with  very 
evident  embarrassment.  At  the  conclusion 
of  his  speech,  there  remained  a  pause  for 
some  few  minutes  :  the  silence  was  at  last 
broken,  but,  as  it  seemed,  with  no  small 
difficulty. 

"  The  case  you  have  put,"  answered  she, 
"  of  a  surety,  is  well  worthy  of  attention, 
and  demandeth  some  consideration  in  the 
answering.  Before  I  attempt  this,  I  have 
much  to  say,  that  must  be  said.  I  do  not 
feel  equal  to  enter  into  such  a  matter  at  this 
moment.  Permit  me  some  sufficient  time 
to  think  of  it.  To-morrow,  if  it  please  you, 
we  will  resume  our  walk  in  this  direction, 
when  I  will  unburthen  my  heart  of  a  misery 
which  I  thought  to  have  left  there  undis- 
turbed for  the  rest  of  my  days.  Till  then, 
bear  with  me,  I  pray  you." 

'The  walk  was  concluded  in  silence,  but 
this  silence  was  more  eloquent  to  the  hearts 
of  both,  than  could  have  been  an  age  of  ordi- 
nary talking.  Soon  afterwards  they  sepa- 
rated. Dr.  Hall  pressed  an  uneasy  pillow 
that  night.  There  was  something  in  the 
parting  words  of  Mistress  Susanna,  that 
seemed  pregnant  with  unpleasant  mystery, 
and  he  thought  it  boded  him  and  his  hopes 
of  happiness  no  good.  She  had  impressed 
on  him  so  firm  a  conviction  of  her  being  es- 
sential to  his  felicity,  if  ever  that  was  to  be 
attained  by  him,  that  any  thing  that  tended 
to  disturb  it  filled  him  with  intolerable  un- 
easiness. 

He  waited  all  the  next  day  with  a  sort 
of  creeping  dread  upon  him,  and  thought 
time  never  hung  so  heavy  as  in  the  hour 
that  interposed  between  their  meeting.  He 
saw  her  not  all  that  day.  As  the  time  drew 
near,  his  uneasiness  increased.  He  imag- 
ined all  sorts  of  unaccountable  strange 
things*  that  were  to  affect  his  hopes.  Doubts 
and  misgivings  followed  each  other  in  ap- 
parently endless  succession,  the  hour  at 
last  arrived  for  the  customary  evening  walk, 
but  to  his  exceeding  astonishment,  instead 
of  mistress  Susanna,  came  a  letter  from  her. 
He  opened  it  with  infinite  inquietude,  and 
read  as  follows : 

"  I  thought  I  could  have  schooled  myself 
into  the  doing  of  a  task,  which  your  late 
advertisement  to  me  hath  rendered  too  abso- 
lute to  be  avoided ;  and  finding  I  am  quite 
unable  to  the  due  performance  of  it,  I  must 
throw  myself  on  your  indulgence,  whilst, 


208 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


with  whatever  humble  craft  of  pen  I  possess, 
I  proceed  to  it  by  an  easier  method.  Know 
then,  sweet  sir,  that  like  yourself  I  have 
loved  with  all  mine  heart,  one  whom  I  be- 
lieved the  devotion  of^a  thousand  hearts, 
had  I  possessed  them,  were  no  more  than 
his  due.  In  station  he  was  so  far  above 
me,  th.it  I  felt  it  to  be  an  honor  to  have  his 
notice — a  happiness  unspeakable  to  obtain 
his  affection.  For  some  time  he  lived  under 
the  same  threshold  with  myself,  and,  besides- 
swearing  himself  my  true  servant,  seemed 
never  to  be  easy  unless  testifying  to  me  how 
much  above  all  other  women  in  the  world 
he  held  me  in  his  esteem.  In  sooth  these 
fine  speeches  gave  me  such  exquisite  con- 
tentation,  that  nothing  on  earth  could  come 
nigh  it.  If  ever  woman  loved  in  all  hon- 
esty of  heart,  and  believed  she  was  loved 
with  a  like  entireness,  I  was  that  happy 
creature.  Of  course  I  thought  him  of  such 
nobleness  of  mind  as  only  angels  are  kin- 
dred of;  I  could  not  for  an  instant  imagine 
that  one  who  looked  so  well  and  spoke  so 
well,  had  any  sort  of  ill-disposedness  what- 
ever. 

"  One  night  we  had  sat  up  late  together, 
and  were  alone,  as  we  had  been  many  times 
before ;  but  of  this  terrible  night,  spare  me, 
I  implore  you,  any  further  history,  than  thai 
only  by  a  chance  so  fortunate  as  to  declare 
itself  a  Providence  protecting  a  helpless  and 
almost  fallen  creature,  I  escaped  from  a 
viilany  as  deeply  laid  as  it  was  basely  put. 
in  practice.  I  held  my  peace,  for  I  saw 
full  well  my  speaking  might  do  much  mis- 
chief, but  could  do  no  good.  Of  him  it  is 
only  necessary  to  say  that  he  had  the  grace 
to  seem  repentant ;  yet  the  outrage  was  too 
gross  to  be  so  readily  overlooked  as  he  ex- 
pected. I  bade  him  avoid  me — I  would 
have  none  of  him  from  that  time  forth.  My 
heart  ached  for  it  for  many  a  weary  day  and 
sleepless  night,  but  I  felt  it  was  due  to  my- 
self to  show  such  a  person  I  possessed  that 
souse  of  self-respect  which  is  the  true  armor 
of  proof  to  innocence  and  purity. 

';  I  will  not  deny  that  you,  sweet  sir,  have 
medicined  most  welcomely  to  the  devouring 
misery,  which,  for  no  inconsiderable  time, 
looked  to  have  marked  me  for  its  prey.  The 
influence  of  your  worthiness  has  fallen  on 
my  path  like  a  sunshine,  and  the  shadow 
that  seemed  impenetrable  is  now  dispersing 
rapidly  away.  I  deeply  regret  that  the 
heart  you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  desire 
is  too  battered  and  bruised  to  be  worthy  of 
your  possessing;  but,  if  you  be  in  the  same 
mood  after  the  perusal  of  what  is  here  writ 
down,  be  assured  that,  as  far  as  your  hap- 
piness can  be  secured  by  so  poor  a  source 


of  enjoyment,  there  shall  be  nothing  want- 
ing to  hold  it  as  securely  as  ever  happiness 
was  held  in  this  world.  And  so  fare  you 
well,  sweet  sir,  till  we  meet  on  the  morrow !" 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Ease  and  wine 
Have  bred  these  bold  tales :  Poets  when  they 

rage, 

Turn  gods  to  men,  and  make  an  hour  an  age ; 
But  1  will  give  a  greater  state  and  glory, 
And  raise  to  time  a  noble  memory. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

IN  the  long  winter  evenings,  it  became 
the  custom  at  New  Place  to  cheer  away 
the  hours  with  all  manner  of  pleasant  sports, 
Master  Shakspeare  being  ever  ready  to  set 
an  example  of  such  pleasantry,  and  a  jovial 
time  it  was  sure  to  be  when  he  set  the  game 
afoot.  Barley-break,  hunt-the-slipper,  blind- 
man's-buff,  hot-cockles,  and  I  know  not  what 
exquisite  pastimes,  were  going  on  in  the 
hall ;  and  of  the  merry  company  who  en- 
joyed themselves  equally  with  the  host,  be 
sure  there  was  Sir  George  Carew,  our 
young  physician,  Susanna  and  Judith,  Tom- 
my Hart,  Jonas  Tietape,  and  Dick  Quiney ; 
and  the  prodigal  heaps  of  mirth  with  which 
they  garnished  this  pleasantry,  no  pen  can 
sufficiently  express.  When  they  had  tired 
themselves  of  these  several  honest  sports, 
they  would  each  to  his  stool  or  a  corner  of 
the  settle,  and  sit  round  the  hearth,  banter- 
ing, and  jesting,  and  relating  such  things 
worth  the  telling  as  had  come  within  their 
several  observations.  But  the  chief  enjoy- 
ment to  the  greater  number  was  the  telling 
of  stories,  as  hath  been  said,  which,  when 
they  got  in  the  humor,  all  were  obliged  to 
do  in  turn,  and  the  listening  to  such  was 
found  to  be  as  exquisite  pleasure  as  ever 
was  known.  Now,  there  was  some  mar- 
vellous thrilling  narrative  from  the  host 
which  sent  them  to  their  beds  brimming 
with  wonder,  pleasure,  and  admiration  ;  anon 
came  a  strange  eventful  adventure  among 
the  wild  Irish,  or  some  glance  into  court 
life  by  Sir  George  Carew.  Next  followed 
some  touching  tale  of  love  by  Judith  or  Su- 
sanna ;  Jonas  Tietape,  Dick  Quiney,  and 
Tommy  Hart,  would  be  content  only  with 
tales  of  mirth  ;  and  such  mirth  was  put  , 
forth  in  them  as  would  have  stirred  a  bed- 
ridden weaver  out  of  his  melancholy.  Joan, 
too,  could  not  but  choose  to  be  in  as  merry  a 
key  as  her  husband  ;  and  our  young  physi- 
cian tturew  variety  into  the  series  by  nar- 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


207 


rating  scenes  of  sorrow  and  suffering  he 
had  had  notice  of  whilst  practising  the  art 
of  healing  in  England  and  France. 

Of  the  stories  that  formed  the  entertain- 
ment of  this  merry  circle,  it  so  chances 
that  the  reader  cannot,  at  this  present, 
have  a  choicer  sample  of  them  than  can  be 
found  in  the  one  here  given,  which  was 
one  night  related  by  the  fireside  by  no  less 
a  person  than  Sir  George  Carew,  and  called 
by  him 

THE  COURT  FOOL. 

In  a  goodly  chamber,  well  hung  with 
costly  arras  that  was  in  the  palace  of  Hat- 
field,  there  sat  a  lady  of  a  very  commenda- 
ble aspect,  though  it  wore  an  expression 
somewhat  serious  withal.  She  was  young 
— that  is  to  say,  nigh  unto  five-and-twenty 
years  of  age,  and  looked  to  be  of  a  fair 
stature.  Her  hair,  of  a  light  red  tint,  where- 
of the  greater  portion  was  concealed  under 
a  small  caul  of  gold  thread,  was  combed  up 
from  the  forehead,  showing  a  right  delicate 
complexion,  and  a  brow  of  a  famous  thought- 
fulness.  Her  dress  was  a  close-vested  robe 
of  a  sober  color,  and  without  ornament, 
that  had  nothing  noticeable  about  it,  save 
its  extreme  simplicity  ;  indeed,  in  her  whole 
attiring,  seemly  though  it  was,  there  was 
evidence  of  a  wonderful  modesty  in  the 
wearer,  and  a  marvellous  freedom  from  that 
common  vanity  of  the  sex  thai  delighteth  in 
the  wearing  of  gaudy  apparel.  She  sat  in 
a  cushioned  arm-chair  of  carved  oak,  close 
upon  the  hearth,  seemingly  as  if  gazing  up- 
on the  log  that -was  burning  on  the  lire-dogs 
— for  it  was  the  17th  November — holding 
in  her  lap  what  looked  to  be  a  missal,  or 
other  work  of  the  like  kind,  used  by  Catho- 
lics in  their  devotions  ;  and  she  wore  a  ro- 
sary round  her  neck,  to  the  which  there  was 
affixed  an  ivory  cross.  This  was  no  other 
than  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  at  that  time  resi- 
ding in  a  sort  of  honorable  durance  at  the 
royal  palace  of  Hatfield,  by  command  of  her 
sister,  Queen  Mary,  who,  out  of  fear  that 
the  Protestants  of  the  kingdom  would,  in 
consequence  of  her  highness's  persecution 
of  them,  rise  in  rebellion,  and  drive  her  from 
the  throne,  to  place  the  Lady  Elizabeth 
thereon,  did  treat  her  with  a  monstrous  lack 
of  sisterly  affection,  kept  her  a  prisoner,  and 
sought  always  to  make  her  disavow  any 
participation  in  the  principles  of  the  Re- 
formed faith  ;  of  which  the  end  was,  that 
the  poor  lady  did  lead  a  most  unhappy  life. 

Doubtless  was  she  reflecting  upon  her 
distressed  condition  at  that  time,  and  ima- 
gining of  some  means  whereby  she  might 
escape  the  snares  with  which  her  enemies 
did  encompass  her  all  around.  Presently 


she  pulled  from  her  bodice  a  letter,  which, 
first  taking  of  a  hasty  glance  around  the 
room  to  see  that  she  was  watched  of  none, 
she  opened,  and  quickly  began  to  read.  It 
was  to  this  effect  :— 

"  Count  me  not  a  laggard,  or  one  unmind- 
ful of  your  interests,  I  pray  you  ;  for,  though 
1  have  not  writ  to  you  so  long  a  time,  it 
hath  been  entirely  because  of  my  poor  wit 
not  being  able  to  discover  such  conveyance 
as  would  warrant  me  risking  a  letter.  Me- 
thinks  now  I  have  hit  upon  such  a  plan  as 
must  be  the  very  safest  of  all  under  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case.  The  bearer  hereof 
is  trustworthy,  and  is  pot  like  to  be  suspect- 
ed. You  may  say  to  him  what  your  neces- 
sities require  of  you,  the  which  he  will,  with 
a  proper  cunning,  and  with  all  convenient 
speed,  transmit  to  me  ;  and  at  the  next  fa- 
vorable opportunity  .count  upon  having  my 
answer  at  his  hands." 

At  the  perusal  of  this  passage,  the  Lady 
Elizabeth  broke  off,  and  looked  to  be  con- 
sidering of  the  matter  for  a  minute  or  so ; 
anon  she  read  on  : — 

"  To  my  certain  knowledge,  you  will  be 
placed  in  great  jeopardy,  mind  you  not  how 
you  carry  yourself.  My  lord  cardinal  ap- 
peareth  to  be  sick  of  the  slaughter  that  hath 
been  going  on  among  the  suffering  Protes- 
tants of  this  now  unhappy  country  ;  but 
Bonner  only  getteth  to  be  more  sanguinary, 
the  more  Christian  blood  he  is  allowed  to 
shed.  Her  highness,  as  I  think,  affects  the 
counsels  of  this  recreant  bishop,  more  than 
she  does  those  of  Pole ;  and  I  ofttimes 
tremble  for  your  safety,  for  the  loss  of  Ca- 
lais hath  made  her.  temper  most  inhuman 
and  bearish.  Doubtless  the'y  will  strive  for 
the  making  a  convert  of  you.  Regard  not 
their  efforts  with  too  great  an  indiffer- 
ence ;  rather  seek  to  make  them  believe 
that  you  are  ready  to  be  convinced  should 
they  afford  you  proper  argument  for  it.  In 
this  way  shall  you  gain  time,  which  is  of 
vital  moment,  and  keep  them  from  all  ex- 
cuse of  violent  measures.  Remember  how 
many  look  to  you  for  the  rescuing  of  un- 
happy England  from  the  Philistines,  by 
whom  she  is  oppressed,  and  be  not  regard-* 
less  of  a  life  so  dear  to  so  vast  a  multitude. 
"  From  your  humble,  poor  servant 
"At  commandment, 

"  W.  C." 

The  lady  Elizabeth,  after  carefully  read- 
ing of  this  epistle  some  two  or  three,  times, 
with  a  countenance  which  showed  she  was 
pondering  on  its  contents,  stood  up  and  drop- 
ped it  into  the  fire  ;  then,  after  watching  it 
till  it  burned  out,  and,  re-seating  of  herself, 
she  appeared  to  bo  intent  upon  perusing  tha 


208 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


little  book  she  had  a  while  since  held  in 
her  lap. 

"  I  prythee  hold  thy  prate  !"  exclaimed  a 
gentleman  of  a  pleasant  cheerful  counte- 
nance, and  somewhat  worshipful  presence, 
as  he  entered  at  the  door.  He  was  closely 
followed  by  as  merry  looking  an  object  as 
eye  could  desire  to  gaze  on.  He  wore  a 
parti-colored  coat,  fastened  round  the  body 
with  a  girdle,  having  a  hood  to  it,  partly 
covering  the  head,  and  surmounted  with 
ass's  ears  ;  below  his  coat  he  had  on  close 
breeches,  with  hose  of  different  colors  on 
each  leg  ;  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  a  short 
stick,  with  an  inflated  bladder  at  one  end, 
and  a  carving  like  unto  a  fool's  head  at 
the  other.  He  came  into  the  room,  whirl- 
ing of  his  stick,  making  strange  grimaces 
and  ridiculous  antics  behind  the  person  he 
followed. 

"  I  prythee  hold  thy  prate,"  repeated  the 
gentleman,  but  not  as  if  in  any  way  out  of 
humor. 

"  That  will  I,  master,"  replied  the  other, 
with  a  famous  grave  countenance ;  "be  you 
so  civil  as  to  show  me  at  which  end  I  be  to 
hold  it ;"  and  then  he  suddenly  brake  out 
into  singing  : — 

"  My  leman  and  I  fell  out,  perdie  ! 

With  my  hey  nonnie,  nounie,  0  ! 
For  love  will  not  last  every  day, 
And  the  summer  grass  soon  turns  to  hay, 
With  my  hey  nonnie — " 

"  Hast  no  better  singing  than  that  in  a 
lady's  hearing  ?"  exclaimed  his  master, 
turning  round  upon  him  rather  sharply. 

"  Ay,  marry  have  I — brave  singing,  I 
warrant  you,  if  it  please  her  ladyship  to  be 
in  a  brave  humor,"  answered  he;  "I  have 
songs  of  every  color  in  the  rainbow,  for  all 
the  several  sorts  of  fancies ;  and  some  that 
be  parti-colored,  for  such  as  God  hath  bless- 
ed with  an  infinite  proper  disposition  after 
motley." 

"  How  canst  talk  of  the  colors  of  songs, 
fool  ?"  asked  the  gentleman.  "  That  must 
needs  be  out  of  all  reasonable  conceit,  seeing 
that  songs  are  made  up  of  sounds  that  can- 
not be  judged  by  the  eye.  "  Please  you, 
my  lady,"  added  he,  as  he  advanced  cour- 
'  toously  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  who,-  undis- 
turbed by  the  entrance  of  her  visitors,  seem- 
ed ^tjll  to  bo  perusing  of  the  book  she  held 
in  her  hand,  "  seeing  that  your  ladyship 
hath  grown  exceedingly  melancholy  of  late, 
I  have-  taken  into  my  service  this  varlet,  at 
a  friend's  recommendation,  hoping  he  may 
allbrd  you  such  entertainment  as  may  ren- 
der your  way  of  life  somewhat  the  more 
agreeable  to  you,  than  I  am  fearful  it  hath 
been  for  this  several  weeks  past." 


"  Truly,  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  I  am  much 
beholden  to  you,"  answered  the  lady,  gra- 
ciously. "  It  is  long  since  my  poor  condi- 
tion hath  seemed  to  be  regarded  of  any  in 
this  land ;  yet  happy  am  I  that,  with  an  un- 
troubled conscience,  I  can  resign  myself  to 
what  may  come  of  it.  Certes,  methinks 
there  must  be  no  offence  so  great  as  that  of 
being  innocent  of  all ;  nevertheless,  it  is  not 
in  my  nature  to  be  altogether  indifferent  to 
the  many  great  kindnesses  I  have  received 
at  your  hands,  the  which,  weary  of  my  life 
as  I  am,  I  do  hope,  with  God's  good  help,  I- 
may  live  to  requite." 

"  Well,  Heaven  hath  been  wonderfully 
bountiful  to  me,  that  be  a  sure  thing !" 
cried  the  fool,  with  a  monstrous  urgency, 
as  he  looked  to  be  examining  of  some  books 
upon  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  chamber. 

"  How  now,  fool !"  exclaimed   Sir  Tho- 

is. 

"  A  grace  of  God,  lady !"  added  the  other, 
in  the  same  tone  and  manner,  as  he  brought 
a  volume  in  his  hand  for  her  to  look  at.  "I 
pray  you  say  of  what  this  book  may  be 
about,  and  in  what  tongue  it  be  writ?" 

"  It  containeth  divers  select  orations  of 
Isocrates,"  replied  she,  "  written  in  very 
choice  Greek." 

"  And  this  ?"  asked  he,  taking  up  another 
book. 

"  That  is  Sophocles  his  tragedies,  writ  in 
the  same  tongue." 

"  And  this,  and  this  ?"  continued  he, 
showing  a  new  volume,  when  the  last  one 
had  been  named. 

"  The  one  is  no  other  than  the  Holy  Evan- 
gelists ;  the  other  those  masterpieces  of  elo- 
quence, the  orations  of  Demosthenes  •?  both, 
also  writ  in  Greek,  and  very  delectable 
reading  for  all  scholar-like  and  Christian 
people." 

"  And.  I  pray  you,  tell  me  what  may  be 
these  others  ?"  inquired  the  fool,  pointing 
to  many  more  that  were  upon  the  table. 

"  The  one  nighest  unto  you  is  a  volume 
of  Titus  Livius  his  histories,  in  excellent 
good  Latin,"  answered  the  Lady  Elizabeth, 
as  courteously  as  if  she  was  holding  con- 
verse with  some  ripe  scholar  or  person  of 
worship,  instead  of  being  so  close  ques- 
tioned of  an  ignorant  poor  fool,  who  pos- 
sessed not  so  much  learning  as  would  mas- 
ter a  horn-book.  "That  beside  it  is  the 
very  moving  and  truly  admirable  story  of 
Amadis  de  Gaul,  writ  in  French  ;  and  the 
two  that  lie  further  off  are  the  pleasant 
tales  of  Boccaccio  and  Bandello,  writ  in  the 
Italian  tongue  ;  beside  which  there  are  sun- 
dry right  estimable  volumes  treating  of  re- 
ligion, philosophy,  and  such  other  grave 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


209 


matters  it  be  necessary  for  the  wise  and 
good  to  know  of ;  and  these  be  writ  in  the 
same  several  languages,  as  well  as  some 
that  be  in  English." 

Doubtless,  to  know  all  these  strange 
:ongues  requireth  a  wonderful  deal  of  pains- 
taking and  patience  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"  They  cannot  be  well  learned  without, 
nor  can  any  be  accounted  truly  wise  that 
knoweth.  them  not,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  Then  they  that  be  fools  have  much  to 
be  thankful  for  !"  exclaimed  he,  very  hear- 
tily. 

"  How  so,  knave  ?"  exclaimed  his  mas- 
ter. "  What  have  fools  to  be  thankful  for, 
more  than  wiser  folk  ?  that  be  clean  con- 
trary to  common  sense." 

"  Nay,  by  your  leave,  master,  I  will  prove 
it  beyond  all  denying,"  replied  the  other, 
with  an  exquisite,  solemn,  foolish  face." 

"  Do  so,  then,  and  quickly,  or  I  will  have 
thee  whipped  over  thy  fool's  pate  with  thine 
own  bauble  !"  added  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Now,  it  be  on  the  face  of  it,  no  man 
can  be  wise  without  he  endure  a  monstrous 
deal  of  trouble  to  make  himself  so." 

"  Well,  varlet !"  exclaimed  his  master. 

"  Now,  this  trouble,  I  take  it,  is  a  thing 
that  they  be  best  off  who  know  least  of ; 
in  honest  truth,  it  seemeth  to  be  a  very 
pestilent  sort  of  tiling,  and  to  be  eschewed 
of  all  men." 

"  What  then,  knave  ?" 

"  This  much,  master.  Methinks  it  be 
no  way  difficult  to  prove  that  a  man  may 
become  a  fool,  and  know  not  a  jot  of  trouble 
in  the  becoming." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  said  the  other,  smiling 
at  the  varlet's  exceeding  gravity. 

"  It  cometh  naturally,  as  peascods  come 
upon  their  stalks,  or  as  a  calf  seeketh  its 
dam — by  a  sort  of  instinct  as  it  were,  or 
disposition  which  a  man  hath  to  be  a  fool. 
Therefore,  not  being  put  to  the  infinite 
trouble  which  waiteth  upon  they  that  seek 
to  be  wise,  they  that  be  fools  have  much  to 
be  thankful  for !" 

"  Truly,  a  fool's  argument !"  cried  Sir 
Thomas,  laughingly.  "  Dost  not  think,  my 
lady,  that  the  knave  hath  some  shrewd- 
ness ?"  asked  he,  turning  to  the  lady  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  Methinks,  for  a  fool,  he  is  well  enough," 
answered  the  lady,  carelessly,  as  if  she  took 
not  much  interest  in  the  matter.  At  this 
the  fool  began  to  sing,  with  great  earnest- 
ness— 

"Hush  thee  poor  babe  ! — cold  blows  the  wind, 
Thick  fails  the  rain  upon  the  tree  ; 

But  more  regardless — more  unkind, 
Hath  been  thy  father's  heart  to  ne !" 
14 


"  If  thou  canst  not  sing  better  matter 
than  that,  and  be  hanged  to  thee,  thou  hadst 
best  come  to  a  quick  halt  in  thy  singing," 
exclaimed  his  master.  "  Be  such  miserable 
cot-quean  ballads  as  that  the  properest  sort 
of  minstrelsy  for  a  lady's  bower — to  say 
nought  of  its  unfitness  for  one  of  a  melan- 
choly humor  ?" 

"In  good  fay,  master,  I  knew  not  the 
lady  was  so  disposed,"  replied  the  other. 
Then,  turning  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  added, 
"  Art  melancholy  for  lack  of  a  husband,  an 
it  please  you,  my  lady  ?" 

"  By  my  troth,  no,  indeed !"  answered 
she,  smiling. 

"  Such  things  have  been,  and  much  mis- 
chief come  of  it,"  continued  the  fool,  with 
extreme  solemness.  "  Now,  there  be 
two  kinds  of  husbands — to  wit,  your  fool 
husband,  and  your  wise-man  husband ;  of 
the  which  your  fool  husband  is  ever  in  won- 
derful estimation  of  all  women." 

"  He  must  needs  be  a  fool  who  would  be 
seeking  me  on  such  an  errand  as  marriage," 
observed  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  with  a  smile. 

"  But  how  shall  we  distinguish  your  fool 
from  your  wise  man  ?"  asked  his  master, 
evidently  in  a  most  cheerful  humor. 

"Hearken  to  their  wives  .'"  answered  the 
other,  knowingly.  "  If  you  hear  a  wife  call 
her  husband  '  a  brute,'  be  sure  she  hath 
some  particular  reason  for't,  there  be  no 
gainsaying.  He  is  one  of  your  wise  men, 
out  of  all  doubt,  who  are  ever  at  their  wives' 
kirtles  ;  whilst  '  the  dear  good  man,'  who 
is  so  cuddled  and  praised  of  his  loving  part- 
ner, is,  beyond  all  contradiction,  some  esti- 
mable famous  fool  or  another,  who  heedeth 
no  more  his  helpmate's  goings-on  than  he 
does  which  side  of  a  Shrovetide  pancake 
getteth  first  into  his  mouth." 

"  O'  my  life  !  Sir  Thomas,  methinks  your 
fool  speaketh  but  uncivilly  of  us  poor  wo- 
men," exclaimed  the  lady,  yet  not  in  any 
way  ungraciously. 

"  Nay,  he  meaneth  no  harm,  be  assured," 
replied  his  master.  Here  the  fool,  looking 
pathetically  on  the  head  carved  on  his 
bauble,  burst  out  a-singing — 

"  Oh,  turn  away  those  orbs  of  light, 

Else,  as  the  sun,  where  fires  are  blazing,  « 
Their  brighter  splendor  dim  my  sight, 
And  I  grow  blind  by  rashly  gazing." 

"  I'  faith,  that  would  be  a  pitiful  mishap, 
indeed !"  cried  the  knight,  with  a  merry 
chuckle  ;  "  but  I  like  not  the  humor  of  thy 
singing — it  soundeth  as  melancholy  as  a 
hoarse  cuckoo  :  peradventure,  thou  wilt  now 
explain  thy  conceit  of  having  songs  of  all 
colors,  affirmed  by  thee  as  we  entered  my 
lady's  chamber.  Thou  hast  some  exquisite 


210 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


ridiculous  reason  for  it,  I'll  be  bound," — 

"  Dear  heart !  I  have  reason  enough, 
and  to  spare,  for  any  honest  man,"  replied 
the  fool ;  "  and  yet.  master,  I  make  no  boast 
of  it.  Forsooth,  there  be  some  who  think 
'tis  a  marvellous  distinction  now-a-days  to 
be  a  fool ;  but  he  who  ventures  to  say  I  am 
prouder  of  it  than  I  ought  to  be,  is  a  tho- 
rough slanderer,  and  a  shallow  poor  knave, 
who  deserveth  no  better  hap  than  to  have 
his  brains  beat  out  with  a  fool's  bladder  !" 

"  Well,  knave  ;  but  to  the  matter  !"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Thomas. 

"  And  was  my  mother  of  a  very  excellent, 
fine  virtue  ?"  continued  the  other,  with  in- 
creasing earnestness.  "  Ay,  that  was  she 
— and  every  one  had  a  wonderful  apprecia- 
tion of  her  exceeding  virtuousness.  Indeed, 
it  be  well  known  she  was  sought  after  by 
so  many  husbands,  she  never  had  time  to 
marry  one  of  'em. 

"  That  showeth  the  respect  her  virtue 
was  held  in,  of  a  surety,"  observed  the 
knight  merrily.  "  But  to  thy  conceit  of  the 
colors  !" 

"  Ay,  master,  and  hugely  to  her  credit ; 
she  brought  up  a  large  family — and  one  of 
'em  is  a  fool,"  added  he,  assuming  of  some 
dignity.  "  Nay,  it  hath  been  said  by  divers 
persons  of  worship,  that  you  shall  rind  him 
to  be  as  pretty  a  fool  as  any  that  live  ;  but 
he  hath  not  the  presumption  to  think  him- 
self a  greater  fool  than  his  betters." 

"  To  thy  reason  of  the  songs,  and  be 
hanged  to  thee  !"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  catch- 
ing up  the  bauble,  and  hitting  the  fool  two 
or  three  sharp  thumps  over  the  pate  with 
the  bladder,  and  yet  as  if  he  was  in  a  humor 
of  laughing  all  the  time  ;  whilst  the  Lady 
Elizabeth,  as  was  evident,  could  not  forbear 
smiling 

"  Ntiy,  master,"  exclaimed  the  fool,  duck- 
ing his  head  here  and  there  to  avoid  the 
blows,  "  if  you  kill  me,  I  doubt  you  will 
have  it  a  bit  the  quicker.  I  will  about  it 
o'  the  instant,  please  you  to  stay  your 
thumping  !': 

"  O'  my  word,  I  will  send  thee  to  the 
grooms  to  be  well  cudgelled  of  them,  hear  I 
any  more  of  such  prating,"  said  his.  master, 
desisting  from  his  exertions. 

"  I  pray  you  do  not,"  cried  the  other,  with 
much  seriousness.  "  Believe  me,  cudgel- 
ling hath  not  agreed  with  me  at  any  time.  I 
never  took  it  kindly.  But  concerning  of 
the  songs  I  will  speak." 

Thou  hadst  best,"  observed  the  knight. 

"  There  be  songs  of  divers  colors,  out  of 
all  doubt,"  continued  the  fool.  "  In  the 
first  place,  there  is  your  sad-colored  song, 
which  be  no  other  than  a  ballad  that  wear- 


eth  a  perpetual  suit  of  mourning.  It  al- 
ways cometh  close  upon  the  heels  of  a  tra- 
gedy, or  other  doleful  occasion,  and  is  as 
apt  at  a  funeral  as  an  undertaker.  Now 
those  that  do  most  affect  your  sad-colored 
song  are,  perchance,  a  maid  who  hath  lost 
her  lover,  or  any  other  small  matter  there 
be  no  likelihood  of  her  recovering — a  thief 
that  hath  his  neck  being  fitted  with  a  rope's- 
end — and  a  debtor  that  findeth  himself  with- 
in four  stone  walls,  and  no  chance  of  get- 
ting out.  And  thus  sing  they."  There- 
upon, in  an  infinite  melancholy  voice,  and 
with  a  very  pathetic  countenance,  he  sung 
these  lines : 

"  Oh,  woe  is  me  !  oh,  Doleful  strait ! 

Now  mine  is  sorrow's  piercing  thorn ; 
Oh,  luckless  hour  ! — oh,  cruel  fate ! 

Alack  that  ever  I  was  born  !" 

"  In  honest  truth,  there  can  be  no  doubt- 
ing of  what  color  such  a  song  should  be," 
observed  Sir  Thomas. 

"  But  my  troth,  it  be  a  very  sad  color,  in- 
deed," added  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  in  a  like 
humor. 

"  An  it  please  you,  my  lady,  so  it  is," 
said  the  fool.  "  Now  your  flame-colored 
song  is  of  a  clean  contrary  sort.  It  be  full 
of  heat.  It  burns,  as  it  wer»e.  In  fact,  ity 
complexion  be  much  the  same  as  though  it 
were  taken  out  of  the  fire,  red-hot ;  and  I 
doubt  not,  were  it  well  hammered  on  a 
blacksmith's  anvil,  there  would  be  sparks 
fly  from  it  presently.  The  matter  of  this 
song  be  ever  of  love ;  therefore,  it  s  no 
marvel  that  it  is  in  wonderful  great  request 
of  all  your  young,  your  middle-aged  ;  ay, 
and  your  old  oft  affect  it  in  no  small  mea- 
sure— after  such  a  fashion  as  this."  Then, 
putting  his  hand  to  his  heart,  he,  with  a 
look  of  famous  affectionateness,  commenced 
the  singing  of  these  words  : 

"  As  burning  coal, 

I  find  my  soul 

•  Doth  glow  with  Love's  divine  desires : 
But  in  the  blaze 
Thine  image  plays, 
A  phcenix  rising  from  its  fires  !" 

"  Methinks  the  singing  of  such  a  song 
should  save  coal  and  candle  all  the  winter," 
remarked  the  knight. 

"  F  faith,  the  flame  of  it  seemeth  so  appa- 
rent, I  marvel  it  burn  not  the  house  over 
our  heads  !"  cried  the  lady,  with  a  manner 
as  though  quite  forgetting  of  her  melan- 
choly. 

"  Certes,  if  the  timbers  be  dry  enough, 
lady,  such  should  be  the  case,"  observed 
the  fool,  very  seriously.  "  Of  other  songs, 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


211 


>*hat  shall  easily  be  known  by  their  colors, 
there  is  your  watchet-colored  song,  which 
cometh  also  of  a  lover's  fantasy.  In  it  you 
may  expect  to  find  all  the  flowers  of  speech 
culled  to  form  a  posy  of  compliments.  Then 
cometh  your  yellow  song,  which  hath  ever 
a  very  jaundiced  look  with  it,  and  is  in  huge 
request  with  your  outrageous,  combustious 
jealous  pates,  and  thorough-going  cuckoldy 
knavfts.  After  this,  there  is  your  green 
song,  which  shall  be  known  by  its  conceit 
of  vegetation,  as— 

• 

"  0,  the  green  willow ! 
I'll  have  for  my  pillow ;" 

or,  with  a  like  wofulness — 

"  The  green,  green  grass  shall  form,  my  bed, 

Alack  and  well-a-day,  O  ! 
And  the  cold,  cold  stone  shall  hold  my  head, 
Whilst  worms  on  me  shall  prey,  O !" 

These  be  such  pitiful  ballads  as  are  chosen 
of  those  who  ofttimes  take  to  an  ugly  fash- 
ion of  tying  their  garters  higher  than  need 
be ;  or,  like  new-hatched  ducklings,  rush 
to  the  nighest  pond  as  their  properest  place. 
Then,  look  to  encounter  your  orange-tawny 
song,  an  exceeding  brave-hearted  ditty — 
free  as  air — with  an  amorous  countenance, 
well  embrowned  with  tropical  sunshine. 
Close  upon  which  cometh  your  nut-brown 
song,  which  is  sure  to  smack  of  a  tankard, 
and  is  like  to  be  in  more  estimation  of  a  tap- 
ster, than  the  whole  Book  of  Psalms.  They 
do  say  it  giveth  more  provocation  to  drink 
than  a  pickled  herring  ;  therefore,  will  I 
not  essay  the  singing  of  it,  an  it  please  you, 
master,  else  shall  it  chance  to  make  me  dry, 
aaJ  a  dry  fool  cannot  help  being  as  sorry  a 
commodity  as  heart  could  desire." 

"  Gad  a  mercy,  fellow,  thou  sayest  true  !" 
exclaimed  Sir  Thomas,  evidently  amused, 
as  seemed  the  Lady  Elizabeth  also,  with 
the  famous  droll  seriousness  with  which  the 
fool  spoke  the  last  sentence,  as  he  appeared 
intent  upon  the  examination  of  his  fingers. 
"  But  here  is  a  groat  for  thee,  and,  if  that 
will  not  stay  thy  drought,  get  thee  to  the 
buttery,  and  say  I  sent  thee  for  a  drink  of 
good  ale." 

As  the  fool  was  making  his  acknowledg- 
ments for  his  largess,  which  he  did  in  very 
prodigal  fashion,  there  entered  a  groom  of 
the  chambers,  announcing  the  arrival  of 
some  person  who  would  have  instant  speech 
with  Sir  Thomas  Pope  on  a  matter  of  ex- 
treme urgency,  whereupon  Sir  Thomas 
bade  the  fool  stay  where-  he  was  awhile, 
and,  with  a  courteous  speech  to  the  lady, 
hoping  the  varlet  might  afford  her  some  en- 
tertainment, he  presently  took  his  leave. . 


No  sooner  was  he  out  of  the  chamber,  and 
the  fool  left  alone  with  the  lady,  than  th 
former,  on  a  sudden  dropping  of  his  appear' 
ance  «f  foolishness,  seemed  listening  to  the 
retreating  footsteps  with  a  countenance  of 
intense  interest ;  then  went  he  and  opened 
the  door  and  looked  out,  and  after  that  kept 
spying  about  the  arras  hangings  very  curi- 
ously, the  lady  all  the  while  regarding  him 
with  a  wonderful  earnestness.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  approached  his  companion,  in  a 
manner  marvellous  respectful,  and,  going 
close  up,  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  pray  you, 
my  lady,  tell  me,  have  you  read  Sir  Wil- 
liam Cecil's  letter  ? — the  which,  though  it 
hath  been  in  my  hands  ten  days,  could  I 
find  no  opportunity  for  its  safe  deliverance 
till  noonday  yesterday,  when,  as  Sir  Tho- 
mas was  in  close  converse  with  the  priest 
in  the  park,  I  slipped  it  in  the  posy  of  dan- 
delions and  daisies,  and  such  poor  weeds  I 
was  then  gathering,  and  gave  unto  you." 

"  In  truth,  yes,"  said  the  lady,  still  re- 
garding him  closely,  and  speaking  in  an 
under-tone ;  "  I  have  read  it,  but  I  marvel 
greatly  Sir  William  Cecil  should  show  such 
an  infinite  lack  of  discretion  as  to  make 
choice  of  such  a  messenger.  That  busi- 
ness must  needs  come  to  a  foolish  ending 
that  hath  a  fool  to  meddle  with,  it." 

"  I  beseech  you,  my  lady,  take  me  not 
for  what  I  have  appeared,'5  replied  the 
other,  earnestly.  '"This  is  nothing  but  a 
device  put  on  for  the  better  carrying  on  of 
our  purposes,  and  watching  over  your  safe- 
ty. Think  not  that  my  worthy  and  approved 
friend,  Sir  William,  would  have  set  me  on 
such  service,  had  he  not  first  looked  narrow- 
ly into  my  fitness.  I  hope  to  prove  myself 
your  assured  good  servant  and  poor  bonds- 
man ;  hinder  you  not  my  service.  It  is  an 
excellent  fine  plot,  my  lady ;  and  I  doubt 
not  to  carry  it  on  with  such  singular  cun- 
ning, that  you  shall  reap  by  it  much  benefit, 
and  with  God's  good  help  be  rescued  from 
your  present  troubles." 

"  I  would  your  hope  could  be  accom- 
plished," replied  the  Lady  Elizabeth  ;  "  but, 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  to  whom  I  am  indebted 
for  such  ready  zeal  in  my  behalf." 

"  My  name  is  Thomas  Challoner,"  an- 
swered he ;  "a  poor  gentleman  of  some 
small  credit  with  his  fellows,  and  not  alto- 
gether deficient  of  that  experience — at  least 
so  it  hath  been  thought — necessary  to  one 
who  is  ambitious  of  devoting  his  life  in  the 
cause  of  the  very  fairest  and  most  excellent 
princess  in  Christendom." 

"  I  heartily  thank  you,  Master  Challoner," 
said  his  companion,  very  graciously ;  "  I 
would  it  were  in  my  power  to  recompensa 


212 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


you  as  your  great  pains-taking,  and  ready- 
thrusting  yourself  into  danger  for  my  sake, 
merit ;  but,  assure  yourself,  I  will  ever  hold 
in  my  heart  a  grateful  remembrance  of 

four  infinite  goodness  towards  me,  and  that 
live  in  the  extreme  hope  of  one  day  or 
other  making  you  such  poor  amends  as  my 
ability  may  allow." 

"  Talk  not  of  it,  I  pray  you,  my  lady," 
exclaimed  Master  Challoner,  respectfully. 
"  Believe  me,  the  honor  I  find  in  what  I 
have  undertook  exceedeth  all  that  the  proud- 
est monarch  could  bestow  ;  but  rather,  if  it 
so  please  you,  for  the  time  is  precious,  give 
me  some  answer  to  the  letter  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Cecil." 

"  Tell  him,  then,  from  me,  worthy  sir,  I 
have  done  all  that  he  would  have  me  do,  ere 
his  letter  came  into  my  hands,"  replied  the 
Lady  Elizabeth.  "This  same  meddlesome 
and  violent  priest,  Master  Dr.  Crosier,  whom 
I  suspect  Bonner  hath  sent  here  to  worry 
me  into  my  grave,  hath  essayed  all  the  hot- 
test zeal  and  furious  bigotry  could  do  for  my 
conversion ;  he  hath  persecuted  me  night 
and  morn  with  the  horri blest  threatenings 
and  terriblest  denunciations,  giving  me  rea- 
son to  believe  that  her  Highness  is  thirsting 
for  my  blopd,  and  that  nought  could  ensure 
my  safety  but  the  complete  renunciation  of 
my  Protestant  errors,  and  the  declaring  of 
myself  a  member  of  hrs  infallible  church : 
whereupon,  weary  of  his  persecutions,  and, 
in  truth,  almost  weary  of  my  life,  and,  scarce 
knowing  which  way  to  turn  in  my  extre- 
mity, I  heard  mass,  and  confessed  to  him, 
and  in  all  things  outwardly  appeared  as  he 
would  have  me,  though  in  heart,  as  God  is 
my  judge,  I  am  as  true  a  Protestant  as  ever 
lived." 

Master  Challoner  listened  to  this  avowal 
with  a  countenance  of  much  anxiousness, 
but  at  its  ending  brightening  up  somewhat, 
he  added — 

"  Methinks  'tis  well  it  is  no  worse.  I 
grieve  from  my  heart  that  your  sufferings 
should  have  been  so  great;  but,  knowing 
the  nature  of  those  who  have  greatest  influ- 
ence in  your  fate,  I  know  they  are  in  a 
manner  natural,  and  to  be  expected.  I  be- 
seech you,  my  lady,  think  me  not  over-bold 
if  I  offer  to  advise  you  in  this  strait,  for  I 
know  better  than  yourself  the  many  dangers 
that  encompass  you.  From  what  I  have 
lately  learned  from  a  creditable  source,  I 
•  believe  this  to  be  the  criticallest  time  of  all 
your  life  ;  and  therefore  I  pray  you,  in  com- 
pany with  all  your  assured  friends,  take 
good  heed  of  what  you  do;  appear  what 
you  like,  but  pledge  yourself  to  nothing; 
etir  not  your  tyrants  against  you,  if  you1 


can  help  it ;  but  sign  no  papers  tliat  shall 
bind  you  to  be  their  servitor  in  aftertimes ; 
delay,  and  keep  delaying,  should  they  press 
you  upon  any  such  matters,  for  you  shall 
find  such  policy  of  the  very  utmost  conse- 
quence to  your  present  safety  and  future 
welfare." 

Whilst  this  conversation  was  proceeding, 
three  persons  had  been  in  a  secret  debate  in 
another  chamber  of  the  palace.  One  seem- 
ed to  have  rode  hard  and  fast  upon  a  jour- 
ney, for  he  sat  wiping  of  his  face  with  a 
napltin,  though  he  talked  earnestly  all  the 
while  ;  beside  which,  the  rowels  of  his 
spurs  were  of  a  sanguine  tinge,  showing 
he  had  spared  not  his  horse  as  he  came ; 
and  his  apparel  was  so  covered  with  dirt 
and  dust,  that  it  was  hard  to  tell  of  what 
color  or  material  it  might  be.  He  was 
stoutly  built,  and  his  features  had  some- 
whaf  of  a  stern  and  unpleasant  cast  with 
them.  Close  upon  him  stood  one  of  a  spare 
body,  tall,  with  a  sharp,  thin  face,  of  a 
dark  complexion,  beetling  eyebrows,  hooked 
nose,  and  thick  bushy  black  beard,  dressed 
in  the  habit  of  an  ecclesiastic,  who  seemed  to 
be  listening  to  the  other  with  so  severe  an 
earnestness,  it  was  evident  that  the  matter 
they  talked  of  was  of  huge  importance  ;  ajid 
occasionally  he  would  interrupt  the  speaker 
with  questions,  to  which  the  other  gave  an- 
swers that  appeared  only  the  more  to  in- 
crease the  number  of  such  inquiries.  Op- 
posite to  him,  leaning  against  a  table,  on 
which  was  a  hat,  whip,  and  gloves,  as  if 
carelessly  thrown  there,  stood  the  more 
courtly  figure  of  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  with  a 
countenance  full  of  anxiety  and  interest,  as 
he  listened  or  took  part  in  the  discourse. 

"  Then  there  must  be  no  time  lost,"  ob- 
served the  ecclesiastic,  as  the  other  came  to 
a  pause  in  his  speech.  "  Hast  got  the  pa- 
pers that  honorable  and  truly  Christian  pre- 
late, my  lord  bishop,  gave  you,  worthy  sir  ?" 

"  Here  are  they,  safe  enough,  I  warrant 
you,  master  doctor,"  replied  the  other,  pro- 
ducing some  papers  from  his  vest. 

"  Then  come  you  with  me,  Sir  Thomas  ; 
we  will  to  her  on  the  instant !"  added  he, 
who  had  been  styled  doctor,  as  he  took  the 
papers  into  his  own  hands. 

"  I  trust  you  will  use  no  violence,  Dr. 
Crosier,"  said  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  as  the 
other  two  seemed  about  to  leave  him. 
"  This  is  an  affair  of  great  peril,  nor  am  I 
sure  Bishop  Bonner  hath  proper  warrant 
for  setting  you  .upon  it." 

"It  is  for  her  soul's  comfort,  and  the 
good  of  the  true  church  !"  exclaimed  the 
ecclesiastic,  regarding  Sir  Thomas  with 
some  severity.  "  Methinks  that  be  proper 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


213 


warrant  enough  ;  and  I  marvel  that  any  of 
our  holy  faith  should  say  aught  against  it 
I  charge  you,  as  you  value  your  soul's  wel- 
fare, see  that  none  enter  at  these  gates  till 
we  return  to  this  chamber.  This  is  God's 
own  work  we  are  about,  and  I  doubt  not  to 
make  it  the  greatest  victory  ever  achieved 
over  the  accursed  heresy  that  plagues  this 
unhappy  land." 

At  hearing  this,  Sir  Thomas  reverently 
bowed  his  head,  though  in  his  countenance 
it  was  evident  he  was  exceeding  anxious 
for  the  issue  ;  and  then  Dr.  Crosier  and  his 
companion,  all  dusty  as  he  was,  took  them- 
selves out  of  the  chamber.  As  they  walked 
along,  they  conversed  with  each  other  in 
Latin ;  and  so  intent  were  they  on  what 
they  were  saying,  that  they  noticed  not  one 
close  upon  their  footsteps. 

"  How  now,  fool  ?"  cried  Dr.  Crosier 
sharply,  as  he  all  at  once  discovered  he  was 
followed. 

"  Forsooth,  and  may  it  please  your  rever- 
ence," said  Master  Challoner,  in  as  foolish 
a  manner  as  was  ever  seen,  "  I  have  heard 
it  said  that  the  ways  of  holy  men  were  in 
the  paths  of  righteousness,  and  wishing  to 
get  as  nigh  heaven  as  a  fool  can,  I  thought 
it  good  to  bring  my  toes  and  your  rever- 
ence's heels  in  as  close  acquaintance  as  pos- 
sible, that  I  might  be  all  the  more  sure  of 
the  right  path." 

"  Begone,  fellow,  or  your  bones  shall  ache 
for  it !"  exclaimed  master  doctor. 

"  Nay,  O'  my  life,  I  will  tread  on  your 
heels  as  little  as  may  be !"  added  the  as- 
sumed fool,  very  movingly. 

"  Get  you  not  gone  this  instant,  I  will  see 
you  have  such  a  cudgelling,  as  you  shall 
bear  in  remembrance  to  your  life's  end." 

At  this  the  other  began  to  whimper,  and, 
rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  sleeve,  turned 
himself  round,  and  proceeded  slowly  the  way 
he  came. 

"  Thinkest  thou,  he  heard  aught  of  our 
speech  ?"  inquired  he  who  was  styled  Sir 
Topas,  as  they  continued  their  walk  and 
their  discourse. 

"It  matters  not,"  replied  Dr.  Crosier; 
•*  he  is  a  very  fool,  without  learning  of  any 
kind.'' 

Soon  afterwards  they  arrived  at  that  part 
of  the  palace  where  the  lady  Elizabeth  had 
ner  lodging,  and.  gaining  admittance  to  her 
chamber,  found  her  seated  in  a  recess, 
where  the  window  looked  out  upon  the  park 
and  grounds,  as  if  seriously  intent  upon  the 
perusal  of  the  same  little  volume  of  prayers 
she  had  in  hand  a  while  since. 

"  Glad  am  I  to  find  you  so  well  disposed,"  ! 
said  Dr.  Crosier,  after  some  civil  greeting  j 


betwixt  him  and  the  lady.  "  Doubtless  your 
ladyship  findeth  excellent  comfort  from  the 
contemplation  of  such  true  piety  and  mar- 
vellous fine  wisdom  as  may  be  found  in 
those  homilies." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  find  in  them  exceeding  com- 
fort !"  answered  the  lady  Elizabeth. 

"  Surely,  you  had  no  such  satisfaction 
from  aught  appertaining  to  that  pestilent 
heresy  in  which  you  had  the  ill-hap  to  get 
instructed  ?"  inquired  the  divine. 

"  Methinks,  no,"  responded  his  apparent 
convert. 

"Believe  me,  there  can  be  no -compari- 
son," added  Dr.  Crosier ;  "  and  I  doubt  not, 
ere  long,  you  shall  receive  such  delight — 
seek  you  with  all  your  heart  arid  soul  to  be 
a  good  Catholic — as,  before,  you  have  had 
no  knowledge." 

"  I  humbly  trust  I  may  become  so  deserv- 
ing," answered  the  lady. 

Thus  went  they  on  for  some  time,  he 
with  great  persuasiveness  assuring  her  of 
the  wonderful  content  she  must  find  in  the 
doctrines  of  what  he  styled  the  only  church 
in  which  rested  the  saving  of  souls ;  and 
she,  with  a  wonderful  resignation,  seeming 
to  assent  to  everything,  yet  pledging  herself 
to  nought. 

"  Methinks,  now,  I  cannot  doubt  of  your 
conversion,"  said  this  ecclesiastic  at  last ; 
"  witli  the  which  I  am  the  more  pleased,  as 
her  Highness,  at  my  report  of  your  complete 
casting  away  the  wretched  schism  with 
which  you  had  been  affected,  hath  sent  one 
of  her  chaplains,  my  estimable  and  very 
learned  friend  here,  Sir  Topas  Fletcher,  to 
see  that  you  have  truly  done  what  I  have 
reported." 

"  Truly,  honorable  lady,"  exclaimed  his 
companion,  now  addressing  the  lady  Eliza- 
beth for  the  first  time,  "  what  Dr.  Crosier 
hath  stated  is  not  a  whit  from  the  truth." 

"  And  moreover,  he  hath  brought  from 
her  Highness,"  continued  master  doctor, 
producing  and  opening  a  paper,  "  a  written 
recantation  of  your  errors,  which,  it  is  ex- 
pected, you  will  sign  without  any  demur  or 
delay." 

The  lady  Elizabeth,  without  expressing 
any  objection,  took  the  paper  into  her  hand, 
and  read  it  carefully,  the  two  priests  regard- 
ing her  all  the  whilst  with  a  severe  scrutiny. 
She  discovered  that  it  contained  not  only  a 
solemn  declaration  of  her  true  and  steadfast 
participation  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Church 
of  Rome,  but  promised,  on  the  event  of  her 
attaining  the  English  crown,  to  do  her  ut- 
most to  extirpate  here?y  out  of  the  land  ; 
and  in  case  of  any  remissness  on  her  part 
in  such  godly  and  laudable  endeavors,  re- 


214 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


nounoed  all  natural  right  and  claim  to  the 
throne,  now  and  for  ever  after." 

"  There  is  matter  in  this  that  requireth 
deep  consideration,"  observed  she,  assuming 
an  indifference  she  felt  not  at  all. 

"  And  moreover,"  continued  master  doc- 
tor, producing  another  paper,  "  her  High- 
ness hath  sent  here  a  warrant  for  your  com- 
mittal to  the  Tower,  in  case  you  hesitate  in 
the  immediate  signing  of  what  is  required 
of  you." 

The  lady  Elizabeth  then  examined  the 
second  paper,  and  finding  it  to  be  a  warrant, 
as  had  been  stated,  for  her  imprisonment, 
and  that  it  bore  Queen  Mary's  signature, 
her  heart  was  smote  with  a  sudden  fear,  for 
she  knew  full  well,  went  she  to  the  Tower, 
her  enemies  would  grant  her  no  peace  till 
they  had  taken  her  life.  It  was  well  re- 
membered of'her,  at  that  moment,  that  she 
had  been  advised  to  seek,  by  every  means 
she  could,  to  gain  time  if  pressed  on  any 
such  matter  ;  but  the  hapless  lady  felt  a  pre- 
sentiment that,  in  such  an  extremity,  all 
such  endeavor  would  be  fruitless. 

"  I  pray  you  lose  no  time,  if  it  please  you, 
my  lady,"  here  observed  master  chaplain, 
with  some  eagerness  ;  "  for  I  promised  her 
Highness  I  would  not  stay  an  hour  at  Hat- 
lield,  without  your  signature,  or  yourself  in 
my  custody." 

"  Here  is  pen  and  ink  ready  at  hand," 
paid  the  other,  as  he  brought  them  from  the 
table  where  the  books  were. 

"  Surely  there  be  no  need  of  such  ex- 
treme haste,"  remarked  the  lady  Elizabeth. 
"  There  yet  remain  many  matters  of  doc- 
trine of  the  which  I  have  no  certain  knowl- 
edge ;  and  my  conscience  will  not  allow  me 
to  attest  my  conviction  of  the  truth  of  that 
I  am  ignorant." 

"  I  doubt  not  you  are  a  sufficient  Cath- 
olic for  the  purpose  required  of  you,"  an- 
swered Dr.  Crosier ;  "  and,  as  there  can  be 
no  delaying  now,  her  Highness's  orders  are 
so  strict,  I  promise  you,  on  your  dismissing 
master  chaplain  with  the  necessary  docu- 
ment, without  more  words  said,  I  will  mike 
it  my  business  to  give  you  daily  instruction 
in  every  minutest  point  of  faith  professed  by 
all  true  Catholics,  till  you  shall  be  as  learn- 
ed in  them  as  is  my  Lord  of  London  him- 
self." 

"  But  grant  me  some  preparation;"  ex- 
claimed she,  as  one  held  out  the  pen  for  her, 
while  the  other  unfolded  the  paper.  "  Sure- 
ly, on  a  matter  so  vital,  I  may  have  time 
afforded  for  proper  reflection  ?" 

'•  Nay,  it  cannot  be,"  said  Sir  Topas.  "  I 
myself  heard  her  Highness  say,  the  signing 
of  such  a  declaration  would  be  a  test  of 


your  sincerity  and  affectionateness  towards 
her." 

"The  which,  if  you  made  any  to  do 
about,"  added  master  doctor, "  her  Highness 
would  judge  your  late  behavior  as  hypocrit- 
ical, and  put  on  the  better  to  hide  some 
treasonable  practices  you  are  privately  en- 
gaged in,  of  which  she  hath  constant  intel- 
ligence ;  and,  moreover,  I  heajd  her  High- 
ness affirm,"  continued  the  chaplain  with 
increasing  earnestness, "  should  you  attempt 
to  evade  the  signing  of  that  paper,  no  pun- 
ishment should  be  severe  enough  for  you  ; 
for  it  was  plain,  whatever  appearance  you 
put  on,  you  were  in  heart  a  plotter  of  trea- 
son, a  black  heretic  and  a  false  woman." 

In  vain  the  poor  lady  tried  all  sorts  of 
excuses,  and  brought  forward  all  manner  of 
pretexts  for  delay.  She  wished  first  to 
write  to  her  Highness;  she  would  rather 
defer  the  signing  fora  week,  till  to-morrow 
at  noon :  in  vain  she  prayed  to  be  left  alone 
for  a  single  hour — the  two  priests  were  in- 
flexible; it  was  more  than  their  lives  were 
worth  to  allow  of  any  such  thing.  Her 
Highness  was  imperative,  and  the  signing 
must  be  without  the  delay  of  a  single  mo- 
ment. Bewildered,  and  in  great  perplexity 
of  mind,  seeing  no  help  for  it,  and  fearful 
of  the  consequences  if  she  refused  what 
was  required,  the  Lady  Elizabeth  was  about 
to  take  the  pen  in  her  hand,  when  she  spied 
a  company  of  horsemen  riding  post-haste 
towards  the  palace,  which,  the  other  two 
seeing,  they  regarded  each  other  with  some 
uneasiness,  and  their  brows  grew  black  of 
a  sudden. 

"  I  can  tarry  here  no  longer !"  cried  thf» 
chaplain,  with  more  severity  than  he  had 
yet  used.  "  Hither  come  the  escort  to  con- 
vey you  to  the  Tower." 

"  Surely  never  was  woman  so  much  her 
own  enemy  before  1"  exclaimed  master  doc- 
tor, with  an  exceeding  stern  aspect.  "  You 
are  hurrying  your  head  to  the  block." 

"  I  pray  you  pardon  me,  but  I  like  not  be- 
ing in  such  monstrous  speed,"  observed  the 
Lady  Elizabeth,  at  last  taking  the  pen  into 
her  hand.  At  this  the  two  ecclesiastics 
looked  with  a  sort  of  smile.  "  At  least  I 
will  again  peruse  what  is  here  writ,  that  1 
may  not  be  in  ignorance  of  what  I  am 
signing,"  added  she. 

"  Nay,  by  the  mass,  but  once  reading 
must  serve  your  turn  this  time !"  exclaimed 
Sir  Topas,  somewhat  rudely. 

"  O'  my  word,  lady,  this  is  but  trifling 
with  us !"  cried  Dr.  Crosier,  in  a  like  un- 
civil manner. 

"  By  your  leave,  worthy  master  doctor,  I 
must  needs  re-peruse  this  paper  ere  I  sign," 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


215 


answered  the  lady ;  and  despite  all  they  i 
could  say  or  do,  she  not  only  commenced  | 
reading  of  it  slowly,  sentence  by  sentence ., 
but  made  remarks   on   such  passages  as  [ 
seemed  to   demand  observation ;  wherein 
she  was  constantly  interrupted  by  the  im- 
patience of  her  companions,  who,  at  last, 
got  to  be  so  desperate  to  have  her  do  their 
bidding  without  further  hindrance  or  loss  of 
time,  that  they  lost  all  respect  in  their  be- 
havior, and  they  looked  to  have  more  of  the 
restless  eagerness  of  lunatics  than  the  so- 
briety of  doctors  of  the  church.     Neverthe- 
less, she  dipped  not  her  pen  in  the  ink  till 
she  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  paper.     At 
this  moment  there  was  a  loud  outcry  heard, 
mingled  with  a  great  knocking. 

"  What  noise  is  that  ?"  asked  she,  eager- 
ly, doubtless  glad  to  avail  herself  of  any- 
thing that  gave  her  a  delay,  was  it  of  a 
single  moment.  Her  two  companions  ap- 
peared more  alarmed  than  she  at  these 
souncV? ;  for  their  hands  trembled  as  the  one 
held  the  paper  and  the  other  the  ink. 

"  The  noise  matters  not !"  cried  master 

doctor,  vehemently.      "Sign  the  paper  on 

the  instant,  or  be  adjudged  a  confirmed  and 

obstinate  heretic,  accursed  in  the  sight  of 

'  God  and  man !" 

.  "  Nay,  but  so  huge  an  uproar  putteth  me 
in  some  fear  of  my  life,"  added  the  lady, 
with  more  urgency  as  the  noise  increased. 
"  Mayhap  there  is  mischief  in  it  for  one  or 
all  of  us — the  house  is  on  fire,  or  there  be 
thieves  broke  in  ?  Indeed,  I  know  not  what 
great  evil  it  may  not  be  the  herald  of." 

"  Pishv!"  exclaimed  master  chaplain. 
"  'Tis  nought  but  the  escort,  impatient  of 
being  kept  *so  long  awaiting.  Sign — or, 
without  more  ado,  I  must  oft'  with  you  to  the 
Tower." 

"  Indeed,  it  be  but  uncivil  of  them  to  be 
so  soon  impatient,"  cried  she  again ;  "  for, 
methinks,  they  have  scarce  had  time  to  get 
to  the  palace  gates."  At  this  moment  the 
noise  was  heard  more  distinctly  as  if  it  was 
approaching  nearer,  and  seemed  to  be  the 
hurraing  of  many  voices. 

"  All's  lost !"  exclaimed  master  doctor, 
furiously  dashing  down  the  ink-horn,  and 
hurrying  himself  out  of  the  chamber ;  and, 
at  the  same  moment,  master  chaplain 
snatched  away  the  papers,  and  disappeared 
with  the  like  celerity  :  but,  just  as  the  lady 
Elizabeth  had  got  wefl  quit  of  them,  a  com- 
pany of  stately  gentlemen  entered  her  cham- 
ber by  another  door,  followed  by  a  multitude 
of  meatier  sort,  and,  with  every  demonstra- 
tion of  respect,  the  foremost  of  them  all  did 
kneel  before  her  on  one  knee. 

"What  meaneth  this, Sir  William  Ce- 


cil ?"  exclaimed  a  lady,  in  exceeding  as- 
tonishment, to  him.* 

"  It  meaneth,  an  it  please  you,  my  gra- 
cious mistress,"  replied  he,  with  much  rev- 
erence, "  that  your  troubles  are  at  an  end. 
Your  sister  hath  been  overtaken  by  the  hand 
of  death,  and  by  all  the  proper  authorities 
your  Highness,  without  opposition  or  let  of 
any  kind,  hath  been  proclaimed  Queen  of 
these  realms." 

"God  save  Queen  Elizabeth!"  eagerly 
exclaimed  the  assumed  fool,  throwing  his 
cap  and  bells,  with  a  monstrous  zeal,  far 
above  his  head ;  and  every  one  of  that  as- 
sembly thereupon,  with  the  same  heartiness, 
joined  in  the  cry. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  sixth  age  shifts 

Into  THE  LEAN  AND  SLIPPERED  PANTALOON, 

******* 

His  youthful  hose  well  saved;  and  his  big 

manly  voice, 
Turning   again   towards   childish    treble, 

pipes 
And  whistles  in  the  sound. 

SHAKSP.EARE. 

Despiteful  Flora  !  Is't  not  enough  of  grief, 
That  Cynthia's  robbed,  but  tliou  must  grace 

the  thief? 
Or  didst  thou  hear  Night's  sovereign  queen 

complain, 

Hymen  had  stolen  a  nymph  out  of  her  train, 
And  matched  her  here,  plighted  henceforth 

to  be 

Love's  friend,  and  stranger  to  virginity. 
And  mak'st  thou  sport  for  this  J 

BEN  JONSON. 

THERE  was  a  cloud  resting  upon  the 
honored  roof-tree  of  New  Place — a  cloud 
that  cast  its  shadows  over  all  Stratford,  and 
even  over  many  a  fair  dwelling  far  beyond  ; 
for  the  master-spirit,  who  was  the  pride  and 
glory  of  all  that  admirable  neighborhood, 
had  for  a  long  period  been  so  nigh  unto 
death's  door,  that  it  had  more  than  once 
been  feared  he  had  crossed  the  gloomy 
threshold. 

Master  Doctor  Hall,  with  no  less,  craft  of 
love  than  of  medicine,  had  held  a  desperate 
conflict  with  his  malady,  day  after  day,  and 
week  after  week,  assailing  it  in  so  many 
divers  .ways,  as  though  his  resources  were 
out  of  all  number ;  and  whenever  it  seemed 
to  be  getting  the  mastery,  bringing  forth 
some  new  sort  of  artillery,  and  some  secret 
stratagem  of  physic,  that  made  his  enemy 
fain  to  give  up  what  ground  of  vantage  he 


316 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


had  gained.  The  skill  of  other  physicians 
had  been  required — so  ill  looked  the  case  ; 
but  they  so  approved  what  he  had  done,  and 
were  so  favorably  impressed  with  his  mar- 
vellous knowledge  of  all  that  related  to  their 
art,  that  one  and  all  decided  the  patient 
could  not  be  in  better  hands,  and  thereupon 
left  him  to  his  entire  care. 

Of  a  surety,  he  could  not  have  been  bet- 
ter provided  for.  The  young  physician 
acted  as  though  he  had  in  his  power  not  only 
the  existence  of  an  individual,  but  the  fame 
of  a  nation  ;  nay,  the  very  glory  and  boast 
of  humankind.  Another  could  not  have  had 
that  stake  in  his  preservation  he  had  ;  he 
must  have  experienced  the  common  effects 
of  prolonged  watchfulness,  over-anxiety, 
absence  of  necessary  rest  and  food,  and  con- 
tinual strain  upon  the  mind  when  taxing 
all  its  powers  upon  an  issue  that  looked  to 
tremble  upon  a  hair ;  but  he  who  presided 
over  that  sick  chamber  appeared  to  claim 
immunity  from  the  pains  and  penalties  fol- 
lowing a  deviation  from  natural  habits — he 
lost  all  sense  of  self — moved,  breathed,  lived, 
only  in  the  contest  he  was  carrying  on.  He 
watched  every  symptom,  considered  every 
remedy,  traced  every  effect  to  its  cause, 
brought  the  experience  of  the  sages  of  his 
craft  to  act  in  alliance  with  the  result  of  his 
own  observations,  and  maintained  what 
seemed  a  hopeless  struggle,  inch  by  inch — 
in  sooth,  not  giving  up  so  much  as  a  hair's 
breadth  till  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon 
him  that  it  might  be  recovered  at  a  future 
time. 

Though  amiable  and  gentle  as  a  woman, 
it  was  marvellous  to  note  how  entirely  he  put 
on  the  despot,  when  his  patient's  safety 
seemed  to  demand  it  of  him.  He  would 
have  no  intrusion  into  the  sick-room — not 
even  from  the  best  and  dearest  of  his  friends 
— shutting  his  heart  as  closely  against  the 
pleadings  of  the  fond  Susanna,  save  when 
the  occasion  better  warranted  her  appear- 
ance there,  as  against  the  arguments  of  the 
faithful  Simon,  who  tried  many  a  master- 
stroke of  policy  in  vain  to  plant  himself  with- 
in its  hallowed  walls.  He  would  have  help 
from  none  at  such  times,  save  only  from  an 
ancient  dame  he  had  hired  as  a  nurse, 
who.se  watchfulness,  devotion,  and  freedom 
from  weariness,  thirst,  or  hunger,  rivalled 
his  own.  She  was  truly  a  most  venerable 
object.  Her  form  looked  much  too  feeble 
for  the  proper  fulfilment  of  the  labor  she 
had  uiulortaken  ;  but  the  strange  brilliancy 
of  her  eyes  gave  evidence  of  a  vigorous 
spirit,  such  as  the  most  youthful  frame  rare- 
ly pOLise.-ws.  By  such  attendants  was  the 
sick  man,  during  the  critical  time  his  disor- 


der maintained  th<»  ascendant,  nursed  and 
tended ;  and  in  this  period,  his  loving 
friends  were  fain  to  content  themselves  with 
such  intelligence  of  his  condition  as  they 
could  by  chance  obtain  from  them,  or  from 
some  in  the  house,  who  were  enabled,  at_ 
rare  intervals,  to  hold  with  them  a  brief 
communication. 

Every  where  throughout  the  neighbor- 
hood the  inquiry  was, "  How  fareth  Master 
Shakspeare  ?  "  and  one  and  all  were  as  in- 
terested in  him  as  though  he  was  of  their 
flesh  and  blood.  In  some,  the  knowledge 
of  his  danger  wrought  strange  effects. 
Tommy  Hart  and  his  merry  bedfellow  not 
only  lost  that  ready  pleasantry  which  had 
made  them  a  proverb  throughout  Stratford, 
but  wore  there  features  in  so  sad  a  fashion, 
their  most  familiar  gossips  hardly  knew 
them.  Young  Quiney  and  his  wife  had 
taken  up  their  abode  at  New  Place,  and  it 
was  no  small  difficulty  to  say  which  was  the 
most  disconsolate  of  the  two.  Both  Judith 
and  Susanna  were  however  fain  to  repress 
their  own  sorrows  whilst  endeavoring  to 
comfort  their  mother,  whose  grief  touched 
all  hearts. 

Sir  George  Carew  came  frequently  to 
Stratford,  as  though  with  a  view  to  console 
the  family  to  whom  he  was  so  greatly  at- 
tached, but  it  was  easy  to  see  he  needed  con- 
solation as  much  as  any.  The  strangest 
effects  were  observable  in  Jonas  Tietape, 
who  grew  as  serious  as  a  Puritan,  when  he 
first  heard  that  Master  Shakspeare  kept  his 
chamber ;  but  when  it  was  bruited  he  was 
houily  expected  to  give  up  the  ghost,  he  shut 
himself  up  in  his  cottage,  allowing  none  to 
have  sight  or  speech  of  him,  and,  as  it  was 
verily  believed,  took  no  heed  of  himself 
whatever. 

But  in  all  conditions,  age  or  sex.  the 
same  spirit  prevailed — for  the  patient  had 
won  all  hearts ;  the  poor  by  his  charities — 
the  rich  by  his  excellences — children  by  his 
graciousness — women  by  his  courtesies,  and 
men  of  every  sort  by  his  interest  in  their 
pursuits  and  apparent  knowledge  of  every 
thing  that  related  to  them  ;  and  there  waa 
scarcely  a  minute  of  the  day  in  which  some 
fervent  prayer  was  not  put  up  to  the  thresh- 
old of  the  Most  High,  for  his  restoration  to 
health,  and  to  the  society  of  his  so  numerous 
lovers. 

These  prayers  were* heard,  and  answered. 
As  soon  as  it  became  known,  as  it  shortly 
did,  that  a  change  for  the  better  had  taken 
place  in  the  object  of  their  constant  good 
wishes,  then  was  there  a  change  for  the  bet- 
ter in  the  aspect  of  the  whole  town.  Tom- 
my Hart  took  his  helpmate  by  the  hand,  and 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


217 


repaired  to  the  now  melancholy-looking  !  istered  to  his  recovery,  was  the  general  de- 
habitation  of  their  good  gossip,  the  woman's  j  sire  to  assist  in  some  way  or  other  in  mak- 
tailor,  where  they  made  such  an  outcry,  j  ing  it  as  speedy  as  possible.  With  this 
shouting  the  good  news,  that  presently  the  |  feeling,  all  sorts  of  things  were  daily  sent 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  out  bounded  the  I  that  might  tempt  his  palate,  or  strengthen 
Rejoicing  Jonas  with  a  summerset  that  j  his  frame,  and  Simon  and  Launce  had  a 
pitched  his  friend  on  his  back  in  the  middle  sufficiency  of  work  in  taking  in  the  delicate 

-  chickens  and  dainty  capons,  and  exquisite 
sweetbreads,  and  scores  of  other  tempting 
'things  that  daily  came  to  the  door  with  the 
kindest  inquiries  and  heartiest  best  wishes  of 
tkeir  several  donors. 

Now,  Launce,  of  all  things,  Iqved  to  hear 
himself  talk,  and,  of  all  subjects,  loved  most 
to  talk  of  himself,  and  rarely  did  he  fail, 
when  he  thought  he  could  secure  a  listener, 
of  endeavoring  to  impress  upon  him  a  due 
sense  of  all  the  terrible  dangers  he  had  been 
in,  and  of  the  wonderful  courage  with 
which  he  had  borne  himself  when  sailing 
with  that  valiant  commander  Captain  Harry 
Daring  in  the  Spanish  Main.  Had  he  spok- 
en so  bravely  in  Golden  Lane,  he  would 
have  been  soon  silenced ;  but  Tabitha 
Thatchpole's  apprentice  and  Master  Shak- 
speare's  man  were  exceeding  different  per- 
sonages, and,  therefore,  he  fancied  he  might 
readily  become  a  hero  at  Stratford. 

This,  however,  he  found  more  difficult 
than  he  had  calculated  on,  and  Bragging 
Launce  became  as  familiar  in  that  good 
town,  as  Ragged  Launce  had  been  there  in 
times  past,  or  as  Lazy  Launce  had  been  in 
his  well-remembered  attic  in  Golden  Lane. 
It  was  only  when  he  could  get  hold  of  some 
credulous  good  soul,  too  simple  to  doubt, 
that  lie  was  ever  listened  to  with  any  sort  of 
patience  or  respect,  and  among  the  bearers 
of  the  different  gifts  that  came  to  his  mas- 
ter's dwelling  he  found  many  such. 

It  was  rare  to  see  with  what  skill  he  led 
the  inquirer  after  the  health  of  Master 
Shakspeare,  with  a  little  loss  of  time  as 
might  be,  right  to  the  deck  of  the  good  ship, 
"  The  Little  Wolf,"  and  this  having  attain- 
ed,' how  rapidly  he  led  her  into  the  terri- 
blest  battles,  mutinies,  storms,  and  ship- 
wrecks, in  all  of  which  he  made  himself 
out,  if  not  exactly  the  captain  of  the  ship, 
at  least,  a  person  to  whom  the  command 


of  the  road,  which  he  not  attending  to,  flew 
down  the  street,  to  the  huge  astonishment 
of  his  honest  neighbors,  whirling  round 
and  round,  now  on  his  hands  and  now  on 
his  feet,  after  the  old  fashion,  followed  by  a 
pack  of  little  dogs  in  full  chase,  evidently, 
by  their  frisking  and  barking,  as  well  pleased 
as  their  master. 

Dr.  Hall  had  won  a  famous  victory  over 
Death  :  and  it  was  soon  seen  h^w  deadly 
had  been  the  struggle  betwee^  diem.  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  was  reduced  to  a  very  skele- 
ton. The  commanding  figure  that  had  so 
well  filled  the  justice-chair  could  not  be  re- 
cognised in  the  wasted  form  that  leant  on  the 
arm  of  his  physician  as  he  shuffled  across 
the  chamber.  His  voice  also  had  under- 
gone a  like  alteration,  it  having  become  fee- 
ble and  shrill  as  that  of  a  man  at  a  great 
age.  The  change  struck  the  sick  man  as 
powerfully  as  it  had  others,  but  a  gleam  of 
his  customary  facetious  grace  broke  from 
him  at  the  time. 

"  O'  my  life,  doctor,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
his  hose,  that  were  now  much  too  large, 
they  being  in  bags,  as  it  were,  from  his 
knees  to  his  slippers,  "if  I  might  have  rfiy 
will,  I  would  fain  leave  the  world  better 
supported  than  I  am  in  this  sorry  plight." 

"  Thou  shall  have  thy  will,  dear  heart !" 
exclaimed  a  familiar  voice  near  him.  The 
sick  man  turned  round,  but  saw  only  his  old 
nurse  making  a  posset  for  him.  He  seemed 
to  marvel  a  little,  but  in  a  moment  con- 
tinued to  jest  on  his  condition,  as  he  proceed- 
ed in  his  walk. 

"  Methinks  Death  has  spared  me,"  con- 
tinued he ;  "  because  he  began  to  be  asham- 
ed of  taking  such  poor  prey,  so,  out  of  pity, 
and,  doubtless,  not  without  some  contempt, 
he  allows  me  to  find  rest  for  my  bones  on 
the  earth,  instead  of  under  it.  F  faith,  he 
hath  left  me  much  to  thank  his  worship  for  : 

item,  a  voice  as  pleasant  to  hear  as  the  tun- 1  might  have  been  given  with  great  advan- 
ing  of  a  viol-de-gamba  ;   item,  a   pair  of  I  tage  to  all  concerned.     But,  enough  of  this 

'  braggart.     Nevertheless,  a  little  more  will 


sticks  by  way  of  legs ;  two  of  a  like  pattern 
for  arms  ;  item,  a  quantity  of  ribs — might 
make  pegs  to  hang  caps  on  at  small  cost ; 
and  item,  a  skull  that  needs  no  polishing  to 
grace  an  anchorite's  cell  for  the  nonce." 
This  pitiful  state  of  things,  however, 


finish  his  history.  His  big  words  imposed 
upon  Peg  of  the  Twiggen  Bottle,  who 
overlooked  his  mean  estate,  in  favor  of  his 
being  a  hero — a  character  she  much  affect- 
ed— but  on  the  wedding-night  he  showed 


gradually  disappeared,  to  the  huge  conten-  ;  himself  such  a  craven  to  one  of  her  former 
tation  of  his  friends,  under  careful  nursing.  !  lovers  who  was  present,  and  made  a  butt  of 
Among  the  most  powerful  agents  that  min-  \  him,  that  she  drubbed  him  in  the  bridal  chain- 


218 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


oer  so  that  he  did  not  feel  himself  comfort- 
able for  a  week  after. 

All  this  time  the  sick  man  was  mending 
rapidly,  so  that  he  received  visitors  as  usu- 
al, and  the  chimney-nook  in  the  hall  was 
again  the  comfortable  resting-place  of  the 
favored  few,  who  were  wont  to  assemble 
there  ;  and  the  jest  and  the  tale  went  round 
as  briskly  as  of  old.  Sometimes  an  ac- 
quaintance or  two  would  join  the  circle 
with  news  of  what  strange  things  were  do- 
ing in  London  or  elsewhere,  and  often  was 
there  much  to  marvel  at,  often  much  to  la- 
ment, and  almost  as  frequently  much  to 
doubt. 

The  news  least  liked  and  most  talked  of 
was  the  mysterious  death  of  that  darling  of 
the  nation,  Prince  Henry.  Various  were 
the  rumors  afloat  concerning  the  cause  of 
this  sudden  and  fatal  sickness  ;  some  talk- 
ed confidently  of  poison ;  and  the  bolder 
sort  plainly  alluded  to  the  king  as  having 
been  jealous  of  the  general  favor  in  which 
his  admirable  young  son  was  held  by  the 
people  ;  and,  if  not  instigating,  certainly 
having  a  guilty  knowledge  of  the  deed.  But 
these  horrible  surmises  were  not  canvassed 
at  New  Place.  Master  Shakspeare  was 
deeply  moved  at  learning  of  so  truly  nation- 
al a  loss.  He  knew  it  to  be  a  loss  never  to 
be  repaired. 

He  had  news  also  of  more  than  one 
friend,  for  whom  he  cherished  the  liveliest 
remembrances.  There  were  divers  his  good 
gossips  and  fellows  at  the  globe,  of  whom 
and  from  whom  lie  had  occasional  intelli- 
gence. Of  worthy  Master  Allen,  too, 
still  the  most  thriving  of  players,  and  the 
most  honest  of  men,  where  among  his  bears, 
or  his  nobler  animals,  he  had  especial  ad- 
vices. And  a  like  sort  of  familiar  know- 
lego  he  had  of  the  city  came  to  him  from 
the  court,  where  he  was  well  pleased  to 
hear  his  much-loved  scholar,  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  was  rapidly  advancing  into  fa- 
vor. Bat  there  was  one  to  whom  his  best 
i'eelings  clung  with  the  like  fixedness  the 
devotee  regards  the  emblem  of  his  faith,  and 
never  did  a  thought  rise  in  that  direction 
that  was  not  made  yokefellow  with  a  bless- 
ing. Need  it  be  said  that  this  was  the  no- 
ble lady,  from  whom  he  had  separated  him- 
self so  completely — as  it  seemed — yet  with 
whom,  while  he  lived,  he  would  be  joined 
in  no  common  bonds. 

It  was  while  gradually  recovering  his 
health  that  he  became  aware  of  the  attach- 
ment existing  betwixt  his  admirable  young 
physician  and  his  most  estimable  gentle 
daughter.  At  this  he  was  especially  pleas- 
ed. There  was  no  man  living  he  should 


so  soon  have  wished  for  a  son.  He  felt  he 
owed  him  no  trifling  amount  of  obligation, 
in  the  first  place  for  the  excessive  devotion 
he  had  shown  for  him  during  more  than 
one  critical  period  of  his  life ;  and  in  the 
next  his  high  talents  in  art  and  his  thorough 
amiableness  of  disposition  pointed  him  out 
as  likely  to  make  happy  his  excellent  Su- 
sanna. He  was  rarely  pleased  that  they 
should  bave  come  to  so  good  an  understand- 
ing— albeit  he  more  than  once  found  him- 
self comparing  in  some  astonishment  the 
stately  creature  that  had  no  long  time  be- 
fore received  so  complacently  the  adulation 
of  the  gayest  and  noblest  of  the  gayest 
court  in  Europe,  with  the  quiet  blushing 
maid  fixing  her  heart  and  mind  upon  the 
thoughtful  aspect  and  unassuming  bearing 
of  the  young  physician. 

All  this  time  these  two  were  enjoying  a 
species  of  happiness  peculiarly  their  own. 
It  looked  as  though  the  deep  trouble  they 
had  endured  had  given  them  a  keener  rel- 
ish for  the  exquisite  rare  pleasure  that 
seemed  in  store  for  them.  Quiet,  grave 
and  unimpassioned,  as  both  had  appeared, 
they  entered  into  the  condition  of  lovers 
with  a  depth  and  intensity  of  feeling  less 
experienced  hearts  could  have  no  know- 
ledge of.  Each  seemed  to  have  dispersed 
from  around  the  other  the  cloud  which 
had  thrown  into  blackest  shadow  all 
the  fairest  hopes  and  dreams  of  life.  And, 
with  a  delicate  sympathy  in  the  other's  past 
sufferings,  each  strove  to  show  a  brimming 
measure  of  that  felicity  they  had  previously 
looked  for  in  vain. 

Whilst  his  patient  demanded  his  utmost 
vigilance,  Dr.  Hall  would  be  nothing  but 
the  attentive  physician  ;  but,  when  it  be- 
came evident  he  might  be  left  to  the  care  of 
others,  he  put  on  the  devoted  lover  with  no 
less  singleness  of  purpose.  Many  were  the 
pleasant  walks  he  and  his  fair  mistress  had 
through  the  shady  lanes,  or  the  fields  of 
waving  corn,  and  long  and  earnest  the  dis- 
course which  then  and  there  passed  betwixt 
them.  Now  came  the  reign  of  arms  inter- 
linked, clasped  hands,  and  waists  encircled, 
low-breathed  aspirations,  blushing  replies, 
an  over-brimming  joyousness  in  the  present, 
and  daintily  conceited  plans  for  the  future. 
For  our  young  physician  tin's  period 
brought  a  harvest  of  sweet  thoughts,  of 
such  abundance  withal,  he  who  reaped  it 
could  scarce  conceal  his  astonishment  at 
its  excess.  It  looked  as  though  the  goodly 
qualities  of  the  soil,  during  the  time  their 
development  had  been  checked,  had  been 
accumulating,  and  now  thrust  themselves 
forth  in  produce  of  the  rarest  excellence 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


219 


and  the  most  marvellous  abundance.  His 
mind,  purified  in  the  furnace  in  which  it 
had  been  cast,  seemed  peculianly  sensitive 
to  all  the  subduing  impressions  of  the  affec- 
tions. It  was  no  longer  the  feverish 
dreams  of  youth,  prematurely  created  by  the 
villanous  artifices  of  a  scheming  adventu- 
ress ;  it  was  the  natural  operation  of  the 
most  admirable  grace,  and  the  most  perfect 
excellence,  on  a  nature  peculiarly  disposed 
to  cultivate  their  exquisite  influence.  It 
was  an  intelligent  mind  strongly  reflected 
upon  by  mind  of  a  like  sagacity,  and  one 
heart  operating  upon  another,  the  feelings 
whereof  were  of  the  same  ennobling  nature. 

When  he  considered  his  good  fortune  in 
attaching  to  himself  a  creature  so  excel- 
lently gifted,  the  miseries  of  former  years 
faded  as  a  snow-flake  in  the  sunbeam.  Un- 
der her  fair  sovereignty,  he  felt  raised  to 
the  proudest  estimation  ;  his  reserve  did  not 
entirely  leave  him  ;  he  was  still  grave,  re- 
flective, and  retiring — but  this  was  consti- 
tutional. There  were  times  however  when, 
led  along  by  the  stirring  spirit  of  her  covet- 
able  society,  he  seemed  to  break  down  all 
the  restraints  of  habit,  *nd  his  voice  became 
animated  by  the  eloquence  of  his  own 
thoughts  ;  he  spoke,  looked,  and  moved,  as 
a  being  gifted  with  all  the  finer  properties 
of  manhood — manhood  in  its  worth,  its 
grace,  its  nobleness,  and  its  purity. 

And  our  gentle  Susanna,  was  she  not 
moved  by  a  similar  agency?  Did  not  the 
bread  of  her  kindly  heart  she  had  cast  up- 
on the  waters,  return  to  her  after  many 
days  ?  Did  not  her  mind,  so  long  thrust  in- 
to shadow,  beam  out  as  a  cynosure  in  the 
deep  night,  making  her  fair  neighborhood 
an  atmosphere  of  light  and  beauty  ?  To 
this  no  more  need  be  said  than  that  she 
was  absolutely  and  perfectly  happy  ;  happy 
in  her  own  thoughts,  and  in  the  thoughts  of 
those  nearest  and  dearest  to  her  ;  happy  in 
her  choice,  happy  in  her  hopes,  happy  in 
her  dreams,  happy  in  the  present,  and  ex- 
quisitely happy  in  the  future.  Day  after 
day  passed  by,  and,  the  more  intimately 
she  became  acquainted  with  the  virtues  of 
the  man  whose  finer  qualities  she  had  per- 
ceived and  done  justice  to  in  her  earliest 
acquaintance  with  him,  the  more  did  she 
congratulate  herself  on  finding,  whatever 
storm  might  come,  she  had  so  famous  an 
anchor  to  trust  to. 

Thus  this  estimable  pair,  in  the  days  of 
their  honeyed  courtship,  seemed  to  live  in 
and  for  each  other ;  their  rambles  became 
longer,  their  attachment  to  each  other's  so- 
ciety more  intense.  Their  senses  seemed 
to  become  m  )re  exquisitely  alive  to  the  at- 


tractions of  external  nature.  The  flowers, 
the  sunshine,  the  shady  lane,  the  green  re- 
treat, the  intelligent  aspect  of  the  mute 
stars,  and  the  murmuring  music  of  the  gen- 
tle river,  were  to  them  features  of  a  land- 
scape of  such  ravishing  beauty,  that  its  on- 
ly type  could  have  been  found  in  that  un- 
rivalled landscape  in  which  the  first  lovers 
experienced  a  happiness  direct  from  Hea- 
ven. 

It  shortly  became  publicly  known  that 
they  were  betrothed — in  sooth,  some  who 
pretended  to  be  better  informed  than  their 
neighbors,  went  so  far  as  to  say  they 
knew  the  very  day  they  were  to  be  mar- 
ried ;  but  it  was  every  where  understood 
that,  in  a  short  time,  there  would  be  a  fam- 
ous wedding,  and  they  were  so  •well  liked 
'that  no  allusion  was  ever  made  to  the 
match  without  its  being  followed  by  a  bless- 
ing. In  honest  truth,  the  approaching 
event  was  so  universally  known,  and  the 
persons  so  intimately  connected  -with  it  so 
greatly  respected,  that  did  any  of  their  well- 
wishers  get  sight  of  the  happy  pair  in  one 
of  their  rambles,  he  would  make  a  circuit 
so  as  to  avoid  disturbing  their  privacy. 

The  ceremony  so  much  talked  of  awaited 
only  the  complete  recovery  of  Master 
Shakspeare  ;  but  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
bring  it  about.  For  this  there  were 
divers  reasons — first,  he  saw  that  they 
were  happy,  and  much  of  his  happiness  de- 
pending on  seeing  theirs,  he  was  desirous 
this  golden  state  of  things  should  continue 
as  long  as  possible.  Next,  he  liked  not 
parting  with  them;  they  had  become, 
through  the  influence  of  their  own  virtues, 
the  chief  objects  of  his  regard,  and  he  could 
not  readily  bring  himself  to  loose  either. 
The  .matter  was  ultimately  settled  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  parties,  they  agreeing  to 
remain  under  his  roof  as  long  as  might  be 
agreeable  to  him. 

He  frequently  held  long  and  interesting 
consultations  witli  his  fast  friend,  Sir 
George  Carew,  who  took  a  warm  interest 
in  their  expected  nuptials  ;  and  there  could 
be  no  manner  of  doubt  he  intended  perform- 
ing some  liberal  act  of  kindness ;  doing 
something  for  his  fair  favorite  on  this  par- 
ticular occasion. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  who  re- 
garded the  approaching  union  with  ill-con- 
cealed ill  feeling — this  was  no  other  than 
Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  by  this  time  transformed 

;  into  a  court-gallant  of  the  first  pretensions. 

i  Possibly  the  praise  of  the  gentle  Susanna. 

I  sc  frequently  heard  from  his  guardian,  Sir 
George  Carew,  influenced  him  but  little — 
possibly  the  interest  shown  by  all  the  com- 


220 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


munity  ?n  her  happiness  he  regarded  with 
a  like  indifferency ;  but  he  liked  not  that 
some  one  should  come  and  bear  away  from 
him  what  he  seemed  to  think  could  easily 
Irave  'been  his  own.  He  held  long  and  se- 
rious debates  with  himself  as  to  the  line  of 
conduct  he  should  pursue,  and  ultimately 
he  came  to  the  wise  determination  of  hon- 
oring the  subject  of  his  thoughts  with  a 
visit. 

Taking  marvellous  pains  that  every  ar- 
ticle of  his  toilet  should  be  impressed  into 
his  service  in  some  such  a  manner  as  to 
assist  in  producing  the  desired  impression, 
and,  after  carefully  examining  the  result, 
and,  satisfying  himself  that  there  could  be 
no  doubt  of  his  perfect  success  in  the  ex- 
periment he  was  about  to  make,  he  ordered 
his  horse,  and  took  the  road  from  Clopton 
to  Stratford.  When  he  arrived  at  New 
Place,  Susanna  was  in  attendance  upon 
her  father  in  his  chamber.  She  did  not 
hear  the  name  of  Sir  Hugh  Clopton  with- 
out some  emotion  ;  but  it  passed  away  as 
rapidly  as  it  went,  and  the  expression  by 
which  it  was  followed  was  of  a  much  less 
pleasant  character. 

"  Speed  thee,  wench!"  cHed  her  father 
merrily,  "  Sir  Hugh  asketh  for  thee. 
Doubtless  he  is  come  to  offer  his  congratu- 
lations, like  a  courteous  gentleman.  Hie 
thee  to  the  blue-room,  then,  at  once,  and 
prythee  use  him  in  thy  most  gracious  fash- 
ion." 

Susanna  made  a  most  gracious  reply  in 
the  same  spirit  as  she  tripped  out  of  the 
chamber,  but  she  was  far  from  being  indif- 
ferent as  she  seemed.  She  would  have 
avoided  the  interview,  had  it  been  possible, 
without  creating  comment,  but  she  nerved 
herself  with  a  woman's  proudest  spirit  to 
appear  in  it  as  became  her  father's  daugh- 
ter. On  her  entrance,  she  found  the  young 
knight,  examining,  with  much  intentness, 
as  it  seemed,  the  pattern  of  the  siege  of  j 
Troy  on  the  arras — albeit,  he  was  giving 
entire  thoughts  to  the  consideration  of 
what  lie  should  say,  and  how  he  should 
say  the  business  he  had  come  upon. 

"  God  save  you,  Sir  Hugh  !"  exclaimed 
tho  damsel  courteously.  "  My  father  bids 
me  express  his  acknowledgments  for  the 
honor  you  have  done  him  in  visiting  his 
poor  dwelling.  He  trusts  all  are  well  at 
Clopton." 

There  was  a  dignity  as  well  as  an  indif- 
ferency in  this  speech  that  was  far  from 
setting  the  young  knight  at  his  ease.  He 
replied  in  the  best  courtier  fashion,  tou^h- 
ing  his  profound  respect  for  Master  Shak- 
gpearo,  and  gave  his  assurance  that  at 


Clopton  every  one  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  in  excellent  health.  Hereupon  he  en- 
deavored to  get  a  point  towards  his  errand, 
bt  „  he  was  "stopped  by  an  earnest  inquiry 
of  his  kinsfolk.  .Having  informed  his  com- 
panion that  Sir  George  Carevv  and  his  es- 
timable lady  were  gone  to  Kenilworth,  he 
once  more  strove  to  bring  the  discourse  to- 
wards himself  and  his  intentions ;  but,  at 
his  firsj  step,  he  was  interrupted  by  a  string 
of  questions  as  to  divers  persons  and  scenes 
in  and  about  the  neighborhood  of  the 
family  mansion ;  and,  as  soon  as  these 
were  replied  to,  there  came  a  long  cate- 
chism respecting  his  ancestors,  their  char- 
acter and  monuments.  Thus  it  continued 
for  a  period  much  beyond  what  was  given 
to  a  visit  of  compliment. 

Sir  Hugh  Clopton  was  getting  more  and 
more  discomposed.  He  was  wondrously 
anxious  to  address  himself  at  once  to  the 
object  he  had  in  hand,  but  he  knew  not  how 
to  commence  such  a  business.  He  felt  a 
strange  awkwardness  in  the  first  step, 
which  seemed  to  throw  a  terrible  stumbling- 
block  in  his  way;  and,  when  he  called  to 
mind  how  studiously  of  late  she  had  avoid- 
ed him,  and  that,  when  thrown  in  his  com- 
pany, with  what  ceremonious  respect  she 
had  behaved  herself  towards  him,  his  chance 
of  a  favorable  hearing  appeared  to  become 
more  desperate  every  minute.  The  fair 
Susanna  all  this  while  looked  as  though 
she  had  met  this  monstrous  fine  gentleman 
for  the  first  time,  to  whom  she  accorded 
the  graceful  courtesy  of  a  gentlewoman, 
out  of  respect  for  his  excellent  \vrorthy  kins- 
man, her  sworn  servant,*  Sir  George  Carew. 

"  Perchance,  you  are  off  to  some  hunting 
party  or  another  ?"  said  she,  at  last,  "  and  I 
am,  out  of  all  doubt,  much  to  blame  for 
keeping  you  from  such  delectable  sport;  so 
I  will  at  once  take  my  leave  of  you,  thank- 
ing you,  in  the  name  of  my  most  dear  father, 
for  your  courteous  visit." 

"  Nay,  I  pray  you,  Mistress  Susanna, 
leave  me  not  in  this  way  !"  exclaimed  the 
young  knight.,  the  fine  gentleman  evidently 
breaking  down  under  a  pressure  of  natural 
feelings.  "  I  have  much  to  say  to  you ! — I 
have  much  to  implore  of  you !  In  an  evil 
hour ' 

"  Ah  !  I  had  nearly  forgotten,"  said  she, 
suddenly  stopping  in  the  slight  advance  she 
had  made  towards  the  door.  Her  aspect 
became  a  slight  degree  more  serious,  yet 
there  was  no  sign  in  it  of  anger  or  triumph. 
"  I  have  also  something  that  ought  to  be. 
said.  It  cannot  but  be  known  to  you,  Sir 
Hugh,  that  it  is  my  estimable  fathers  plea 
sure  I  should  be  married  next  St.  George's 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


221 


day  to  a  worthy  gentleman,  his  {riend,  one 
Master  Doctor  Hall ;  a  physician  of  much 
skill  in  his  art,  and  of  as  honorable  a  nature 
as  man  ever  possessed.  I  trust,  Sir  Hugh, 
you  will  do  us  the  honor  to  grace  that  occa- 
sion with  your  company.  Among  your 
well-wishers,  Sir  Hugh,  ever  count  on  my- 
self as  belonging  to  the  sincerest.  Be  as- 
sured that  I  entertain  a  firm  hope  that  you 
will  speedily  cast  aside  as  weeds  that  ill-be- 
come a  soil  of  much  natural  goodness,  the 
follies  of  a  thoughtless  youth  ;  and  if  I  could 
see  you  divested  of  every  such  unworthi- 
ness,  securing  yourself  the  respect  which 
hath  ever  been  so  intimately  attached  to 
your  honorafele  name,  and  united  with  some 
noble  lady  who  would  do  credit  to  your 
judgment,  believe  me,  Sir  Hugh,  it  would 
be  such  infinite  satisfaction  to  me  as  my 
poor  \vords  cannot  express.  Fare  you  well, 
Sir  Hugh,  and  much  happiness  attend  you  !" 

Methinks  it  need  hardly  be  said  that,  by 
?uch  a  speech  so  delivered,  "  the  monstrous 
t'ne  gentleman"  was  completely  silenced: 
und  before  he  could  recover  from  the  stun- 
ning blow,  that  gentle  and  graceful  rebuke 
gave  to  his  vanity,  he  found  his  fair  compa- 
nion had  left  the  chamber.  He  was  not 
long  in  doing  the  same,  but  as  he  rode  back 
to  Glopton  he  thought  over  every  word  of 
those  golden  sentences  he  had  just  heard, 
and  in  so  proper  a  mood,  that  from  that  time 
forth  he  became  so  swayed  by  their  spirit  as 
to  cast  from  him  all  discreditable  tendencies 
and  foolish  humors,  and  take  upon  himself 
the  nobler  characteristics  of  an  honorable 
gentleman. 

Now  that  it  had  become  well  known 
throughout  Stratford  and  its  neighborhood, 
Mistress  Susanna  Shakspeare  was  to  be 
married  at  such  a  date  to  that  famous  phy- 
sician. Master  Doctor  Hall,  there  was  a 
wonderful  deal  of  rejoicing  in  all  quarters. 
Of  all  places  in  the  world,  be  sure  the  mat- 
ter was-properly  discussed  in  Tommy  Hart's 
kitchen — in  sooth,  there  had  been  divers 
consultations  on  this  particular  subject,  in 
which,  besides  Tommy  and  his  helpmate, 
Jonas  Tietape  and  young  Quiney  labored 
with  exceeding  earnestness. 

They  sometimes  obtained  the  assistance 
of  Simon  Stockfish,  who  seemed  as  though 
capable  of  speaking  on  no  other  points  than 
the  nobleness  of  the  master  he  now  possess- 
ed, and  the  worthiness  of  the  one  he  had 
once  served.  It  used,  however,  to  take  him 
a  monstrous  time  to  make  up  his  mind  to 
place  himself  \v  here  so  many  questions  were 
sure  to  be  put  to  him  ;  but  having  satisfied 
himself  that  it  would  be  politic  not  to  answer 
correctly  more  than  one  in  ten,  he  occasion- 


]  ally  made  his  appearance  in  the  hatter's 
chimney-corner. 

Concerning  the  marriage,  they  were  all 
agreed  that  it  was  what  was  most  to  be  de- 
sired ;  for  both  the  young  physician  and  his 
fair  mistress  were  such  especial  favorites, 
that  nothing  could  seem  so  appropriate  as 
their  union ;  but  this  auspicious  event  they 
seemed  called  upon  to  distinguish  in  some 
remarkable  manner,  and  they  considered 
long  and  earnestly  amongst  themselves  how 
this  was  to  be  done. 

When  Jonas  Tietape  could  be  drawn 
from  his  vagaries,  he  was  forced  to  give  in 
his  opinion  to  th9  common  stock,  which  he 
did  after  his  fashion,  whereupon  much  de- 
bating followed,  of  which  the  object  was  to 
mark  the  day  appointed  for  the  wedding 
with  appropriate  revels.  Every  pleasant 
pastime  was  learnedly  discussed,  and  the 
best  ways  of  having  them  with  due  effect 
set  forth  in  the  goodliest  manner  possible. 

As  the  appointed  day  approached  the 
ever-honored^first  of  May  so  closely,  it  was 
at  last  decided  that  May  Games  should  be 
performed  with  all  due  solemnity — unusual 
care  being  taken  that  every  character  there- 
in should  find  the  very  fittest  representative 
— besides  which,  provision  should  be  made 
for  minstrelsy ;  the  resources  of  the  town 
consisting  only  of  one  bagpipe,  a  blind 
harper,  and  a  lame  fiddler,  it  was  resolved 
that  the  neighboring  villages  and  towns 
should  be  called  upon  to  assist  with  whate- 
ver of  a  musical  sort  they  had  at  their  com- 
mandment. As  the  decisions  of  this  coun- 
cil, though  not  expressed  with  so  much  dig- 
nity as  those  of  the  High  Bailiff  and  his  co- 
adjutors, were  scarcely  less  influential, 
there  could  be  no  fear  that  the  eventful  day 
would  pass  by  unnoticed. 

Scarce  had  the  sun  rose  on  the  memora- 
ble morning  of  the  twenty-third  of  April, 
when  the  bells  began  a  merry  peal,  which 
called  up  all  who  were  not  getting  them- 
selves ready  to  play  their  part  in  the  day's 
revels.  In  every  part  of  merry  Stratford —  * 
and  well  did  it  deserve  that  name — there 
was  rare  bustling  about,  and  running  hither 
and  thither,  and  such  a  prodigality  of  jests 
expended  as  might  have  sufficed  the  small 
wits  of  the  court  from  then  till  doomsday  ; 
and  yet  .have  had  abundance  to  spare. 

The  first  commencement  of  the  day's 
sports  was  seen  in  the  bringing  in  of  the 
tall  tree  that  had  been  cut  down  for  a  May- 
pole, and  the  setting  it  up  in  a  fair,  open 
space,  where  its  fine  colors  and  finer  gar- 
lands and  streamers  could  be  seen  to  some 
advantage.  Rare  was  the  display  of  rib- 
bons and  other  finery  in  the  youths  and 


222 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


maidens  who  assisted  in  the  dance  round  the 
lofty  maypole,  that  followed  its  first  plant- 
ing, but  their  universal  mirth  and  well-dis- 
posedness  made  them  still  more  attractive. 

It  was  while  this  pleasant  sport  was  going 
on  in  full  force,  that  those  whom  it  most 
concerned  were  preparing  for  the  grand 
proceedings  of  the  day.  With  no  slight  sa- 
tisfaction they  hailed  the  arrival  of  the  hour 
that  \vas  to  realise  their  most  cherished 
wishes.  In  especial,  the  feelings  of  Master 
Shakspeare  were  of  the  most  intense  grati- 
fication. He  had  long  studied  the  character 
of  his  young  friend,  and  had  perceived  in 
him,  under  his  manifold  coverings  of  shy- 
ness and  reserve,  a  nature  replete  with  ho- 
norable feelings,  virtuous  resolves,  and 
manly  sentiments.  He  saw  it  was  scarce 
possible  for  him  to  find  any  man  to  whom 
he  could  confide  his  excellent  Susanna,  with 
so  perfect  a  confidence  in  her  future  happi- 
ness. Nothing  delighted  him  so  much  as 
the  evidences  he  had  met  with  of  their  at- 
tachment to  each  other,  and  »so  great  was 
his  content  in  their  marriage,  that  it  is  not 
going  too  far  to  affirm  that  on  this  particu- 
lar morning  he  was  infinitely  the  most  plea- 
sant-humored of  the  three.  Though  it  could 
scarcely  be  said  he  had  recovered  his  wonted 
strength  and  appearance,  he  was  sufficient- 
ly full  of  health  and  spirits  to  enjoy  himself 
as  absolutely  as  man  could  on  so  choice  an 
occasion. 

As  for  the  happy  lovers,  sedate  though 
they  looked,  and,  as  some  thought,  more 
grave  than  such  a  time  warranted,  they  had 
us  full  hearts  as  they  could  well  have,  and 
minds  brimming  with  the  same  overflowing 
measure.  In  brief,  they  were  as  absolutely 
happy  a£  poor  humanity  hath  any  chance 
to  be.  Perhaps  they  had  the  more  enjoy- 
ment from  having  known  feelings  of  so 
very  opposite  a  sort.  They  took  their  places 
in  the  procession,  and  performed  their  parts 
in  the  ceremony,  that  joined  their  destinies 
together  indissolubly,  with  a  total  abandon- 
ment of  all  things  whatsoever  but  their  own 
infinite  contentatioo. 

They  became  spectators  of  the  pleasant 
labors  of  their  numerous  friends,  to  do  honor 
to  the  day  graced  by  an  event  so  welcome 
to  them,  with  senses  too  much  engrossed  by 
their  own  happiness  to  be  as  mindful  of  them 
as  they  deserved.  But  this  was  unobserved 
by  the  principal  actors  therein,  who  were  in 
such  famous  good  humor  with  their  efforts, 
they  seemed  as  though  celebrating  their 
own  particular  happiness,  rather  than  the 
happiness  of  the  two  young  persons  who 
could  hardly  be  regarded  as  belonging  to 
their  circle. 


On  this  memorable  day  it  was  well  said 
of  many  that  never  had  Jonas  Tietape  made 
so  worshipful  a  dragon  ;  nor  Tommy  Hart 
rode  so  capering  a  hobby  horse ;  never 
had  young  Quiney  played  so  right  reverend 
a  Friar  Tuck  ;  nor  the  young  miller  ap- 
peared to  such  rare  advantage  as  Robin 
Hood  ;  nor  was  there  ever  so  choice  a  mor- 
rice ;  in  brief,  it  was  well  said  of  the  wiser 
sort,  that  there  had  not  been  in  the  remem- 
brance of  any  Stratford  man  a  day  of  such 
entire  pleasantness  as  that  which  had  been 
appointed  for  the  marriage  of  Master  Doctor 
Hall  and  Mistress  Susanna  Shakspeare. 


CHAPTER  XXXm. 

That  blast  that  nipped  thy  youth  will  ruin 

thee; 
That  hand  that  shook  the  branch  will  quickly 

strike  the  tree. 

QUAJILES. 

Egyptians,  dare  ye  think  your  highest  pyra- 
mids, 

Built  to  out-dare  the  sun,  as  you  suppose, 
Where  your  unworthy  kings  lie  raked  in  ashe?, 
Are  monuments  fit  ibr  him  ?    No,  brood  of 

Mylus,       • 

Nothing  can  cover  his  high  fame  but  Heaven, 
No  pyramids  set  off  his  memories, 
But  the  eternal  substance  of  his  greatness, 
To  which  I  leave  him. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

;t  NAT,  as  I  live  !  By  all  that's  rare,  'tis 
Ben  himself!"  exclaimed  Master  Shaks- 
peare, with  as  huge  astonishment  as  plea- 
sure, as  about  a  year  after  the  events  men- 
tioned in  the  last  chapter,  Simon  Stockfish 
ushered  into  his  book-room  one  on  whom 
he  had  exerted  much  exquisite  policy,  in 
vain,  to  discover  who  the  stout,  bluff,  free- 
spoken  stranger  was,  or  what  his  business. 

'  I'  faith,  if  it  be  not  the  great  Ben  him- 
self," replied  the  other  joyously,  "  'tis  so 
fine  a  copy,  it  may  pass  for  the  original 
among  the  best  judges." 

The  stranger  was  no  other  than  Benja- 
min Jonson,  of  whom  the  understanding 
reader  hath  already  some  acquaintance.  He 
was  looking  more  like  a  hearty  yeoman 
than  a  London  playwright,  having  under  his 
belt  a  waist  of  no  ordinary  breadth  ;  but  the 
excess  of  revenue  necessary  for  its  subsis- 
tence seemed  to  have  kept  the  outer  cover- 
ings of  his  person  of  less  richness  than  he 
might  have  aimed  at. 

He  had  had  a  long  journey,  out  of  all  doubt, 
and  possibly  he  had  clad  himself  more 
roughly  than  was  usual  with  him  ;  but  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


223 


whatever  fashion  he  was  clad,  he  received 
a  most  warm  and  absolute  welcome.  He 
was  soon  made  to  feel  himself  at  home  ;  a 
state  of  feeling  by  the  way,  in  which  he 
could  enter  with  even  much  less  encourage- 
ment than  he  now  received.  His  friend 
played  ,  the  host  towards  him  with  equal 
kindness  and  courtesy,  partly  because,  put- 
ting some  faults  out  of  sight,  he  liked  his 
society  and  admired  his  talents,  and  in  a 
great  measure  because  his  arrival  seemed 
to  promise  news  of  many  of  his  friends  of 
whom  he  had  been  a  considerable  time  with- 
out intelligence. 

A  substantial  meal,  the  principal  feature 
of  which  was  a  goodly  sirloin,  was  placed 
before  him  on  the  very  whitest  napery, 
flanked  with  a  richly  chased  silver  tankard 
containing  excellent  Canary.  Ben  care- 
fully tucked  a  napkin  within  his  falling 
bands,  and  began  an  attack  on  the  viands 
with  all  the  vigor  of  an  old  campaigner. 
Master  Shakspeare  sat  at  a  little  distance 
from  him.  in  no  small  measure  pleased  at  the 
evident  enjoyment  his  friend  took  in  his 
labor ;  occasionally  rising  to  place  at  his 
commandment  something  he  thought  would 
add  to  his  satisfaction,  or  laughing  at  the 
jests  in  which  his  guest  indulged,  with  a 
heartiness  that  shewed  how  completely  he 
understood  and  appreciated  their  humor, 
and  when  an  occasion  served,  relating  one 
from  his  own  prodigal  resources  that  so  di- 
verted the  hungry  traveller,  that  he  was 
nigh  being  choked  -in  the  excess  of  his 
mirth. 

The  satisfaction  of  these  two  old  friends 
in  meeting  after  so  long  a  separation  was 
of  the  very  heartiest  sort.  Anecdotes  fol- 
lowed on  the  heels  of  each  other  ;  and  jest 
succaeded  jest  with  a  prodigality  that  was 
truly  marvellous.  Some  remark  on  a  play 
would  bring  forth  an  account  of  some 
player,  that  both  had  known — and  then 
came  a  goodly  history  of  all  the  ups  and 
downs,  the  whims  and  vagaries,  the  strange 
sayings,  the  odd  ways,  the  singular  ideas, 
the  wild  adventures  of  divers  of  their  ac- 
quaintance, connected  in  some  way  or  other 
with  the  stage.  In  a  little  while,  the  men- 
tion of  something  done  at  court  would  pro- 
duce a  whole  chapter  of  amusing  gossip, 
respecting  the  different  personages  therein 
to  be  found.  It  was  as  good  as  a  gallery, 
they  were  so  hit  off  to  the  very  life  ;  for  if 
one  was  at  a  loss  for  any  part  of  the  picture, 
it  was  sure  to  be  happily  finished  from  the 
experience  of  the  other. 

"  And  so  Raleigh  is  still  a  prisoner,' '  ob- 
served Master  Shakspeare. 

"  More  shame  to  those  who  made  him 


I  one !''  was  the  indignant  reply.  "  'Sdeath ! 
my  blood  boils,  when  I  think  of  this  noble 
gentleman,  cooped  up  in  stone  walls  to  gra- 

'  tify  the  mean  revenge  of  that  poor  Scotch 

•  animal,  who  hates  this  noble  gentleman  for 
'  towering  so  high  above  him.     Nevertheless 

as  I  can  fully  testify,  he  keepeth  up  his 

great  spirjt.     1  managed  to  get  admission 

to  him  in  the  Tower,  and  there  I  paid  him 

j  a  visit,  which  I  shall  not  very  readily  forget. 

Never  saw  I  a  man  so  truly  a  philosopher, 

!  or  one  while  possessed  of  such  a  high  Ro- 

1  man  soul,  with  such  store  of  learning  at  his 

I  commandment,  as  was  only  owned  by  the 

most  famous  worthies  of  Greece." 

"  You  saw  him  then ;  how  fareth  he  in 
this  imprisonment  ?" 

"  Only  so  far  the  worse,  as  the  blade  left 
to  rust  in  the  scabbard.     There  was  with 
him -a  marvellous  deep  and  learned  man, 
my  Lord  of  Northumberland,  with  whom  he 
pursueth  all  manner  of  strange  studies  in 
I  chemistry  ;  my  assured  friend,  Master  Ser- 
'  geant  Hoskj^s,  an  excellent,  poet,  Thomas 
!  Hariot,  an  estimable  philosopher,  and  acer- 
i  tain  parson,  Master  Doctor  Burrell,  a  most 
1  ripe  scholar ;  and  amongst  these,  I  had  such 
|  discousse,  as  1  could  have  found,  methinks, 
in  no  other  place  in  the  whole  world.     Such 
,  famous  speeches,  worthy  to  be  called  ora- 
|  tions  ;    such  profound    knowledge  ;    such 
deep  and  comprehensive  learning;    such 
marvellous  wisdom,  it  hath  never  been  my 
lot  to  listen  to.     We  had,  as   well  as  the 
Greek  and  Roman,  fragments  of  Hebrew 
sages,  and  snatches  of  the  lore  of  Arabian 
poets  and  philosophers,  that  made  the  wis- 
dom of  the  western  world  appear  as  very* 
foolishness." 

"  Of  a  truth,  I  envy  you  that  visit — me- 
thinks  'twas  as  rare  a  treat  as  man  could 
i  wish  for." 

"  Ay,  was  it,  Will.     But  there  was  one 
bitter  reflection  that  robbed  it  of  the  better 
I  part  of  its  sweetness.     Who  could  think 
|  unmovedj  of  such  choice  spirits  made  to  be 
partakers  of  a  dungeon,  who  should  have 
had  the  first  place  of  honor   nearest   the 
throne,  whilst  such  honorable  places  were 
filled  by  the  vilest  scum  and  dregs  of  hu- 
manity, who  would  have  but  disgraced  the 
;  prison  they  deserved  ?" 

"  A  lamentable  truth !     But,  think   yon 

not  Sir  Walter  will  be  given  his  freedom  ?" 

"  Never !  His  fame  as  a  hero  galls  one 

who  is  a  noted  coward  ;  his  reputation  as  a 

scholar  hurts  his  vanity  who  hath  scarcely 

•  the  knowledge  of  a   pedagogue ;  and   his 
worth,  as  a  man,  confounds  him  who,  even 
in  bis  vices,  is  ever  grovelling  and  contemp- 

.  tible.     What  sympathy  can  a  feeble,  vaiu- 


224 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


glorious,  mud-witted,  besotted  wretch  have 
for  one  who  is  at  once  gallant,  high-spirited, 
learned,  and  virtuous  ? — The  sympathy  of 
the  wolf  for  the  deer — of  the  mouse  for  the 
lion — of  the  owl  for  the  linnet.  I  tell  thee, 
Will,  he  hates  the  noble  Raleigh,  and  will 
not  rest  till  he  has  his  blood — which  he  will 
at  la?t  take,  on  some  frivolous  pretence  that 
will  damn  him  to  all  posterity." 

"  Raleigh  hath  lost  a  powerful  friend  in 
Prince  ilenry — had  he  lived  much  longer, 
J  think  he  would  have  got  Sir  Walter  his 
liberty." 

"  At  least,  he  would  have  tried — but,  now 
that  sweet  youth  is  dead,  Raleigh  hath  lost 
his  only  safeguard  against  the  murder 
which  hath  been  so  long  meditated.  But 
it  is  useless  lamenting,"  added  Ben  Jonson, 
as  he  raised  a  full  cup  of  wine  to  his  lips. 
"  We  are  powerless  to  serve  him  ;  but  we 
can  have  at  least  the  comfort  of  drinking 
confusion  to  his  enemies,  which  I  now  do 
with  all  my  heart — more  especially  refer- 
ring to  one  who  is  a  hypoc^te  in  religion, 
a  pretender  to  learning,  a  bad  husband,  a 
vile  father,  a  false  friend,  a  dishonor  to  his 
lineage,  and  a  disgrace  to  his  country." 

Thereupon  Ben  quaffed  off  his  glass  with 
the  satisfaction  of  one  convinced  he  hath 
done  virtuously.  If  thus  indignant  of  the 
undeserved  treatment  of  so  great  and  good 
a  man  as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  how  would 
he  have  expressed  himself,  a  few  years  later, 
when  that  noble  gentleman,  after  venturing 
with  great  risk  to  his  newly-discovered 
country  of  Guiana,  in  hope  of  satisfying  the 
cupidity  of  his  royal  jailor,  who  hankered 
after  a  gold  mine  there  existing,  on  his  re- 
turn was  infamously  brought  to  the  block 
and  made  the  victim  to  his  cowardice  ! 

"But  I  will  tell  you  a  stranger  matter," 
said  Ben,  replenishing  his  empty  platter. 
"  Ned  Allen  hath  grown  as  serious  as  an 
undertaker's  dog.  His  talk  is  of  nothing 
but  building  hospitals,  or  colleges  for  de- 
cayed folk.  He  is  determined  to  set  up  for 
a.  Samaritan,  and  will  take  care  there  shall 
be  plenty  of  oil  and  wine  provided  for  such 
wayfarers  as  may  chance  to  fall  among 
thieves  and  get  spoiled.  None  can  doubt 
his  heart  to  be  of  the  best,  but  his  speech 
hath  become  the  strangest  medley  spoken 
by  human  tongue.  If  he  talk  of  the  Fathers, 
you  would  be  rarely  puzzled  with  the  bear- 
garden eulogium  directed  towards  them — 
instead  of  St.  Chrysostom,  you  will  hear 
him  speak  of  St.  Bruno./  Polycarp  will 
have  to  give  way  to  Ponto — and  Taurus 
will  take  the  place  of  Thomas  Aquinas." 

"  This  is  a  new  humor,"  said   Master 


marked  myself  a  singular  confusion  in  hig 
speech :  but  then  it  has  been  between  the 
heroes  of  his  bear-garden  and  those  of  his 
playhouse." 

"  I'faith,  Will,  such  confusion  is  none  so 
extraordinary  on  an  occasion,"  added  the 
other,  with  a  sly  humor  working  in  his 
eyes.  "  I  have  known  as  many  well-played 
brutes  as  brutal  players,  ere  now." 

"  Prythee  tell  me  what  fortune  you  have 
had  of  late  with  your  excellent  writings." 

"  Fortune,  the  jade!"  exclaimed  he,  in  a 
more  serious  tone — "  She  go  hang !  She 
hath  been  a  damnable  stepdame  to  me  as 
ever  worthy  heart  was  plagued  withal. 
Could  it  ever  be  believed  that  one  who  hath 
writ  the  best  comedies,  all'  as  well  flavored 
with  the  true  attic  salt  as  Aristophanes  had 
writ  them  in  his  best  days,  is  forced  aside 
to  make  room  for  some  unlearned  ass,  who 
hath  no  more  art  than  wit  1  There  is  my 
'  Volpone,'  now :  with  no  ill-judged  pride 
did  I  dedicate  such  a  masterpiece  to  the 
two  learned  universities.  I  will  swear  it 
is  a  very  phoenix  among  plays — that  its 
like  hath  not  been  seen  in  England,  nor 
never  will.  Yet  I  know  of  a  sort  of  fellows, 
with  scarce  brains  enough  to  hatch  a  bal- 
lad, who  have  thrust  their  crude  inventions 
before  it,  and,  by  means  of  some  tickling 
sauce  for  the  palate  of  the  vulgar,  have  got 
them  to  be  preferred.  Let  them  lick  their 
chaps  over  this  savory  garbage,  say  I.  If 
they  can  stomach  such  trash,  I  would  have 
them  feed  till  they  burst.  They  are  not  n't 
to  have  the  choice  fare  I  set  before  them.  It 
is  the  nature  of  such  hogs  to  wallow  in  the 
refuse  and  filth  a  better  taste  would  scorn." 

Ben  was  intent  on  displaying  his  weak 
point ;  but  his  friend,  who  knew  how  much 
of  worth  there  was  in  him,  despite  his  over- 
appreciation  of  himself  and  his  contemptu- 
ous regard  of  the  pretensions  of  others,  tried 
to  change  the  conversation.  This,  however, 
was  no  such  easy  matter,  and  he  found 
himself  obliged  to  listen  to  much  disparaging 
remarks  on  many  writers  he  knew  and  hon- 
ored. At  last,  the  meal  having  been  finish- 
ed and  the  flask  emptied,  the  last  draught 
drew  him  into  a  passing  commendation  of 
the  wine  :  thereupon  his  host  availed  him- 
self of  this,  and  they  were  presently  in  ear- 
nest discourse  of  the  wines  of  the  ancients, 
on  which  subject  Ben  poured  forth  a  flood 
of  learning  as  inspiring  as  his  theme. 

Whilst  Simon  Stockfish  cleared  away  the 
things  and  brought  a  fresh  supply  of  the 
wine  Ben  had  so  commended,  Master 
Shakspeare  informed  his  visitor  he  had 
come  at  a  rare  time,  for  to-morrow  waa ' 


Shakspeare,  laughing  heartily.     "  I  have  '  the  customary  day  of  the  Stratford  revels. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


225 


Ben  Jonson  seemed  much  taken  with  this, 
and  vowed  he  had  never  been  in  such  good 
fortune  as  to  have  hit  upon  so  excellent  a 
time  for  his  visit.  He  promised  he  would 
play  no  ignoble  part  amongst  the  revellers. 
At  this  his  friend  made  known  to  him  what 
strange  characters  were  some  he  was  like- 
ly to  meet ;  and  he  found  such  entertain- 
ment in  the  description  he  heard  of  Jonas 
Tietape,  Young  Quiney,  and  Tommy  Hart, 
that,  at  his  earnest  request,  they  were  sent 
for  to  afford  him  present  amusement.  They 
caniQ— and,  of  a  surety,  they  made  a  night 
of  it. 

Ben  shook  his  fat  sides  most  lustily  at 
the  humors  of  the  woman's  tailor,  a^d  the 
sport  afforded  that  night  made  the  walls  of 
New  Place  resound  again.  Their  host  took 
an  occasion  to  leave  them  when  their  mirth 
was  getting  furious,  but  he  found  it  a  diffi- ' 
cult  matter  to  get  to  sleep  for  the  shouting 
of  ridiculous  catches  and  roaring  songs  j 
they  chose  to  indulge  in.  This  sort  of  up- 
roar wonderfully  disturbed  the  sense  of  pro- 
priety of  Simon  Stockfish ;  and,  learning 
his  master  had  gone  to  bed,  he  cudgelled 
his  brains,  with  small  profit,  to  hit  upon  some 
rare  stroke  of  policy  by  means  of  which  he 
might  be  rid  of  it  presently.  This  he  knew 
could  only  be  done  by  the  dispersion  of 
^.hose  who  were  the  busiest  peace-breakers, 
and  he  found  he  had  a  difficult  task  to  effect 
this  with  perfect  security  to  himself  and 
credit  to  his  master — two  points  of  equal 
importance  with  him. 

Little  did  these  choice  spirits  imagine, 
whilst  so  absolutely  giving  themselves  up 
to  jollity,  what  throes  they  were  causing 
the    grave    serving-man,   whose    lack   of 
speech  afforded  a  copious  source  of  speech 
in  them.     Ben  Jonson  had  got  them  to  re- 
hearse before  him  certain  speeches  they  j 
svere  to  deliver  in  a  magnificent  play,  styled , 
the  Siege  of  Troy,  made  by  the  schoolmas- 
ter, destined  to  be  the  chief  attraction  in  the 
Stratford  revels  of  the  morrow.     He  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  hardly  able  to 
see  out  of  his  eyes,  his  mirth  did  so  puff  up ' 
his  cheeks,  with  his  arm  resting  on  the  table, ! 
on  which  stood  lights,  cups,  tankards,  and  ; 
curious  shaped  bottles,  and  the  other  lying  [ 
across  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  an  empty ' 
glass  in  his  hand.     His  three  associates 
stood  in  choice  attitudes  in  the  open  space 
before  him  and  the  wall ;  and,  as  Jonas 
Tietape   was  representing  Hector,   armed 
with  a  pot-lid  by  way  of  shield,  and  a  spit  | 
for  spear  ;  Tommy  Hart  Agamemnon,  with 
a    besom    handle  ;    and    Young     Quiney 
Achilles,  with  a  rolling-pin—each  with  bare 
arms,  spouting  the  most  terrible  fustian  ever  I 
15 


heard,  there  was  sufficient  cause  for  his 
appearing  so  famously  amused.  It  so 
chanced  as  Jonas  was  delivering  himself  of 
some  most  hectoring  lines,  in  rushed  Simon 
Stockfish,  his  leaden  visage  a  most  moving 
picture  of  horror  and  alarm. 

"  How  now,  knave  ?"  cried  Master  Jon- 
son ;  "how  darest  thou  intrude  thyself,  un- 
announced, upon  such  heroes  as  these  ?" 

"  Speak  —  answer,  slave  !  or  Trojan 
ghosts  shall  keep  thee  company,"  shouted 
the  assumed  Hector,  stalking  up  to  him 
with  stately  steps.  • 

"Death  dogs  thy  steps,  presumptuous 
varlet !"  cried  Tommy  Hart,  strutting  for- 
ward with  Agamemnon  strides. 

"  Nay,  good  sirs !  I  pray  you,  worthy 
Jonas  !  excellent  gossip  Tommy  !"  exclaim- 
ed the  alarmed  serving-man,  turning  im- 
ploringly from  one  to  the  other,  "  I  did  not 
venture  without  strong  warrant,  be  assured." 
"  Speak,  caitiff!  or  thy  recreant  life 
shall  be  the  forfeit,"  cried  Ben  Jonson. 

"  Excellent  valiant  sirs,"  hurriedly  ex- 
claimed Simo*,  not  without  same  apprehen- 
sion, "  some  one  hath  just  brought  me  word 
that  worthy  Jonas  Tietape's  house  hath  ta- 
ken fire." 

Scarce  had  the  words  been  spoke,  when 
the  three  players  dropped  their  several  wea- 
pons, and  rushed  out  of  the  chamber.  In- 
dependently of  their  consideration  for  the 
dogs  and  othef  animals,  they  knew  full  well 
that  most  of  the  properties  necessary  for  the 
performance  of  their  famous  play  were 
there  housed  ;  and  they  at  once  made  off,  in 
a  horrible  fright,  to  endeavor  to  save  them 
from  the  devouring  flames,  leaving  Simon 
Stockfish,  for  once  in  his  life,  highly  grati- 
fied at  the  success  of  his  profound  policy. 

The  earliest  risers  the  next  morning 
looked  at  the  gloomy  sky  with  huge  mis- 
giving ;  but,  much  to  their  content,  as  the 
day  grew  older,  the  heavy  clouds  dispersed, 
and  the  visitors  were  ushered  into  Stratford 
with  a  burst  of  sunshine,  that  made  the  gay 
scene  tnat  presented  itself  before  them  a 
thousand  times  more  cheerful.  Again  com- 
menced the  Stratford  revels  in  all  their 
several  varieties,  and  again  a  glorious  ca- 
valcade filed  through  the  streets,  wherein 
Master  Shakspeare  was  the  particular  grace 
and  ornament  to  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  admiring  spectators.  This  time  he  rode 
alone ;  for  the  gentle  Susanna,  now  Mas- 
ter Doctor  Hall's  excellent  fair  helpmate, 
was  with  her  friends,  riding  amongst  the 
gentlewomen  who  had  joined  the  procession. . 

With  the  gentlemen  rode  Master  Benja- 
min Jonson,  wonderfully  taken  with  all  he 
saw  and  heard,  especially  with  the  various 


326 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


sports  which  he  did  commend  right  liberal- 
ly. Hie  perfect  restoration  to  health  made 
Master  Shakspeare  appear  in  sucn  good 
case  as  greatly  delighted  his  innumerable 
admirers;  and,  possibly,  the  great  danger  he 
had  been  in  appeared  greatly  to  increase  the 
claim  on  their  admiration  his  own  talents 
had  secured. 

The  great  business  of  the  day  proceeded 
admirably  ;  but  the  grand,  unrivalled  spec- 
tacle of  a  classical  play  appeared  to  take 
the  spectators  by  storm.  The  Siege  of 
Troy  was  looked  upon  by  many  as  a  super- 
human effort  of  human  intellect ;  and  the 
wooden  horse,  supposed  to  have  done  such 
rare  service,  the  invention  of  Jonas  Tietape 
and  young  Quiney,  for  the  safety  o  which 
the  three  friends  had  made  such  famous  use 
of  their  legs  the  previous  night,  was  the 
source  of  the  most  absolute  wonder  and  ad- 
miration. Certainly,  Master  Shakspeare 
did  marvel  in  no  small  measure,  but  he 
found  it  horribly  difficult  to  maintain  his 
gravity  whilst  glancing  at  his  friend,  whose 
ludicrous  aspect  during  the  performance  it 
looked  impossible  to  stand  against. 

But  all  things  have  an  end ;  and,  though 
the  Siege  of  Troy  was  unconscionably  long, 
it  did  at  last  reach  its  conclusion — with  no 
slight  regret,  by  the  way,  to  much  the  grea- 
ter part  of  the  spectators,  who  seemed  hard- 
ly to  know  of  which  they  should  most  ap- 
prove, the  Greeks  or  the  Trojans.  Never- 
theless, the  reader  must  submit  to  be  hur- 
ried from  this  and  many  other  delectable 
sights  that  were  attracting  delighted  crowds 
on  that  notable  holiday,  and  be  set  at  once 
before  the  choicest  sight,  which  was  a 
grand  banquet,  given' by  the  high  bailiff  and 
corporation  in  honor  of  the  guest,  to  whose 
fair  name  the  proceedings  of  the  day  in- 
tended to  do  some  sufficient  honor. 

Certes,  this  banquet  was  marvellously 
imposing,  and  in  consequence  of  Master 
Shakspeare's  recent  recovery  from  his  dan- 
gerous sickness,  a  greater  number  of 
guests  assembled  than  the  Guildhall  had 
ever  contained  before.  There  was  a  most 
imposing  array  of  flowers,  and  laurels,  and 
no  lack  of  plate  or  napery.  The  high  bai- 
liff sat  at  the  head  of  the  room,  with  Mas- 
ter Shakspeare  on  his  right,  and  Sir  George 
Carew  on  his  left ;  and  down  a  long  table, 
having  a  cross  one  at  the  bottom,  sat  not 
only  all  the  notables  of  those  parts,  with  the 
more  respectable  sort  of  burgesses  of  Strat- 
ford, but  many  persons  of  some  distinction, 
fast  friends  of  Master  Shakspeare,  who  had 
hurried  to  Stratford  once  more  to  renew 
their  acquaintance  with  one  with  whom  ac- 
quaintance was  a  distinction. 


Nothing  can  be  said  here  particularizing 
the  viands,  or  describing  their  number  and 
qualities.  It  is  sufficient  here  to  state  that 
the  tables  might  have  groaned  with  their 
weight  and  number.  Everything  connected 
with  the  feast  was  of  the  choicest  sort,  and 
amongst  the  company  there  existed  one 
ennobling  spirit  of  homage  to  the  object  of 
their  sympathy  and  goodfellowship.  They 
were  wonderfully  enlivened  by  the  company 
of  Ben  Jonson,  who  was  in  a  rare  mood  for 
the  display  of  his  choice,  facetious  talent. 
In  this  he  was  well  seconded  by  Sir  George 
Carew,  whose  exceeding  courteousness, 
and  affable  pleasant  grace  won  the  hearts 
of  all.  It  was  when  the  wine-flasks  had 
commenced  doing  their  inspiring  office,  that 
the  attention  of  the  whole  of  that  gallant 
company  was  attracted  towards  Sir  George* 
by  his  rising  from  his  seat  with  an  evident 
desire  in  him  to  address  them.  A  respec- 
table silence  quickly  ensued. 

"  It  hath  been  said,"  he  observed,  after  a 
brief  preamble  touching  his  pleasure  at 
meeting  so  numerous  and  brave  an  assem- 
bly, "  that  a  famous  monarch,  of  times 
passed,  offered  a  most  tempting  reward  to 
any  one  who  would  invent  for  him  a  new 
pleasure.  Certes,  had  he  lived  in  these 
days,  he  would  not  have  had  long  to  wait 
for  what  he  so  required,  and  methinks  it  be- 
hoveth  us,  with  whom  so  much  of  a  very 
exquisite  sort  have  been  made  familiar,  to 
be  no  less  liberal.  We,  too,  should  offer  i 
higher  appreciation  for  the  delights  th#4 
have  been  so  bountifully  afforded  us,  for 
they  are  altogether  of  a  nobler  kind  than 
such  as  might  have  been  created  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  a  jaded  voluptuary.  Our  new 
enjoyments  are  drawn  from  that  better  part 
of  us  that  constitutes  our  intelligence,  acting 
in  unison  with  those  fine  sympathies  that  do 
serve  to  bind  us  indissolubly  to  all  human 
things.  But,  as  cannot  be  unknown  to  you, 
we  have  a  source  of  pride  as  well  as  of 
pleasure  in  the  creator  of  these  exquisite 
sweet  enjoyments.  He  is  one  of  ourselves. 
He  is  our  neighbor — our  companion — our 
friend.  He  is  that  incomparably  sweet  gen- 
tleman so  well  known  amongst  us  all — he 
is  our  townsman  and  friend — William  Shak- 
speare !" 

Every  one  had  listened  with  a  most 
pleased  attentiveness  to  the  flowing  sylla- 
bles of  the  old  courtier.  As  his  meaning 
began  to  break  upon  them,  every  eye  flashed 
with  eloquent  delight ;  and  when  the  object 
of  his  eulogium  was  betrayed  by  the  men- 
tion of  his  name,  there  came  forth  such  a 
hearty  burst  of  applause  as .  stopped  ail 
speech  for  some  few  moments. 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


227 


"  Of  his  excellence  in  the  art  he  pro- 
fesses," continued  the  speaker,  "  there  hath 
already  been  ample  testimony.  He  hath  ob- 
tained such  repute,  and  such  gain  in  its 
exercise,  as  hath  never  been  possessed  by 
by  any  in  the  same  art.  But  it  is  with  no 
small  gratification  I  find  myself  enabled, 
from  personal  knowledge,  to  advance,  that 
his  worth  as  a  man  keepeth  such  fair  pace 
with  his  merit  as  though  they  were  twin- 
born.  I  feel  assured  those  who  know  him 
will  agree  with  me  in  the  opinion  that  in  him 
the  girts  of  the  heart  are  not  less  powferful 
than  those  of  the  mind.  Such  is  sweet 
Willie  Shakspeare — our  Shakspeare,  of 
Stratford  upon  Avon." 

Again  a  burst  of  loud  applause  broke 
forth  from  the  company,  testifying  their  ac- 
knowledgments of  the  propriety  of  this 
praise. 

"  Filled  with  these  impressions,"  he  add- 
ed, "  I  must  needs  say  I  look  for  your  com- 
plete contentation  to  a  proposition  I  have  risen 
to  submit  to  you.  In  this  most  honorable  of 
days — for  such  surely  it  should  be  styled, 
having  given  birth  to  two  such  distinguish- 
ed characters  as  Shakspeare  and  St.  George 
— we  have  been  employed  in  various  devi- 
ces for  showing  how  gratefully  we  look  upon 
it  for  having  bestowed  upon  us  our  rare 
townsman  and  friend  —let  us  crown  our  pro- 
per task  with  drinking,  in  full  glasses,  of 
the  choicest  wine  before  us,  in  this  sort — 


the  marvellous  talent  which  hath  raised  him 
to  so  proud  an  eminence,  were  but  as  dwarfs 
compared  with  him.  His  greatness  smacked 
of  those  days  of  which  it  was  said — there 
were  giants.  To  what  hath  been  already 
advanced  by  one  so  admirably  qualified  by 
his  scholarship,  by  his  far  distant  travels, 
and  by  his  long  intimacy  with  the  object  of 
his  well,  deserved  praise,  to  speak  on  such  a 
subject  and  fully  and  entirely  to  the  purpose, 
I  can  make  no  addition  worthy  of  note.  It 
hath  not  been  my  good  fortune,  like  him,  to 
have  lived  amongst  you,  nevertheless,  I  have 
had  many  opportunities  of  studying  the  fair 
page  he  hath  so  admirably  got  by  heart.  I 
have  known  him  to  whom  I  allude  and 
loved  him  long,  honored  his  genius  beyond 
that  of  any  living  or  dead,  and  regarded  his 
worth  with  a  kind  of  reverence.  I  cannot, 


a  way  of  honoring,  what  I  honor  so  exceed- 
ingly, is  under  discussion.  I  must  needs, 
at  such  a  call  as  we  have  just  heard,  be 
the  first  to  answer :  therefore  do  I  now  re- 
peat, with  all  earnestness  of  soul, '  Here's 
to  thee,  sweet  Willie  Shakspeare,  and  num- 
berless happy  returns  to  thee  of  this  golden 
day  !'v 

Amid  a  storm  of  plaudits,  no  less  loud 
than  followed  the  former  speech,  Master 
Shakspeare  was  seen  to  rise  from  his  seat. 
He  looked  admirably,  with  health  in  his 
cheek,  and  pleasure  in  his  eye,  and  vigor  in 


Here's  to  thee,  sweet  Willie  Shakspeare, !  every  manly  limb,  and,  as  he  directed  his 
and  numberless  happy  returns  to  thee  of  j  gaze  down  the  line  of  friendly  faces  turned 


this  golden  day !" 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  goodly  speech 
such  acclamations  arose,  as  made  a  very 
tempest,  at  it  were,  throughout  that  cham- 
ber. Scarcely  had  it  subsided,  when  Mas- 
ter Benjamin  Jonson  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
began  a  comment  on  what  had  so  moved  the 
company.  He  was  unknown  to  nearly  all, 
but  his  powerful  manner  of  speaking,  and 
an  air  of  free  and  jovial  humor  with  him, 
got  him  abundance  of  listeners.  His  pre- 
face of  his  disadvantages  in  being  a  stranger 
to  the  friends  of  one  whom  he  had  ever  re- 
garded as  the  best  and  noblest  of  men,  it  is 
unnecessary  to  repeat,  nor  is  there  need  he 
should  be  followed  in  the  prodigality  of  quo- 
tations from  Greek  and  Roman  authors  with 


towards  him  with  looks  of  mingled  rever- 
ence and  affection,  his  gaze  seemed  to 
brighten  with  the  purest  happiness,  and  his 
form  to  dilate,  as  it  were,  with  the  most  ex- 
alted pride.  He  began  to  speak,  at  first  de- 
liberately, with  words  of  ordinary  accepta- 
tion, as  he  mentioned  the  honor  that  had 
been  done  him,  and  his  unworthiness  to  ex- 
press the  grateful  sense  of  it  he  entertained ; 
but,  when  he  advanced  more  into  the  sub- 
ject, he  got  free  of  the  spirit  of  form  and 
ceremony  that  he  had  been  struggling  with. 
He  spoke  of  his  early  years,  and  showed 
how  much  he  was  indebted  to  Stratford  for 
whatever  had  given  him  the  means  of  taking 
the  place  amongst  them  he  sought ;  and, 
knowing  and  feeling  his  obligations,  it 


which  he  chose  to  lard  his  discourse.     Me-   could  not  be  surprising  that  he  had  chosen 
thinks  it  will  be  best  to  give  no  more  than   it  as  the  spot  in  which  he  desired  to  live 


this,  the  marrow  of  what  he  said : 

"  We  are  told,  my  masters,  in  a.  certain 
classic  author  of  my  acquaintance,  that 
there  were  great  men  before  Agamemnon, 
but,  before  the  Agamemnon  of  our  Iliad, 
there  were  no  great  men ;  in  brief,  so  far 
from  it,  all  who  were  his  predecessors  in 


out  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

"  A  few  years  only  have  passed,"  said 
he,  "  since  I  traversed  foreign  lands,  where 
my  eyes  were  witnesses  to  many  strange 
and  wonderful  things.  I  stood  were  fire  and 
ashes  have  burned  and  buried  two  large  and 
noble  cities,  yet,  with  many  such  marvellous 


328 


THE  SEfjgET  PASSION. 


matters  about  me,  I  thought  of  Stratford. 
I  beheld  the  yellow  Tiber  flowing  in  the 
honored  neighborhood  of  ancient  Rome  ;  I 
floated  on  the  dark  lagunes  of  once  trium- 
phant Venice  ;  and  I  gazed  in  transport  on 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Auriatic  Sea;  but 
they  were  to  me  as  though  they  never  were, 
when  I  thought  of  the  less  imposing  beau- 
ties of  our  exquisite  Avon. 

"  And  since  I  have  returned  to  them,  what 
a  balm  hath  visited  me  in  their  looks ! — 
river,  wood,  and  sky ;  the  green  lane,  the 
flowery  heath,  the  corn-field,  the  orchard, 
and  the  grove,  have  come  upon  me  like  the 
faces  of  ministering  angels  seen  in  dreams, 
giving  assurance  of  health's  comfort,  and 
the  soul's  repose,  never  to  be  gainsaid.  With 
these  have  been  associated  many  a  gallant 
spirit,  overflowing  with  generous  sympathy 
— many  a  tender  heart  prodigal  of  its  sweet- 
est solace — much  admiration,  some  rever- 
ence, and  more  good-will.  It  cannot,  there- 
fore, be  thought  surprising  I  should  gather 
matter  of  infinite  contentation  in  finding  my 
ark  at  rest  in  so  admirable  a  spot. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  good  wish- 
es. When  a  boy,  I  remember  me  well,  in 
the  prospective  my  young  ambition  Stirred, 
my  fancy  with,  I  saw  in  the  remotest  dis- 
tance some  such  proud  scene  as  the  present. 
Its  happy  accomplishment  looks  as  if  Des- 
tiny hath  done  for  me  all  that  had  been 
promised,  and  that  I  must  prepare  me  for  a 
change  where  alteration  is  unknown. — 
Should  it  so  chance  that  I  live  not  to  see 
another  anniversary  of  the  day  you  have  so 
greatly  glorified,  accept,  I  beseech  you,  my 
grateful  thanks  for  this  bountiful  proof  of 
your  desire  for  my  honor  and  well-being, 
and  be  assured  I  feel  both  proud  and  happy 
in  your  favorable  opinion,  which  it  hath  been 
as  much  my  wish  to  possess,  as  it  shall  be 
my  duty  to  retain." 

The  applause  which  here  followed,  and 
the  various  enthusiastic  commendations 
from  other  quarters,  must  be  left  to  the  un- 
derstanding reader.  The  scene  was  a  proud 
one,  and  none  regarded  it  with  feelings  of 
such  exquisite  gratification  as  the  affection- 
ate Susanna  and  her  loving  husband,  who 
looked  on  the  pleased  triumphant  features  of 
their  honored  parent  with  feelings  of  ming- 
led reverence  and  affection.  The  reader, 
however,  must  be  content  he  should  leave 
the  place  where  his  hero  received  those 
well-merited  honors,  and  accompany  him 
back  to  his  own  dwelling.  Before  retiring 
to  his  chamber,  he  took  a  light,  and  appear- 
ed to  feel  a  singular  pleasure  in  going  over 
the  few  pictures,  examining  some  of  the  rare 
books,  and  one  or  two  of  the  best  examples 


of  antique  furniture.    He  seemed  to  dwell  ' 
upon  them  with  a  more  than  ordinary  earn- 
estness. 

Anon  he  drew  himself  away  from  them, 
and,  having  entered  his  own  chamber,  sat 
himself  down  by  the  open  casement,  and, 
resting  his  head  upon  his  hand,  leaned  out, 
gazing  upon  the  blossoming  orchard,  the 
pastures,  and  hedge- rows,  and  all  the  fea- 
tures of  a  lovely  landscape  then  spread  out 
before  him,  over  which  the  moon,  riding 
high  and  clear,  occasionally  obscured  by 
quick-passing  clouds,  appeared  to  bathe  ev- 
ery object  in  an  atmosphere  of  supernatural 
beauty.  His  thoughts  seemed  spiritualized 
by  the  touching  aspect  of  the  scene  he 
looked  on. 

Not  very  far  removed  from  the  moon's 
orbit,  he  observed  a  star  with  an  exceeding 
bright  and  strange  brilliancy.  While  he 
gazed,  there  suddenly  entered  into  his  mind 
the  conviction  that  the  soul  of  his  long-la- 
mented Hamnet  inhabited  its  precincts. 
Master  Shakspeare  lived  again  in  the  past 
— a  holy  and  a  tranquillizing  spirit  seemed 
to  take  possession  of  him,  that  brought  him, 
as  it  were,  into  immediate  communion  with 
the  immortal  nature  of  that  glorious  boy  of 
whom  he  had  been  so  proud,  and  whose  pre- 
mature divorce  from  his  embraces  he  had 
lamented,  with  more  than  a  lover's  constan- 
cy in  a  first  and  only  passion.  His  soul 
was  subdued  by  the  force  of  early  memories 
— affections,  aspirations,  anticipations,  once 
so  devoutly  cherished,  he  clung  to  as  doth  a 
drowning  wretch  to  the  tangled  weed  upon 
the  perilous  shore  whereon  he  hath  suffered 
shipwreck.  Yet  in  all  this  abandonment  to 
so  ancient  a  sorrow,  there  came  a  sense  of 
present  relief  beaming  like  a  Pharos  through 
the  gloom  of  a  troubled  night  upon  the 
ocean,  that  did  calm  his  perturbed  spirit 
most  admirably. 

He  turned  from  the  casement,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  was  resting  his  honored  head 
upon  his  pillow.  He  shortly  fell  into  a  light 
slumber,  half-waking  and  half-dreaming,  in 
which  indistinct  images  of  things  presented 
themselves,  mixing  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  future  in  strange  confusion.  At 
one  time  his  thoughts  wore  the  rosy  hues  of 
his  early  life,  and  the  visions  that  had  filled 
his  solitude  with  fairy  shapes  and  heavenly 
scenes  came  to  him,  as  doth  the  sudden  res- 
toration of  sight  to  one  who  hath  been  blind 
many  years.  Anon  rose  forms  of  a  more 
endearing  loveliness,  every  limb  and  feature 
teeming  with  feminine  truth  and  passionate 
devotedness ;  the  last  bearing  the  likeness 
of  the  noble  lady  whose  rare  qualities  of 
!  heart  and  mind  had  held  his  senses  in 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


229 


such  strict  yet  honorable  subserviency. 
Then  came  memorials  of  triumphs  accom- 
plished, of  honor  won,  of  supremacy  ac- 
knowledged— a  most  imposing  retinue  :  and 
at  last  all  seemed  to  mingle  into  one — a 
golden  mist  penetrating  and  obscuring  all, 
so  that  he  could  get  but  obscure  snatches 
of  what  had  awhile  since  appeared  so  dis- 
tinctly. 

One  of  the  very  last  objects  that  present- 
ed itself  was  a  face  that  rapidly  changed 
from  a  feminine  aspect  of  immortal  beauty 
to  an  old  crone,  which  was  presently  suc- 
ceeded by  a  lovely  smiling  youth,  in  a  beck- 
oning attitude ;  but  hardly  had  he  recog- 
nized its  familiar  shape,  when  a  black  cloud 
surrounded  its  outline,  and  it  began  percep- 
tibly to  fade  away. 

At  this  period  he  became  aware  of  a 
strange  sensation,  like  a  small  flame  creep- 
ing up  his  extremities.  The  cloud  grew 
blacker  round  the  indistinct  image  of  the 
intelligent  aspect  he  had  loved  with  such 
entireness.  The  flame  crept  up  above  his 
knees.  The  cloud  encompassed  the  figure 
of  the  child,  passing  over  it  like  a  thick  film, 
and  gathered  round  the  dreamer's  head  in  a 
heavy  volume.  The  flame  crept  up  his 
legs  to  his  body.  The  inky  cloud  passed 
over  the  exquisitely-smiling  aspect,  and  be- 
came as  a  pall  before  the  dreamer's  eyes. 
The  flame  crept  up  to  his  heart,  at  the  same 
moment  that  a  darkness  enveloped  him  too 
black  for  a  ray  of  light  ever  again  to  pene- 
trate. 

All  the  revellers  were  fast  locked  in  their 
first  sleep,  and  the  whole  town  seemed  to 
slumber  no  less  profoundly,  so  tranquil  wa.s 
its  aspect-in  the  calm  moonlight ;  but  if  any 
where  there  existed  a  perfect  repose,  surely 
it  was  in  a  certain  part  of  the  meadows  bor- 
dering on  the  river.  The  Avon,  of  a  surety, 
still  pursued  its  course,  b  it  it  was  as  with 
a  lethargy  that  threatened  to  check  its  ca- 
reer. The  mill  had  stopped,  and  the  mill- 
stream  was  therefore  dumb.  For  a  marvel, 
neither  beast  nor  fowl  gave  evidence  of  ex- 
istence. The  moon  shone  clear  and  cold, 
in  a  sky  traversed  with  quick,  gloomy  clouds, 
row  giving  the  river  an  aspect  of  molten 
silver,  and  making  visible  the  farms,  the 
mill,  the  straggling  town,  and  the  towering 
church ;  anon,  leaving  all  in  impenetrable 
darkness. 

Suddenly  there  arose  a  low  wail ;  it  was 
not  easy  to  pronounce  its  cause,  for  it  par- 
took of  the  moan  of  the  wind  among  the 
trees,  and  the  just  audible  diapason  of  the 
church-organ  heard  afar  off.  It  gathered 
force  and  character  every  moment  and. 


grew  into  a  solemn  chant,  or  lament,  so 
touching,  so  subduing,  it  might  have  passed 
for  a  Miserere,  sung  by  a  company  of  spec- 
tral monks  in  some  ruined  abbey. 

At  this  time,  there  might  be  seen  innu- 
merable specks  high  in  the  atmosphere. 
These  presently  grew  upon  the  eye  till  they 
took  the  shape  of  figures  of  extraordinary 
smallness,  each  clad  in  a  cloak  of  inky 
blackness  ;  and  as  they  all  came  in  a  body 
towards  the  meadows,  it  might  readily  be 
known  that  they  sang  in  solemn  chorus  the 
following  words : 

THE  FAIRY  REQUIEM. 


Fair  courtiers  of  the  fields  and  woods, 

Rare  minstrels  of  the  skies, 
Put  off  gay  vests  and  flaunting  hoods, 

Attempt  grave  harmonies. 
The  funeral  cloak,  the  church-yard  chant, 
Comprise  whatever  ye  rp^st  want. 


Ye  lilFies  pure,  and  sweet  jonquils, 
Lone  violet,  queenly  rose, 

Ye  pansies,  kingcups,  daffodils, 
Forswear  your  gallant  shows ; 

Ye  marigolds,  so  proudly  dress'd, 

A  darker  suit  becomes  ye  best. 


And  all  things  that  are  fair  and  good, 
Your  bravest  shapes  give  o'er ; 

The  darling  of  your  brotherhood 
Belongs  to  you  no  more. 

Mourn  !  mourn  !  for  such  another  one 

Shall  ne'er  be  found  beneatli  the  sun. 


The  earth  hath  lost  its  fairest  grace, 
Gift  ne'er  to  be  supplied, 

And  tails  to  be  a  fitting  place 
For  fairy  forms  to  hide. 

Here,  losing  all  we  might  befriend, 

Cur  pleasant  rule  is  at  an  end. 


Farewell,  then,  each  loved  bud  and  flow'r ; 

Farewell  the  verdant  mead, 
The  fragrant  air,  the  secret  bow'r, 

Soft  fern  and  towering  reed. 
Bearing,  in  solemn  rite  we  come, 
Our  honored  SHAKSPEARE  to  his  HOME. 

As  the  innumerable  multitude  approached, 
the  attentive  spectator  could  not  fail  of  ob- 
serving that,  in  the  midst,  was  a  sort  of  cir- 
cle, at  the  head  of  which  two  figures  might 
have  been  noticed,  so  far  like  the  rest  in 
wearing  black  cloaks,  but  differing  from 
them  in  this  important  matter — each  wore 


230 

on  its  head  what  looked  to  be  a  golden 
crown.  In  the  centre,  thus  surrounded,  it 
was  difficult  to  make  out  what  had  a  place 
— it  bore  the  appearance  of  a  thin,  gray 
film,  having  much  the  resemblance — though 
too  indistinct  to  pronounce  decidedly — of  a 
human  figure  and  countenance,  floating  up- 
on the  air.  Afterwards  came  a  countless 
crowd  of  the  small  figures,  in  their  inky 


THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


garments,  and  the  doleful  wail  of  their  nu- 
merous voices  sounded  like  a  funeral  dirge. 
Presently  a  huge  mass  of  clouds  came 
upon  the  moon,  and  when  she  emerged 
from  behind  this  black  shield,  the  same  deep 
stillness  reigned  that  had  a  moment  since 
wrapped  the  whole  neighborhood  as  closely 
as  if  the  place  formed  a  sepulchre  in  the 
midst  of  a  mighty  desert. 


HERE   ENDETH   THE   STORY   OF 

THE  SECRET  PASSION. 


NOTE. — This  pleasant  task  is  ended.  This  labor  of  love  hath  been  brought  to  a  conclusion. 
There  now  only  remaineth  one  thing  to  be  done  ere  the  courteous  reader,  and  the  doubtless 
too-ambitious  author,  who  hath  so  long  and  largely  demanded  his  attention,  part — of  a  surety 
never  to  meet  again  in  such  honorable  company.  He  cannot  close  an  acquaintance  carried 
over  so  many  pages,  without  expressing  a  hope  that,  notwithstanding  manifold  defects,  /or 
which  he  prayeth  a  gracious  indulgence,  his  excellent  worthy  friend  has  received  some  plea- 
sure at  this  picture  of  an  age  that  in  its  many  golden  features  has  not  been  equalled  in  latter 
times,  and  this  portrait  of  greatness  never  excelled  in  any.  To  those  of  his  readers,  slowly  and 
heedfully  descending  the  hill  of  life,  he  desireth  such  absolute  perfect  ease  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  as  tired  traveller  never  had  glimpse  of,  with  many  inestimable  memories  with  which 
to  rejoice  such  as  they  leave  behind ;  and  to  those  who  are  but  climbers  in  the  same  path — to 
the  exquisite  fair  creatuie  who  hath  carried  her  generous  sympathies  through  all  the  varying 
scenes  here  set  down,  he  wishes  the  fullest  measure  of  content  in  her  affections  her  prodigal 
young  heart  can  sigh  for :  whilst  to  the  young  gay  gallant,  glowing  with  all  life's  richest 
impulses,  he  wishes  numberless  opportunities  for  roble  adventure,  and  much  comfort  with 
his  lady 


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